The people in this universe are definitely not of this world. Watching the mercenary strike a pose, one leg aimed at my head while the other stood firmly on the ground, I couldn't help but shake my head. The guy in colorful armor, mostly orange and black, seemed to be trying to knock me out with that move. Did no one tell him that the target of this contract is a bit stronger than the average human and that gas doesn't work on him?
At super speed, I grabbed his leg, hoisted him into the air, and held him there while Batman finished dealing with his opponents.
"You're not Robin…" His low voice sounded confused, and his pulse spiked. Scared? No, after two or three seconds, he calmed down. A pro, I'll give him that, but wasn't he embarrassed that Deadshot went flying from a single slap?
Not bothering to answer the mercenary, I adjusted the cape that had once again slipped over my head. Flying Robin—yours truly—definitely made an impression on everyone still conscious in the room, distracting Bruce's opponents. He wasted no time capitalizing on it. Damn costume, why is it so cumbersome? How does Dick wear this thing all the time? It squeezes like a shell. And don't get me started on the stupid mask.
A motley crew of freaks and two mercenaries tried to catchshe ambush us, focusing mainly on Gotham's Knight rather than me. First came the gas, meant to knock me out, then attempts at close combat. Strangely, they didn't use weapons. Unfortunately for them, all their efforts failed. The freaks were on Batman, while the humans were on me.
Small remarks in their dialogue hinted that Deathstroke, whom I was holding, and Deadshot, knocked out amid the warehouse crates, were hired by the same person, judging by their military signals. They passed them to each other, thinking I didn't notice, and worked as a team. The others—Killer Croc, King Shark, Killer Frost, and Mr. Freeze—were hired by someone else. But it felt like a lie, or maybe they didn't even know who hired them, given how an anonymous source paid them to attack Batman and Robin without mentioning there were now two Robins. Though, how could they know? Grayson's probably sleeping tonight.
Alright, shaking Deathstroke to stop him from unbuckling his boot, I looked at Batman, who was slowly walking toward me. King Shark and Killer Croc lay unconscious, heads smashed together, while Killer Frost was bound with fishing line—smelling of some cold-resistant chemical—and also out cold. A blow to the forehead left its mark. Bruce's hand was heavy, and he didn't distinguish between male or female villains and murderers—justice awaited them all. Freeze, on the other hand, simply surrendered when he saw it was over. Smart, but still a villain, so he was pinned to the wall with batarangs and knocked out with gas from Batman's sleeves.
Squeezing the leg harder, making my prisoner groan, I asked Bruce, who was breathing slightly heavier than usual. Even he got winded fighting so many opponents.
"Who are these guys, Batman?" I was curious what the scourge of criminals would say. Honestly, I didn't understand the actions of these six. Why attack us?
"Mercenaries," he said curtly and punched Deathstroke in the face. The man swayed like a punching bag and silently spat blood. "Who's the client, Wilson?"
"Go to hell," he replied, not what Bruce wanted to hear, and took a hit to the chest. He struggled to breathe but handled it silently. Looked like we were in for a long, meticulous job of extracting information. I doubted he'd crack easily.
Gotham's a lively city.
---
The Boom Tube, the League's teleporter, brought us to Gotham in a bright flash. Interesting, but flying's more familiar. After discussing my demands, Bruce suggested heading to his place, insisting it wasn't wise to roam cities without documents. When I pointed out I didn't really need them, he added that he felt responsible for me, reasonably explaining I didn't know this planet's realities and might face danger simply from a lack of information. I accepted that and agreed to go to his home, though I vaguely understood he was right. No matter how strong you are, even Superman can be hurt. I didn't know all the threats on this planet. Flash was with me too, chewing on something. He was here mostly to ensure I didn't bolt, and Bruce's goal of keeping me close was clear. I'm not an idiot, after all. Flash was just the most familiar to me, and Bruce asked Barry to escort me while he was busy at the Watchtower.
If a child Kryptonian with adult Kal-El's power showed up on my planet, I'd keep a close eye on them too. Barry, scanning the warehouse we teleported into, said, "Man, this place again. Couldn't you send us closer to the city, Vic?" He griped to Cyborg and tossed a candy wrapper on the ground. I raised an eyebrow. The sound of waves and the smell of fish told me where we were. The port. Great for cover, but not for transport if you're an ordinary human without a car. Luckily, we weren't human.
"Where to?" I asked, peering through the walls to see outside the warehouse, packed with crates of grains and canned goods. The Wayne Corp logo was stylishly plastered across the left wall, and a small door stood open against the closed gates. The city glowed with neon signs and dim lights. The view wasn't complete from here, but I already felt Gotham's dark-bright vibe. Sirens were audible even to normal ears, and the city never slept, living its risky, shadowy life.
"Mmm." Barry blurred for a second, ran off, and returned. I didn't enter the state where time slows, so I didn't see where he went. Shrugging, he pointed. "West. The manor's that way."
"Alright." Entering the state where time slowed for everything but me and Barry, who said as he ran, "Last one there's a loser!" Flashing a finger-gun to his forehead, he vanished in red-yellow streaks. Shaking my head, I burned the wrapper to leave no trace, accepted the runner's challenge, and followed, controlling my aura and telekinesis to avoid a shockwave. Flash did it passively—I'd noticed in the Watchtower—but I had to focus to keep from breaking everything with a step. If only I knew where the manor was.
Gotham greeted me with darkness and light. Skyscrapers stood beside old houses, streets cloaked in eternal shadow, and building facades seemed to absorb the dark. The city's style was gothic, maybe? I wasn't big on architecture; it just felt grim and ancient. Yet, new skyscrapers were rising, showing the city was coming alive again. Barry ran ahead, his speed a red blur to others, weaving around buildings and streets. He knew the way, and I tried to keep up. Gotham was two-faced: some streets were bright with well-dressed people walking calmly, while others were dark, everyone armed with knives or guns, small and large. Police here and there, glowing neon billboards, and human voices blended into one. A grim yet vibrant city. I didn't like it much.
Suddenly, Flash changed direction so fast I didn't even catch how he vanished. My speed was like a snail's compared to the speedster.
Stopping where we parted, I scratched my head. Well, now what? Looking around for him, I couldn't spot the speedster's figure. Too many obstacles and buildings to see everything from the ground. Fly up?
Before I could direct my powers and body upward, someone called out. A young woman stepped from the alley's shadows on a dimly lit, sparsely populated street. "Boy, can you help me?"
She looked about twenty-five, but her internal organs were a mess—lungs black, barely hanging on. Not long left for her. Beautiful outside, rotting inside. Her golden hair flowed to her waist, and her blue eyes stared, unblinking, frozen.
"Yeah?" I tilted my head.
"Come with me. I'll give you candy, and Auntie will show you something fun…" The blonde, glancing around for witnesses, yanked me into the alley. Letting her, I weighed my options. After a couple of meters, her heartbeat spiked, nostrils flared, and she pulled a knife, slashing at my throat without warning. Who does that? The blood she craved didn't come, and she asked, stunned, unblinking, "How?"
"Like this," I replied and flicked her forehead. She flew to the alley's far end, hitting her head on the wall. Yeah, awkward. My scalp itched from sudden trouble. I smelled and saw blood seeping from her head. Just then, Flash arrived, catching me holding her head with one hand, checking her for a concussion and fracture. She might need a surgeon.
"Cain?" Flash asked, shocked. I wanted to roll my eyes at the cliché of catching a criminal red-handed. Instead, I pointed to the fallen, narrow, single-edged knife with dried blood, showing I wasn't her first victim.
"Serial killer, Barry. Just a serial killer."
---
"I didn't expect our city to have a serial killer targeting kids, Mr. Cain. Good thing you were there before she found a weaker victim." Pouring me tea, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce's butler, gestured to a cake. "Please, try this cake. I baked it using a French recipe from a fine chef."
"Gladly, Sir Alfred." I smiled, sipping the tea.
"You may call me just Alfred, Mr. Cain." He began clearing our late dinner, one hand behind his back.
"Then call me just Cain." Mmm, delicious. I said it was amazing, praising his cooking, earning a grateful smile before he left with the dirty dishes.
After Flash and I took the injured killer to the hospital, we quickly reached the fence of a massive square estate in a wealthy area by the ocean. The fresh sea air and quiet showed people here valued privacy. Perfect spot for a home and Batman's base.
Ringing the bell at the wrought-iron gates, Barry waited for an answer.
"You're not to blame, Cain. That girl chose to act that way." His reaction was saner than I expected—he was more worried about me than the killer. Fair enough.
"No big deal. Happens." I shrugged, not too bothered about her. I'd shown mercy by not killing her, mostly to avoid trouble with heroes later. Who knows if they could trace a crime without cameras? Magic, probably. They pulled me from my world, after all. Back in my city, she'd have burned under my gaze, like that pervert. Here, I'm Superman—kind, wholesome hero.
Unexpectedly, Barry crouched to my eye level, removed his mask, and said, "If something happens to her, know it's not your fault. It's her choice, and the consequences are on her." He was serious, and I couldn't laugh in his face. You're a good guy, Barry Allen, caring more for an alien than an injured killer.
"Sure, I'll visit her in prison after she's out of the hospital." I wasn't lying—I'd look into what she'd done in her career, given how fiercely she tried to kill me.
"Good." The gates opened automatically, revealing a straight path to the manor, with a vast green lawn and a fountain right at the entrance. Flash blurred in a clothing whirlwind, changing in seconds and hiding his suit, it seemed, in a lightning-emblazoned ring on his right hand.
"Convenient."
"You bet!" Chin raised proudly, as if reading my mind, he strolled toward the manor. I followed, looking around.
Garages full of luxury cars, utility buildings, some empty structures, a flower greenhouse—nothing too exciting on the huge grounds. The manor itself was more interesting. Countless rooms, halls, and living areas. Expensive furniture, visible even through walls, massive rugs, paintings, and art pieces made the sprawling, empty house feel whole. I noticed only an older, gray-haired man with perfect posture waiting at the entrance and a sleeping boy. He wore a black suit and held a tray with water glasses. Thoughtful—my throat was dry after running at full speed. Barry had convinced me to go all out, and racing across water to avoid breaking the city, we figured out who was faster. Turns out, the speedster had been holding back in the city so I wouldn't fall behind. My speed was high, even by speedster standards, he admitted, but I saw and felt it was barely a twentieth of the Fastest Man on Earth's true speed. Conceding defeat, he encouraged me, saying I'd grow into it, and we ended up at Bruce's manor entrance.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Water?" His voice matched his look, dripping with British aristocracy. Without flinching, Allen grabbed and drained half the glasses on the tray. Thanking Alfred, he flopped onto a couch in the next room, arms behind his head.
"And you, Mr…?"
"Cain. Just Cain. I'd love some." Taking a glass, I sipped cold water and eyed the man in a flawless suit, setting the tray on a nearby golden table. He seemed born to wear it. Next to him, I felt a bit imperfect.
"A pleasure, Mr. Cain. I'm Alfred, as Mr. Allen mentioned, Pennyworth. Butler to the Wayne family and guardian to Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, better known to you as Batman and Robin." The latter, a boy not much older than me—maybe two years—was sleeping on the second floor of the three-story manor, I saw through the walls.
"Robin?" I asked for formality.
"Batman's assistant and constant companion," he described Dick Grayson without blinking. "Master Bruce said you'd arrive early, but everything's ready. May I offer you dinner?"
A tempting offer I didn't refuse. So, sitting next to Barry, who rubbed his slightly rounder belly, he sighed happily. "I wouldn't eat this much of Iris's cooking—Alfred's still untouchable. Right, Cain?" He lazily glanced at me as I finished my cake slice.
"Really delicious. Never had anything like it." True story—in both my lives, nothing tasted better, and my super-senses agreed. I usually dulled detailed taste to avoid ruining my appetite, but Alfred, seeming to know my physiology, crafted a masterpiece. There was an odd ingredient in the meat, though, giving it a unique flavor. Deciding not to dive into culinary mysteries, I asked Barry, "Who's Iris?"
"My girlfriend," he said with a smile. "I'll introduce you when I've got time. Starting tomorrow, it's gonna be a whirlwind."
"Yeah? I thought it'd be a few days," I noted. The League's planet-wide patrols sounded like a hassle.
"Bruce said since you're with us, we've gotta match you. So we start tomorrow and keep going for the next month."
"Got it," I nodded.
"You leaving already?" I asked as the speedster stood. He'd mentioned during our talk that duties awaited and he had to head back to his city.
"Yeah, time to say goodbye. But don't worry, we'll see each other soon." He walked over, ruffled my hair, then vanished in a red flash, back in his suit. "Don't mope. Later, Alfred!" Waiting for Alfred's farewell, he ran off, phasing through walls and hitting the water. Then just waves—he was gone from my sight.
Damn, I forgot to ask him to teach me to phase through walls. Wonder if I could do it? Pretty useful ability for any situation.
"Shall I show you to your room?" Alfred asked, as if he'd always been beside me. Impressive training. "Master Bruce said he'll be late."
"Yes, thanks, Alfred. And for dinner—it was delicious."
"My pleasure, Cain. Only the best for guests of the Wayne household. Follow me."
He gestured the way and led me to my room for my stay. Yeah, patrols start tomorrow—better sleep. I might not rest for a while, so tonight, I'll sleep for a month ahead.
---
"What do you think?" Bruce asked, watching Cain settle into bed, undressing oddly, while a blond guy made faces.
"Maybe turn off the video?" Barry, appearing behind Batman in a flash, grabbed the tablet, shut off the room's surveillance feed, and returned it instantly. "There, better."
"Barry," Bruce said, glancing at the speedster through his white lenses. One word made it clear joking time was over.
Sighing, Flash sat, gazing at Earth from the Watchtower. The planet spun calmly, no signs of trouble. If only it weren't for the Parademons, he thought, clenching his fists. In that massacre, he nearly lost his adoptive father, who raised him when his real dad was in prison. The helplessness of watching a father figure in a hospital bed enraged the Scarlet Speedster. Pushing emotions aside, he answered.
"He's good, Bruce—as good as a kid who's the only hero in his world can be. As for his powers, like I said, same as Clark's, at least what I've seen. I don't think we should've tasked Constantine with finding a spell against him."
Expression unchanged, Batman replied, "We don't know what's true, Barry. What he's told us could be a lie. Constantine's just looking for a spell to contain him if…"
"If what, Bruce?" Barry exclaimed. "What scenario makes a kind-hearted kid we yanked from his world a threat?"
Unfazed by the meta-human, Batman said evenly, eyes on a screen showing Cain's photo, "Any scenario, Barry. Too much can go wrong. He could be tricked, controlled by Poison Ivy's spores or magic. We don't know his resistance—maybe he can't handle what Clark can, or maybe he's suggestible to those who'd want a pocket Superman. Magic's a big question mark too. Clark's vulnerable to it normally, and Cain, at least, has similar powers."
"So you want to keep him close because of that?" Barry asked, calming down, seeing Bruce's point. But he wanted to watch over his new friend himself.
"I'm the only one who can assess risks and find solutions in any situation," Batman said. He wasn't bragging—just stating facts, and Barry accepted it.
"And the kryptonite room in the manor I never saw before has nothing to do with it, right?" Flash pointed out the danger to all Kryptonians.
"He's in a different room," Batman replied. "And as you see, kryptonite doesn't affect him."
A video played, showing tiny meat pieces on a fork heading to the kid's mouth as he ate heartily.
"You're not saying…" Barry was stunned by his friend's move.
"He ate tiny bits of kryptonite—literally dust—I asked Alfred to mix into the meat. It was controlled, and if anything went wrong, we could've fixed it. If he becomes a threat, you're one of the few who can face him. I trust you with Cain and want you to know: he's not a Kryptonian. Not in the usual sense, at least. But that's not the main issue."
"Yeah? What is?" Barry began to see Bruce's paranoia hitting new heights. He already knew the man was paranoid, but this was next-level. Not bothering to dwell on madness he couldn't stop, he let it go. He had enough problems without tackling others'.
"Her." Bruce said, and the screen showed a photo of a blonde girl in a hospital bed, asleep during the shot. The same one who tried to knife Cain.
"That's the serial killer who went after Cain! Who is she?" Barry asked, with no answer forthcoming. "Bruce?"
"I don't know," Batman frowned, still masked, realizing Barry didn't grasp the gravity.
"You don't know?" Barry was floored. It was the first time Bruce admitted he didn't know something.
"She vanished from the ward after surgery. No one, no cameras, saw anything. Police and government databases worldwide are empty. Her face doesn't register. A ghost, gone in my city. This photo and your words are the only proof she exists. Even her surgeons and the cops assigned to her can't recall her." Turning to Flash, Bruce finished, "And I don't like it."