CHAPTER 35: Part 2 "Reactions And Discoveries..."

*Barbara Gordon (Batgirl), Commissioner's House, Upper Westside Gotham

Laying in bed she stared at the ceiling of her room. Try as she might she was failing at trying to fall asleep. The events of the day had been not a total disaster, in fact, she was sure the Team's mission report would state that 90% of objectives had been achieved.

It was the last 10% failure though that everyone would remember.

Krios had caught everyone off guard with his display of ruthlessness and power. But all of that was just in the back of her mind. Front and center was a question that she had no answer for.

'Why did he spare me?'

Killing the cops had shown he was no longer skittish about getting his hands dirty or cared about the added morality of innocent and guilty. Yet when he had the chance to eliminate her, he hesitated. And while the others had shrugged off her comments, she really believed that at that moment, he would not have harmed her.

It was something in his eyes, something shook him while he stared back at her.

'It was like... he recognized me. But that is impossible, how would he know that?'

And that was what kept her up the majority of the night. An unlocking of the door told her that her father was finally back. Staring at her clock she saw it was already 2 AM, she was happy if surprised to see that her dad had gotten home at all tonight.

Jumping out of bed she left her room, she could hear glasses clinking from the kitchen and the opening of the microwave. Turning the corner she saw him standing in front of the microwave with a cold plate of spaghetti, leftovers from a few nights ago.

Placing the plate in he hit a few buttons and got the microwave started, the low buzzing of it running began.

Turning around and seeing her, his face was tired, worn and irritated changed with a twinkle in his eye and a smile.

"Well, finally something positive."

Barbara rushed over and gave him a hug, both enjoyed the comfort of their presence after the turbulence of the day. The tender moment ended though as she smelt a particular smell from his shirt. Pulling back she lightly reached up and swatted the back of his head.

"Hey!" Gordon yelped, rubbing his head.

Barbara gave him a no-nonsense look, "I can smell the tobacco off of you."

Commissioner James Gordon, the man who has stood up to the criminally insane, warlords, aliens, vigilantes, and even demons was wilting under her intense stare.

In a timid voice, he said, "It has been a stressful day Barbs, I promise it was just one..."

Barbara had walked away to where his trench coat was and ruffled through the pockets till she pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Shaking the pack lightly she glared up at him.

"Just one?" Her eyes narrowed.

Gordon looked to be like a fish out of water but was saved by the microwave bell going off. Turning around he opened the door and started playing hot potato with the plate as he let it clatter to the countertop.

Seeing how tired he was she merely sighed, "We will talk about this tomorrow. Do you need anything?"

Lighting waving his hand to cool his hot food he said, "No, I plan to eat and go straight to bed."

"You better," Barbara remarked, "Will you at least sleep in a little?"

"I have a meeting at 9 am with the mayor but nothing before that so ya, a little." He said as he grabbed a fork from the sink and began stirring his spaghetti.

Barbara looked at him closely, "Do you want me to stay up with you?"

Gordon looked up, "No, you need to go to bed for school. I appreciate it, but I promise, I will eat this and go straight to bed. No more than 10 minutes I promise."

They spoke for a few minutes after that while he ate before she told him goodnight and went back to her bedroom. She doubted he was going to sleep as he promised, knowing him he would be up the rest of the night. With the crises of the prison and police headquarters attacks, pressure from the media and the mayor, along with with conscience of the officer deaths all playing on his mind.

It was another point of admiration she had for her father. A man who had dedicated his whole life to preserving and protecting his city. He had experienced all the city had thrown his way, from terrorism, alien, and even demonic attacks he had helped Gotham weather the storm. She remembered once seeing a picture of his graduating class of police detectives, he had taken it from her and gone on a nostalgic rant about where his fellow detectives had ended up. 80% had left the city to pursue careers in other cities. 15% left law enforcement entirely after serving for a few years, the constant grind and sacrifice of Gotham had ruined the call to serve for them. As for the last 5%, they were now just names on the memorial wall near city hall dedicated to those who gave their lives in the line of duty.

Yet despite all that, James Gordon endured and worked non-stop to serve the city that rarely thanked him back.

Barbara was proud he was her father. But she worried the job would put him in an early grave just from the lack of sleep he got.

It was in no small part that inspired Barbara to don the mask and become Batgirl. She wanted to serve, to help others, and hopefully, one day create a Gotham that didn't require a James Gordon. That he would be able to rest and look upon the city he loved with a sense of peace.

But such peace would not come while figures like Krios walked the streets.

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*Bruce Wayne (Batman), Wayne Manor

The last 24 hours had been a mess, to say the least.

Things had looked up when they broke the siege at Blackgate and at the GCPD headquarters. Major Crimes had barely been a fight and the initial capture of Riddler and his associates made it seem that it was all over.

Then Krios had acted.

The display of his growing power had caught everyone off guard. One officer who had his leg blown off was still in critical care. One other shot in the chest was recovering though it would be months before they could be back on duty. The two others who were shot in the chest and the detective were confirmed killed.

'He is getting more dangerous,' Bruce lamented.

Thinking back on the past year when he had first heard of reports about The Hound, he and Gordon had prioritized taking the Penguin down. Now looking back and seeing what the villain was becoming, he was starting to doubt their strategy.

The chase for the stolen GCPD helicopter had failed with them finding the helicopter abandoned near an abandoned airfield. It was assumed the criminals used it to get to the sea and take a boat or plane out to international waters.

After that, the pressure began to build both from the public and internally. The officer deaths had brought complaints to the GCPD from the public. The mayor feeling the pressure from voters let her displeasure known publicly in her address following the attacks. Batman, Gordon, GCPD, and all of the law enforcement were under fire from enemies and allies.

Not that Bruce could blame the public, they had the ball at the end zone and fumbled it.

Bruce sitting in his chair felt his grip increase, he could almost hear the wood groan from the pressure he was exerting. 

"He won't get away next time," Bruce murmured, his eyes narrowed with the wrath he was feeling.

A small knock on the door broke him from his thoughts.

Into the room walked his closest confidante, Alfred, who had a small tray of tea.

"I hope you don't mind sir," he said before walking in and placing the tray on the table in front of Bruce.

"But I brought you some tea to help with your... pondering."

While the aged butler said it completely straight and kept a face with polite interest, Bruce could tell there was some mocking in what he said.

Raising an eyebrow he motioned for Alfred to pour the tea. Watching him carefully the butler poured the cup with practice ease, he then added sugar and a dash of honey just as Bruce liked before stirring the cup.

Taping the spoon gently on the cup Alfred placed the cup on a saucer and gently handed it to Bruce.

Standing straight to attention Alfred dryly asked, "Will that be all sir?"

Bruce smiled, "Alfred please take a seat."

With a raised eyebrow, Alfred complied sitting in the chair opposite of Bruce. Sitting straight, he returned Bruce's smile with a hint of his own.

Swirling the cup's tea Bruce said, "It has been a while since you tried sneaking some sleeping agents into my cup. Afraid I am not getting enough sleep?"

"Always Master Wayne," Alfred replied, now with a much more prominent grin.

"Though rarely if ever have you not suspected or been able to resist the mild sedative I have included. I suspect you either enjoy the challenge or need an excuse for falling asleep sometimes."

Bruce chuckled, "Always looking after me with all the angles aren't you Alfred."

"Always Bruce," the butler said softly.

The two sat in comfortable silence. Alfred relaxed and leaned back into his chair, while Bruce held his tea cup with both hands. He enjoyed the warmth he was feeling from the cup.

"What do you plan to do about Krios?"

"I don't know Alfred," Bruce sighed.

"He is powerful, dangerous, and young. Whether or not his path can be diverted I am not sure. And quite honestly, I am not sure I want it diverted."

Bringing the cup to his lips Bruce sipped a little. The tea as always was excellent, Alfred as the epitome of a British gentleman prided himself on that fact. The most impressive fact was how well Alfred was able to hide the lingering taste of the sedative, Bruce suspected it was why he added so much honey. Not that he was complaining, he did love honey after all.

"Master Wayne," Alfred tentatively spoke up, "Krios is not some innocent kid who stole tires from a car. He is a murderer of both criminals and now police officers."

Alfred stood up and poured himself a cup of tea before sitting back down.

"I know you feel guilty about how he ended up. But you now have to deal with him, no second guessing or pulling punches."

Bruce finished off his tea and set the cup back on the table. He contemplated what Alfred was saying, had he been pulling his punches?

He was not sure if he could answer that honestly.

The light sedative in the tea he was making his eyes heavy and his mind drowsy. Previous training and building his immunity to such chemicals meant he could ignore and overcome such things easily, but right now he wanted to sleep.

"Perhaps...," Bruce faintly said, "Perhaps you are right Alfred. The next time there can be no negotiation, no pleading or discussion. I will take him down."

At that, he stood up and walked out of the room to head toward his bedroom. Alfred followed silently behind him as duty required he make sure his master didn't need anything before sleep.

Stopping at the door to his room, Bruce looked back at Alfred.

"I am going to have Fox reach out to our contacts in Germany and Israel. I think whatever connection Krios has with what Fox investigated is one that will enlighten us with what we are dealing with."

"Hmmm," Alfred looked pensive and even nervous, "Are you sure it is wise to dig more into that? I thought Mr. Fox was fairly adamant that they would not be willing to unearth those past records."

Bruce nodded, "Yes, they won't be. But this time I won't give them a choice."

At that, Bruce dismissed Alfred and closed the door to his room. He went over and sat on the side of his bed, on the beside table several files that Fox had acquired through their NSA contacts. They had read what little was not redacted which had provided them next to nothing on the contents.

Staring at the file letterhead, Bruce again gazed at the symbol at the top. An impressive bird, a black eagle with its wings spread and its head looking to its right made up the majority of the symbol. Below the eagle, its talons gripped a wreath that surrounded the most famous or most notorious symbol of the 20th century. Appropriated from Indian culture where it served as a symbol of spiritualism and divinity, it became a symbol for some of the worst crimes in the history of humanity.

Falling back into bed, Bruce closed his eyes and slowed his breath as he welcomed the darkness of sleep while murmuring.

"Ahnenerbe... Ahnenerbe... Ahnenerbe." 

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*Sinai Peninsula, Border Crossing

Two weeks passed since the incidents in Gotham.

And while many still were wheeling from the events, 5,000 miles away in one of the many deserts of the Middle East a long line of individuals and rusted cars were making their way through a border crossing.

The garb worn by the people was incredibly varied, some wore polos, others t-shirts of sports teams, some turbans and robes, and a few some tank tops and shorts.

They all were making their way from one war-torn country to another poor nation, though this one at least didn't have a civil war. The border was a narrow valley flanked by mountains that led into the country the long line of people were trying to flee to. The mountains provided a natural barrier to entry, thus the crowded line trying to enter.

The entrance through the mountains had a large stone wall with two stone watch towers set around the entrance. The structure looked positively ancient and stood in strong contrast to the modern AK-47s, barbed wire, and military jeeps that guarded it.

Slowly the line of cars and people on foot would reach the checkpoint where the armed guards with faded worn fatigues would inspect them before turning them away or letting them enter. Right now it seemed like less than a 10th were being allowed in.

This went on for several hours, the guards while diligent were rather bored and while not violent were rough when sending others away. In the past during its rule under warlords, the nation was much stricter about immigration. Now though, under the rule of their divine being the rules had been tempered slightly. Mind you, public executions were still a weekly event so some of the draconian methods of the past were still relevant.

Walking up to the guards was an individual with a slight limp dressed head to toe in robes and a hood, he used a walking stick to help his limp. This was not too strange for the guards, they saw people dressed in all sorts of clothing. Many had their faces hidden, in part for protection from the sun and sand, and to hide their identities.

The figure reached the guards reached into his robes and passed an identification card to the guard.

The guard glanced at it and then in Arabic asked, "What is your purpose for entering the Kingdom?"

The robed figure seemed surprised by the question. Tilting their head the guards could not perceive what the figure looked like, darkness from the hood hid their face.

After a moment the figure responded in broken Egyptian Bedawi, "Going... to find... safety... refuge, refuge for safety."

The guard who asked the question gave the figure a confused look and asked, "Wait, do you not speak Arabic?"

The figure didn't seem to fully understand what the guard asked but just nodded and pointed back to his papers, "Refugee... need safety... home."

The guard checked the paperwork again, everything was correct and the official mark of the Kingdom's insignia was on it. It was a little strange to have someone trying to enter the Kingdom who barely spoke any Arabic. Egyptian Bedawi was after all just another dialect of Arabic and most could understand each other with ease. This figure though spoke the dialect brokenly and with an accent he could not place.

But still, the paperwork was correct, and considering they sometimes had people from Ethiopia to Armenia trying to enter their country, poor language skill was typically not a red flag to them.

"Alright," the guard said, "Welcome to the kingdom, move along."

The figure gave a small head bow respectfully and made their way past the barbed wire and other guards. They kept their head forward being careful not to attract attention to themselves.

Finally passing through the stone gate entrance the figure found the other side had a few stone huts acting as accommodations for the locals and a small gas station which had packs of cigarettes and Coca-Cola stacked on its front porch.

'I guess now it's time to hit up the capital,' James thought.

He was not looking forward to the long walk he was about to do, but seeing some of the older senior citizens carrying their heavy bags, he felt confident he could do it. His contact supposedly would meet him halfway in his car but that was still quite a distance to cover. 

Adjusting the robes he wore he joined the long line of people who had been let through the border who were walking on the side of the road that led to the capital. He walked past the welcome sign of the nation with barely a glance.

The sign in Arabic said, 'Welcome To Khandaq'