Chapter 22 — The start
Gotham was sick.
Not the kind of sickness that a doctor could diagnose or a priest could exorcise. It was the kind that clung to the walls, bled into the rainwater, and whispered down the alleyways. And tonight… tonight it was coughing up something new.
People were disappearing. Not the usual Gotham disappearances — no mob vendettas, no mugger stabbings, no bodies showing up in the river with their wallets missing. These were different. Whole families plucked from their apartments. Workers snatched from subway stations. Police patrols going silent mid-shift. No blood, no ransom notes, no witnesses. Just gone.
Batman had been chasing the trail for three nights, and tonight, his boots hit the wet concrete of the Narrows again. His cape dragged slightly in the oily puddles as he crouched over another scene — broken bricks, a burned smell, claw marks that weren't quite animal and weren't quite machine.
His voice rasped inside the cowl.
"Not human."
And Gotham, always the cruel lover, gave him no answer.
---
He wasn't alone.
A flash of green light cut through the shadows. Too bright, too loud, too arrogant for Gotham. It wasn't Gotham's color. Gotham was gray, Gotham was black, Gotham was crimson. But this light? This was a flare — and flares attracted attention.
"Step away from the crime scene, Bat-freak," a cocky voice called.
Batman didn't move. His jaw tightened. His fists flexed.
The emerald glow solidified into armor, into a cocky grin, into a man floating just above the ground. Green Lantern. Hal Jordan, test pilot turned space cop, and right now, Batman's headache.
"You're contaminating evidence," Batman said. His tone was ice.
"Evidence?" Hal chuckled, lowering himself to hover eye-level. "Buddy, I just saved a woman from being carried off by some bug-thing with wings the size of a truck. Evidence isn't what we need right now. What we need is answers."
Batman's eyes narrowed.
"Bug-thing?"
Hal leaned forward, green light shimmering across his chest. "You've never seen anything like it. Claws, mandibles, jet-black armor. Not from around here. And get this— it blew up when I killed it. Boom. Gone. No body, no trace. Like it never existed."
Batman said nothing. He just crouched again, his gauntleted fingers brushing the strange scorch marks on the ground. His mind catalogued, analyzed, connected dots that weren't yet visible.
Hal floated closer. "Look, I get it. You're the big, broody detective. But maybe you could thank me for saving lives?"
Batman looked up. His eyes, sharp beneath the cowl, cut through the glow.
"Show me where it died."
Hal blinked. "...That's your thank you?"
But Batman was already moving, cape sweeping behind him. He didn't wait. He never waited.
Hal groaned, muttering something about "worst team-up ever," and followed the bat deeper into the tunnels of Gotham.
---
The sewers smelled like rot and gasoline. Batman's footsteps were silent, precise. Hal's boots splashed in the muck, his glow bouncing off the slime-coated walls.
"You ever think about a flashlight instead of, you know, the whole cape thing?" Hal asked. "Might make this easier."
"Quiet."
Hal sighed. "Do you ever—"
"Quiet."
Then they heard it.
A hiss. A scrape. Something crawling in the dark, claws against stone.
Batman's body shifted instantly into combat stance. Hal raised his ring, a green shield forming around him.
And from the shadows, it lunged.
It was a nightmare given wings — jagged claws, insectoid eyes, armored skin that shimmered with alien sheen. A Parademon.
Hal reacted first, firing a green net that wrapped around the creature mid-flight. It screeched, thrashing, mandibles clicking like metal teeth.
Batman moved fast — a batarang flashing from his hand, slicing into the creature's joint where wing met carapace. It screeched louder, acidic ichor hissing into the sewer water.
Hal grinned. "Teamwork! Look at that, we're already—"
The creature exploded.
Not with fire, not with smoke — but with light. A violent implosion, disintegrating into nothing but dust and sparks.
Hal cursed, shielding his eyes. Batman didn't flinch. He reached into the water where something remained. A box. Small. Metallic. Humming with a low, unnatural vibration.
Batman held it up.
"Alien technology."
Hal hovered closer, frowning. "What is that? Some kind of bomb?"
Batman studied it, his mind racing.
"No. Something worse."
The box pulsed once, almost like a heartbeat.
And then the sound came.
From deep in the tunnels, echoing against the wet stone walls, a voice — distorted, broken, yet filled with absolute certainty.
"Darkseid… is…"
Hal stiffened. "Uh. Batman? Please tell me you've got a plan."
Batman closed his fist around the box. His cape swirled in the foul air.
"We find out what that word means… before Gotham drowns in it."
And for the first time that night, even Batman's voice carried the faintest edge of unease.