Authors Notes:
Sorry for the delay in this chapter I have been away and couldn't really write. Enjoy and that you to the new follower.
Earth One (Dc)
Bruce paced the dimly lit confines of the Batcave, his mind racing faster than the supercomputers that surrounded him. Clark Kent, his friend and ally, had vanished without a trace. It was unlike Clark to simply disappear; they had grown close over the past several months, sharing secrets, laughter, and late-nights.
But now, Clark was gone. No messages, no signals, nothing. Bruce's concern gnawed at him like a persistent itch. He knew that something was wrong.
As if that weren't enough, a weather satellite had picked up an anomaly near the North Pole. An odd disturbance, eerily reminiscent of the inexplicable event that had occurred on the Kent farm not long ago. Bruce had studied the data, his analytical mind piecing together fragments of a puzzle that defied logic.
The Batcomputer hummed softly, displaying images of swirling energies, magnetic fluctuations, and temporal distortions. Bruce's jaw tightened. Whatever had happened at the north pole was connected to Clark's disappearance. He could feel it in his bones.
He strode toward the massive Batcomputer, fingers dancing across the holographic interface. Maps, charts, and encrypted files filled the screens. Alfred, ever the unflappable butler, stood nearby, observing Bruce's restless energy.
"Master Wayne," Alfred's voice cut through the tension, "might I inquire as to your intentions?"
Bruce didn't look up. "We're going to Smallville, Alfred I intend to find out what happened to Clark, then we are going North"
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "And what shall I arrange, sir?"
"Prepare the jet," Bruce replied. "We'll need supplies, surveillance equipment. Just in case."
Alfred nodded, his expression unreadable. "Very well, sir. But might I suggest you also pack hope? It seems to be in short supply these days."
Bruce's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Hope, Alfred? In our line of work?"
"Indeed," Alfred said, adjusting his glasses. "Sometimes, even the darkest nights give way to dawn."
Bruce would unravel the mystery of Clark's disappearance, confront the strange forces at play, and perhaps discover that hope—however elusive—still flickered in the shadows.
As the jet soared toward Smallville, Bruce wondered what secrets awaited. The answers lay hidden, like buried treasure, waiting for him to unearth them.
Earth Two (Db)
Bulma Briefs, brilliant scientist and inventor, had been hunched over her workstations for a gruelling 24 hours straight. The hum of machinery, the glow of holographic displays, and the scent of soldered circuits enveloped her. She was on the brink of a breakthrough, fuelled by equal parts determination and caffeine.
It wasn't until Vegeta, stormed into her lab that she tore her eyes away from the screens. His scowl was as familiar as the whir of her machines. She knew exactly why he was there, "If you want food, get it yourself," she snapped, her patience worn thin. Bulma knew better than to expect pleasantries from the Prince of all Saiyans.
Vegeta's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. Instead, he muttered something about her being holed up for over a day and retreated, slamming the door behind him. Bulma sighed. Time had lost all meaning; exhaustion gnawed at her bones. But this was no ordinary project. It was a battle of wits against the unknown, and she refused to surrender.
As she rubbed her temples, Bulma decided that sleep was the elusive answer. But before she succumbed to fatigue, she needed to inform Goku, her childhood friend deserved to know what she'd uncovered.
Meanwhile, at Goku's modest home, the phone rang. Gohan, abandoned his textbooks and answered. "Hello?" he said, his voice tinged with curiosity.
"Hey, Gohan," Bulma's voice crackled through the line. "Is your dad there?"
"No, he's out training," Gohan replied. His father's dedication to martial arts was unwavering.
"Well, tell him to come over to mine tomorrow for tea," Bulma instructed. "You're all welcome. I have some things I need to fill you in on."
Gohan's brow furrowed. What could Bulma possibly want to share? The Capsule Corporation was a hub of secrets, and when Bulma Brief called, it usually meant trouble—or a groundbreaking discovery.
As the phone call ended, Gohan returned to his studies, pondering the mysteries that awaited them.
Elsewhere, in a secluded underground base, Dr. Gero stood over the unconscious Kryptonian. His lab coat billowed as he surveyed his prize—a living specimen from a distant world. The Kryptonian's DNA held the key to unlocking unimaginable power, and Dr. Gero's obsession had led him here.
The base hummed with hidden machinery, its walls lined with monitors displaying genetic sequences, alien schematics, and forbidden equations. Dr. Gero had spent years piecing together the puzzle. Now, he had the final piece—the Kryptonian himself.
Clark, lay motionless on a sterile examination table. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, a testament to his otherworldly resilience. Dr. Gero's eyes gleamed with anticipation. The Kryptonian's genetic code was unlike anything Earth had ever seen—a fusion of science and magic, of ancient civilizations and cosmic energies.
The ship, a sleek metallic craft of Kryptonian design, hovered nearby. Its surface shimmered, reflecting the fluorescent lights of the lab.
With surgical precision, Dr. Gero guided the Kryptonian's hand to an indentation on the ship's outer hull. The metal responded, shifting and reshaping. The ship hummed to life, its top section unfolding like a mechanical flower. A small cockpit emerged, its controls glowing with alien symbols.
Dr. Gero's smile was anything but benevolent. He had glimpsed forbidden knowledge—the secrets of gods and galaxies. The Kryptonian's memories, his abilities, his weaknesses—they all lay within reach. Dr. Gero's quest for power had led him here, to this pivotal moment.
"I'll unlock all your secrets," Dr. Gero whispered, fingers dancing across the console. The ship's holographic displays flickered, revealing star maps, energy matrices, and glimpses of distant worlds. The Kryptonian's eyes fluttered, as if sensing the intrusion.
But Dr. Gero was undeterred. He would unravel the mysteries of Krypton, rewrite the laws of physics, and ascend beyond mortal limitations. The universe would tremble at his newfound might.
As the ship's systems whirred, Dr. Gero's laughter echoed through the base. The Kryptonian's fate hung in the balance—a pawn in a cosmic game of chess. And Dr. Gero, the mad scientist, reveled in the thrill of forbidden knowledge.
Alarms blared, their shrill tones slicing through the sterile air of Dr. Gero's hidden laboratory. The room pulsed with anticipation as Clark, stirred on the examination table. Consciousness clawed its way back to him, like a swimmer surfacing from the depths of a dark ocean.
Dr. Gero, stood frozen. His eyes widened as he watched the impossible unfold. Clark's recovery defied all known laws of biology.
"Im-impossible," Dr. Gero stammered, his voice barely audible. Without hesitation, Dr. Gero lunged toward a nearby console. His fingers danced across the holographic interface, activating emergency protocols. A single button press triggered a familiar blue beam—a weapon thanks to his older self. It enveloped Clark, cocooning him in energy.
Pain surged through Clark's body. His muscles convulsed, and his vision blurred. Desperate, he clung to consciousness, fighting against the onslaught. The beam probed his very essence, seeking vulnerabilities, unravelling secrets buried deep within his cells.
But Clark was no ordinary man, His willpower burned like a distant star. As the pain threatened to consume him, he glimpsed fragments of memories: a Kansas farmhouse, his mother.
And then, darkness swallowed him whole.
Dr. Gero exhaled, unaware that he, too, had been holding his breath. How could Clark recover so swiftly? The Kryptonian's physiology was a riddle wrapped in an enigma. Dr. Gero vowed to be more cautious. His obsession with unlocking Kryptonian secrets had led him down a treacherous path.
As the alarms subsided, Dr. Gero studied the unconscious hero "I need to be more careful," Dr. Gero muttered, his eyes narrowing.
Goku, soared through the air, propelled by Piccolo's thunderous kick. Caught off guard, the impact rattled his bones, leaving him sprawled in the dust. But Goku was no stranger to pain, he stood up dusting himself off.
"I don't need pity," Piccolo sneered, his green skin contrasting with the scorched earth. The Namekian had been both adversary and ally, a complex dance of honour and rivalry.
Goku shook his head, sweat clinging to his brow. "I felt something," he confessed, his voice raw. "It distracted me."
Piccolo's antennae twitched. "How many times do I need to tell you to keep your guard up, Goku?" His words were sharp, a reminder of battles won and lost.
But Goku's gaze shifted beyond Piccolo, toward the horizon. "There was a huge Ki," he said, his voice hushed. "Brief, but it felt like nothing I've ever sensed before."
Piccolo's frown deepened. "Interesting," he mused. "I didn't sense anything. Maybe your senses are malfunctioning. You were alone for a while after all."
As Piccolo walked away, Goku remained rooted to the spot. Doubt gnawed at him. Was he imagining things? Or had he glimpsed a power beyond even Super Saiyan?
Earth One (DC)
Bruce's investigation in Smallville had yielded no results. Despite his meticulous questioning and exhaustive search of the Kent farm, he was met with dead ends at every turn. Reluctantly conceding defeat in this part of his quest, Bruce set his sights on a more remote and promising location—the North Pole. There, a secluded outpost stood, one that was accessible to him thanks to a generous donation he had made previously. With determination fueling his journey, Bruce traveled towards the icy solitude, harboring a flicker of hope that this frigid frontier would unveil the answers he so desperately sought.
Earth Two (Db)
Goku, having just finished a meal that could easily feed a small army, leaned back with a contented sigh. Bulma, seizing the moment of tranquility, began to unravel the tale of her recent endeavors and the unforeseen occurrences of the previous day. Goku listened intently, a notion stirring within him that this narrative might be linked to the peculiar energy he had detected earlier.
As Bulma delved deeper into her explanation, her words flowed faster, driven by a palpable enthusiasm. "In light of yesterday's events, I've been meticulously analyzing the incoming data," she declared. "The pieces are finally coming together, and I've gathered enough insight to construct a specialized radar. This device will be our key to locating the object of interest, regardless of whether it's active or not." Her voice, tinged with excitement, underscored the breakthrough that could very well change the course of their adventure.
"I'm aiming to complete a prototype by next week," Bulma announced with a determined glint in her eye. "Once it's ready, we'll have the means to track down Dr. Gero, and you can thwart his plans once more," she explained. Vegeta scoffed at the notion, his pride surfacing in a dismissive retort. "As if," he snorted. "I'm clearly the superior choice for such a task."
Bulma's gaze fixed on Vegeta, her irritation manifesting as a throbbing vein on her forehead.
Changing the subject, Bulma turned to Goku with a softer tone. "How are you finding things here, Goku?" she inquired, genuinely interested. The evening wore on, filled with the sounds of lively discussions and shared mirth. But as the night deepened, the moment arrived for each to part ways, carrying with them the warmth of the night's camaraderie.
In the days that followed, the Kryptonian's consciousness began to surface more frequently, challenging Dr. Gero's efforts to maintain sedation. The alien's physiology was adapting, becoming resistant his efforts, leaving Dr. Gero uncertain about how much longer he could maintain dominion over him.
After numerous attempts, Dr. Gero had succeeded in extracting a blood sample, a feat considering the Kryptonian's nearly invulnerable skin. The blue energy weapon only added to his astonishment; it was uniquely effective against Kryptonian biology. Despite this, Dr. Gero took great care to shield his subject from any exposure to sunlight, well aware that such an encounter could swiftly wrest control from his grasp.
Meanwhile, as the computers diligently processed petabytes of data, Dr. Gero was already formulating backup strategies, preparing for any eventuality that might arise from this precarious experiment.
Earth One (DC)
Bruce had at last reached the remote outpost near the North Pole. The warm reception he and Alfred received was undoubtedly influenced by his generous contribution. At this scientific haven, Bruce Wayne's celebrity status was irrelevant.
Following a few pleasantries, the staff gave him a tour of the facility and detailed their ongoing research. Bruce, genuinely intrigued by the science, managed to maintain his playboy facade, offering only subtle hints of his true interest through smiles and nods.
As night descended, Bruce geared up for action. During the tour, he had subtly inquired about the layout, security measures, and the staff's routines at the base.
He retrieved a custom-made batsuit, embodying his motto to always be prepared. The suit was tailored for the Arctic environment—pristine white to blend with the snow and ice, insulated with aerogel, and equipped with heated gloves and boots.
The boots featured spikes for traction and concealed blades in the heel and toe for climbing. The helmet shielded his entire face, fitted with night vision goggles to compensate for the fleeting daylight of the polar winter.
Bruce donned his meticulously designed suit, ensuring every piece was secured and operational. He then initiated a communications check with his loyal confidant, Alfred. "Coms check," he announced into the integrated microphone.
The response was immediate and crisp in his earpiece. "Hearing you loud and clear, Master Wayne," Alfred's voice came through, a reassuring presence in the cold silence of the outpost. "The hallways are currently devoid of activity. Now is the opportune moment to proceed."
With a nod to the empty room, Bruce acknowledged the guidance and exited his quarters. His movements were silent, a testament to the countless hours of training and the suit's design, as he navigated the maze of corridors with practiced ease. He was a shadow flitting through the dimly lit passageways, his presence unnoticed.
Alfred, a master of surveillance from afar, was simultaneously engaged in a delicate dance with the outpost's security systems. He disabled cameras and silenced alarms with the finesse of a seasoned conductor, ensuring that Bruce's path remained unobstructed.
"The exit door has been unlocked for you. Good luck, Master Wayne," Alfred communicated, his voice steady and calm, betraying none of the tension that such an operation warranted.
"Thanks, Alfred. I'll radio in with updates should I encounter anything of note," Bruce replied, his voice equally composed. With a final glance to ensure the coast was clear, he stepped through the threshold, the door whispering shut behind him, leaving no trace of his departure.
As Bruce ventured into the frigid Arctic night, his suit blended seamlessly with the snowy landscape, the white camouflage rendering him nearly invisible. The insulated fabric shielded him from the biting cold, while the heaters embedded in his gloves and boots kept his extremities warm. The spikes on his boots dug into the ice, providing stability as he moved towards his objective, the retractable blades at the ready for any unexpected need to scale icy walls.
The helmet was a marvel of engineering, the night vision goggles allowing him to see in the perpetual twilight of the polar winter.
Bruce activated a concealed button on his headgear, bringing to life a rudimentary heads-up display—cutting-edge for its era. It provided him with a simple bearing and the distance to his target. After a two-hour journey, Bruce reached the site of the reported anomaly. There, he discovered footprints in the ground, confirming his research: there had been no snowfall since Clark's vanishing.
Following the footprints, Bruce came upon a peculiar scene where the snow and ice had retreated, exposing a dome-like structure with a flat, refrozen base. This had to be the place of Clark's disappearance—Bruce was convinced of it.
His night vision still on, Bruce's gaze was drawn to a jagged line that cut through the air, pulsating with an eerie glow akin to a mysterious energy void. He encircled it with caution, scrutinizing the phenomenon. The suit's sensors, though basic, detected heat and electromagnetic anomalies, suggesting the presence of something in the invisible spectrum. The glowing line seemed to beckon, hinting at secrets just beyond perception.
Bruce knew more sophisticated tools were needed to delve deeper into this mystery. The challenge of bringing them to this remote location weighed on his mind. He spent an hour meticulously examining the area, then revisited the glowing anomaly for a second scan. There was a theory he needed to test back at the base. With the image of the glowing line etched in his memory, he began the trek back, the void's luminescence fading behind him.
Upon returning to his quarters, Bruce briefed Alfred on the evening's escapades. While reviewing the gathered data, he confirmed his suspicions: the anomaly was diminishing. It had contracted by approximately 2mm within the span of an hour. Running the numbers swiftly in his mind, Bruce deduced that they had less than 48 hours before the anomaly would vanish entirely.
The following morning, Bruce approached the team leaders directly. "I'm truly impressed by the work you're accomplishing here," he began, offering his commendations. "Could you tell me what sort of equipment would facilitate your efforts or enhance your operations?" he inquired. Met with initial hesitation, Bruce spent the next thirty minutes gaining their trust and compiling a list of the necessary equipment. He then reached out to Alfred: "I require certain tools to thoroughly investigate this anomaly, and I've devised a plan for their delivery. We'll covertly transport them alongside the supplies we're procuring for the outpost." Alfred's response came with a knowing smile. "You're always one step ahead, Master Wayne. Forward me the list, and I'll ensure its arrival."
"Alfred, we need the equipment here by tomorrow. Spare no expense and reach out to whoever is necessary," Bruce instructed firmly. "Understood, sir," Alfred replied, and immediately set to work.
By late afternoon the next day, a cargo plane touched down. Bruce couldn't help but admire Alfred's efficiency and chose not to dwell on the financial toll.
As time for sleep came, Bruce donned his suit and made his way to the storage facility. He heaved a high-powered generator onto a trailer, the weight causing him to exert himself, sweat accumulating within his suit. He then secured a high-powered laser and other covertly acquired equipment. Hitching the trailer to a snowmobile, he maneuvered it outside, starting the engine with a hushed roar.
Once a safe distance from the base, Bruce accelerated, the journey taking a mere 20 minutes. Upon arrival, he assessed the anomaly, noting with a sense of urgency that it had diminished significantly.
Bruce pondered the anomaly's presence, especially given its absence from the Kent farm. He theorized that perhaps a struggle with Clark had caused the anomaly to seek more energy, thereby increasing its size. For five hours, Bruce experimented with numerous methods and adjustments in an attempt to expand the anomaly, but to no avail.
With one final strategy in mind, Bruce harnessed the insights gained from his earlier efforts. He powered up the generator and initiated the process once more. This time, there was a response—a flicker of change within the anomaly. Maybe Alfred was right, maybe there is some hope. thought Bruce.
Earth Two (DB)
A week had passed since Goku's feast at Bulma's place, and he had now made his way back. Bulma was there to greet him, holding a device that bore a striking resemblance to the dragon radar.
"You sure took your sweet time," Bulma muttered with a hint of annoyance. Goku, with a sheepish rub of his neck, responded, "Yeah, sorry about that. Chi-Chi wasn't exactly keen on letting me go."
"Well, we should get going," Bulma urged, eager to proceed. Goku, caught off guard, replied, "Oh, I assumed I'd be heading out solo." Bulma's temper flared at the comment. "Really?" she retorted sharply. "You think after slaving away for over a week, I'd just hand it over and let you bask in all the glory?" Goku, sensing the rising tension, quickly tried to defuse the situation. "Bulma, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry," he said, taking a cautious step back.
"Alright," Bulma conceded with a hint of resignation, striding ahead. Goku trailed behind her, and soon they were all aboard Bulma's flying craft, along with Vegeta and Piccolo. With a flick of a switch, the radar sprang to life, and they veered southeast, embarking on a journey that promised to be lengthy. Goku, unable to contain his restlessness, succumbed to sleep within minutes. Stirring awake, he mumbled, "Are we there yet?" Bulma, visibly irked, chose to ignore his repeated inquiries.
However, Goku's persistent questioning eventually wore down her patience. On the fourth "Are we there yet?" Bulma snapped. Abruptly releasing the controls, she spun around, her voice escalating to a shout, "I WILL tell you when we arrive—now be QUIET!" The sudden outburst caused the craft to lurch sideways, plunging in a wild descent that sent its passengers tumbling until Bulma managed to wrestle it back to stability.
From a safe distance, Piccolo, who had been flying alongside the vehicle, merely shook his head in silent disapproval. And that's why I prefer the open sky, he thought to himself, reaffirming his choice to avoid the chaos within the craft.
Goku concluded that the best recourse was to do some mind training, he sat closed his eyes and started training. His training was abruptly interrupted by a piercing scream, jolting him back to reality as his head collided with the ceiling. "We're being attacked!" Bulma cried out, her voice laced with fear. At that moment, a missile detonated perilously close, but Piccolo deftly intercepted it, preventing any damage.
Bulma quickly surmised the situation. "It seems we've set off his defences," she said, a note of urgency in her voice. "I need to make an emergency landing." The tension was palpable as she maneuvered the craft towards the ground, ready to face the unforeseen threat head-on.
Authors notes:
That's it for another chapter and it ended up been way longer than expected. The events with Bruce were not planed either. I had the chapter just about done, but that idea the came to me. Hope you liked it.