Gently hook the legs, lift the left one, push to the chest to avoid breaking anything. A shove and a fall. The sparring is won. Again.
"Damn it." Slamming his palm stubbornly against the mats, Robin, out of his costume, stood up once more to start our training bout. There were three of us. Me, holding back and trying not to hurt the kid, and Dick, who was doing his absolute best to outmaneuver me with his agility. And then there was Bruce, sitting behind us.
"One more time."
"Stop." Batman, seated at his desk with eight massive monitors, didn't turn to us as he halted Dick. I would've ended it long ago, but I was trying not to bruise Dick's feelings—after all, he's a kid. He might remember it, think I considered him weak. I would've remembered.
"But Bruce…" Dick wanted to continue. Dick craved a fight. But without being prompted to repeat himself, Robin accepted his mentor's silence, extended his hand to me, and flashed a bright smile. Even though he lost, he knew he'd accomplished a lot.
"Alright, that was great, we'll do it again next time?"
It was clear he was trying to hide his emotions, but his trembling temple and cheeks, slightly flushed red, betrayed that Dick enjoyed our training bouts and was a bit shy about it. He was far from achieving Batman's level of bodily control.
I smiled back and gently shook his outstretched hand.
"Gladly, Dick, I enjoyed it too." I answered honestly, since, by lowering my speed and strength to Grayson's level, I could only defend. The fighting style I saw from Robin for the first time in my life was multidimensional and didn't read like standard styles—except it was far from ordinary. As someone with a military background, I recognized a multitude of techniques in those movements, and not just from harmless sports. Robin, realizing he didn't need to hold back, threw some pretty dangerous moves for a human. Batman must be pleased with this, as such experience fighting an opponent who doesn't feel your strikes really makes the brain work and learn. In the second-to-last sparring match, he even managed to take me down, turning my own body against me. Well, those were truly excellent two hours of hand-to-hand combat.
"Alright, I'm off then, gonna take a walk to school. It's my day off today, after all." With a final smirk, he nodded at me. "New Robin."
Rolling my eyes at his childishness, I grabbed a towel I didn't need and draped it over my head. A habit from training—I couldn't help it. Watching Robin's back as he climbed up to the house to head to school, and walking toward Batman, I recalled the day.
Waking up early in the morning, I arrived at a moment when the entire Bat-family was gathered. Without his costume, in casual clothes, Bruce looked more like a businessman than a hero. A jacked one, but a billionaire, which he was. Sitting at the dining table, which I found without getting lost, was a wiry black-haired guy. And, of course, Alfred, the shining example of professionalism. When offered a seat at the table, he replied he'd already eaten and expressed his gratitude. A unique man.
I met Dick Grayson calmly and peacefully. He wasn't surprised by my presence, likely already informed about me, and when I agreed to his suggestion of sparring after breakfast, I told him to be careful. He nodded, but in the very first round, he punched me in the jaw, nearly breaking his wrist. After that, things went smoother. He was reserved, but his smile showed he was enjoying it. Hitting with all his might seemed to thrill him, as did throwing batarangs straight at my face. And the fact that he called me the new Robin was a headache all its own.
The Batcave was exactly as I'd imagined it as a kid. A long landing tunnel ending in two massive metal monolithic gates that opened to the ocean on the other side. On a special circular platform stood a plane. Sharp-edged and shaped like Batman's logo, only rounded, it was packed with tech only a mad genius could assemble. Or Batman.
The cave was enormous, part museum showcasing all of Bruce's victories over villains and beyond. A giant coin, a full-sized dinosaur that didn't seem like a replica, a huge Joker playing card, an arrow stuck in ice, a helmet from who-knows-what era, and so on. Plenty of smaller items complemented the beauty. These stood off to the side, not obstructing movement through the cave.
The mats were near a drop into darkness and water below. A wall lined with monitors where Batman sat. There was also a row of special pods containing costumes—men's, adult-sized, and smaller ones in different color schemes, likely for younger people.
Bruce was typing something, and as I approached and glanced at what he was doing, I understood nothing. He was programming, I got that, but only about 10-20 percent of it. The rest was a mystery. Well, I didn't become a master hacker, and now I'm Batman's sidekick. Great career progression. To avoid disturbing him, I walked over to the costume pods.
Robin's costume was in a bright red and dark palette, reminding me of some kind of military armor. Thankfully, it wasn't fabric—cartoons weren't a reliable source. The armor was metal, of an unknown kind, but judging by the inner workings, it was sturdy and resilient. The tech inside was intriguing, but since I didn't understand it, I couldn't grasp the purpose of all the enhancements.
Hearing him stop typing, I couldn't help but ask.
"Is this really necessary?" We'd already discussed it, but I wanted to believe there was another way.
"No one should know your face," Bruce replied, swiveling in his chair to face me. "I understand your reluctance to hide it, but this world isn't yours. You're our hidden card, one we'll hold for a bad day. The enemy never sleeps, and with Superman gone, people will notice soon enough. In our world, hiding your identity isn't a whim—it's a necessity. No one knows what might happen before or after the war with Darkseid ends, and I'd rather not put my family or you at risk. I also don't approve of you choosing not to hide your face in your world. It could affect your loved ones or provoke aggression that your world's humanity wouldn't survive."
Accepting his reasoning but brushing off the last part, I replied.
"I only have one person left who's close to me. I won't turn against people. I may not be human, but I was raised by humans. Killing isn't my thing. As for cameras and tech, don't worry—my face won't end up online."
"Why?" he asked curtly, looking intrigued.
"Got a phone?" He opened a drawer under the desk and pulled out a sleek dark device. "Take a picture of me."
A click sounded, and a bright flash lit up the dim cave. After about ten seconds, he lowered the phone and raised his right eyebrow.
"See, if I want, no one can identify or find me. And my sketch has long stopped surprising anyone in my world."
I roughly knew what my photos looked like. I'm visible on camera, sure, but afterward, the electronics can't handle my powers and produce a screen full of static. A handy ability that still helps me today.
"Clark doesn't have that power," Bruce pointed out the obvious.
"Well, yeah, who said I'm like him?" I shrugged and continued inspecting the costumes while Batman stared thoughtfully at my back. Then, as if snapping out of it, he started typing again.
Five minutes later, after I'd examined all the costumes and was about to climb into the massive Batmobile nearby, Bruce called out to me.
"Cain. I'm done." He gestured to the screen, displaying countless photos of people and more.
"Will it keep up with me?" I pointed out my concern, since going through the bios of this world's villains and criminals the normal way would be painfully boring. It'd be dull enough, but at least speed could cut the time.
"It should. I'll be upstairs. Come up when you're done."
Leaving me alone with the massive database of criminals and villains, he headed up. Sighing and glancing around the superhero lair one more time, I grabbed the mouse and keyboard. Time to get to work—the sooner I finish, the sooner we hit the streets.
---
Stopping bullets with my hand, I jabbed a finger under the ribs of the last guy in a balaclava standing. Time resumed its flow, and those who'd been robbing the bank collapsed.
Unconscious, and silence. About fifteen robbers were neutralized. Processing the data took around thirty minutes, and after waiting for evening, we climbed into the Batmobile and rolled into the city. This bank crossed our path thirty minutes into cruising the quiet streets, where we only learned of the robbery thanks to my hearing. All businesses were already closed, and few people were out. My ears caught the sound of breaking glass, then sparking wires.
Arriving at the scene, Batman saw the bank was shut, with only one back door forced open. Slipping inside together, we found ourselves above the unlucky robbers who picked the wrong day. Bruce signaled for me to handle the majority in the main hall while he headed to the vault below.
I could've knocked them out right there, but we'd agreed I'd play Robin. So, mimicking Dick's fighting style, I took down three before one started spraying bullets everywhere with an automatic. It was fun watching them try to knock me out or stab me and fail, but the fun ended when a panicked guy, blind with fear, started shooting wildly. Seeing the bullets would kill people, I stopped holding back, caught them all in midair, and knocked everyone out with finger jabs. The clatter of bullets falling from my hand was the only sound in the silent room. The bank's golden hues were dim in the darkness, and the faint light didn't help the unlucky fools see who was hitting them.
Ten seconds later, Batman dragged two more by the collar and dumped them in the pile. At speed, I grabbed the durable material Bruce had given me from my belt, tied the guys' hands and feet, and tore the long rope where needed.
Meanwhile, he pressed the comm in his ear, listening to police chatter—calm today, no crimes needing Batman—and spoke.
"Robbery at Dale Avenue, three-five. Gold Bank. Gordon, send patrol."
After swirling his cape and signaling me to leave, we exited the bank. James Gordon, head of Gotham's police department, an older but sturdy man by his voice, confirmed without delay. We climbed into the Batmobile, fast compared to regular vehicles, and drove off to continue dispensing justice.
The night promised to be long.
---
Another night ended with us stopping about ten crimes and handing several dozen regular folks to the police. Mimicking Robin and only once showing my true strength, we guarded the city's order alongside Batman. Bruce said he was trying to revive the city, and compared to his first year, things were quiet now. Average crimes for a city this size. The lunatics threatening order were in Arkham Asylum, and when I asked about escapes, eyeing the scarred, white-faced man with a powdered look, he said no one had broken out of that place in years.
During the war against Darkseid's army, amid the chaos when villains escaped and caused more havoc, Batman had reevaluated his approach to containing those psychos, it turned out. By tightening security and upgrading it from both sides of his alter ego—hero and businessman—he turned the Asylum into a literal prison. Passing near the bridge to Arkham Island, I saw it looked the same from above, a mental hospital. But below, it was a fully sealed, high-security facility accessible only to Batman and a few trusted city officials. He wasn't about to repeat past mistakes, letting those freaks escape to wreak havoc.
So, Gotham, though less damaged than most due to its location, had changed the most after the war. From my temporary mentor and nighttime tea conversationalist's brief explanation, his view of criminals shifted when humanity fought tooth and nail against the invasion while the villains, who should've at least tried against the Parademons as fellow inhabitants, disappointed him. His disappointment led to him and the core Justice League rounding up every major and minor crook in the city within a week, making them regret feasting during a plague. Now they rotted in the prison beneath the Asylum, unable to harm regular people.
I supported this stance on murderous psychos, but in my view, executing the worst could deter the weaker ones. Some states have the death penalty, after all—it'd put those lunatics to rest. Others might calm down hearing about it, though you can't always predict a psycho's behavior. I didn't suggest such a tribunal, of course; it was Bruce's call how to run his city. Aquaman, king of Atlantis, probably doesn't spare criminals who've killed his kingdom's innocents. From what I could tell, Arthur was a king first, then a superhero and League member. Offering advice to people who knew their craft better than me felt unnecessary.
The week passed quietly: morning spars with Dick, with whom I started talking outside of matches; Alfred, always appearing silently nearby; and Bruce, teaching me everything a young hero should know. Tons of psychology books, knowledge from various sciences, hand-to-hand combat, and engineering. So much that even I drowned in my own head. He practically buried me in his expertise, and I wasn't against it. Learning from masters is always a pleasure. His example of what human effort could achieve earned my respect. The old me, who'd been through the army and mercenary life, didn't have a fraction of Bruce's knowledge or strength.
I wondered why he bothered, and when I asked, I got a thorough answer.
"Clark's too careless, relying only on his powers and not seeing ordinary people's problems. He grew up limiting himself his whole life, trying to seem human. And humans are full of weaknesses. He can't be changed. He is who he is. Not a perfect Kryptonian. You, Cain, are a blank slate I can instill with what I once thought Clark needed to become the best of us with his powers. Sadly, he deemed my help unnecessary. If I become one of the pillars of your growth, that's already a victory. Maybe you'll take the best from me, and it'll help both my world and yours."
For the first time since we met, Bruce was talkative, but then he reverted to his usual demeanor. His words stuck with me. He saw me as a hero without knowing my full story, which I wasn't about to share, but I couldn't overlook such an attitude. Absorbing everything he offered, I quickly processed tons of information. I just hoped I could be who he envisioned.
But I wasn't entirely sure…
Last night's attack, when we took down two gangs shooting it out at the port, Deathstroke and the others said nothing. No matter how hard Bruce beat or interrogated him, he stayed silent, like he'd swallowed his tongue. The others held firm too. I didn't offer my seasoned torturer's hands. They wouldn't get it, even the mercenaries.
Handing them over to the police, we tailed them to see if their employer would try to spring them, but hours of surveillance yielded nothing, and we returned to base. Monitoring was round-the-clock, with six prisoners in solitary awaiting trial. So far, all was quiet.
Thus ended the week of my debut as Robin, and today, out of nowhere, Bruce walked past me to the Batplane and said:
"Fly behind me, and you don't need the costume."
I was in regular clothes Alfred had brought, in my usual style: a hoodie over a tee, jeans, and sneakers. This time, the hoodie was white, the pants and sneakers black. Shrugging, I slowly lifted off. He glanced at me, saw me flying, then jumped into the pilot's seat of the Batplane and shot off, accelerating out of the cave under a full moon. We headed north, quickly crossing U.S. cities and lands. I didn't know where we were going but asked no questions. Everything Bruce had done since I arrived in this world was for my benefit. Though he'd pulled a Superman from another world, he had no choice. The stakes were too high to leave the planet without a Kryptonian. That he got a kid with Clark's powers instead of an adult made it harder. But he was kind to me, and I returned kindness with the same. So, unbothered and scanning the unfamiliar cities below that didn't exist in my world, I flew at a low speed, keeping pace with the plane.
Where would this flight take us?
---
When Bruce and I landed on Arctic soil, the sensation hit like an icy world. Purity and silence. The plane stopped, leaving us on creaking ice that sounded like old wood. I felt the cold slip under my clothes, snow trying to sneak under my collar, an awkward feeling. Snow stung my face, the wind relentless. The sky was murky, like a frozen veil, hiding the horizons. Only a few distant snowy peaks flickered before vanishing in the white haze. The snow here wasn't like in cities or even mountains. It was different—pristine, untouched by human tracks. No one but us and a massive structure of jagged crystals spiking in all directions within a few kilometers. This wasn't a place for human tech to function.
Bruce and I were silent. I could hear his breathing quicken. Though his armor accounted for everything, he felt the cold more than I did. My head swirled with awe and wonder—seeing a Kryptonian's fortress was surreal. We moved quickly: him on foot, me floating beside.
Superman's Fortress of Solitude wasn't just a hideout but a showcase of Krypton's achievements. When I first saw it, I couldn't believe my eyes. I knew magic and my natural enemies blocked my vision, but the fortress being invisible to my X-ray sight was a shock. My eyes couldn't capture its full grandeur, and only after a couple of minutes, nearing the massive doors, did I feel tiny against this giant. From space, this fortress must be visible, I realized.
"Will you open it?" Inspecting the doors' carvings, unlike anything I'd seen, I didn't catch his question at first.
"What? Me?" I blinked stupidly.
"I can't lift it. Of anyone I know, only you and Clark on this planet can." He pointed to something I'd missed, also invisible to my senses.
On the ground lay a golden key with the House of El's Superman emblem. It was imperceptible to me, but the cracked earth, as if something pressed on it, hinted it wasn't ordinary.
Its size and look were human, but from Bruce's words…
"You're not saying this is the key to the Fortress, are you?" This can't be real.
"You're quick." Bruce's expression didn't change. "According to Clark, this key is made from ultra-dense material from a star's explosion and weighs half a million tons. Only someone with superhuman strength can use it."
"How much?" The most I'd lifted was a cruise liner, and that wasn't a tenth of this key's weight.
"Half a million tons. I don't know how it doesn't sink through."
Before I could ask, he answered. Things just keep getting weirder. Crouching, I touched the key and gripped it with my thumb and forefinger, tensing my arm. Let's try.
---
"Mad Harriet failed?" Gazing at the landscape unfolding before him, hands clasped behind his back, the God of Apokolips asked. Everything was in dark red tones, a planet razed to its core yet alive only by his will.
"O great Darkseid, my lord, it's my fault. Please, punish me." Behind her god, an ordinary-looking elderly woman pleaded. She could've passed for a grandmother. She'd tried to save the girl lost in her manic actions but failed.
"No matter. The time for my plan draws near. I don't need trash. Burn her as you see fit, then scatter her ashes in space. Scouting that hero planet is our first step. Failure is unacceptable." The deep, menacing voice of the God was law to his slaves.
"As you command, my lord. May your Omega Force light my path, O great Darkseid."