Three Days Later
Barbara meandered through the ship's hallways, a tray of food in one hand and a tablet tucked away in the other. For the past few days, she had been working on deciphering the string of ancient text that was Dr. Solen's notes. Her progress so far had been minimal at best, but she thought she was getting closer to figuring out how the text flowed and interacted with one another. It was just a matter of determining which language was the base and then expanding outwards from there. If only the woman hadn't used the four known bases all at once in her text. As it was, Barbara was close to pulling her hair out over it.
She passed by the Med Bay, not noticing the opaque, cylindrical tube that now occupied a space on the far wall, surrounded by identical, clear containers. Next to it, a monitor listed the various statuses of the item held within, along with all the remaining tests it had yet to perform.
Barbara sighed, rolling her shoulders as she approached the T-junction. Her mind felt sluggish from staring at text that refused to make sense, and the stale ship air wasn't doing her mood any favors, no matter how clean and pure Phoebe said it was. She really needed some more time to unwind and decompress. Maybe she should ask the AI if she could open the hangar for a bit, if for no other reason than some fresh air and a change of scenery. But first, she had to finish her current self-assigned mission.
It had started in the cafeteria, where she and the girl were having another meal together. But this time, the girl was far more talkative, weaving together words so that Barbara could get the basic gist of what was being said, a vast improvement compared to just a few days ago. She had even managed to communicate her name to Barbara.
Kara.
It was a good name and suited the girl perfectly, in Barbara's opinion. Just bright enough to match the obvious enthusiasm the girl projected, while also somehow fitting in with Themyscira's Ancient Greek theme. With coincidences like that cropping up around her, Barbara should probably try her luck at the lottery.
It had been talking with Kara that Barbara realized she knew next to nothing about Grim. Sure, she knew his world's history and some generalized facts about what he was. But as to who he was, she had nothing. He didn't talk about family back home, or about what he may miss now that he was in the past. Hell, she wasn't even sure if he had any hobbies! If anything, the only thing she could say for certain was that he wasn't one for human contact or interaction. He had been little more than a ghost to her since he came back from Gotham. But she had wanted to change that and planned to try and talk with him by bringing him lunch.
A small smile made itself known on the Archologist's face, as she turned her attention back to the hall. She turned right and came to a stop in front of a large, double-wide metallic door. Only for said door to slide open with a near-silent hiss. Just beyond, she could make out what had to be the intelligence center of the ship.
It was dimly lit, illuminated primarily by the cold blue glow of holographic displays and terminal readouts. The walls and consoles are a seamless blend of matte black carbon-composite plating, designed to absorb and dampen sound, ensuring hushed conversations remained private. The low, constant hum of the ship's systems creates a subtle background noise, punctuated by the occasional chime of incoming data. Within the room, the air felt colder than the rest of the ship, an ozone-like tang held within.
At the center of the room, backlit by the largest screen Barbara had yet seen on the ship, and a holo-table that put the one on the bridge to shame, stood Grim. The Spartan was busy glaring up at a large spiderweb of interconnected notes, pictures, and videos, all projected from the holo-table. To Barbara's slight surprise, he was fully ensconced back inside that armor of his, with all the damage she had seen earlier that week wiped away as if it had never been there in the first place. She saw his helmet twitch towards her for a second, before returning to the web in front of him, a silent greeting.
Barbara stepped forward, the soft whir of servos barely audible, as the door slid close behind her. She hesitated for a second, glancing at the tangled mess of notes, pictures, and video fragments hanging in midair before him. The sheer volume of information was dizzying—news reports from years ago being connected to the latest job report, lines connecting various people with one another, police reports intermixed in with photos of vigilantes from across the US, and at its center was a picture of Bruce Wayne.
"Looks like you've been busy," she commented, stepping up beside him and setting the tray down on a nearby table.
Grim remained silent for a moment, then reached up and flicked one of the holographic files aside. The web of data adjusted itself instantly, shifting the remaining pieces to compensate.
"Working," he finally replied, voice filtered through the external speakers of his helmet.
Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I gathered that much. Working on what exactly?"
Grim's head tilted slightly toward her before he reached for another file. A video feed expanded from the holo-table, displaying grainy security footage of what looked like a richly decorated hallway. The camera followed two sets of people meeting with one another in the center of the hallway. On one side, was Bruce Wayne and his ward, Dick Grayson, with one of the Daily Planet's reporters at their side. On the other, there was a group of what Barbara recognized to be US Senators.
"Wayne," she muttered, mostly to herself. The name alone carried so much weight, and seeing him in this context made Barbara's mind race through every scrap of information she had on the man. Billionaire, philanthropist, notorious playboy, and, somehow, a father of two, adopted children. Although, it may be back to just one, Barbara having the vague recollection of a news article a couple of years ago announcing the passing of his newest son.
"You go to Gotham one time, and all of a sudden you're tracking the lives of the rich and the famous?" She teased lightly, waiting for him to fill her in on what he had found.
Grim reached out and flicked a few buttons on the console below, removing a few strands of information and pulling forth another, sub-chart of information. This one seemed to have a picture of everyone Bruce Wayne had ever met, his ward, his dead son, their neighbor, the neighbor's kid, the Daily Planet reporter, Oliver Queen, Queen's wife, it was extensive. Beside a few of the pictures, there were renderings of various vigilantes, Batman, Robin, Superman, and Green Arrow, being the most prominent. Along with the renders there were actual photos of the vigilantes in action, the images cleaned and enhanced to provide the clearest possible picture.
"What is this?" Barbara asked with a near whisper.
"A network." Grim answered stoically, his gaze locked on Bruce Wayne at the center of the web. He then pressed another button, and the chart switched again, overlapping the many political connections the network held, along with a color-coding system he and Phoebe had developed to mark individuals that needed a deeper dive.
"Ok, but a network of what?... Throw me a bone here, Grim." Barbara asked.
Grim shifted, sparing a glance down towards the woman for a second, seemingly weighing and judging her behind that golden visor of his. Barbara didn't know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he must have found it as he tapped a prompt on the projection, minimizing the first chart and pulling up a 3D rendering of Earth. Over each major nation, a small news clip began to play, often featuring speeches and discussions of peace talks.
"When we first arrived in this universe, Phoebe noticed a discrepancy." Grim started to explain, "Throughout our universe's history, humanity was more often than not at war with itself. During the times it wasn't at war, it spent its time recouping and rearming for the next conflict. Your world, isn't like that."
Above them, three of the videos expanded, taking up a majority of the hologram. Within each video, Barbara could see a world leader making a speech about their country's nuclear disarmament measures. Next to the video was a rapidly changing series of tests and analytics. Some appeared to be trying to find inconsistencies in the speaker's speech patterns and body language, while others tracked online reactions, before tying it into later statistics once denuclearization efforts actually started.
Barbara frowned, eyes scanning the videos above them. "Disarmament?" she muttered, crossing her arms. "That doesn't sound like a bad thing."
Grim tilted his head slightly but didn't respond immediately. Instead, he flicked his fingers, and the videos shrank, replaced by new ones—footage of protests, unrest in the streets, reporters standing in front of burning buildings.
"It's not," he admitted. "Not on the surface. A world without nuclear weapons should, theoretically, be a safer one. But when Phoebe ran a predictive analysis based on human history—both yours and ours—something didn't add up."
Barbara felt a chill creep down her spine as she stared at the new images. "What do you mean?"
Grim tapped the console again, and a new projection emerged—a timeline stretching five years into the past, tracing events that, at first glance, seemed disconnected. But as Barbara focused, she began to see the pattern. Moments of global tension were followed by abrupt resolutions, each one coinciding with one of the countries' leaders requesting peace talks.
"Conflict is dropping at an unprecedented rate. It started with this world's smaller countries, countries that the rest of the world was content to leave to themselves. But it soon started to spread to the larger, more well-developed countries. Initially, it was small, loosely connected conflicts or disagreements. An extremely generous trade deal here, electric and gas infrastructure consolidation and integration there. Nothing that would draw wandering eyes." Grim listed.
The hologram then shifted once more, singling out the first datapoint in the pattern they had created.
It was a UN meeting, one that had been broadcasted the world over. Kaznia's and Markovia's representatives were seen screaming across the room at one another, threats of nukes being employed and imminent war. All because Kaznia believed Markovia was funding the rebel fighters within their country, disregarding the fact that Markovia couldn't even feed its own people with the funds it did have. The rest of the hall had done their best to try and soothe or appease the two countries, but all their offers landed on deaf ears. At the time, it had looked like war was a few days away for the two nations.
But then, Barbara remembered the two countries abruptly signing a resource pact, one that would allow them the funding they needed to deal with their respective issues, and like that, the threats ceased. The media praised the two nations, holding them up as an example for the rest of the world to follow. At the time, it was rhetoric, but it seemed to shift something in the UN. Peaceful solutions became more common, and there was less discussion of war in general.
"These were the first major nations to make such an abrupt shift on the world's stage."
Barbara's brow furrowed as she studied the holographic timeline. The pieces were clicking together in her mind, but the overall picture still felt… off.
"So, you're saying someone is guiding these shifts? Pushing for disarmament, for global peace, after having used the small nations as a testbed?" she asked, skepticism laced in her tone.
Grim gave a slight nod. "That's the leading theory."
Barbara exhaled sharply. "And you think Bruce Wayne is somehow connected to it?"
Grim didn't answer right away. Instead, he tapped another command, and the chart shifted again, filtering out most of the excess data and honing in on one central element—Bruce Wayne, at the intersection of multiple key figures: Senators, UN officials, CEOs, reporters… and vigilantes.
"He's well connected, both in the civilian and vigilante world. His company has often been seen to be one of the biggest backers for the main politicians we've investigated. He also has a controlling stake in his board, no truly connected family on paper, and is vastly wealthy. He has the resources to help orchestrate a worldwide conspiracy such as this, and that's just what we've found above board. I'm still waiting on Phoebe to breach his private network, so we can take a look at his records as Batman."
"Wait. Why would Bruce Wayne have Batman's records?" Barbara asked with a bit of confusion.
"Bruce Wayne is Batman." Grim answered stoically, as if it were a well-known fact.
Barbara's heart skipped a beat as the words hung in the air. Bruce Wayne is Batman.
She took a step back, her mind racing to process the information. Of course, she'd heard the rumors, the whispered suspicions. She'd even caught the odd bit of gossip during her time in the States, but she never truly considered it, never connected the dots. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy, the philanthropist—Batman?
But Grim's tone hadn't shifted. There was no amusement or satisfaction in delivering such a revelation. It was simply another constant in his world that Barbara had yet to fully understand.
"Are you sure?" she finally managed, her voice trembling despite herself. "I mean, that's… that's insane."
"I've obtained DNA evidence that proves it, along with acquiring fingerprints from one of the man's gauntlets." Grim explained, uncaring of the can of worms he'd opened.
She took a breath and tried to focus. Okay. Focus, Barbara. This was big—huge, in fact. It changed everything. His playboy persona, Wayne Enterprise's charity work, his adoptions- all of it seemed more nefarious knowing he was Batman. But that would pale in comparison if he were actively taking over the world.
"Ok," she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. "So, we think that Bruce Wayne, Batman, is manipulating nations from behind the scenes, all in an effort to establish world peace. But to what end?"
Grim glanced at her, his helmet slightly tilting as he tapped a few more commands into the holo-table. The screen shifted, and the holographic globe above them glowed brighter, now focusing on the data they had yet to uncover. The connections that had initially seemed scattered and disconnected were beginning to show a clearer pattern.
"Bruce Wayne has direct access to the heads of almost every major organization on the planet. Combine that with his connection to vigilantes through Batman, and you have a player that can manipulate all the pieces without showing his hand to anyone," Grim explained, his voice steady, almost cold. "He could be reshaping the world, and no one would know except for him."
But above them, the hologram shifted back, minimizing Bruce's picture so that he was at the center of the web before them. Additional bubbles then began to form itself around him, a blank silhouette with a question mark making up the center of these bubbles, before red lines began to spread themselves outwards, connecting with some of the politicians' pictures.
"But there's a problem with this theory. Bruce isn't as well-connected as he would need to be to make such a conspiracy work. These lines represent connections that he, nor anyone he's ever associated with, would be able to make. Yet, they all seem to be working towards the same goal." Grim continued before shifting back to the group as a whole, "The disarmament is a means to an end. They're positioning the global power structure to favor certain players, without anyone noticing. These 'peaceful' agreements are just a cover for something deeper—manipulating markets, consolidating resources, controlling nations, slashing military budgets, and mothballing new innovations."
Barbara swallowed. "You're saying they're not just nudging things along. They're setting up something big."
Grim nodded. "A coordinated effort like this suggests more than just a passing interest in global stability. They're laying the groundwork for something. And whatever it is, it's been in motion for years."
Barbara stared at the glowing web of connections, her mind running in overdrive. "World peace through influence and manipulation… It sounds like something out of a dystopian novel."
Grim's golden visor reflected the ever-shifting data before them. "It sounds like control."
XXXXXXXXXX
Across the Island
The Queen of the Amazons stood before her daughter, taking in how much her daughter has changed. Gone were the rounded cheeks and gangly legs of the little girl that had once ran rampant across the island. In their place, was a woman who was assured of herself, a woman who knew her place in the world. But also, a woman who would never be content with the status quo. A woman who would lead their people back into the world.
Yet, even with all that, Hippolyta didn't see the woman before her, she saw her Little Star. The child that had brought so much joy to her world through simply being her. Part of Hippolyta demanded that she put a stop to this, confine her daughter to the island, under her watch. But a larger portion of herself knew she couldn't do that. Diana was meant for greater things. The only thing she could do as a mother was let her Little Star go free, and hope, pray, that she'd return to her someday.
Hippolyta shifted her grip on the sword in her grip, seemingly checking its surface a final time for any sort of scratch or ding, but in reality, she was doing her best to disguise how glassy her eyes had become. All around her, her people watched on silently, the air filled with the dull ping of rainwater bouncing off their armor from the storm above. Just behind and beyond Diana stood the trireme, Nea Avgi. Made of the sturdiest wood and the strongest of sails, Hippolyta had little doubt it would not succeed in its journey. Across its decks, stood one-hundred and seventy of their sisters, all tasked with ferrying their Princess to the world beyond, before returning to the island's shores.
The Queen's gaze then shifted, looking up and into the eyes of her child. Under her gaze, Diana stiffened, a flash of uncertainty passing across her face before it was quickly hidden behind a serious look. Hippolyta was so proud of her daughter.
Hippolyta inhaled deeply, willing herself to be steady. She lifted the sword between them, its polished, steel blade reflecting the storm-gray sky above. With a solemn nod, she presented it to Diana.
"This sword is yours, my daughter," Hippolyta said, her voice strong despite the emotion threatening to choke her. "Forged in the heart of our island, tempered in the fires of Hephaestus himself. Let it serve you well in battle, and let it remind you always of where you come from."
Diana stepped forward, her hands steady as she took the blade from her mother's grasp. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. It was not just a weapon—it was a piece of Themyscira, a tether to the home she was about to leave behind.
"I will make you proud," Diana promised, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hippolyta reached forward then, cupping Diana's face in her hands. "You already have."
For a fleeting moment, Diana closed her eyes, allowing herself to be the child she once was—the child who had curled against her mother's side during storms, who had hung on her every word as she told stories of their ancestors. But that moment passed quickly, replaced by the weight of duty, of destiny.
A gust of wind swept across the shore, rattling the ship's sails and tugging at the Amazons' cloaks. It was time.
Pulling away from her mother's hold, Diana turned toward her sister, who was doing her best to remain regal. Although, she was clearly struggling based off the line of tears that seemed to be pouring down her face. The two sisters spent a moment just eyeing each other, wondering when it was that they had changed so much.
"The armor looks good on you." Donna complemented, motioning to the red and gold armor that poked out from underneath Diana's cloak.
Diana huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. "We'll have to get you a matching set."
Donna smirked through her tears. "I'll start praying to the gods."
For a moment, the tension eased between them, the weight of their parting momentarily forgotten. But it was fleeting.
Diana reached out, grasping Donna's forearm in the way of warriors, and Donna gripped hers just as tightly. "Keep them safe while I'm gone," Diana said, her voice dropping to something softer, something only for her sister.
"You know I will," Donna answered, though her voice cracked slightly. "Just… don't take too long."
Diana nodded, swallowing back the emotion tightening her throat. Then, with a final squeeze, she let go.
The ship was waiting.