The scratching of a pen echoed softly within the dimly-lit chamber, mingling with the faint hum of machinery hidden somewhere in the background. Hugo Strange leaned over his desk, carefully signing his name at the bottom of the final letter. His handwriting was meticulous, sharp and precise—each stroke purposeful, as if it was a reflection of the man himself. He set the pen down and held the page up, inspecting it beneath the light glow of a desk lamp. A thin, satisfied smile touched the corner of his lips before fading away just as quickly.
"Excellent."
Strange murmured to himself, folding the letter and sliding it into an envelope. The quiet click of sealing wax punctuated the moment as he pressed his personal stamp—a stylized "S"—onto the warm red wax. And that is when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Doctor Strange."
The voice called out calmly. Strange didn't look up right away. Instead, he took a moment, gently tracing a finger along the now-sealed envelope. Finally, he turned, his eyes meeting those of a young man in a dark uniform, standing a short distance away.
"You're early, Wallace. Eager, or anxious?"
"You said it was important, sir."
"Indeed."
Strange replied simply, rising from his chair and gathering the stack of neatly sealed envelopes. He approached Wallace slowly, extending them forward. The young man reached out cautiously, accepting them as if handling a dangerous weapon.
"Deliver these letters personally. No intermediaries. Ensure they reach the intended recipients swiftly and discreetly. Gotham will be watching, Wallace—and so will I. Mistakes are not acceptable."
"Understood, sir."
Wallace nodded, his grip tightening on the letters. Strange's gaze lingered, dissecting the young man's composure until Wallace finally lowered his eyes, unable to withstand the intense scrutiny any longer.
"Good. Then be on your way."
Strange said softly, dismissing the young man with a slight wave of his hand. Wallace hesitated no further, turning sharply on his heel and moving swiftly toward the exit, footsteps fading down the hall until they vanished completely. In the renewed silence, Strange stood for a moment, thoughtful, eyes fixed on the empty doorway. The faintest hint of a smile returned to his lips.
"It begins."
He whispered to himself, as he made his way out of the room, holding his hands behind his back. The area gradually widened, opening into a spacious chamber filled with the steady hum of machinery. At its center stood a complex structure—a towering device pieced together from technology not native to Gotham.
The teleporter.
He stepped toward it, eyes narrowing in quiet scrutiny behind his round glasses. Strange extended his hand, gently adjusting a dial on the console. The machine responded instantly; its hum intensified. A small, knowing smile briefly surfaced on his lips. The pieces were aligning precisely as he'd intended. Strange had chosen Wallace specifically for his predictability—his incompetence practically guaranteed an error. Such errors inevitably drew the watchful eye of Gotham's Dark Knight. And where the Bat went, the Boy Wonder was never far behind. Yes, Wallace would falter, Strange knew that well. Perhaps he was already being followed through Gotham's shadow-filled alleys—one mistake, however slight, was enough to lure the vigilante. Strange's fingers paused for just a moment, lingering thoughtfully above the controls as if picturing the moment already unfolding beyond his walls.
Just as planned.
He let out a faint sigh, and withdrew his hand, glancing briefly around the chamber. Strange's thoughts shifted for a moment elsewhere, toward Musutafu, the strange city he'd begun to explore. Clayface's mission there was equally critical, though admittedly less predictable. He wondered briefly if Karlo had embraced his new environment—if the man was playing his part carefully, or if he'd already become restless. Knowing Basil Karlo, it was likely the first option, or perhaps a mix of the two. Clayface's nature was, after all, precisely why Strange had selected him for that task. Regardless of Karlo's progress, Musutafu was a city of untapped potential—filled with heroes, villains, and those still lingering between. It was a perfect stage, as he'd already explained to Karlo. And this experiment was about to be delicious.
Strange turned once more to the teleporter, reaching forward again, carefully recalibrating a second, smaller dial. The faint glow from the device flickered across his glasses, obscuring his eyes a bit.
"Patience. Every actor will take their place soon enough."
He murmured softly, to no one but himself. All that remained was for Gotham's heroes to walk into his trap, and that required patience.
Tomorrow Night
"Gentlemen..."
Hugo Strange's voice resonated smoothly, cutting through the restless murmurs that had begun to echo around the spacious room. Silence quickly settled, and all eyes turned toward the end of the long, imposing table, where Strange stood calmly, hands behind his back. A thick white cloth covered the machine behind him. The gathered figures exchanged wary glances. Two-Face sat rigidly, fingering the coin in his hand as if fighting the urge to flip it. Across from him, Penguin puffed thoughtfully at a cigarette holder, releasing smoke in measured breaths. Scarecrow's gaunt frame leaned forward with dark curiosity, while Riddler tapped impatiently on the table with the handle of his cane, eyebrows knitted in skepticism. Bane lounged slightly apart, his expression neutral but watchful. There were others there as well. Mr. Freeze, Firefly, and Deadshot, just to name a few among many others. Strange began slowly, deliberately pacing around the table as he addressed them.
"You are undoubtedly wondering why I've gathered you all here tonight. Gotham has been our home for longer than any of us care to remember—each of us tied, in some manner or another, to the fate of this city. And yet, Gotham, with all its decay and darkness, has begun to stagnate."
"Save the poetic crap, Strange. We aren't here for a lecture. What's your point?"
Two-Face growled under his breath. Strange halted mid-step, turning slowly to regard Harvey Dent with a faint, controlled smile.
"Patience, Mr. Dent. My point is quite simple—this city has offered us all it can. We thrive in shadows, gentlemen. Shadows that, I fear, have begun to lose their appeal."
He let the words linger, eyes flicking carefully around the table to gauge their reactions.
"What exactly are you suggesting, Doctor Strange? That we simply leave Gotham behind? Forgive my skepticism, but I don't see the upside in abandoning our empire."
Penguin commented, his gaze sharpening behind his monocle.
"An empire built on ruins is no empire at all, Mr. Cobblepot. What I am proposing is not abandonment—but expansion."
"Expansion? Where, exactly? Metropolis? Star City? We've been down that road before. It never ends well."
Bane said as he interjected, raising an eyebrow.
"Not Metropolis, Not Star City. In fact, not anywhere in this world."
A ripple of confusion and interest moved through the group. Riddler's tapping ceased instantly.
"Explain yourself, you're speaking in riddles."
Scarecrow said quietly. Strange paused, then moved to stand beside the concealed machinery, one hand gripping the edge of the cloth gently.
"I speak of a place far removed from Gotham—a world entirely unlike our own. A world where powers, far beyond anything we've encountered here, are not merely accepted...but commonplace. Imagine a society that idolizes strength, celebrates difference, and rewards ambition—no matter its form."
He drew back the cloth in one smooth motion, revealing the teleporter. The machine hummed quietly, blue lights tracing circuits and wires in rhythmic patterns.
"A stage entirely fresh, untouched by our exploits. Unprepared for minds like ours. We would be pioneers, conquerors in this new playing field."
Strange continued, his voice dropping to an enticing whisper. The room fell into tense silence as they stared at the strange device before them, processing Strange's words. It was Two-Face who finally spoke first, flipping his coin absently between his fingers.
"You're serious, Strange? You're talking about another damn universe?"
"Indeed. Another universe, ripe for exploration and domination."
"Intriguing proposition, Doctor, I'll admit. But how exactly do we fit into this brave new world you're painting? We're not exactly known for our diplomatic charm."
Penguin asked as he leaned back slowly, a thoughtful glint entering his eyes. A faint chuckle rippled around the table, easing the tension slightly. Strange inclined his head with a polite smile.
"Charm is subjective, Mr. Cobblepot. These so-called 'heroes' parade openly, celebrated by the masses. Their very power structure is defined by public perception—popularity, if you will. It is a superficial world, built on fragile illusions of peace and security. Imagine how quickly it could fracture under the right pressure."
"You mean, under our pressure."
Bane remarked, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Precisely, our influence would grow not through simple brutality, but manipulation, strategy. This is not Gotham, after all. There are no familiar shadows to hide behind, no Bat lurking in the dark—"
"Speaking of the Bat...You didn't invite the Joker. Does this little fantasy of yours exclude the clown, or did he just miss the invite?"
Riddler interrupted sharply, his eyes suspicious. Strange's expression darkened momentarily, a fleeting shadow crossing his face.
"The Joker is...Unpredictable. His presence would jeopardize our objectives. You all know this well. He thrives on chaos alone—he cannot be reasoned with, nor controlled."
"Fair point. Can't say I'll miss him."
Penguin commented as he scoffed, nodding approvingly. Two-Face frowned slightly, flipping his coin again, the metallic clink breaking the brief silence.
"You've thought this through, Strange. But how can you guarantee our safety? How stable is this...Contraption?"
"Perfectly stable, I have thoroughly tested every possible scenario. Your safety—and more importantly, your freedom—are fully accounted for."
Strange replied, placing a reassuring hand on the machine's console. Another heavy silence filled the room as the gathered villains exchanged thoughtful glances, carefully weighing the risks and potential rewards. Strange would continue, noticing that their full attention now.
"Consider, an entirely fresh canvas upon which to leave our marks. Imagine building something lasting, something new. Not a Gotham twisted by violence and despair, but a world reshaped by our hands, from the ground up. A city defined by us. This is more than just an invitation, gentlemen—it is an opportunity. A new world awaits your arrival, waiting to be remade in your image. Will you seize it...or will you remain prisoners of your familiar failures?"
The silence was thick, charged with anticipation. Finally, it was Penguin who broke it, stubbing out his cigarette decisively.
"Well, Doctor Strange, you've piqued my curiosity."
Penguin would note, Two-Face's coin stopped spinning, clenched tightly in his palm as he stared pensively at the teleporter. Bane simply offered a small, calculating smile. Scarecrow leaned back, satisfied for the moment, while Riddler nodded slowly, tapping thoughtfully at his cane. Strange straightened, a quiet triumph flickering in his eyes.
"So..."
He concluded calmly.
"Shall we—"
A sharp tap of a cane echoed suddenly through the chamber, cutting him off.
"Not so fast, Doctor."
The Riddler interjected smoothly, leaning forward with a curious glint in his eyes.
"Forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical—but let's be honest. Generosity was never one of your defining traits. You didn't gather us here tonight simply to offer charity. You're smarter than that, and frankly, so am I."
Riddler would say, as Strange paused, turning slowly to meet Edward Nygma's piercing gaze. A subtle smile curved his lips, as if he'd anticipated the interruption all along.
"Very perceptive, Edward. I expected nothing less from you. Indeed, I do have a more significant agenda beyond merely offering you a new playground."
"Care to elaborate, Doctor?"
"Certainly, Edward."
Strange answered, walking slowly back around the table, deliberately ensuring each villain's eyes followed his every movement.
"In that world, powers—or as they call them, 'Quirks'—are not random occurrences triggered by external circumstances or accidents. They are deeply rooted, woven biologically into their very DNA from birth."
"Biological powers? You seek to harness them then..."
Riddler commented as he gave a prideful smirk, immediately deducing this grand agenda of his.
"Precisely. Imagine the possibilities. Powers extracted, distilled, and harnessed. Quirks converted into a tangible, manipulatable form—serums, drugs, and perhaps something even greater."
Strange proclaimed as his eyes gleamed behind his glasses. Two-Face scoffed skeptically, flipping his coin again in agitation.
"Sounds ambitious. Too ambitious. You're talkin' about genetic manipulation here, Strange. That's not some small-time heist."
"No, Mr. Dent, it's far greater. I propose an alliance—a mutually beneficial partnership. I provide each of you with access to this unexplored world, ripe for domination. In return, I require your cooperation in acquiring the necessary samples and resources."
Strange responded calmly, unfazed by Harvey's skepticism. Bane tilted his head, thoughtfully intrigued as he interjected.
"And the rewards?"
"Power beyond measure. Control. Imagine synthesizing Quirks that grant the strength to shatter steel, manipulate minds, alter one's appearance at will—the possibilities are nearly infinite. A market untapped, and an opportunity unparalleled. Together, we will pioneer an entirely new enterprise. Each of you stands to gain immensely. Imagine, Mr. Cobblepot, a weaponized Quirk-enhancement serum to distribute on the black market. Or you, Dr. Crane, the terror you might instill with new chemical compounds derived from these extraordinary abilities."
"Fear enhanced by biological manipulation...Fascinating."
Scarecrow responded as his eyes glowed hungrily. Riddler, however, tapped impatiently, eyes narrowing slightly.
"And you, Strange? What exactly do you gain in all of this?"
"Knowledge, Edward. Unrivaled scientific breakthrough. This venture is as much intellectual as it is practical. The study of Quirks opens a path towards understanding human evolution itself. But rest assured—my gains will never impede yours. This is a mutual benefit, after all. You are Gotham's finest—brilliant minds, capable hands. Each of you offers skills and resources indispensable to this endeavor. Together, our reach expands, and our influence grows beyond anything previously imagined."
The room fell silent again, heavy with contemplation. Strange's eyes flickered between each figure, reading their expressions—interest, ambition, skepticism—all merging into a cautious yet undeniable desire. At last, Two-Face broke the tension.
"Let's say we agree, Doctor. How exactly would we go about this? Just hop through your contraption and hope for the best?"
"Hardly..."
Strange answered, moving calmly back towards the teleporter. From a nearby console, he retrieved a small metal box, opening it carefully to reveal several sleek, identical black devices neatly aligned inside, the same exact device he had given Clayface previously. He lifted one and held it up for all to see.
"Each of you will receive one of these. Activating it will immediately return you here, safely, to Gotham. Consider it your personal insurance. Should the situation become inconvenient—or if you simply tire of Musutafu—you may return at will, and go back at will...At any time, anywhere."
"Convenient..."
Bane smirked faintly, eyes fixed on the device.
"No, necessary..."
Strange replied simply. He moved around the table, handing one device carefully to each villain present. They accepted the small device hesitantly, turning it over in their hands, examining it curiously. As Riddler accepted his device, he paused, studying Strange's face carefully.
"You're staking an awful lot on our cooperation, Hugo."
"I trust your ambition, Edward. It is, after all, a force stronger than loyalty."
Strange returned to the head of the table, gaze calm, commanding, eyes sparkling with quiet victory.
"So, the choice is yours. Remain in Gotham, forever bound to familiar patterns of struggle and defeat—or join me, and step through the door to untold possibilities, to power never before imagined."
He let the final words linger in the heavy silence. The villains looked from one to another, exchanging calculating looks. Finally, the Riddler broke the tension, a sly grin curving his lips.
"I must admit, Doctor, you've managed to spark my curiosity. It would be a shame to let such an opportunity slip away."
"Indeed. One doesn't achieve greatness by playing it safe."
Penguin inclined his head in agreement.
"A fresh start... it might just be worth the gamble."
Two-Face tightened his grip around the small device in his hand, his coin momentarily forgotten. Strange's lips curled into a satisfied smile.
"Then, gentlemen...Shall we proceed?"
A few moments later, Strange stood silently, watching as the last traces of Gotham's most notorious figures vanished through the humming portal. As the room fell into silence, he adjusted his glasses carefully, observing the pulsing energy still radiating from the teleporter.
"You can come out now, Batman. I've been expecting you."
Strange said calmly, not bothering to turn around. From the shadows behind him, Batman stepped forward slowly, Robin—Damian Wayne—right by his side, fists clenched in quiet fury. Batman's voice was low, dangerous, edged with barely restrained anger.
"You've gone too far this time, Strange."
"And yet, here you are. Predictable as ever."
Strange said as he turned slowly, facing the Dark Knight with an unnerving calmness. Without hesitation, Batman surged forward, landing a fierce punch that sent Strange backwards to the ground. The scientist's glasses shattered, scattering across the cold, hard floor. Strange remained there, on the floor, a thin trail of blood trickling down his cheek. Yet, disturbingly, his smile remained.
"Turn it off, now! Bring them all back!"
Robin demanded as he stepped forward, scowling fiercely. Batman loomed closer, towering over Strange, voice harsh and unyielding.
"You heard him. Tell me how to reverse it, Strange."
"You misunderstand, Batman. There is no going back. Even if I wanted to, it's too late."
Strange said as his smile widened slightly. As if in response, the teleporter suddenly flickered behind them, emitting a series of rapid, uneven pulses. Lights on the control panel began flashing erratically. Batman glanced sharply at the device, suspicion instantly turning to concern.
"What did you do?"
"I've already won. You simply haven't realized it yet."
Strange muttered as he laughed softly, wiping the blood from his lips. The hum grew louder, more violent. The entire chamber shook as the energy from the portal surged uncontrollably. Batman turned back sharply, cape billowing in the chaotic rush of air.
"Robin, get back—!"
But before he could finish, blinding white light engulfed the room, swallowing all sound and sense.
And then...Silence.
Batman opened his eyes slowly, senses immediately alert. A cold breeze brushed against his face, carrying the unfamiliar sounds of a distant city. He rose cautiously to his feet, cape billowing gently behind him, and stared out at the sprawling metropolis beneath the night sky.
This wasn't Gotham.
"Damian, are you alright?"
Batman asked as he turned his head, Robin was already standing, jaw clenched, scanning their surroundings with narrowed eyes.
"I'm fine...But we clearly aren't in Gotham anymore."
Batman approached the rooftop's edge, looking down at streets filled with bright neon lights, unfamiliar signage, and sleek, modern architecture that stood in sharp contrast to Gotham's gloomy, weathered structures.
"Strange...He must've been transported elsewhere when the portal malfunctioned."
"Or he planned this from the start, either way, he's gone."
Robin noted as Batman grimaced slightly beneath his cowl, fists tightening at his sides. He raised a hand to his ear, tapping the communicator.
"Alfred, come in. Alfred, do you copy?"
Static. Silence.
"Alfred, respond!"
Batman repeated, voice stern. Nothing but faint, crackling interference. Batman lowered his hand slowly.
"Father...We're cut off, aren't we?"
Robin said as he watched carefully, frustration slowly turning into genuine concern.
"Completely..."
Batman admitted gravely.
"We're on our own."