Part 2
Crouching on the rooftop overlooking the flashing lights of the patrol cars and ambulances below, I felt the presence long before even my enhanced senses picked up his movements: a sharp edged, crystaline mind radiating with pain but laser focused, a hard point of order in a sea of chaos. I smiled, not turning to see him standing behind me. "Really, I thought you'd be faster than that: I expected you ten minutes ago."
"A shipment of military grade weapons was being smuggled through the docks by the Falcone family: I prioritised."
Nodding, I stood up and turned to face the Batman. Even counting the ears, he was a few inches taller than my current body, and the rest was covered in black and dark grey, the only remotely bright colour being the yellow utility belt around his narrow waist. His eyes were hidden behind the lenses of his cowl, but I could feel them trying to burrow into my own.
Honestly, his performance was far better than Joker's. True, largely ineffective, given that I had the weight of 48,000 years of experience (okay, 38,000: the ten millennia on the Golden Throne was largely a chaotic, painful blur with a few scant moments of lucidity) and a massive, unnatural psychic gift behind me, but impressive for a normal, unenhanced human.
"I'm not apologising," I said, deciding to start off on the right foot. Honestly, this mere mortal man had absolutely no right to jud - fuck. Back off, Adam: I'm happy to have your powers, memories and skills, but I'm damned if I'm going to let you live my life for me. Fortunately, I had inherited the Emperor's will of adamantium.
"You could have killed him," stated the Bat, but surprisingly his tone wasn't accusing ... more like ... measuring. Odd: given most of his incarnations, I would expect him to be far more hostile regarding an unknown metahuman (hehehe) crippling one of his rogues. "As it is, he requires major reconstructive surgery to his knees."
"Perhaps a few months in traction for him will do this city a world of good," I offered, holding his gaze. "Especially since he escapes his cell with such ... regularity."
"Perhaps," he said, and again I was somewhat surprised. "Arkham's security is ... lacking. Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to change that." I could read genuine irritation, annoyance and concern in his voice, without having to resort to reading his emotions: he seemed genuinely affected by the Joker's escape.
Damn: am I in a universe with a sensible, rational Batman? Wow ...
"In any case: I should have caught him before you ran into him," he offered, his head tilting slightly, and I realised he was studying my face.
It was only after the Joker's ... accident ... that I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in a pane of glass: Skippy, the annoying bastard, had de-aged me when he dropped me into DC. Oh, I could alter people's perception of me, could change my shape at will, but my face remained physically that of a teenager, more than fifteen but fewer than eighteen years old. Fortunately I had Adam's classical good looks, light olive skin, aquiline nose and glossy black hair, but it remained a fact that I was jailbait, and would remain so unless holding an aging glamour.
I'm either 48,000, 38,000, or thirty five, but in this universe I'm stuck with people thinking I'm in my teens. Fuck my life.
I shrugged. "The important thing is he's stopped." I paused. "And you're wondering how I did it."
"Telekinetic. Possible telepathic, or projective empathic abilities." Okay, technically true, if you want to be extremely reductive ... He paused. "No facial recognition match on social media. No match in missing person database. Accent is ... unfamiliar to me. You're not from around here."
I held out my hands below my waist, palms towards him. "Call me a recent immigrant. Illegal, but unwilling. Human, by the way ... just a little bit more."
"Alternate reality." It wasn't a question.
I shrugged. "Close enough. A ... rival of mine decided to play a trick on me, transported me here. At present ... I have no way to get home." I laughed, bitterly. "Actually, I have no idea where home is relative to where I am." I glanced about. "I think I'm somewhat stuck." Then I smiled. "Any chance I can crash on your lounge?"
***
It wound up being a hotel suite: Batman arranged for me to stay there indefinitely until something more permanent was worked out (No, I didn't see him carrying a Bat Credit Card: the details were likely handled online). It was hardly luxurious, but I had food, shelter, hot running water and a decent view out the balcony in one of the nicer corners of the city. TV and an internet connection, too: I took full advantage of both in order to familiarise myself with the world I was in, which turned out to be a weird amalgam of DC universes, mostly drawing from the DC animated series.
Superman appeared in 1998. Rumours of Batman sightings began in late 1999, early 2000. Wonder Woman reappeared after decades of reclusion in 2001. The Justice League formed in 2003 after the Appellaxian invasion (going public in 2006), but superheroes went back to the Mystery Men of the thirties and forties (obviously, super powered individuals predated that, but were far rarer and more shrouded in myth and legend).
Interestingly there was no 9-11 attack, no War on Terror. Still, terrorism and war was still a part of this world ... it just operated alongside super villainy, alien invasions and Atlantis. Yes, Atlantis. This is my life, now.
I pushed back from the laptop and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. I was operating under the assumption that I was being watched: even an amiable Batman was one of the most paranoid and thurough individuals on the planet, and if I were in his cape I certainly wouldn't let a largely unknown psychic of unknown power roam free ... unsupervised.
Lowering my hands to my lap, I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and concentrated, centring myself. Calm. Take it slow. Organise your thoughts. Focus on -
***
Flashes.
A blur of battles, costumed men and women, boys and girls, facing off against aliens, monsters and villains of all stripes.
Flash.
A group of menacing figures, their faces hidden ... and behind them, another group, secure in their secrecy.
Flash.
Crowds of people chanting, waving placards, waving fists, the police arriving with tear gas.
Flash.
Heroes being marched in handcuffs and restraints, guarded by heavily armed police or military personnel.
Flash.
Crowds of humans kneeling, holding out their hands in supplication as green-carapaced aliens strode by, ignoring the slaves at their -
***
I came too with the realisation that I had put my fist through the screen of the laptop. "Oh, fuck," I cursed, flicking my fingers, making sure I wasn't injured. Actually, it would be amazing if I had been ...
"Wow: remind me not to surprise you in the morning," came a youthful voice, and I stood up to face ... a youth in red, black and yellow. Beneath messy black hair, his upper face was hidden by a domino mask. That's ... actually a pretty bad disguise. Even without my power-granted skills, I wouldn't have much trouble picking him out of a lineup, especially if I heard his voice again.
I sighed, sitting down again. "I'm actually rather ashamed that you were able to surprise me: I was ... meditating."
"Cool: gotta say, I don't normally smash things when I'm coming out of a trance," he offered, leaning back against the couch where he was sitting, one leg bent, his arm resting on his knee.
"Depends on what you see behind your eyes," I rejoined, before leaning out and kicking his boot off the couch. "Watch the cushions: your boss is paying for the cleaning."
"Meh, he can afford it," he said, but settled his feet on the floor and offered a gloved hand. "Hi: Robin."
I took the offered hand with a firm grip. "I'd prefer not to rely on his generosity for longer than I have to. Call me Adam. Adam Rex."
His mask twisted, suggesting he was raising an eyebrow, but I ignored it. "Oookay, cool name. Anyway, Batman let me know about your situation, and I thought I could swing by and see how you were doing."
I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. "Could be worse -" I glanced at the ruins of my laptop. "Marginally."
"Don't sweat it: we can get you a new one."
I sighed. "Right. Anyway ... I'm dealing. It's not in my nature to collapse into despair, so I've been concentrating on acclimatising myself to your world, and working out how I can fit in. While my world does not have super heroes in the fashion yours does ... it could be a suitable way to apply my talents."
He grinned impishly. "Radical. We could always use new good guys. Batman said you're a telekinetic? Combat trained, too - wanna spar sometime?"
I chuckled. "Careful, Robin: in some circles where I come from, an offer like that can be considered flirting."
The horrified expression on his face was worth committing to memory.
"But seriously, the training is a by-product of how my powers work." Time to spin a little bullshit ...
"Oh? Origin story time: cool!"
It's starting to hit home just how young Robin is ... "It's not all that complicated, really. I've had an on-again, off-again rivalry with this ... being. Well, calling it a rivalry is a bit harsh: more like he enjoys playing with my life. Anyway, for his amusement, he zapped me with massive psychic powers and threw me across the multiverse to see if I sunk or swam. He's a bit of an asshole, and he likes to see what kind of chaos he can cause by throwing sentient monkey-wrenches into events."
Robin winced. "Ow, that sucks majorly, pal: you mean you're stuck here? You can't go home? What about your family, your friends?"
I sighed. "That about sums it up. Fortunately I was something of a social misfit, so I didn't really have a large social cirlce: not a lot of people are going to miss me. Family? Yeah, that's not exactly fun." But then I smiled. "On the plus side, did I mention the 'massive psychic powers'? I can read thoughts, move things with my mind, teleport ... it's a pretty flexible gift, which you better believe that, one day, I'm going to use to get home. Plus, Skippy - hey, don't scoff, Bird Boy, it's what he calls himself - was kind enough to give me a very useful download of skills. As a result, I know how to do ... just about anything I set my mind to.
"Additionally, since we have tech on my world that is a great deal more advanced than is apparently available on yours," I smiled, reaching over and retrieving a sheaf of papers, "I'm in a position to repay Batman for his generosity."
Robin held up his hands. "Hey, no need: it's not like we're putting you up in a penthouse or something -"
"Yeah, yeah. Still ... I'm going to have some requests in the near future, so this is sort of a down-payment," I insisted he take the papers, which were covered in dense handwritten notes, chemical formulas, diagrams and instructions. "It's called 'ceramite': heat and shock-resistant ceramic material that comes in a variety of grades. Useful in a whole lot of things, but primarily used for armour production: low grades for a type of armour that's like kevlar plus, and higher grades for tank, starship or power armour plating. Also," I held up another pile of papers, "Plasteel: polymer formula that winds up being harder than steel."
Robin stared at the papers, leafing through the content, clearly out of his depth in the technical sense, but having a concept of the implications. "This is ... do you have any idea what something like this would be worth?"
I shrugged. "Some. But these materials are vital for tech I need to produce the tech I need to produce the kind of tech I've got locked away in my brain, and your world simply doesn't produce the base materials I need." Some of it I can kluge from current materials, with a healthy dosage of technopathy, but I can't produce anything even close to Imperial tech without some decent ceramite and plasteel.
Robin whistled low. "That's ... wow. I mean, I think I know enough to know that I don't understand enough, but this is major. Like, total game changers, once we get production going."
"It might take a few years to get commercial mass production going, but even in relatively small amounts it would be ... extremely useful. Hells, without some high quality ceramite, I can't even think about producing adamantium in anywhere near close to worthwhile quantities."
"Ada-what-ium?"
"Never mind. You think Batman's financial backers would be interested?"
A/N: Changed Adam's explanation to make it at once more vague and less clunky.