Prologue

Words 8,045

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The Wayne Home for Orphaned Children is much like the rest of Gotham, a cesspit of corruption and rot hidden by a thin veneer of dried white paint, and your home.

Oh sure, Mr. Wayne attempts to keep the Wayne Foundation's funds going to the betterment of the city between his various scandals and publicity stunts. Consequently, more than most of it falls through the cracks.

Water dripped loudly from the ceiling into a slowly-forming puddle.

Someone should really put a bucket under there, you mused, before the floor collapses in on all of us. The wood was old and worn and soft in spots where years of water damage have taken their toll.

You shared your room with three other orphans.

Each of them had ended up in the orphanage in a variety of horrifying and pearl-clenching circumstances.

Brandon's parents had been murdered in a robbery and Terry's had both been in Gotham State Penitentiary since he was a newborn. Joey's had been victims of a cult, you never asked what kind no matter how much you wanted to.

You, on the other hand, were left on the steps of the orphanage, no gunshots or dying, just a baby bundled in white sitting quietly in a wicker basket.

Somehow that made it sting all the more.

Joey snores loudly above you. You punched the padding and he stopped with a low grunt letting you return to your thoughts in peace.

Matron Rachel had taken you in, and gods bless her soul, she did her best to care for you instead of seeing you as just another mouth to feed. She even gave you a name, Cadmus Othrys.

An interesting name that the more "imaginative" of your fellow wards used as ammunition.

Badmus was one of the more memorable ones.

You were a hard child to care for, that much you could admit.

You were never small, in fact, you were bigger than most of even the older boys. For some reason, your height registered as some kind of threat to their lizard brains.

It may not have helped that you took every opportunity to remind them of it.

Naturally, things had come a head.

You had been cornered by five of your most common bullies one day, rejects who never found a home themselves and no doubt had a bright future as residents of Blackgate or some other maximum-security prison.

You remember their nasty smiles with vivid clarity like they thought having more of them somehow improved their odds.

Evidently, they had never learned of diminishing returns.

The pack rats followed around Mario, son of some Falcone hitman who found himself on the wrong end of a G.C.P.D. bullet.

He thought himself a mafioso just like his father. He had the chins for it, you would give him that.

And naturally, he considered you competition, and competition stops being competition one way or the other, or so Carmine Falcone says according to Mario.

"You think you're so much better than us, well-" Mario started.

"yes," you replied shamelessly. His goons stifled their snickers when he narrowed his eyes at them.

"What'd you just say piss-eyes?" your eye twitched. These idiots couldn't solve a sudoku puzzle if you gave them the solution. Also, you doubted they could spell Sudoku much less count to nine.

"well no, I don't think I'm better than you. I know I'm better than you."

Mario leaned in closer until you could almost smell the tobacco on his breath. "Say that one more time."

His body was tilted towards you and his left hand was balled into a fist. You easily ducked underneath the blow and threw your weight behind a haymaker to his jaw.

Mario dropped with a dull thump, jaw already starting to bruise.

"Anyone else?" you asked.

No one else takes you up on your offer.

After that, Mario and his goons avoid you like the plague, which was just fine by you.

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"Welcome class to a new year at Gotham Elementary. I hope you all had a constructive and exciting summer. I will be your science teacher for this year. You may call me Ms. Ergane."

The thirty-some-odd students fall into varying degrees of silence. The girls in the back are still gossiping loudly, while some of the legs of the desk scrape loudly from where they're being used as impromptu bumper cars.

You give the middle-aged woman a bored stare from where your head's buried in your arms. What would you learn this year? Maybe a unit on rock formation, for the third year in a row?

A spitball flies across the classroom hitting the ground in front of her with a wet thump.

"Thank you for a practical example of our first topic, Mr. Summers," the boy in question sinks back into his chair with an embarrassed huff.

"Speed," she writes on the chalkboard. "Something I am sure you all learned last year, but what is it?" She turns to the silent classroom with expectant grey eyes.

"Distance over time," all eyes flicked to you. "Teacher's pet," someone snickered behind you.

"Very good, Cadmus, is it? A very interesting name, are your parents Greek?"

"Never knew them." she simply nodded and continues the lesson.

"As Cadmus said, by definition, it is simply, the distance over time. How far you have gone and how long it took to get there. Any questions? No, well I'm quite impressed that you can all simply remember this since it will be on the quiz tomorrow."

"But it's only the first day," a pig-tailed girl complained loudly.

Ms. Ergane's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Then you'd best get to writing, we still have an hour left until the bell."

"Now to expand on the subject, speed is generally known as the change in distance divided by the change in time, does anyone know what the change in speed is called?"

The boy in the seat next to yours farts loudly in answer. The classroom sat in an awkward cold war of silence as student after student averted their eyes, some of them doodled determinedly on their empty papers to give the impression of working.

Then her eyes fell on you, and you almost have a visceral need to answer. It wasn't like you didn't know, you just didn't expect the majority of brain cells in the class to belong to you.

"It would be acceleration," you answered. Ms. Ergane beamed at you in surprise.

"Excellent, exactly! Acceleration is what we call the change in speed. Now be sure to take notes on this. It will be a foundational topic once we begin talking about Ser Isaac Newton."

Many in the class groaned, you couldn't help but feel a bit excited. Something about it called to you, you couldn't tell what it was.

By the end of class, you had more than two page's worth of notes, it was more than you had ever written in total from last year.

Gotham Elementary, to your surprise, becomes one of the few bright spots in your life, and you would attribute it all to Ms. Ergane's class.

She had quickly developed a reputation as a slavedriver during her short time at the school, both among her students and even her fellow teachers.

Pop quizzes and weekly experiments quickly made her the primary target of anger at PTO meetings and her tendency to challenge unsuspecting students to crossword duels made her all the more infamous among the student body.

It wasn't all that bad since you seemed to soak up the material like a sponge. It helped Ms. Ergane seemed to have a particular interest in you, entertaining and answering your questions with just as much zeal.

It only got better when your science class started botany.

The first week was just the basics, leaves, stems, flowers, and roots. Then you were given a cup of soil with a seed and told to watch it grow.

There were mixed results, to say the least. Some students' plants failed to germinate at all, others had their plants, to your disgust, die from lack of care.

It's a plant, all it needs is water and sunlight how hard is that? you want to shout when you see the wilted black stem of Haley Baxter's plant.

You, on the other hand, present four separate fully-grown plants to a stunned class.

"You have quite the green thumb, Mr. Orthys." she eyes you analytically, as though you were an extra puzzle piece she didn't quite know what to do with.

"You know, we do have a gardening club, maybe you'd care to join?"

"Heh, gardening's for sissies." Jaime Reddy whispers loudly, getting snickers from his friends in response. You can't stop the tips of your ears from turning red.

---------------------------------

You sigh in relief as the flickering red lights of Danny's Diner come into view.

Technically, it's been Anny's Diner for the past year since the owner was too cheap to get the light fixed.

School had been rough, to say the least, Ms.Ergane had put you through the veritable gauntlet on science. She even tried to teach you basic calculus, she's not even your math teacher!

To make it worse, you couldn't focus with the wad of bills you brought with you burning a hole in your pocket.

"Rough day?" Danny's portly form steps into view from behind the counter.

You toss your bag onto the seat next to you and nod tiredly.

"Hah, that's why I stopped going in middle school." he chortles, wiping at the permanently-dusty counter, before nodding in satisfaction.

"The usual?"

"You know it." Danny swiftly snatches up the two dollar bills with unnatural dexterity, scattering dust across the bright red table.

"Two slices of pepperoni coming right up." He whistles as he opens the display case and plops two slices onto a paper plate.

So cheesy. so greasy. so good. you sigh in bliss as you devour your meal.

Danny snorts in disgust. "You eat like an animal."

You glare at him through half-lidded eyes. "Thissh ish the food of the gohds." you say through cheese-filled teeth.

"Don't know what gods you're talking about, but in Gotham, this is king." He bites into a slice of plain cheese pizza for effect.

Then the door to the parlor slams open with a loud bang.

Why's he wearing a ski mask? is your first thought.

Your heart skips a beat when you see the gun in his hand.

"Give me the money, and the kid doesn't get hurt." You can see straight down the barrel as the robber approaches.

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy," Danny says as he reaches down beneath the counter.

"Move an inch and I'll give you some new decorations, old man." Danny halts.

"Now very slowly, ah, yeah just like that, open up the register and empty it out. Keep those arms up, no funny tricks you hear me."

Danny fiddles with the register and your heart sinks. He doesn't have more than twenty bucks in there, seeing as you alone make up a good amount of his customers.

You dread to see the burglar's reaction when he finds out he can now buy himself a meal at Rudy's next door.

"What's this shit?" he demands, waving the handful of bills Danny gave him. "I know you got more money somewhere, you don't get a shop in these parts without some serious dough."

"It's been in the family since my grandfather," Danny says gruffly.

"Then someone better go wake up gramps and tell him his son's shit at business. Open up the back, let me see what ya got back there."

"Now hang on a second," that just seems to irritate the robber and he turns the gun on you.

"What about you, kid? Got anything worth something in your pockets, empty them for me and I won't need to give you a new piercing." He cackles at his joke.

You don't feel fear even with a gun next to your temple. You feel anger, white-hot and bubbling up like water left on the stove too long, just a second before it boils over.

"Aw little boy's getting angry, what you gonna do about it hmm? Hey, stop! Old man, I'm warning you-,"

Danny the brave old coot that he is had drawn a bat and came out swinging. The aluminum sings as it misses the robber narrowly.

You can only watch in horror as the robber's gun discharges in a loud pop of sound and smoke, and a bullet flies straight for Danny's forehead.....

The bullet never hits.

Your gut tugs like it was tied to an anchor, and the sounds of Gotham's night-life, of traffic, music, and violence fade away, you can't even hear the loud humming of the neon sign outside.

The bullet was frozen in mid-air like it was encased in amber. The feedback is still floating in the air and you can almost see the ripples in the air.

The world had just seemed to stop.

You rise hesitantly from your seat, unsure if you're dead or hallucinating, or hallucinating while dying. You really didn't want to know.

Danny doesn't react when you wave your hand in his face or poke him, his eyes don't follow you either, they're glued to his would-be killer. The anger returns with renewed fury.

Heat ripples from the bullet and you bite back a curse as your hand strays just a bit too close.

Erring on the side of caution, you decide to slap it to the ground using your bag.

It doesn't make a sound as it hits the tile, but it cracks the floor all the same.

"What the fuck?" you say to yourself.

It finally dawns on you that time stopped, and since you're the only one moving, it somehow, had to have been you.

Well, no point in looking a gift horse in the mouth, you push your swirling thoughts away and turn your attention to the animal who would dare harm your pizza source, err friend.

"I think it's time you learn some manners."

Damn, that sounded a lot better in your head. Good thing he can't tell anyone about this.

You line up your punch, practicing it once, then twice, before finally going for it.

You throw your body behind the blow and time resumes as his jaw gives way with a loud crunch.

The robber spirals through and shatters the glass window, and skids across the street before slamming into an abandoned building across from Danny's.

The wall gives way like paper and you lose sight of him as he disappears under a pile of bricks and rubble.

The world resumes and you can once again hear the familiar and comforting blare of police sirens amidst the sounds of car honks and loud music.

Danny stumbles into the counter, his hands raised to dodge a bullet. "Whaa-" he starts, looking around with wild eyes. Then he sees the glass.

"Kid, did you-" he seems at a loss for words. You smile weakly in response, feeling completely drained like Ms. Ergane had made you take the practice Olympiad test all over again.

"Yeah...sorry about the window." You apologize lamely gesturing to the now-empty hole in his diner.

"You just saved my life, I don't care how you did it, you saved my life." he stammers. "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"Oh no you don't!" you rush over and help him onto a stool, you did not just stop time just to have the old fart die from eating too much pizza.

"How, you know what, I don't want to know," he shakes his head. "Free pizza," he says after a second. "as long you can keep doing...whatever that was, you ain't paying a dime for pizza."

He might as well have made you the king of the world. "Well, I am feeling a bit peckish."

You spend the rest of the night being assaulted by an unending tide of paper plates stacked high with cheap, greasy pizza, laughing and enjoying yourself to your heart's content.

You never notice the cowled figure watching from the rooftop.

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You sigh in exhaustion, sagging back in your seat as Ms. Ergane picks up your practice exam.

This was so stupid, you think to yourself, staying after school just to take some test. It didn't help that you still felt the lingering dregs of exhaustion from what happened at Danny's last night.

It was hard to focus on mathematics when you were still coming to terms with the fact that you stopped time and punched a man into a building. He survived.

Her red pen flashes across the page and you can't help but be anxious when she tuts every so often before scrawling a note on her pad.

"You, Mr. Othrys, have to be one of the most interesting and infuriating students I have ever had the fortune of teaching." You scowl in your seat as she returns your test.

"I never thought it possible that someone could grasp thermodynamics as well as a doctorate student but struggle with their multiplication tables."

Your ears turn red. Entropy was sensible, easy to understand. Knowing 19x19 off the top of your head was not.

"Well, maybe it's your fault, isn't it the teacher's job to, well, you know, teach?" you snap. You immediately regret your words when her grey eyes flash dangerously.

But you barrel on, letting out all your frustrations with this slavedriver of a teacher.

"Don't you have other students to bother, why are you always pushing me so much and what are you going to do if I fail? Leave just like-" you stop abruptly, curling in your seat, face red as a tomato, and extremely thankful no one else was around to see your outburst.

Your teacher's eyes widen in understanding.

"I push you so hard, Cadmus, because I see the potential you have." She hesitantly takes a seat next to you, awkwardly placing a hand on your shoulder. "You are a bright child, brighter than anyone else in this school and I would be sad to see such talent go to waste."

She sighs in frustration, clearly unused to comforting someone.

"My father once told me that a man can bring a horse to water but only the horse can make itself drink." You roll the words over in your head.

"Did you just call me a horse?" you ask.

"A remarkably stubborn one, I assure you."

Well, you couldn't argue with that.

"Now, care to try again?" She passes you a new exam, this one once again layered with enough numbers to make your head spin.

"Is that even a question?"

It's a week later when your powers come to the attention of some rather powerful and dangerous people.

You're on your fifth slice of pizza when a monocle-wearing man who eerily resembled a bird waddles in. Behind him, follows four burly-looking guards.

You don't recognize him, but he does look very familiar. Danny on the other hand pales when he sees his new customer.

"Mr. C-Cobblepot, what a surprise," he stammers out, nearly kowtowing as he steps out from behind to shake the owner of the Iceberg Lounge's hand.

So that's who he was. You vaguely recall him running for mayor of Gotham a couple of years back and saw him handing out food and money to the homeless.

You also remember seeing his thugs terrorize more than a few shops in the theater district.

"Danny, old friend," Oswald Cobblepot cackles, "it's been so long, I see you're still selling pizzas?"

He nodded sheepishly. "It pays the bills. You've changed a lot though since the last time I saw you, Oswald." The man would have been preening if he had feathers to preen with.

"I can see that," Mr. Cobblepot says as he traces a finger across the tacky red counter, his nose curling in disgust as it comes up with a wad of dust staining his white gloves.

"Unfortunately, I'm not here to reminisce old chap," he slaps Danny on the back with his claw-like hands. "I came to talk with this young man." His monocle glints in the light when turns towards you.

"Woah, Woah, what's this about? Hey, take it easy, I'm just asking a simple question." He backs off when Cobblepot's bodyguards step towards him threateningly.

Your stomach clenches and the tell-tale heat of anger begins to boil at your stomach. This hairless bird walks into your pizza place, strutting about like he owned it.

The air already reeked with whatever sewer water he called cologne. You couldn't wait for him to be gone.

"So junior, mind if I call you junior? Good, so, I've heard some quite interesting things about you."

You force yourself to not flinch at his words.

Cobblepot's eye twitches menacingly as you continue eating, macking your fingers for the last drops of grease and cheese, before sighing contentedly.

"Really, what have you heard?" you drawl as you start on your next slice.

"You got fire, kid. I like that." It's pretty obvious he doesn't but you'll play along if only to irritate him more.

Danny gives you a panicked look from behind the guards frantically drawing a finger across his neck.

Wonder what he's so worried about. You could use this guy for a bowling ball if you wanted to.

"Micky, show him the video." A guard with slick-backed hair and a three-piece suit draws out an innocuous-looking DVD player.

Something about Cobblepot's look sets your teeth on edge.

You can see the grainy image of an empty street on the screen. Then the window from a shop in the corner explodes and a man flies out before crashing into a building in a shower of dust. A hazy silhouette steps out of the shattered glass. It's you. This is the night of the robbery.

Your blood runs cold. Someone had seen you, and if this was CCTV footage, who knows how many people know about your powers.

"You've got quite a left hook, kid. Oh don't worry, no one's seen this footage, so far." Oswald Cobblepot says conversationally, but his casualness is belied by his shark's grin.

"What do you want?" you ask with all the calmness you can muster, barely restraining yourself from wrapping your hands around his fat neck and squeezing until his eyes pop.

"I'd like to offer you a job!" You almost reel in confusion. "You see," he continues. "I'm the patron of the world-famous Iceberg Lounge. Every day I get people from around the globe coming to my establishment for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Unfortunately, some people like to spoil the fun for others."

"So, you want me to be hired muscle?"

"Don't say that like it's a bad thing. We're not so different you and I." You would beg to differ. "You've got the spark in your eye, of ambition, you're built for bigger things than making pizzas, no offense Danny."

"None taken, Oz," Danny says nervously.

"And what's more I'll make it worth your time. Yes, oh, hmm, that is a lot but it would be worth it! What do you say to 15 dollars an hour? It's a lot but I think you're worth it, kid." He sticks his hand out for you to shake.

"I have better things to do than being muscle at your bar." You snort.

Cobblepot's face turns sour. "Wrong answer, brat. Paolo, show him what happens to those who refuse my generosity."

You prepare yourself the guard to try and grab you but instead, he pins Danny's hand against the counter.

"How many you want, boss?" he asks casually like he was ordering takeout.

"Hmm, make it six, let's see if Danny can still make pizzas with one hand." Before you could react, Danny shouts in pain as his index finger breaks. Then, his middle finger in quick succesion.

He shouts and screams and writhes in pain. All the while Oswald Cobblepot laughs and claps at his "friend's" suffering. The three other guards are talking about a basketball game, completely unfazed by what was happening.

"P-please Cadmus, please d-don't do a-anything stupid," Danny gets out through his sobs.

Anger boils up in your stomach, white-hot and demanding release. You almost see red, guess it wasn't just a phrase.

Your gut tugs like it was tied to an anchor. You gasp in pain clutching at the counter to stop yourself from doubling over.

The world turns cold just as Cobblepot looks back at you. Paolo stops mid-way from bending back Danny's pinky, and the sounds of Gotham fade to static.

You glare down at the fat mob boss, doing your best to ignore the steady burning in your gut. You would deal with him last, once he realized all his protection was gone.

You shatter Mickey's DVD player using his head as the hammer before delivering a punch to his gut and then to his jaw. His body curls minutely and his face remains rigid and expressionless.

You pull Paolo off of Danny, twisting his fingers harshly, and pushing the pizza store owner back behind his counter, before throwing the guard out the window. He stops in mid-air the second he leaves your grip.

Your breath's coming in harsh pants as you reach the last two guards. Erring on the side of efficiency, you use their heads as drums and slam them against each other.

There is no sound as they make impact with one another. You throw a wild haymaker at each for good measure.

Time resumes as you almost collapse against the counter.

First, Paolo flies through Danny's newly-fixed window with a crash.

Then, a loud crack echoes from where tweedle-dee and twiddle-dum fall into heaps on the floor, blood leaking from their mouths.

Mickey's face slams against the counter and he slides slowly to the floor, his crumpled body surrounded by the remains of his DVD player and a slowly forming puddle of red.

Cobblepot's expression flits from confused, to bewildered, to fearful when he locks his eyes on you. You muster just enough energy to smile.

"Leave, and never come back." The owner of the Iceberg Lounge scuttles out the door, but not before giving some parting words.

"You'll pay for this brat! I swear you and everyone you love will rue the day you crossed Oswald Cobblepot."

Who still says rue?

That's your last thought as the ground rushes up to meet your falling form.

You feel soft grass and the sun on your face as you return to the land of the living.

This was definitely not Gotham City Hospital.

You stumble up onto your feet and can't contain your gasp as you take in your surroundings.

It's beautiful. The sea shimmered below the cliff you were on, flowing endlessly into the horizon.

Puffy white clouds flowed lazily in the sky and a cool wind contrasted perfectly with the warmth that the sun brought.

Were you dead? If you were, what did you do to deserve this?

A city of white marble within the valley below shines brightly in the sunlight.

You could hear laughter and merriment echoing from the vaguely-Greek buildings.

No one stops you as you walk through the open paths. Everyone was far too engrossed in their own activities.

Toga-wearing men were dueling with short swords within a fighting pit. You watch as one is impaled on his opponent's blade and laughs loudly in response before his opponent joins in while the audience claps uproariously. Golden liquid drips from the wound.

Beautiful women with bared breasts and green skin fed on grapes while others shot at arrow targets you could barely see with deadly accuracy.

And there, just in the middle of streets, was a moaning, writhing mass of bodies. An orgy. You avert your eyes in embarrassment.

What was this, some Greek cosplaying nudist militia's basecamp?

That was not a sentence you ever wanted to say again.

Did they drug you, you thought frantically, were they going to sacrifice you to whatever Norse god they worshipped in some extravagant ceremony no doubt involving your very painful death?

You climb up the steps of the palace at the center of the city, unabated by the grim guards dressed in full plate and wearing Spartan-like helmets that guarded the entrance.

Weird. It's like they don't even see you.

You enter what you assume to be the throne room, judging by the giant hour-glass-shaped throne in the middle of it.

Sitting atop it was a man with black hair and a beard that covered his mouth. His body was covered with a toga the color of ash.

In his left hand, he clutched a long scythe the size of nearly two men. Its blade glinted dark and forebodingly, a stark contrast to the city and its inhabitants.

He gazes intently upon you with honeycomb eyes that swirled with stars. His eyes are just like yours.

"What do we have here," his voice seems to hang in the air, pounding against your ears like drums. "an unexpected surprise."

"You should not be here." He decides after a moment of contemplation.

"Then send me back." He chuckles in response.

"You do not demand anything from a king, child."

"Listen, old man, I really don't care who you are. I just fought four goons and their penguin-look alike boss, paused time, and I'm pretty sure I burst my appendix."

His eyebrows raise progressively higher as you continue your rant, whether, in shock, surprise, anger, or amusement, you don't know. You honestly don't care.

"Yes, the first times are usually like that." he nods after a moment. "Well whelp, it seems we're running out of time for this little reunion," he cackles to himself, "so let me leave you with a little bit of advice that I wish I knew when I was your age." He leans forward on his throne.

Those were not stars in his eyes, you realize, they were grains of sand, bright and iridescent, and swirling lazily within the honeycomb.

"Always forward. Never back."

What does that even mean?

Before you can ask, he stamps the butt of his scythe against the marble and the floor crumbles beneath your feet. You clutch at empty air as you fall into an unending chasm.

"Safe travels, υἱός." you hear him laugh ominously through the rushing winds as everything goes black.

You wake up in Gotham City hospital, an IV in your arm and the clearly worried faces of Ms. Ergane and Danny hazily floating above you.

"You stupid, stupid kid." Danny laughs. You spot a cast along his left arm, but besides that, he looks as fit and healthy as a man could be with a BMI that was higher than most of your classmate's IQ's.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll be back to making pizzas by the end of the week. If I still have a shop, that is."

"While I do not approve of Mr. Tollini's language, he is correct." Ms. Ergane says stiffly.

"What you did was reckless, dangerous and-" she stops abruptly pinches her nose. "I'm just glad you're alive, very few are after crossing Oswald Cobblepot."

"I am too." you agree wholeheartedly as you force yourself into a sitting position. "He wasn't so tough, ran away as soon as his goons hit the floor."

Danny and your teacher exchange tense glances. "Cadmus," Danny says hesitantly, not meeting your eyes. "You hurt them pretty bad."

You look at him strangely. You were trying to hurt them, though, it would be bad if they weren't hurt.

By their reaction to your confusion, you felt you were missing something important.

"One of them died." Ms. Ergane says grimly, looking expectantly at you.

You contemplate her words silently, mindful of the weight of both of their gazes upon you.

It looks like they're waiting for you to say something.

"Oh, That's bad, isn't it?" Danny snorts.

"Cadmus," Ms. Ergane says slowly like you somehow were still missing something. "you killed someone."

"It's not like I meant to."

"He had a broken jaw and a shattered cranium." Was she talking tweedle dee or tweedle dum? Could have been Mickey, also now that you think about it.

That DVD player did hit him pretty solidly. Why are they still staring at you?

"Oh, sorry." you apologize. That should work. Apologies usually get adults to stop nagging.

Ms. Ergane groans in frustration.

"How did you know I was here?" you ask, the thought suddenly coming to you.

"Mr. Tollini called me." She replies.

"How does he have your number?" the two exchange discreet glances.

"He is an old acquaintance." You could tell she wouldn't be giving any more information.

"So...when do I get to get out of here? This gown's getting kind of itchy."

A week after the fight at Danny's Diner you receive an unexpected visitor at the orphanage.

"Mr. Wayne," mother Rachel gasps in shock and barely restrained awe. You would think God Himself had just walked through the door.

"Rachel, it's so good to see you. Why you don't look a day over twenty!" Mother Rachel had celebrated her fifty-second birthday last month.

Mother Rachel twirls a strand of graying red hair. "Oh, you flatterer."

The owner of Wayne Enterprises smiles. "For a woman like you, it's hard not to be."

You barely restrain the urge to gag. It looks like Wayne was just the same as he was on TV, a playboy billionaire with too much charm and not enough brains.

"I'm here for one of your wards, a Cadmus Orthys, is that right, Alfred?" the grey-haired man behind him nods.

"It is, Master Bruce." He's dressed in a butler uniform, but, oddly enough, his eyes seem to flit about like a hummingbird, never lingering long on one place. Weird.

"Oh of course! Cadmus! Come down please, you have an important visitor!" You were standing maybe twenty feet behind her.

Bruce Wayne sticks out his hand as you approach. He's taller than most men, still towering over you.

You shake his hand, curious as to why he was here and more than a little tense.

From your past history, when important billionaires want to talk to you, windows inexplicably get broken.

"Strong grip, how old are you, son?"

"Nine." He almost recoils shock, his face a mask of surprise, his eyes don't match though. Alfred raises a single eyebrow.

"Why, I never, you have to be the tallest nine-year-old I've ever met!"

You nod in understanding. "I'm happy to exceed your expectations." It wasn't hard to, most of your age group subsisted on ramen and Soder Cola.

"I just wanted to speak to you, Cadmus about school and your future. It's come to my attention that you're quite a bright young kid and I think you have a lot of potential. I want to help you reach that potential."

He gives you a winning smile like he had just offered you the keys to the world.

Your skin crawls under his gaze and his smarmy smile. You hated people like him, born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and thought that by throwing scraps to those beneath them, they were somehow better than everyone else.

The trick is, they always want something, that's how they stay at the top.

"What's the catch?" you bluntly ask. Bruce Wayne's smile falters just a bit and Rachel gasps in mortification.

"Cadmus, apologize this instant!" she hisses.

"Rachel, please, Cadmus is entitled to his questions. And to answer you, son, nothing. I'm a philanthropist, helping people is what I do."

You stare pointedly at a leak coming from the ceiling, much of it covered in water damage. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

Oh yes, you imagine it's easy to throw thousands of dollars at a nine-year-old since Wayne Enterprises doubles that with every passing second.

But, you couldn't deny your interest was piqued. "Very well, continue." You say, taking a seat at a rickety old table. Mr. Wayne follows awkwardly, unused to not being in the lead.

"In recognition of your efforts, I'd like to offer you the Wayne Foundation Scholarship for Scholastic Excellence." He stops for dramatic effect and spreads his arms wide.

Mother Rachel looks like she has stars in her eyes. Mr. Wayne's butler shakes his head in disappointment. You are not amused, mainly because you have no idea what he's talking about.

You've never even heard the word scholarship before.

"Okay." you nod in acknowledgment. Mr. Wayne visibly deflates.

"I was expecting a bit more of a reaction." He admits. "You do know what it entails, right? A full ride to whatever university you choose, a stipend to use in whatever you want, legally of course, and even an internship at any department or subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises." He explains almost pleadingly like he was probing for a reaction.

That does sound nice. It also sounds like he wants to keep you in his back pocket for the foreseeable future.

You don't like being used as a pawn. Not at all.

"Can I think about it?" you say neutrally.

He nods sullenly.

"Of course," he smiles the same winning smile and stands up with all the bravado of a man with a damaged ego. "Take as long as you need, it's a big decision after all."

Mother Rachel glares at you every chance she gets for the rest of the day.

It seems Mr. Wayne was not the only one interested in your scholastic talents.

By the end of the school year, half a year later, you had received multiple letters from some more than astonishing names, offering scholarships.

Ms. Ergane had laid them all out in front of you alphabetically. Each manila folder was covered in a litany of multi-colored sticky notes and tabs like it was some kind of legal briefing.

"I honestly don't even know how they found out about the paper," she mutters to himself. "it still hasn't even left the peer-review phase!"

The paper she was referring to was a five-page essay you had written upon some problem called the "Arrow of Entropy".

It was supposedly, one of the most challenging postulates in the field of Thermodynamics, confounding the brightest minds on the subject for the past half-century.

It had taken two boxes of Danny's pizza and an all-nighter fueled by Solder Cola to solve it.

"This is an important decision, Cadmus," she warns. "what you choose decides how life your will go for a long time."

She was being just a bit theatric, you think.

"Let's start with the Cobblepot Grant for Innovation," she says with clear contempt. "A full ride to the university of your choice, oh like that makes it special. Let's see here, oh yes, also practical life experience interning at the Iceberg Lounge getting and I quote, "exposure to the diverse cultures and backgrounds of the world as well as developing critical business acumen necessary for success in the modern world." She walks back and forth, burning tracks in the carpet.

"He wants to make you into his thug, even after what he did to Mr. Tollinii, the nerve, of that, of that, Penguin!" she shrieked.

She seems to dislike it, you note.

She smooths down her skirt and picks up the next one, but not before throwing the Cobblepot folder far away from her in disgust.

"And now we have the H.I.V.E. Scholarship for Extraordinary Ability." poison dart frogs can't even hold a candle to the venom that drips from her every word. "What, in the name of the gods, would drive them to offer this to you?"

You had originally started fencing as a good way to practice your powers.

The bouts lasted seconds at most and your opponents, well, they weren't particularly talented.

The epee and foil were too light for your taste, flimsy and boring to use. The saber, on the other hand, oh you like that one.

You won your first bout, then your second, and then you beat the coach by the end of the first week.

It quickly snowballed from there when you started winning tournaments.

Trainers and coaches hounded you after each match, almost begging you to join their club.

It quickly became unbearable. So, you tried HEMA, picking up the Polish Saber, meeting a similar success. The bloodhounds followed right you.

Now, you can't go to a tournament without some brat demanding an autograph or wanting a picture.

It was exhausting. Now, you had a tryout for the Junior Olympic Team where "you would test your abilities against the best and brightest the United States has to offer."

You weren't holding your breath.

"You should have used that time for studying," Ms. Ergane tells you with narrowed eyes when she hears the reason behind the surprise offer.

"Full ride and stipend in return for attending the H.I.V.E. Academy in Jump City and following that, four years of what they call, "practical application of the curriculum in an industry setting." Could they be any vaguer?"

It sounded interesting at least, more than being a stooge for Bruce Wayne.

Next, was the Kyle Fund for Gifted Students. A full ride, just like the others, and a promise for learning how to steer a business at Ms. Kyle's side.

Boring.

The Falcone Estate Scholarship was just like Cobblepot's. A full ride to a select number of universities, and then practical internships in a Falcone business.

"How is this legal?" Ms. Egrane demands to no one in particular. "They're trying to bribe you into a life of crime!"

There could be better ways, you admit to yourself, like pizza, more accurately, the greasy-cheese-filled mess that was Danny's pizza.

Finally, you came to the last folder.

"The Luthercorp Endowment from Future Leaders. Look at this, Cadmus, a letter from Mr. Luthor himself." She eyes the contents skeptically.

You pretend to read it for an appropriate amount of time, before putting it to the side.

"A full ride to any university of your choice, summer and winter excursions abroad, and oh my, an internship at Cadmus Labs."

You stop laughing when her frown turns angry.

"Do show some decorum, Cadmus, hmm, as I was saying, yes an internship at Cadmus Labs, and with satisfactory performance a guarantee of future employment. Cadmus Labs is one of, if not the greatest scientific research facility in the world, a wonderful opportunity for one so young as you."

Ms. Egrane still held more than a bit of skepticism but you could tell excitement had begun to bleed in the more she read.

"Mr. Luthor, is a powerful man, Cadmus, I will not pretend to understand why he has taken such an interest in you, but I expect you to make a wise and informed decision, do you understand?"

Her eyes are dark and stormy, with no hint of mirth or laughter.

You nod, feeling a slight tingling in your stomach, almost like a dozen butterflies are fluttering around inside of you.

----------------------------

Five days later, a glass bottle crashes through the window of Danny's Diner, and the restaurant is consumed in flames. Rudy's next door is reduced charred rubble the same night when the fire spreads through the thin walls.

They found Danny's body somewhere beneath the rubble. You never see it, the funeral home decides on a closed-casket funeral. Your imagination makes a suitable substitute.

By the next morning, construction crews are tearing down the dividers between the two restaurants and replacing burnt cinders with fresh foundations.

The neon sign is torn down and is replaced by a gaudy golden plaque with the word Gothic stamped in bold letters into it.

A nightclub. He turned your second home into a nightclub, right on top of Danny's corpse.

You didn't have to guess who was responsible, after all, Cobblepot had sworn to make you pay. He just did it by hurting the people you care for.

And you know what made it all the worse?

There was no investigation. The case was closed in just three days. The cause was attributed to a gas leak caused by rusty appliances and the owner's carelessness.

The Gotham herald generously set aside a one-paragraph blurb to your friend's murder and slapped the newly announced Gothic's construction on the front page of their Sunday paper.

Danny s funeral is attended by three people, you, Ms. Ergane, and the priest.

Said priest mutters the last rites with bleary, red eyes, slurring on some of the words. You can smell the alcohol on his breath.

It had been raining since last night and the thread-bare suit sticks to your skin like glue. You swipe at your matted hair, wiping at your stinging eyes while you listen.

He stumbles off after he finishes, leaving only the two of you alone.

Ms. Erganekneels in front of the casket, unmindful of the muddy ground.

You can hear her whisper almost a song beneath her veil.

The tune picks at your heart as the strangely familiar but unrecognizable words flow over you.

"Goodbye, old friend," she says as she kisses the casket.

You flinch when she gently places her hand on your shoulder.

"Do you have anything you want to say, Cadmus?" You shakily nod.

What even were you supposed to say? Thanks for the memories? The pizza was good? Just a simple goodbye?

Is that all it would be, years of friendship and the only time you felt at home reduced to a simple sentence to a corpse?

You feel like you were drowning, a novel experience since you had never been farther than five feet deep in a pool.

A python coils around your chest, squeezing every bit of breath out of you, your stomach is a roiling pit of pain and nerves.

You're burning, burning up inside like a volcano about to erupt.

The world seems to close in around you, reducing everything to a tunnel of light connecting you and your friend's corpse.

You stare at your hands wondering what was the point of power you had if it didn't matter in the end. You could punch a man through a wall and work time itself, and none of that stopped Penguin. Maybe you should have let him break Danny's fingers, maybe Danny would still be alive.

Your nails dig deep in your palms. No, Cobblepot was a bully, just like Mario. You give them an inch, they'll take a mile and be back the next day demanding more.

You gaze mournfully at the casket. You could dilate time, force it forward, and even slow it down. Maybe, just maybe, you could also turn it back?

The very thought of turning back time, of changing the past, fills you with dread and loathing. The words from the dream ring clear in your ears.

"Always forward, never back." The man upon the throne had said. His eyes had burned with certainty, almost compelling you to understand.

Maybe he had said it for a moment like this when you would be tempted to do something unnatural. Somehow, you knew something terrible would happen if you tried it.

Danny's gone, nothing more than a charred corpse six feet beneath the ground. The man who was the closest thing you had to a father, is dead.

The diner you spent your nights in to get away from the cold is gone. They would not return, you could not force them to come back. All that was left of them are the memories you kept close to your heart.

What is done is done. That is the way the world works.

"Always forward, never back," you repeat. The past was set in stone, but the future was not. All that was left to do was trudge on forwards.

"Thank you," you say. "for everything." Your words are drowned out as the rains begin to fall in earnest.

You walk back to Gotham side-by-side with Ms. Ergane, leaving behind a piece of the past.

Just for a moment, your heart is light as it was before he died.