Clap, clap, clap.
Vicki was clapping enthusiastically on the sidelines, her face flushed red with excitement, almost matching the fiery color of her hair. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to contain her exhilaration.
"Bravo, Mr. Deathstroke! You're the strongest warrior I've ever seen."
Michael slung his shotgun back over his shoulder. Defeating the mechanical dinosaur hadn't been particularly difficult, and thanks to his accelerated healing, the minor injuries from the fight had already subsided.
"Even if you start yelling for an encore, I won't be performing again. Finish your report, and once we've got the information we need, we're leaving."
He didn't want to get tangled up with this woman any more than necessary. Vicki had a way of always pushing for more—more questions, more demands. Michael simply wanted to leverage her luck to achieve his goals without getting too deeply involved.
"Oh, fine. But could I at least take a piece of the dinosaur as a souvenir?" Vicki asked, dragging her feet, clearly reluctant to let the moment pass.
Michael turned and headed toward where Barbara and Cindy were working on cracking the Batcomputer. With Barbara's skills, it had to be close to done by now.
"Do whatever you want, but if you think you're going to trace Batwoman's identity from the materials used to build this thing, don't bother. She's not that stupid."
"Hmph."
Vicki stomped her foot, annoyed that her intentions were so easily read. But she was a reporter, after all—dignity wasn't something she concerned herself with. She wobbled over to the wreckage of the dinosaur, prying loose one of its enormous metal eyes and yanking out a length of wire still attached to its inner circuitry.
Michael didn't care. Vicki's insatiable curiosity was borderline pathological, but at least she understood boundaries. She had probably already realized that neither he nor Cindy had any immediate intention of killing her or Pete.
Walking up behind Barbara's wheelchair, Michael glanced at the massive screen in front of her, lines of code dancing across it as the system was decrypted. The glow illuminated their faces, but he had no idea how much progress they'd made.
"How's it going over here? The dinosaur's down."
"Almost there," Barbara responded, her fingers flying over both her laptop and the Batcomputer's keyboard. "Just a little more… Open sesame!"
With a final keystroke, the screen changed to a wide aerial view of Gotham, captured from a high vantage point—likely from one of the gargoyles on top of Wayne Tower, where cameras had been discreetly installed.
Beyond that, the Batcomputer was linked to various city departments, meaning it had real-time access to virtually every piece of data Gotham had to offer.
"She's been monitoring the entire city," Barbara muttered in awe. The sheer scale of the surveillance was overwhelming, with camera feeds from across Gotham pouring in. As Barbara continued navigating the system, it became clear that Batwoman had eyes everywhere.
From luxurious private rooms in high-end restaurants to the dingiest bridges under which Gotham's homeless slept, Batwoman had surveillance cameras. It was as if she viewed every citizen as a potential criminal. Barbara even spotted several cameras aimed directly at her own home.
Michael patted her on the head, pulling her back to reality. "Welcome to the Dark Knight's worldview. Yeah, she's exactly what you're thinking."
"It's madness. Is she really doing the right thing? She's violating everyone's privacy, whether they're criminals or not." Barbara's voice shook with disbelief. She had always thought of Batwoman as someone who shared her ideals, someone who wanted to make Gotham a better place.
But the extent of this surveillance was staggering—and disturbing. Batwoman's obsession with control extended to every corner of Gotham, day and night.
"For Batwoman, Gotham's citizens only fall into two categories: 'already criminals' and 'not criminals yet.' She trusts no one," Cindy chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She didn't care for Batwoman's methods, preferring the clarity of a contract. Cindy, at least, believed in some form of societal order.
"Even my father? He's been supporting her all these years." Barbara's voice cracked slightly as she clutched the arms of her wheelchair, her thoughts racing.
"Even your father," Michael sighed. The Batwoman of the Dark Multiverse was even darker and more paranoid than the Batman of the main timeline. "To Batwoman, your father is just 'unlikely to become a criminal.' Sure, she considers him a friend, but her idea of friendship isn't what normal people have. Batwoman always holds something back—just in case."
Barbara's eyes glazed over in shock. She was struggling to process everything. Deathstroke was a notorious villain, a symbol of violence and bloodshed. How could the lines between hero and villain be this blurred?
"No, that's just your interpretation," Barbara said defensively, though the doubt in her voice was clear.
"Maybe. But let me tell you a story. You might want to hear it," Cindy interjected, keen to prevent Barbara from falling under Batwoman's influence. With her hacking abilities, Barbara could be a powerful ally, and Cindy wasn't about to let her fall for Batwoman's twisted sense of justice.
Barbara stared at Cindy, her eyes filled with confusion. Part of her had already started to understand what kind of person Batwoman was from what she'd seen on the Batcomputer, but she didn't want to accept it.
Cindy leaned casually against the control panel, holding her helmet. "Remember after your accident, when your father and Batwoman captured the Joker? Gordon raised his gun to shoot the Joker, but Batwoman stepped in and took the bullet for him."
Barbara froze. Just hearing the Joker's name sent a chill through her, making her shudder uncontrollably.
"What's your point?" she snapped. "Are you saying Batwoman and Joker are… involved?"
"If I'd been there—or Michael—we wouldn't have stepped in to stop it."
Cindy grabbed the arms of Barbara's wheelchair and pulled her closer, forcing Barbara to look directly into her eyes.
"That's because you don't care about the law!" Barbara shouted, turning her face away from Cindy's piercing gaze. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as if trying to ward off the chill that had crept over her.
"No. It's because I knew Gordon wouldn't pull the trigger."
Cindy grabbed Barbara's face, turning her head back so she had no choice but to face reality. "Both Batwoman and I have memorized your father's entire psychological profile. We know exactly what kind of man he is. Gordon's emotions wouldn't override his sense of duty—he'd act like a cop first. But Batwoman? You think she stepped in because she trusted him?"
Barbara was speechless. She didn't know the exact details of that night, but after she had woken up in the hospital, her father had seemed broken. He had apologized to her, not for her injuries, but for something else entirely. She hadn't understood it then—she thought it was because of what happened to her legs.
But now, she realized that the reason for her father's despair was much deeper. It wasn't just about her—it was the crushing weight of understanding that even after all these years, Batwoman still didn't trust him. Gordon had been a cop in Gotham for over thirty years, working side by side with Batwoman for over a decade, and she still treated him like a potential threat.
Gordon had believed he was protecting Batwoman's secret, but in truth, he only knew what she allowed him to know. Batwoman always had a contingency plan, a safety net for every scenario.
She trusted no one—not even her closest allies.