30 Bits and pieces/Meeting a God

"Guns don't work," Batman was unflinching in his determination to drill it into my head as he swung his quarterstaff over mine. He was slow and reactive as he trained me, going easy on me. 

I spoke between my breaths as I circled him, "I want to be trained in them regardless." He nodded, "Ask Jason, he is far more experienced in them." 

I nodded, lunging just moments after, I struck low, trying to take advantage of my size, he slammed down his staff in the way of the swing and I was halted as he leveraged the strike to swing it down at me. The air bezel out of my chest as the staff slammed me down into the ground with a hit on the back. 

He removed the staff, "Good work, time to cool off." It was a simple training spar, a hands-on teaching experience and I was being knocked about like a rag doll. I had yet to even land a hit on the man. Still, I pushed myself off the foamed floor, trying to stand up, key word: trying.

He helped me, offering a hand he pulled me up. Exercise is hard, with a body like mine and training under Batman, it is hell, "Someone is coming to meet you by the way." 

I gave him a questioning gaze and just shrugged, he had no intention of ruining the surprise I see. Still, I sighed, it was going to take me years to be anywhere near the man, perhaps age was the only thing I had over him. Frustrating. 

Walking off the ring I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom of the training area. 

My eyes caught the mirror, I had to admit, it was a good thing that I jumped the streets as I did, with my face I saw no future other than a seat by some gang boss as his whore. Or maybe in a whore house. Well if my critters didn't exist. 

Those little things, they are fast, they are dangerous. And I have no idea what more I can do with them. Recon? Sure. Surprise? Sure. What else though? I 'know' this is more. Much more. But I am stuck. Those crystals sing any tune I desire. But I don't even know what tune I want them to sing. 

——— 

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No gods, no kings, only man. That's something I have lived by for my whole life. 

No God will ever answer your prayer, no king will ever come, and you can only trust your fellow man. 

You are one amongst billions, what makes your prayer more noticeable than the kind nun who has dedicated her life to the church? What makes you valuable enough for a king to come down from his castle and save you? Nothing. Nothing reliable at least. These beings are fickle, hard to gauge, and harder to predict. 

You can only trust your fellow man. They are consistent, they will try to tear every little bit of value from you. From some not even your dead body is sacred. 

And so I chanted like everyone else, no Gods, no kings, only man. 

But now as I see a man dressed in possibly the brightest shades of red and blue ever made—which stood out even more in the Batcave—stare down at me with a smile so bright it would give the sun a run for its money, I feel my stomach churn. 

"So you are Mira?" He stood a little taller than Batman, an inch or so, his eyes reflecting the world in their perfect blue, his hair brown like Batman's. 

"You know me? I am your father's best friend!" He announced with the brightest cheer a human could imagine. 

"Superman, who doesn't know you," I had a training quarterstaff in my hand, and I pushed it forward to him, "Can you do one thing?" 

He raised a brow at my request but nodded, "Sure." 

"Bend it. Fold it in half." 

He looked confused as his stare went to Bruce who was also dressed in his costume. He gave me a confused look before shrugging. 

The Quarterstaff was made of metal, titanium according to Jason, I don't know really, but what I did know was that it was strong, taking and deflecting heavy blows with it had become a routine in my training. 

And Superman picked it up, holding it with one hand, not with one palm. His fingers closed around the length. He clenched. It bent like cardboard. No resistance. Not even a delay. 

I felt a laugh bubble up from the depths of my stomach, and I didn't stop it. This man had titanium like a toothpick. 

Superman and Batman exchanged gazes with each other, I kept laughing until the boy scout extraordinaire asked, "What?" 

I looked at him and took the bent staff from his hands, "You are living proof that equality is a joke." 

He visibly perched to one side, like one of those sitcom characters that were making animated gestures to negotiate a laugh out of the audience. But this one was not funny, at least to him. To me? I found unflinching proof equality is a moot point. I mean that would give those French Revolutionaries something to think about.

The two heroes looked stunned at my words, as I took my staff and pushed past the boy scout. "Mira," The familiar low grumble, called out to me, I stopped and turned to Batman.

"Equality is not about physical ability, it is about the law, the rights—" I cut him off, "All good, just a bit unfair that someone can be born a God." 

I didn't stop for their answer as I walked out of the room, some are born helpless, and some are born like Gods…but I guess that was not being fair to him, this was a world penned by hundreds if not thousands of people, artists, writers, directors and so many more. They wanted a story, they wanted someone special, someone interesting, so they made him. They made their world unfair and again can you fault them? They wrote fiction. They never even knew that anything from their world would take a single breath. I cut off that train of thought. That way lies madness.

I only knew two things: this world was not fair and I sure as hell am not. 

[A/N: If you find mistakes in today's chapter, my editor was not able to edit this one, maybe it will be done later but I want to stick to a schedule.

Anyway, do tell me if there is anything you guys want me to explore in this fic, since I am super early into this arc and have a bit of buildup, maybe we can do a few things you guys want.

As always thank you for your time and for reading this work.]