sharp crack echoed nearby—it could have been a cable snapping in the wind or a short circuit caused by the rain. The Wayne Enterprises sign above them sputtered, sending out a shower of sparks and a wisp of smoke before going dark.
The thin trail of smoke was quickly dispersed by the relentless downpour, disappearing without a trace. Both of them glanced up at the now-darkened sign but remained silent.
Their surroundings grew dimmer, save for the faint glow of their cigars flickering in the gloom.
Michael pondered for a moment before breaking the silence. "I come from a parallel world. What's the situation here in Gotham?"
Since the person beside him was also Deathstroke, sharing this information seemed safe. She wouldn't spread or sell this intel when it couldn't be used against him.
Just as Batman collected data on every superhero's weaknesses in case they ever went rogue, this information was a strategic reserve. Michael could use it to show his sincerity without worrying about immediate consequences.
Without anyone paying her to eliminate him, his secret was relatively safe with her.
Deathstroke and Batman knew each other's true identities, but due to their principles, Batman wouldn't attack unless Deathstroke committed a crime. Even if he suspected Deathstroke, without concrete evidence, he wouldn't act.
Likewise, Deathstroke wouldn't target Batman's true identity, Bruce Wayne. The Wayne fortune was immense, and Bruce's life was valuable. Without an astronomical bounty, Deathstroke preferred to keep Bruce's head on his shoulders—it might pay off someday.
Similarly, the Joker knew Batman's identity but only wanted to play with the Bat, not the boring billionaire.
That didn't stop him from occasionally kidnapping those close to Bruce—from Alfred the butler to Bruce's various girlfriends—all to force Batman into his twisted games.
Many villains knew Batman's identity, including Black Mask, Hush, and Bane. But in Gotham, to prove oneself, one had to defeat Batman—not just the man beneath the cowl. Defeating Bruce Wayne would only mean besting a playboy millionaire.
Deathstroke thrived in society's shadows, so he needed to preserve that society's existence.
Whether someone aimed to destroy the world or didn't play by the underworld's rules, they were his enemy.
In the comics, whenever alien overlords invaded Earth, chaos ensued. Criminals would seize the opportunity to rob banks or jewelry stores, and even ordinary citizens might loot TVs from shops—why not, with the heroes busy elsewhere?
But among those taking advantage of the chaos, Deathstroke was never one of them. In fact, on several occasions, he helped the heroes fend off alien and interdimensional invaders, resolving global crises without charging a dime.
However, once the crisis passed and the world was safe again, Deathstroke returned to his mercenary work. Any superhero who got in his way faced one response: take them down.
"Hmm, I had a hunch," Cindy said, exhaling smoke. The pouring rain muffled her voice, but Michael heard her clearly.
"You've met someone from a parallel world before?" he asked. The two stood side by side, watching the Bat-Signal twist and turn among the storm clouds.
"A pitiful man, wearing a cloth mask like a bank robber and using outdated firearms. He was old, his body deteriorating, but he came here to kill."
Cindy spoke coldly. Despite calling him pitiful, her face showed no emotion.
"Did he say why he came here? And how did he leave?"
Michael wanted to find a way back. Though his previous life was mundane, at least in his own world—his homeland—society was peaceful and stable. He could find a safe place to rest.
There were no alien invasions or supervillains defying common sense.
"He mentioned a criminal syndicate called the 'Syndicate' had killed his children. He found a way to follow them when they traversed worlds, hoping to avenge them... Unfortunately, he failed. Our world is governed by the Amazon Council—a highly centralized power with swift responses and immense strength. The parallel world invaders were quickly repelled. They returned to their own world and closed the portal. The old man naturally went back too."
"Was it the Justice League who drove them off? Wait, does your world even have a Justice League?"
Michael thought for a moment and decided to ask. Before his arrival, DC had just updated its new major event—the "Metal" series. If there was no Justice League, it might mean this was the Dark Multiverse—a reflection of the regular Multiverse.
These universes, made of dark matter, were like the flip side of a coin. Due to their inherent nature, events here were even darker than in standard DC parallel worlds.
If this was Earth-11, there wouldn't be major issues, and survival would be relatively easier. As long as he didn't provoke the Amazon Council or the female Justice League, he could make money comfortably.
But if this was Earth -11 (Negative 11), then he was in big trouble. It's a world without other superheroes, only Batwoman and countless villains.
Moreover, it's a world on the brink of destruction. In the future, the entire world would be flooded due to a war between Batwoman and Atlantis. The sole survivor would be Batwoman herself, having transformed her own body.
The root cause, as always, was the Bat.
Atlantis and the Amazons were embroiled in a war over land and sea supremacy. After gathering intelligence, Bryce Wayne concluded that Aquawoman Arthur's excessive ambition was to blame. Arthur was a treacherous rebel and a potential threat. So Bryce set out to capture Aquawoman and lock her in Arkham.
Under the guise of peace talks, the Atlanteans ambushed the waters near Themyscira. Bryce seized the opportunity to apprehend Aquawoman.
However, during their battle, Bryce—unfamiliar with underwater combat—accidentally killed her. In response, the Atlanteans sought vengeance, triggering tsunamis through unknown means and utterly destroying Gotham.
With Gotham gone and all her loved ones dead, Bryce went mad with revenge. She modified her body, gaining abilities like underwater breathing, hydrokinesis, and super-fast swimming, transforming into a sea-demon known as the Drowned.
In the comics, she achieved final victory in the war by controlling her infinitely replicable sea creature pet, the "Dead Water."
Sadly, by then, the prolonged warfare had caused so much devastation that no other life remained on Earth. She crafted a Bat-Signal that shone from the ocean depths to the surface—the last light of Earth -11.
Batwoman Bryce Wayne was this world's chosen one—the sole survivor destined to live.
No, in fact, the day Gotham was submerged, Batwoman died. What remained was the terrifying supervillain, the Drowned.
After destroying her world, she heeded the call of the Batman Who Laughs, joining the Dark Knights to invade the regular Multiverse and destroy countless worlds.
"What Justice League? Sounds more like a rock band," Cindy scoffed. "Having the Amazon Council breathing down our necks is bad enough, and you want to form some pop group?"
Michael gave a wry smile. He'd been hoping against hope.
He was currently in Gotham, the first city slated to be submerged. Even though his physical abilities now far exceeded a normal person's, when all the land disappeared, the sky was perpetually shrouded in clouds, and there was no food, fresh water, or sunlight—not even he could survive.
He needed to act quickly—find a way to leave this world or figure out how to save it. Earth -11 wasn't a place for a leisurely vacation; it was the front line of war.
"Let's hope this world hasn't reached that point in the timeline yet," he thought. If there was still time, perhaps he could do something. Flicking ash from his cigar, he asked Cindy again.
"Can you tell me why you're here—on the rooftop of Wayne Tower?"
Cindy mimicked his gesture, flicking ash from her cigar with a peculiar expression. "It's a job."
"Mind sharing the details?" Michael probed.
"You should understand—I, Deathstroke, don't like working with others."
Cindy took a drag from her cigar, wiping rain from her hair. The giant 'W' of Wayne Enterprises didn't offer much shelter. If it were the 'M' of a Golden Arches, perhaps they'd have better cover.
Michael smiled, meeting her gaze with his one eye. His sharp vision could even see his reflection in hers.
"True, but if my memory serves, there have been exceptions."
Though his knowledge came from comics—and the main universe's Deathstroke at that—Cindy's slight twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested he hit a nerve.
"Fine, just this once. I'm a bit stuck on this job, but you'll only get a quarter of the pay, understood?"
"Money isn't important; information is," Michael replied, taking a puff and extending his right hand. It was a gesture of goodwill. He knew he couldn't stay here long; his presence in the Dark Multiverse signaled that the major event had already begun.
If he didn't want to die, he had to find a way to the regular Multiverse. Earth -11 lacked many resources; this wasn't the prime universe, and some things simply couldn't be done here.
"Agreed, but remember—you said it," she smirked, shaking his hand. He felt her grip was as firm as his own.
Without hesitation, she began explaining the current mission.
"It's a search-and-deliver job. Honestly, I didn't want to take it, but work's been slow lately, and I just bought a yacht."
She released his hand, turning to face the rain-soaked city.
"So, the job comes from an old acquaintance..."
"The Joker," Michael said, also gazing out at the dark metropolis. If she came to Wayne Tower, she must be looking for Batwoman, and in Gotham, the one most obsessed with finding the Bat was the Joker.
"In your world, maybe it's the Joker. Here, she goes by the 'Jester.' But we both know who we're talking about."
Cindy rolled her neck, exhaling smoke that mingled with the rain.
"That's the deal. Lately, the Bat has disappeared, and she's feeling terribly lonely. She wants the Bat to play with her."
"What new scheme has she concocted? Wait... maybe in my world, it's an old trick," Michael mused, taking a deep drag from his cigar. If he had some clues, he might recall relevant comics, but with Earth -11, he couldn't be sure.
"Who knows? I'm not interested in her antics. I just want to get paid. The job is to find the Bat and deliver a message: the Jester is waiting at Arkham with some big, big news."
Cindy stubbed out her cigar against the wall, pocketing the remainder.
"Her exact words?" Michael raised an eyebrow.
"Precisely. Her words were 'big, big news.' As mercenaries, we deliver messages accurately—that's the job."
Cindy shrugged, her face expressionless. "Honestly, I hate working for the Jester. She's utterly insane. I suspect this 'good news' might be a massive nuclear warhead right here in Gotham."
Michael sighed. The Joker's money was still money, but he never clearly defined his tasks.
Cindy donned her helmet, securing the latch. "No point overthinking. Better to figure out where Bryce Wayne has gone. Before coming here, I checked her home, the Batcave, the rooftop of the GCPD—no sign of her. Now we can rule out her company."
"When she plays Batwoman, she likes to overlook her city from the gargoyles atop Wayne Tower," Michael added, also putting on his helmet.
"Exactly. Then I found you instead. Clearly, this isn't my lucky day."
She picked up one of the staffs from the ground and tossed it to Michael before grabbing her own.
Michael folded his staff and slotted it into the sheath on his back, rolling his neck to ensure freedom of movement. "Doesn't seem to be mine either. I was minding my own business in my world, and poof! I ended up here."
"Well, if you look at it that way, I suppose you're worse off. Maybe you should save up and hire me to find a way back for you."
Cindy led the way downstairs, moving swiftly.
"Not a bad idea, but right now, I need to figure out what the Joker—sorry, the Jester—is up to. If things are as I suspect, we're all in big trouble."
Michael sighed, following her.
"Oh? Is there something I don't know?" she asked, her tone muffled through the helmet, sounding almost amused as she descended.
"It's not about the mission; it's about this world."
This seemingly endless rain and the disappearance of Batman—or Batwoman—felt to Michael like the beginning of the end. If possible, he wanted to survive, which meant finding the Bat quickly.
"Do you know what I hate?" She turned, poking a finger into his chest. "I want honesty between us. I told you about my mission, but you're hiding something."
"I'm not certain yet, but I can tell you. Just listen and don't ask—I can't explain how I know."
Gently brushing her finger aside, Michael quickened his pace down the stairs, giving her a brief rundown of the impending doom on Earth -11.
She stiffened for a moment but quickly composed herself, shaking her head slightly.
"What should we do next?"
"Do you believe me now?" Michael felt relieved. He didn't want to explain that he knew all this from comics—it would sound insane.
"Well, we are both mercenaries. If someone sent me across worlds to spread such an outrageous lie, I wouldn't do it for any amount of money. Our abilities determine our standing in the mercenary world, and top-tier mercenaries don't waste time on such trivialities."
Cindy sped up, overtaking him. "So the only possibility is that it's true—our world is heading toward destruction."
Michael was puzzled. If the Jester specifically wanted to see the Bat at this time, she must know something and likely knew Batwoman's whereabouts. So why the extra step of hiring Deathstroke to find her without explaining?
"If you're willing to help me stop the world's destruction, that would be great. If not, I'll have to act alone."
There weren't many ways to prevent the world from being flooded. The most effective was to stop Bryce from killing Aquawoman. Seeking help from the Amazon Council was useless—they wouldn't trust an outsider. The Atlanteans were also out of the question; they hated all surface dwellers.
Behind these events was the Batman Who Laughs—a Batman from Earth -22 infected by Joker toxin—leading the charge, along with the true mastermind, Barbatos, the dragon of the Dark Multiverse.
They were the real culprits, hiding somewhere and observing how things unfolded.
"I can't exactly opt out of saving myself, can I? I don't want to die. I don't know what your Joker is like, but our Jester is a certifiable lunatic. I received the mission via a cassette tape, which, after over ten minutes of hysterical laughter, we managed to analyze using special equipment."
Cindy shook her head, providing more details.
"The Jester is currently in Arkham, but she's completely unhinged. She won't see anyone but the Bat."
"Well, the good news is that our Jokers are exactly the same—that calls for a drink. Since that route's a dead end, how about we find her gal pal?"
Michael changed his mind. If anyone else might know the Bat's whereabouts, besides the Jester, there were a few options.
Catwoman, Talia al Ghul of the League of Assassins, and Harley Quinn.
Among them, Catwoman was a drifter with no fixed abode—who knew where she might be.
As for Talia, the League's base was in Nanda Parbat, ridiculously far away.
Harley was actually the easiest to find. Though she was also quite mad, she could distinguish right from wrong in critical moments.
Cindy was silent for a moment. "Fine, we'll look for Harley. But she's not her 'gal pal.' According to Harley, their relationship is more like..."
"Besties?" Michael rolled his eyes under his mask.
"Something like that. Her exact words were 'Pumpkin Pie' and 'Puddin'.' You seem quite fluent in lunatic lingo."
Her voice, though raspy through the mask, sounded a bit exasperated.
Exasperation was understandable. Anyone dealing with the Joker would feel either fear or awe. For someone like Deathstroke, it was mostly exasperation.
The Joker knew this, which is why he preferred eliciting other emotions—like anger or curiosity. But most of all, he loved to see people laugh.
In the comics, he constantly provoked Batman's fury, which to outsiders seemed like a death wish. But all he wanted was to know why the Bat...
...was so serious.