GOTHAM ACADEMY - 7:45 AM, THE DAY AFTER
Gotham Academy's limestone facade glowed amber in the morning sun as students filtered through its wrought iron gates. The bombing at Gotham Central Plaza dominated every conversation, details exaggerated with each retelling. News helicopters still circled the downtown area, and emergency services continued clearing debris.
Lily Chen slipped through the crowd with practiced invisibility. At 4'10", she'd mastered the art of moving unnoticed, keeping her vivid blue eyes downcast as she navigated the throng of taller students. Her backpack, laden with textbooks and a few discreet biological samples, hung heavy on her narrow shoulders.
She'd barely slept. After the bombing, she'd spent hours sending specialized microorganisms throughout Gotham's water system, programmed to seek out and neutralize toxins released during the explosion. Then there were the food deliveries—genetically enhanced produce left on doorsteps in the neighborhoods closest to the blast radius, packed with healing compounds and immune boosters.
The school hallways buzzed with excitement. Several students claimed to have witnessed the mysterious "healing girl" at the plaza, their stories growing more fantastical with each telling.
"I swear her hands were glowing green—"
"My cousin said she made these weird animal things that could talk—"
"They're saying she cured the Joker—"
Lily kept her head down, adjusting her simple black headband. Without the baseball cap and medical mask from yesterday, she felt exposed. Her chin-length black hair was distinctive enough, but those eyes—her mother used to call them "impossible blue"—were harder to disguise.
She reached her locker and quickly spun the combination, hoping to gather her books and slip into first period before—
"Lily."
Tim Drake's voice behind her was quiet but unmistakable. She froze, hands suddenly clumsy on her textbooks. She'd been avoiding this moment since she spotted him entering the school gates.
"Hi Tim," she replied without turning, her voice deliberately casual. "Did you finish the biochem assignment?"
"We need to talk," he said, stepping closer. Even without looking, she could sense his discomfort—the slight hitch in his breathing pattern, the subtle shift in his stance to compensate for the fractured rib she'd detected at the plaza.
Her enhanced senses noted every detail: elevated heart rate, inflammation markers in his bloodstream, the microscopic tears in muscle tissue that accompanied severe bruising. He needed healing, and her every instinct screamed to help. But not here, not now.
"I have to get to calculus," she said, closing her locker with deliberate care. "Maybe at lunch?"
Before he could respond, she slipped into the stream of students, disappearing into the crowd.
MORNING CLASSES - 8:15 AM TO 12:00 PM
Throughout morning classes, Lily felt Tim's eyes on her. In Advanced Biochemistry, they shared a lab table, his presence a constant reminder of what had happened—and what she'd revealed. She avoided his gaze, focusing with unusual intensity on their enzyme analysis project.
When he passed her the beaker, their fingers brushed. Her Shaper sense instantly mapped the full extent of his injuries: three cracked ribs (not just one), a partially torn ligament in his left shoulder, significant bruising across his back and abdomen, and a mild concussion he was expertly hiding.
She pulled her hand away as if burned.
"Are you okay?" Tim asked quietly while their teacher's back was turned.
"Fine," she whispered. "Just... focused."
But she wasn't fine. The guilt clawed at her consciousness. She'd healed dozens of strangers yesterday, yet somehow missed that her own lab partner—someone she saw almost daily—was suffering. She'd been too focused on the most critically wounded, then on the Joker, then on the environmental cleanup. Tim had slipped through her awareness, his training allowing him to mask his pain so effectively that even her enhanced senses hadn't registered the severity.
In World History, two seats away from Tim, she scribbled a note and discreetly created a tiny messenger organism under her desk—a small, moth-like creature no bigger than a fingernail, camouflaged to look like a scrap of paper. She encoded it with Tim's genetic signature and sent it fluttering across the gap between their desks.
The note was simple: "Oak tree. Lunch. I'm sorry."
Tim read it, glanced at her with a barely perceptible nod, then the moth dissolved into dust between his fingers.
LUNCH PERIOD - 12:05 PM
The ancient oak tree stood at the far corner of Gotham Academy's grounds, partially obscured by the eastern wall and rarely frequented by students who preferred the central courtyard. Lily arrived first, sitting cross-legged on the gnarled roots that breached the manicured lawn like sea serpents.
She sensed Tim's approach before she heard him—the distinct pattern of his slightly compensated gait, the careful regulation of his breathing to minimize rib pain. He was good. Very good. Most people, even doctors, would never notice he was injured.
As he rounded the tree, Lily ducked lower, using the massive trunk as cover from casual observers. Tim followed, his movements fluid despite his injuries. His eyes scanned the perimeter—a habit born of his night work—before settling on her.
"You've been avoiding me," he said simply, keeping his distance.
Tears welled in Lily's eyes, catching her by surprise. She blinked them back, but not quickly enough to hide them from Tim's trained observation.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice catching. "I didn't notice you were wounded at the bombing. I should have... I should have sensed it."
Tim's expression softened. "You were busy saving lives."
"That's no excuse," she said, reaching out hesitantly. "Please... let me help now."
When he didn't move away, she gently grasped his wrist, her small fingers barely encircling it. His instincts flared—she felt the momentary tension in his muscles, the combat reflex nearly triggering before his conscious mind suppressed it. She understood; touch was dangerous in his world.
"It's okay," she reassured him, tugging him gently downward until he sat beside her on the roots. "This won't hurt."
She placed her palm against his side, over the worst of the rib fractures. A soft green glow emanated from beneath her fingers, visible even through his school uniform. Tim's eyes widened as the pain disappeared, bone knitting together, torn muscle fibers re-aligning, bruised tissue clearing.
"That's... remarkable," he murmured as she moved her hand to his shoulder, addressing the ligament damage next.
"It's the least I can do," she replied, focusing on the microtears in his tissue. "How long have you known? About me, I mean."
"I recognized you immediately at the plaza," Tim admitted. "Those eyes are distinctive. But I didn't know about... this." He gestured to her glowing hand. "Batman has a file on unusual food distributions and environmental anomalies across Gotham. We suspected a metahuman, but hadn't connected it to you."
She finished with his concussion, carefully rebuilding the damaged neural pathways. "There. How does that feel?"
Tim rotated his shoulder, took a deep breath, and stretched—movements that would have been agonizing minutes before. "Perfect. Thank you."
An awkward silence fell between them. Lily pulled a sandwich from her bag, more as something to do with her hands than from actual hunger.
"The Joker," Tim finally said. "What exactly did you do to him?"
Lily sighed. "Restored his baseline human biochemistry. His condition was caused by chemical immersion that altered his neurological structure and skin pigmentation. I essentially reversed the process and repaired the damage."
"But his mind—"
"The physical damage is fixed," she explained. "His brain chemistry is normal now, but the neural pathways formed over years of psychosis will take time and therapy to rewire. He's not cured of being the Joker, just... given the physical capacity to heal mentally."
Tim studied her with new intensity. "And the creatures? The ones helping you heal people?"
"Extensions of myself," she said, holding out her palm where a small, plantlike creature materialized from seemingly nowhere, its form reminiscent of a tiny humanoid made of vegetation. "I can create specialized organisms for specific tasks."
The creature dissolved back into her skin as she continued. "I've been working on designs for protective technology. Plushies for younger children that can activate defensive measures if they're in danger. Wristbands or bangles for older kids with similar functions."
Tim's eyes lit with interest. "Early intervention for abuse cases or emergencies?"
"Exactly," she nodded eagerly. "The plushies would have recording functions, protective barriers, and alert systems. But I need resources I don't have access to. Better materials, manufacturing capabilities..."
"Those could help a lot of people," Tim said thoughtfully. "They'd be useful for the elderly too—fall detection, medical monitoring..."
Lily's face brightened. "I hadn't thought of that! You're right—with some modifications, they could provide comprehensive protection for vulnerable populations across the board."
"Wayne Enterprises has a foundation that might be interested in something like this," Tim suggested carefully. "Bruce is always looking for projects with real social impact."
Lily's enthusiasm faltered as she became suddenly bashful. "Do you really think he would... I mean, I'm just a high school student with an idea."
Tim smiled. "A high school student who just healed the Joker and is distributing genetically-enhanced food to Gotham's neediest residents. I think Bruce will make time to hear your pitch."
Relief flooded through her. "Thank you, Tim. Really."
As they gathered their things to return to class, Tim paused. "Lily... how did you do all this? The healing, the creatures, the food—it's beyond any metahuman abilities I've encountered."
She met his gaze steadily. "It's complicated. Maybe I can explain more later... somewhere more private?"
"How about tonight? I can bring you to Wayne Manor after school. Bruce will want to hear everything anyway."
Lily nodded, her characteristic confidence returning. "Tonight works. And Tim? Thank you for not being afraid of me."
WAYNE MANOR - 5:30 PM
Alfred Pennyworth opened the massive oak doors of Wayne Manor with his customary dignity, greeting Tim and Lily with a polite nod.
"Master Timothy. And you must be Miss Chen. Welcome to Wayne Manor."
Lily gaped at the grand foyer, her eyes traveling up the sweeping staircase to the crystal chandelier that hung like a frozen firework above them. Despite her extraordinary abilities, she was still a teenager encountering true opulence for the first time.
"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth," she replied, remembering her manners.
"Alfred, please," he corrected gently. "Master Bruce is expecting you in the study. He has a... colleague... with him."
Tim raised an eyebrow at the emphasis but simply nodded. "Thanks, Alfred. We know the way."
As they walked through the manor's cavernous hallways, Lily absorbed every detail—the priceless artwork, the antique furniture, the subtle security measures her enhanced senses detected embedded in the walls and ceilings. This wasn't just wealth; it was a fortress disguised as a mansion.
"Bruce isn't what the tabloids make him out to be," Tim said quietly as they approached the study. "Just... be yourself. He values honesty."
The study door was ajar. Tim knocked lightly before pushing it open.
Bruce Wayne stood by the fireplace, engaged in quiet conversation with a broad-shouldered man whose posture seemed oddly familiar to Lily. As they entered, both men turned, and Lily's breath caught.
Clark Kent—Superman himself—stood in Bruce Wayne's study, his disguise transparent to her enhanced perception. The cellular structure was unmistakable, his body processing solar energy in ways no human could.
Without missing a beat, Lily blurted out, "I knew that the Playboy persona was just an act. Are you Batman? That's neat, I'll design helpful tools and gear, and if you approve, I'll use some resources to start mass production."
The room fell into stunned silence, broken by the sound of multiple people entering from different directions—Dick Grayson from a side door, Barbara Gordon rolling in from the main hallway, Damian Wayne appearing silently from behind a bookcase, and Cassandra Cain descending the stairs visible through the doorway.
Bruce's face remained impressively neutral as he studied the diminutive girl standing confidently before him.
"Tim," he said finally, "it seems your classmate is quite observant."
"More than you know," Tim replied with a hint of amusement.
Clark adjusted his glasses, a nervous gesture that did nothing to disguise his true identity from Lily's perspective. "Bruce, perhaps we should—"
"It's okay, Mr. Kent," Lily interrupted. "Your secret is safe with me. All of yours are." Her bright blue eyes swept across the assembled Bat-family members. "I'm here because I want to help."
Bruce gestured toward the leather chairs arranged near the fireplace. "Then perhaps you should start by explaining exactly what kind of help you can offer. And more importantly, what you are."
As they settled into the chairs, the entire family found positions around the room, their postures casual but ready—a habit born from years of vigilance.
"I have three primary abilities," Lily began, her voice steady despite the intimidating audience. "First, I'm what's called an Eidolon—I can access and utilize any power I need through five slots that can be swapped as necessary. My first slot is permanently dedicated to retaining the other two core abilities."
She held up a second finger. "I'm also an Inspired Inventor. Each day I receive charges that can be invested in different fields of knowledge, allowing me to create technology beyond current scientific capabilities."
"Like the protective plushies Tim mentioned," Barbara noted, leaning forward in her wheelchair.
"Exactly," Lily nodded. "And many other possibilities."
"And the third ability?" Bruce prompted.
"I'm a Shaper," she said. "Complete biological manipulation and control. I can heal injuries, create specialized organisms, generate biomass, establish hive minds with myself as the nexus. This is how I healed the Joker and the bombing victims."
Damian scoffed. "You expect us to believe you possess three omega-level abilities simultaneously?"
In response, Lily held out her hand. A small green sprout emerged from her palm, rapidly growing into a complex, crystalline structure that pulsed with inner light.
"This organism can convert carbon dioxide into oxygen at 400 times the efficiency of normal plants," she explained. "I've been seeding Gotham with them to help clean the air. I could show you my other abilities, but I'd prefer not to damage Mr. Wayne's expensive furnishings."
Dick whistled low. "That's... impressive."
"Where did these abilities come from?" Bruce asked, his detective's mind already cataloging possibilities. "Kryptonian experimentation? Atlantean magic? Alien technology?"
"It's complicated," Lily admitted. "The powers follow a specific classification system that might help you understand them better."
For the next hour, Lily outlined the parahuman classification system: Mover, Shaker, Brute, Breaker, Master, Tinker, Blaster, Thinker, Striker, Changer, Trump, and Stranger. She explained threat ratings from 1 to 12, detailing protocols for each level.
"So by this system, you'd be a Trump 12 for the Eidolon ability, a Tinker 12 for Inspired Inventor, and a combination Master/Striker/Changer 12 for Shaper," Barbara summarized, her analytical mind quickly grasping the framework.
"Correct," Lily confirmed. "And each power is amplified by another factor—I lack the normal limitations most parahumans face. My powers grow stronger with time and use."
Bruce and Clark exchanged a look that communicated volumes. This girl, barely five feet tall and not yet out of high school, potentially wielded more power than anyone in the Justice League.
"This classification system is actually quite logical," Clark noted. "More structured than our current threat assessment protocols."
"It would standardize League responses," Bruce agreed, his mind already adapting the system to their needs. "We should implement it."
Lily watched this exchange with growing relief. They were discussing implementation rather than containment—a good sign they didn't see her as a threat to be neutralized.
"About the Joker," Bruce said, turning back to her. "What exactly is his condition now?"
"Physically, he's human again—normal pigmentation, normal brain chemistry. Mentally, he remembers everything he did, but the chemical compulsions driving his behavior are gone. He'll need intensive therapy to rebuild neural pathways. Think of it as... extreme rehabilitation potential."
"And you believe he can be reformed?" Bruce's voice carried decades of skepticism born from countless betrayals.
Lily met his gaze without flinching. "I believe everyone deserves the chance. I didn't make him good, Mr. Wayne. I just made it possible for him to choose good if he wants to."
A thoughtful silence fell over the room as the implications settled.
"These protective devices you want to create," Clark finally said, redirecting the conversation. "They could help a lot of people."
"That's the idea," Lily nodded eagerly. "But I need resources, materials, manufacturing capabilities. My Inspired Inventor ability lets me design them, but I can't mass-produce them alone."
"Wayne Enterprises could handle production," Bruce said, decision apparently made. "We'd need to test prototypes extensively, ensure they can't be weaponized or hacked."
"I can build safeguards into their very structure," Lily offered. "Biological components that would render them inert if tampered with."
As the conversation shifted to logistics and possibilities, the initial tension in the room gradually dissipated. Dick and Tim began suggesting additional applications for her technology. Barbara offered insights on information security protocols. Even Damian reluctantly contributed ideas for combat applications that could be adapted for civilian protection.
Three hours later, as Alfred served a late dinner in the manor's dining room, the discussion had evolved into a full strategic planning session. Bruce had called Lucius Fox to join remotely, and preliminary production timelines were being established for prototype testing.
"There's one more thing you should know," Lily said as the meeting wound down. "Someone's targeting me."
The room fell silent again.
"Explain," Bruce prompted, his voice taking on the gravelly quality more associated with his cowled persona.
"A local villain group has marked me," she explained. "I don't know which one yet, but I've detected surveillance. They either want to eliminate me or capture me."
"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" Tim asked, concern evident in his voice.
Lily shrugged. "It didn't seem as important as helping people. And honestly... I'm not that worried about my own safety."
"You should be," Bruce said firmly. "Power makes you a target for those who would misuse it."
"I can assign additional security to Gotham Academy," Barbara offered. "Discreet surveillance."
Lily smiled gratefully. "Thank you. But please understand—I won't stop what I'm doing. The food deliveries, the environmental cleanup, the healing... Gotham needs it."
Bruce studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Then we'll need to ensure you can continue your work safely. Which means training."
"Training?" Lily echoed.
"If you're going to operate in Gotham, you need to understand how to protect