I woke up feeling like a human furnace. Which, you know, would be totally fine if I'd gone to bed fully clothed or alone. But seeing as how neither of those things happened last night, I wasn't exactly shocked to find myself trapped in a human (and Martian) blanket burrito.
First observation: I was very naked. Second observation: so were the two women snuggled up to me. Third observation: my life had officially reached soap opera levels of complicated.
On my left, Megan was draped across my chest, her green skin practically glowing in the sunlight. Her face was buried in my shoulder, her arms wrapped around me like I was some kind of oversized teddy bear. If teddy bears had chronic self-doubt and a tendency to attract world-ending crises, that is. Even in her sleep, her cheeks were flushed a darker green, and I had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't from the temperature.
On my right was Zatanna, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. Her hair spilled across the pillow in a way that screamed effortlessly gorgeous, and she had this smug little smile on her face that said, Yes, Harry, I am the queen of magical mischief, and you should probably get used to it.
"Morning, Harry," Zatanna murmured, her voice as smooth as melted chocolate. Her eyes flicked open, impossibly blue and sparkling with amusement. "Sleep well?"
"Oh, you know," I said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "Just a regular night. Nothing unusual. Except for the part where I woke up naked with a Martian and a magician in my bed."
Megan stirred at the sound of my voice, letting out a sleepy little hum that was way too adorable for someone who could probably bench-press a tank. Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment she realized the situation, her entire face turned a shade of green I didn't even know existed.
"Ohmygosh!" Megan squeaked, sitting up so fast she nearly launched herself out of bed. She grabbed the blanket like it was a life raft, wrapping it around herself in a panic. "I—I didn't mean to—um—well, I guess I did—but I didn't mean to—uh—sleep like that—I mean, we—ohmygosh!"
"Megan," I said gently, sitting up and putting a hand on her arm. "It's okay. You don't have to panic."
"Yeah, relax, Megan," Zatanna said with a yawn, stretching lazily like a cat who'd just knocked over a vase and was proud of it. "You were fantastic. No need to stress."
Megan's blush deepened—an impressive feat, considering she was already Martian tomato green. "I—I was? Really?"
"Absolutely," Zatanna said, grinning like she was delivering the world's best compliment. "Natural talent. Harry agrees, don't you?"
"Uh," I said eloquently, because apparently, my brain decided now was a great time to take a vacation. "Yeah. Totally. You were… amazing, Megan."
Her eyes went wide, and she gave me this shy little smile that could've powered a city for a week. "Thank you, Harry. That means a lot."
"See?" Zatanna said, giving Megan an encouraging nod. "No need to freak out. Everything went exactly as planned."
"Wait, planned?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her. "You planned this?"
"Well, duh," Zatanna said, rolling her eyes like I'd just asked if water was wet. "I'm a magician, Harry. Improvisation is for amateurs. Besides, you looked like you needed to unwind. Consider it my civic duty."
Megan gasped, clutching the blanket tighter. "Wait—did you use magic on us?!"
"Calm down, Megan," Zatanna said with a dismissive wave. "It was nothing major. Just a little charm to, you know, set the mood. Enhance the ambiance. Maybe boost the stamina a bit. You're welcome, by the way."
Megan looked equal parts horrified and flattered. "You—you used a spell to boost our stamina?!"
"Relax," Zatanna said with a grin. "It's not like I turned you into a frog or anything. You had fun, didn't you?"
"I—well—yes, but—" Megan stammered, blushing even harder.
"You're welcome," Zatanna said, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on Megan's cheek, which only made her blush more.
I buried my face in my hands and groaned. "Why do I feel like my life just turned into a romantic comedy directed by Quentin Tarantino?"
"Because it did," Zatanna said cheerfully. "Now, who's hungry? Magical bonding works up an appetite."
"Magical bonding?" I asked, glaring at her. "What does that even mean?"
"Oh, you'll find out," she said with a wink.
Megan raised a trembling hand. "Um… could we maybe not tell anyone about this? I mean, it's not like we did anything wrong, but… I just don't want people to get the wrong idea…"
"Don't worry, Megan," Zatanna said, patting her on the head like she was a nervous puppy. "What happens in Mount Justice stays in Mount Justice. Right, Harry?"
"Yeah, sure," I muttered. "Just one question, though."
"What's that?" Zatanna asked, her grin practically glowing.
"Whose turn is it tonight?"
Zatanna laughed, Megan squeaked in embarrassment, and I decided that maybe I should start sleeping with one eye open. Welcome to my life.
—
Mount Justice's kitchen was chaos incarnate.
I don't mean the fun, quirky kind of chaos, like a puppy tearing up a roll of toilet paper. No, this was superhero breakfast chaos. Imagine a diner during the lunch rush, add seven powered-up girlfriends, and multiply by my complete lack of caffeine. Yeah, you're starting to get the picture.
We strolled in, freshly showered—bonded in very satisfying ways, thank you—and the first thing I noticed was the smell of bacon, waffles, and judgment. Megan, still clinging to my arm like a shipwreck survivor to a life preserver, was blushing so hard that her freckles looked like they were glowing.
"Do you think they heard us?" she whispered.
Before I could reassure her, Zatanna answered for me, smirking as she sauntered ahead. "Oh, they definitely heard us. You're not exactly quiet, Megs."
"Zee!" Megan hissed, her blush spreading all the way to her Martian ears. "Why would you—oh my gosh—I'm never leaving my room again!"
"Relax, Megan," Zatanna said, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic flourish. "We're all young adults here."
"Speak for yourself," I muttered, scanning the room for coffee. I wasn't sure I could survive the teasing that was about to rain down without at least a gallon of caffeine in my system.
And there they were—the teasing brigade, assembled and ready to fire on all cylinders.
Kara—Supergirl, savior of the universe, and, apparently, destroyer of my dignity—was leaning against the counter in sweats that made casual look like high fashion. Her blonde hair was in a messy ponytail, and she was sipping coffee with the kind of smirk that screamed, Oh, I'm going to enjoy this.
"Well, look who finally decided to join the living," Kara said, raising her mug in a mock toast. "Sleep well?"
"I hate you," I replied, which only made her smirk wider.
Kori—Starfire, literal alien princess—was perched on the counter, her bright orange hair glowing like sunrise. She was halfway through a stack of pancakes that would've fed an entire football team. "Greetings, friends!" she said, waving enthusiastically. "I hope your night was filled with much joy and… bonding?"
Megan made a noise like a teakettle about to explode.
Tia—Galatea, Kara's clone, and probably the most mischievous of the lot—was seated at the table, flipping through a fashion magazine. She didn't even bother to look up as she said, "Next time, could you guys keep it down? Some of us were trying to watch Netflix."
"Why would you even watch Netflix?" Mareena, the ever-poised daughter of Aquaman and Mera, asked from her seat beside Tia. "You literally have the Atlantic to explore, and yet here you are, binging reality TV." Her aquamarine eyes sparkled with amusement, though her tone was pure queenly disdain.
"Oh, please," Tia said, rolling her eyes. "Like you weren't eavesdropping."
Mareena didn't answer. She just sipped her tea like the classy sea princess she was.
And then there was Deedee. Death herself. My cheerful, goth girlfriend, dressed in her usual tank top, jeans, and ankh necklace. She was perched on the back of a chair, grinning like she'd won the lottery.
"Well, well, well," Deedee drawled, hopping off the chair and strolling toward us. "Look who decided to grace us with their presence. Or should I say, grace us, considering the, uh, musical accompaniment this morning?"
Megan let out a mortified squeak and buried her face in my shoulder. "Why does she know these things?"
"She's Death," Zatanna said, stealing the coffee Kara had just handed me. "Knowing things is kind of her job."
"Good morning to you too, Deedee," I muttered.
"Morning, love," she said, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before pulling a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. "Here. I made you a schedule."
"A schedule?" I asked, taking the paper.
Deedee's grin widened. "Oh, you'll love it. It's your new sleeping rotation. Because, you know, with seven girlfriends, it's only fair that we all get equal cuddle time."
I unfolded the paper, scanning the color-coded chart complete with doodles of skulls, hearts, and what I think was supposed to be me getting smothered by pillows.
"You made this," I said slowly.
"Yup!"
"With markers."
"Double yup!"
Zatanna leaned over to peek at the chart. "Wow, that's… disturbingly organized."
"I get Saturdays," Deedee announced, pointing to her name. "Because, you know, it's the day of funerals. Seemed appropriate."
"I chose Wednesdays!" Kori chimed in, floating over to look at the paper. "Because it is the day of the hump, yes?"
I choked on my nonexistent coffee, and Megan made another teakettle noise.
Kara crossed her arms, smirking. "I took Mondays. Someone's gotta kickstart your week, and let's face it, no one's better at motivating you than me."
"Fridays are mine," Mareena said, her tone as serene as the sea. "Because Fridays are for… aquatic relaxation."
"You mean lazy bubble baths," Tia said.
Mareena didn't dignify that with a response.
"And I've got Sundays!" Zatanna said, flashing a grin. "Because magic and church vibes. Duh."
"Which leaves me with Thursday," Megan mumbled, still hiding behind me. "Um, that's okay, right?"
"Perfect!" Deedee said, clapping her hands together. "Now, Harry, no skipping your rotation, or I'll haunt you. And I mean that literally."
I stared at the paper, then at the seven gorgeous women who somehow thought this was a completely normal conversation. "This," I said finally, "is my life now."
"You're welcome," Zatanna said, stealing another sip of my coffee.
"Thanks, Zee," I muttered.
Kara grinned. "Now, who wants waffles?"
As everyone dove into breakfast, I looked at the schedule again and sighed. My life wasn't just a romantic comedy. It was a sitcom—and I was the guy with the laugh track permanently stuck in his head.
—
The kitchen door swung open with a bang that could've cracked a window, and before I even had time to process it, Fred Weasley's voice rang out like a bad pun at a magic convention.
"Oi, Potter! Still alive in here, or did your harem finally do you in?" Fred swaggered into the room, practically glowing with that smug look only a Weasley twin could pull off. George was right behind him, matching Fred's grin, like they'd just pulled off the greatest prank of their lives. I felt my soul immediately start to shrink.
"Fred, George, good morning!" Megan—aka Miss Martian—chirped in a voice that sounded like a sitcom laugh track, all sunshine and way too much energy for this time of day. Seriously, was she secretly powered by caffeine or was she just born this way? She waved at them like she hadn't just been in bed with me five minutes ago, probably still giggling about something that happened last night.
"Morning, Megan!" Fred answered, plopping down into a chair and snatching a waffle off the plate like it owed him money. "So, what's this we hear about Harry and his rotation of doom?"
"Rotation of doom?" I echoed, already mentally bracing for the worst.
"Oh yeah," George said, sliding into the chair next to Fred. "A sleep schedule for your seven girlfriends," he drawled, leaning back with his hands behind his head as if he'd just cracked the Da Vinci Code of teenage relationships. I felt my face heat up. Seven?
Kara, the ever-cool Supergirl (who had this way of sipping her coffee like she was in a shampoo commercial, probably because she was invulnerable), raised an eyebrow from the counter. "Please. It's not like he's juggling us. There's organization here."
"Oh, right. Because organization is what we all need in a love life," George chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Fred grinned, clearly loving the chaos. "Harry's the modern-day Solomon, isn't he? Wisdom, leadership, and, apparently, a harem." He winked at me, and I nearly choked on my own dignity.
"Ha. Ha. Ha," I said dryly, sinking lower in my chair. If there was an Olympic sport for awkwardness, I'd just secured the gold medal.
Hermione, who had followed the twins into the kitchen looking all businesslike (like she hadn't just walked in from a post-coital glow of her own), sighed dramatically and pulled out a chair. "Really, you two? Can't you go five minutes without causing a scene?"
Ron, ever the good-natured observer, mumbled from his spot by the bacon tray, "It's their natural state, Hermione. You should know that by now."
Ginny, who had that mischievous grin that always made me feel like I was about to be hit with an impromptu charm, zeroed in on the paper I was clutching. "Is that the infamous schedule?" she asked, leaning over the table, eyes glinting like she'd just uncovered an ancient spellbook. "Because I need to see it."
Before I could say 'not a chance,' Deedee—aka Death, because naming her anything else would be a crime—had already snatched the schedule out of my hand like she was getting paid for it. "Oh, you mean this?" she said, holding it up like a trophy. I swear she even struck a pose. If she'd had a cape, it would've been flapping in the wind.
Fred leaned forward, practically salivating. "What's this, Death? A spreadsheet of love?"
"More like a manifesto of poor life choices," George said, peering over her shoulder with an expression of mock horror.
"Hey!" Zatanna—who definitely didn't need to be that attractive before 9 AM—interjected, snatching the schedule away from Deedee and clutching it to her chest like it was her best magic trick. "This is a work of art. Look at the level of detail!"
"Art?" Fred echoed, looking like Zatanna had just told him she could turn him into a frog. "You do realize you've turned his love life into a Hogwarts class schedule, right? What's next? Assigning points like the House Cup?"
"I could start awarding points," Deedee said thoughtfully, tapping her chin like she was considering the implications of adding a grading system to my harem roster. "Like, 'Best Use of Bedhead' or 'Most Creative Snuggling Position.'"
Megan's face turned the shade of a tomato so fast, I almost wondered if it was technically a new color. "Can we please not talk about this anymore?" she squeaked, pushing her chair away from the table in a desperate attempt to escape.
"Why?" Kara—because she was Kara and had the power to say whatever she wanted—said, smirking like the troublemaker she was. "It's fun! Besides, it's not like Harry's denying any of it."
"I'm just trying to survive," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face like it would somehow erase the next five minutes of my life.
Hermione gave me one of those looks. You know the ones. The "why do I even bother with you lot" looks. "Honestly, Harry. You brought this on yourself."
"Thanks, Hermione. Your support means everything to me," I deadpanned. There was something about the idea of Hermione actually comforting me in this madness that was oddly reassuring.
Fred slapped me on the back so hard that I almost slid out of my chair. "Don't worry, mate. We'll make sure the world knows of your noble sacrifice."
"Sacrifice?" Mareena—who was still sipping her tea with the grace of someone who had just been born knowing how to deal with us—asked with an amused smirk. "I don't think Harry's suffering nearly as much as he's letting on."
"Exactly!" Kori—who was floating around like she owned the place (probably because, well, she could)—chimed in. "He is surrounded by love and affection and waffles. What more could he want?"
"Peace and quiet?" Ron said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm, but then he saw Ginny's glare and immediately shut up.
"No way," George said, elbowing Fred and leaning in with that way too delighted look on his face. "Harry loves this. He thrives on the drama. Don't you, mate?"
"Thrive is a strong word," I muttered, slouching lower in my chair. Honestly, I was two seconds away from just diving under the table and hiding there until the end of the week.
"Oh, come on, Harry," Fred urged, his grin getting wider. "Admit it. You like the chaos. It's what keeps you interesting."
"Interesting," I repeated, feeling the need to add a dramatic pause. "That's one way to put it."
Hermione sighed again, muttering something about "boys and their nonsense," while Ginny just laughed, shamelessly enjoying my suffering. She had that wicked little laugh that made her seem ten times more dangerous than she probably was. It was terrifying.
The teasing continued, the group devolving into ridiculous banter, and I realized—I was never getting out of this. Not that I wanted to. Not really. Because despite the chaos, despite the constant jokes and the constant teasing, this? This was family.
Now, if only I could survive whatever Deedee decided to add to my schedule next, I might just make it through the week with my dignity—and sanity—intact. But who was I kidding? There was no way that was happening.
—
The Batcave was unusually quiet, at least by Gotham standards. Sure, there was the constant hum of machinery and the occasional beep from the Batcomputer, but the atmosphere felt more like the calm before the storm. Dick Grayson, aka Robin, had just stepped through the Zeta Tube, looking like he'd just run a marathon with no sleep, and probably still wouldn't be able to outrun a caffeine deficiency.
"Ugh, I can't feel my face," he muttered to no one in particular as he stumbled toward the Batcave's kitchenette, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. His uniform was wrinkled—well, more than usual—and his hair was an unholy mess. A few hours ago, he'd been helping Lee and Kid Flash fortify Mount Justice's firewalls against a group of MIT dorm-hacker wannabes. Spoiler alert: the hackers didn't stand a chance. But now he needed coffee. The kind that could help him remember how to function.
The Batcave's usual silence was shattered by the rhythmic tapping of keys from a familiar direction. There, at the Batcomputer, sat Barbara Gordon—aka Batgirl—her eyes locked onto the screen, her fingers a blur as she typed out what could only be a list of criminals, conspiracy theories, and probably a dozen aliases that Dick would forget the second he looked away.
He raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the coffee machine, eyeing her with a smirk. "You're up early. Or maybe I'm just really, really late."
Barbara didn't look up from her work, because of course, she didn't. "Not early. You're just behind schedule. I've already been here an hour. I think you're confusing your time zones."
Dick sighed dramatically, turning to the coffee pot like it was the only source of comfort in this vast cavern of tech. "You know, when I agreed to spend the night hacking into firewalls and protecting national secrets with Kid Flash and Lee, I didn't exactly plan for Gotham's most efficient Batgirl to make me feel like a slacker."
Barbara's smirk was audible in her voice as she glanced at him for a second. "You wouldn't have to feel like a slacker if you didn't sleep through your shift. We're not on vacation here, Grayson."
"No promises. But if you really want to crack firewalls at 3 AM with me again next time, we can grab pancakes and waffles afterward. I'm pretty sure a successful mission has to end with a carb overload, right?"
Barbara's eyebrows shot up. "Pancakes? For a high-stakes mission?"
"Waffles are a classic, but pancakes? That's next level. You can't just crack a complex algorithm without some breakfast food backup. It's science." Dick took a sip of his coffee, like he was drinking liquid life. He barely noticed how quickly Barbara's expression went from "this is ridiculous" to "okay, maybe I'm intrigued."
"Right," she said dryly, spinning back to the Batcomputer. "Look, I've been digging into Darhk's finances. He's tied up with some pretty ugly people in Gotham. But I'm not sold on the idea that Deathstroke is his only partner in crime. What if there's more to it?"
Dick nodded, fully awake now, but mostly because Barbara's serious tone meant business. "More to it, huh? So we're talking a potential syndicate? And not the 'let's rob a bank' kind—more like the 'I own half of Gotham and you still don't know who I am' type?"
"Exactly," Barbara said, spinning around in her chair like a pro. "And the weird thing is—he's hiding behind a lot of shell companies. Too many fake names, fake addresses, the usual red flags. But if he's branching out, I need to know where."
Dick leaned closer to the screen, scanning the reports she'd pulled up. A pile of legalese and bank transfers later, he raised an eyebrow. "These guys still running businesses? This reads like a 'who's who' of Gotham's criminal elite."
"Bingo," Barbara replied, her voice now laced with an edge. "And I don't believe in coincidences. Darhk's been pulling the strings with Deathstroke, but if he's making moves like this, it's not just a random power grab. It's coordinated."
Dick frowned. "So Deathstroke was just a warm-up, and the big show is coming next?"
"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, flipping through pages of documents like a detective straight out of a noir film. "I'm not just looking for a list of criminals. I need connections. Big ones. I'm starting to see patterns."
Before Dick could say anything, Barbara clicked on a new notification that popped up on the screen. Her expression tightened as she read. "Look at this," she muttered. "Darhk's been funneling money into offshore accounts. It's happening every time a high-profile crime gets too much attention in Gotham. Like he's setting distractions."
"Ah, classic Darhk," Dick muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he processed the information. "If he's moving money like that, he's setting up a bigger play."
Barbara's eyes narrowed, a mix of concern and determination flashing across her face. "I don't like this. If he's doing what I think he's doing, it's worse than we imagined. Gotham's not ready for something like this."
Dick straightened, the weight of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks. "And here I thought it was just another Tuesday."
Barbara shot him a look, one eyebrow cocked. "Really? You just compared this to another Tuesday?"
Dick held up his hands in mock surrender. "What can I say? I've got a very weird concept of normal."
She let out a small laugh before turning back to the Batcomputer. "Alright, enough with the banter. We need to move fast. The longer we wait, the worse it gets."
Dick nodded, reaching for the chair beside her and dragging it over. "On it. You know the drill—crack the code, find the bad guys, stop the bad guys. We'll hit him where it hurts."
Barbara smirked, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You're not going to be late next time, right?"
He shrugged casually, though they both knew he'd probably show up five minutes after the deadline. "No promises."
But as the two of them turned back to the task at hand, both knew one thing for sure: Gotham's latest threat was lurking somewhere in the shadows, and they were about to drag it into the light. Together.
"Alright," Dick said with a grin, standing up and flexing his fingers like he was prepping for a fight. "Let's find Darhk and mess up his plans. Gotham's never gonna see us coming."
Barbara gave him a sidelong glance. "And this time, no pancakes until the job's done."
"Deal," Dick agreed, a smirk forming as he gestured for her to lead the way. After all, if Gotham was about to get messy, they were the right duo for the job.
—
The Batcave, a place where the darkness was so thick you could cut it with a Batarang (though Bruce would never admit to such a thing), hummed with a kind of calculated chaos. Cables ran like veins beneath the concrete floor, and the shadows seemed to whisper secrets only the bats could understand. And somewhere, deep in the belly of this tech-filled beast, Dick Grayson—also known as Robin—was rubbing his temples, trying to decipher the mess that was Damien Darhk's criminal empire.
"I swear, these people are like cockroaches," Dick muttered, tapping away at the Batcomputer. "Every time you think you've crushed one, three more show up." He glanced at the screen, eyes narrowing. "Okay, seriously. This is gonna take a small army... or a really good cup of coffee."
Barbara Gordon—aka Batgirl, who was currently rocking the world's most efficient pair of spandex—was sitting a few feet away, her fingers flying over the keyboard with the grace of someone who had the entire Gotham crime database memorized by heart. Which, to be fair, she probably did. Her eyes never left the screen as she shot back, "You might need more than coffee, Grayson. Try a nap and some actual brainpower. This isn't a game."
Robin flashed her a grin. "Says the genius who can hack into the Pentagon before breakfast."
"Doesn't mean I get to brag about it," Batgirl muttered.
Dick leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. The dull hum of the Batcave around him was oddly soothing. "I know you're right, Barb. But I feel like I'm looking at an ocean of financial transactions and trying to spot the whale from a jellyfish. Not exactly easy to catch a criminal when they're swimming in a sea of money."
"Well, if you're looking for a pattern, you might want to stop analyzing it like it's a game of Monopoly," Batgirl said dryly. She didn't even look up. "What I'm seeing is bigger than money. Darhk's been skimming off the top, but the real question is… who's at the top?"
Dick leaned forward. "Yeah. We need to know who Darhk's working with before we can even start unraveling this. It's not like him to be subtle. So, what's the play here?"
Batgirl was silent for a moment, but her fingers kept tapping at the keys. "There's something more here. He's hiding behind corporate facades—fake companies with enough protection to make a tank blush. It's not just about money. It's about power."
"Yeah, but why now? Why make a big move? If he wanted power, he's had it for years. This feels... different."
"Exactly," Batgirl agreed. "It's a huge play. But we need more than just this financial trail."
From the farthest corner of the Batcave, the hidden Batforge—the secret laboratory where Batman (or Bruce Wayne, depending on your mood) was currently working on his latest little side project—cast a long shadow. And let's just say, it was probably something big.
Dick shot a look over his shoulder at the dark hallway leading to the Batforge. "He's still in there, isn't he?" he said, half joking. "Is it weird that I kinda miss the guy when he's down there, you know, working in secret on whatever twisted thing he's cooking up?"
"Dick, you live for this stuff. What's weird is how long it's been since he let us in on his little 'project,'" Batgirl replied, not missing a beat. "But if he's down there, I'd bet everything I own that it's not just some tech upgrade. I'm guessing there's something big coming. You know how he works."
"I know, I know," Dick said, rolling his eyes. "Always two steps ahead, always keeping us in the dark until it's too late." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Is it just me, or does Batman act like he's the only one who can save the world? Like we're not sitting here with tech and brains, too."
"Don't complain, Grayson," Batgirl shot back, eyes still glued to the screen. "You learned from him, right? So, take it as a challenge. What's the fun of not being kept on your toes?"
Dick grinned. "I prefer to think of it as friendly competition."
At that, Barbara gave him a side-eye, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Uh-huh, sure. Competitive. We're all just so competitive around here. Next thing you know, we'll be getting our own Batcave reality show."
"I'm game," Dick quipped, tapping his fingers on the console. "But only if I get the cool theme music."
Meanwhile, in the Batforge—a.k.a. the lair of the man, the myth, the brooding legend—Bruce Wayne was in his own world, stitching together the pieces of what could only be described as his next "I'm-preparing-for-the-apocalypse" suit. His gloved hands were steady, moving with the precision of a surgeon as he worked on his armor, blending tech with tactical genius like a mad scientist in a bat costume.
The sound of machinery was the only thing that cut through the silence. Bruce's cowl reflected the soft light of the Batcomputer, and his jaw was set, determination carved into his face. He wasn't just working on any suit; this was his answer to everything. This was the suit—his adaptation to the League of Assassins' kryptonite-infused armor. It was made for versatility, but most importantly, it was made to survive against the unbeatable. If Darhk was truly planning something bigger, then Bruce needed to be ready. And he wasn't about to let some League members or even Darhk's cronies think they could outsmart him.
Alfred's voice crackled through the comms, as dry as ever: "Master Bruce, I do hope you're taking breaks. Dinner's not going to eat itself, you know."
Bruce didn't even look up. "I'll survive. Besides, the night's just getting started."
"Of course, sir," Alfred replied with a touch of amusement. "The night's always 'just getting started' when you're involved. But might I suggest a small break? It's not healthy to work yourself into the ground."
"Alfred, I'm fine," Bruce said curtly. But the soft sigh that followed made it clear Alfred was used to this routine.
Alfred wasn't about to give up, though. "A cup of tea, perhaps? A little chamomile to calm your nerves before you go out and—oh, I don't know—save Gotham again?"
Bruce finally looked up, his eyes tired but determined. "I'll pass, Alfred. But thanks anyway. I've got a feeling we'll need all the energy we can get soon."
Back in the main cave, Robin and Batgirl were still poring over the data, the quiet tension between them palpable. Dick stretched and glanced toward the Batforge, where the shadows were a little deeper than usual. "He's still down there, huh?"
Batgirl didn't look up. "Working on something big. It's always something big with him."
"I swear, I don't know if I should be impressed or annoyed," Dick muttered, tapping his fingers against the console. "But if Bruce has a plan, it's only a matter of time before we're dragged into it. And I'm betting that's not a 'maybe.'"
Barbara's lips quirked. "You'll survive. After all, you're just as much a part of the plan as he is."
Dick threw his hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, great. So we're all part of Bruce's big plot, huh? Guess I'll just sit back and wait for the next big cliffhanger."
But as they worked into the night, it was clear: the calm before the storm wasn't going to last forever. Gotham had always been a place where secrets festered, and the storm was coming. And this time? It was going to hit hard.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!