Capítulo 1107: 5
Chapter 5: Child's Play
One of the most annoying things about being injured to the degree that it physically showed, for instance: getting shot in the leg and needing a crutch so you could heal quickly and still get around, is that everyone that knows you even in passing will come up to you and ask you how you hurt yourself.
Which was what Max had to face all day, every day at school the week after the S.T.A.R. Labs job that ended with him catching a bullet to the thigh.
…Fucking Deathstroke.
"How'd you hurt your leg?"
And now he was being asked by his super-hot red-haired lab partner. Barbara had even initiated a conversation with him during class to find out what was wrong with him. That was certainly a rarity. Anything not related to the work usually waited for until after they were done with whatever their experiment was that particular day.
"I got shot," Max said bluntly. He made sure that more people heard it than just Barbara so word would spread and less people would ask him about his crutch and his pronounced limp. Seriously, it was getting aggravating answering the same question every five minutes to someone different every time.
Barbara immediately put this away for later, remembering that the last time she'd seen Max before he'd taken three weeks off he'd had a hit out on him that Tally Man and Zeiss had been out to fulfill, "Who did that?"
Fortunately, Max had come up with a decent enough excuse that would stop any intense bouts of questioning, and he'd had enough experience telling the story by then that the lie just rolled off of his tongue. It wasn't like he could go around saying that Deathstroke had up and shot him after they'd gotten through ripping off computer files and a heavy little case containing some weird green crap called Kryptonite.
Barbara was also aware enough of his circumstances due to past events that she would be one of the last people skeptical of him when he dropped this particular fib as well..
"Well…" He said with a languished shake of his head, "I ran away to New York to take care of some of my parents' old business, accounts and stuff, and I got enough money out of it to pay those mobster guys off so they'd stop trying to kill me."
"But they still shot you?" Barbara asked, 'If it was a loan his parents made, more than likely they did it because that technically made it a late payment. Super-late,' Max's excuse lined up accurately with what she'd been thinking.
"The guy who did it said something about 'sending a message' or 'making an example,' or whatever," Max said, frowning at remembering how he'd really been shot and what it had been for. Again, a half-truth, but two halves of a truth made a whole, "I don't remember. I think I was too busy yelling when he said it."
Two halves of a truth also made a whole lie as well, and as far as they went this was a good enough one. It explained why he had been gone, anyone scared would stop asking questions, and besides, since Barbara had spoken with him after he'd beaten Tally Man black and blue, she was fully aware of what the attack at the party had been about, so she could definitely vouch for his parents owing gangsters money.
As he entered his next class for the day, he found himself surprised that Barbara actually shared this one with him as well. Huh, so it wasn't just their lab class they had together? He would have thought that she was so smart there wouldn't have been any way they shared another course. What had he been doing the whole time to not pay attention to that? She sat in a different row, about two seats in front of him.
Since the class wasn't even full, she was still willing to continue the conversation, as altruistic as she was, "Max, this isn't healthy. I'm calling my dad about this. He can help," Whoa, big red flag there. No. None of that. Not a chance, "We can go and see him after school."
Damn. Sometimes he forgot she was actually related to an officer of the law. THE officer of the law, come to think of it.
But, just no. No-no-no-no-no. That was a bad idea for him for several prominent reasons. Fortunately, at least four of them were self-preservation reasons for his civilian side that Max could say out loud out of desire to keep the crooks off of his back if he needed to, so that made him calmer in his reply than he probably should have.
"Mmm. Kinda late for that now," Max told her with an embarrassed countenance. Someone actually wanted to help him for once, so it felt weird lying even halfway to her, "I already paid the guy. And I don't want to get shot again, so I don't think I'll do that. On the bright side, I kept my promise."
She seemed taken aback by being confronted with some sort of agreement he'd cast between the two of them, "A promise?"
"Yeah," Max said, slowly grinning at being set up so well, "This didn't happen before the Monday after the party, just like you asked me."
It took her a moment to recall, but her memory was damn near photogenic. It was a little late, but she did recall it. Remembering something a joke so random and obscure that he'd apparently remembered, and not only that but had actually technically adhered to, was funny, mostly because she had to reach to think about it, darkly humorous as it was in hindsight.
"See?" Making her actually laugh at something he said was the best feeling he'd had since getting shot.
An even better feeling, was that he didn't need the money from stealing any longer. Not to a degree where he had to stick his neck out for it anyway.
What he'd gotten from the mission for Deathstroke was more than enough. He didn't want shoreside property by a beach, or anything like that. He wasn't going to squander his money buying dumb things. The only thing he'd wanted buy himself was some time, and he'd done that. He could even pay for some of his own college now if his calculations of his living costs were accurate enough.
As far as he was concerned, he was the master of his own destiny from then on out, and thinking that made everything so much sweeter.
Being able to hold your future in your own hands and actually be aware of it for once in your life was a great thing indeed.
XxX
(Wayne Manor – Batcave)
While the thought of sitting in front of a computer screen as it ran through thousands and thousands of files trying to locate certain keyed aspects to narrow down a search for information would have bored a normal human being to sleep, Bruce Wayne wasn't necessarily one of them.
Vigilant, even as he saw the piles and piles of data roll past in the dull text of file names on the screen, he thought of what had been proposed as a plan of action to deal with Null. One of the junior teams had been suggested to try and get to him, but it had quickly been shot down. Too many cooks in the kitchen that was Gotham was not Batman's ideal.
In his stomping grounds, things were done a certain way, and when it came to vigilante work, the buck stopped with him. Outsiders coming in to enforce their brand of justice weren't taken to kindly, 'As long as the kid's in my city, he's my problem.'
Taking Kryptonite, for whatever reason he did it, definitely made him a problem.
Out of the blue, the sound of the computer alert went off. That was odd. Bruce had expected the files on Kryptonite to be better buried in their system. And indeed, what the search had pulled up hadn't been something involving the substance that had been stolen.
When he'd entered the proxy search he'd made sure to input all key information that would lead to the files, including things based around the burglary itself. Those things included the traits of the perpetrators. What the computer had pulled up for his consideration had been old files, years old that hadn't been touched in forever.
Projects for Military Consideration. Enhancement Suit #12.
While he was waiting for a match on the investigative front, it couldn't hurt to see just what this had to do with anything, could it? Chalk it up to curiosity, boredom, and a hunch. And so he opened the file and began reading through it.
It was mostly nuts and bolts stuff, chronicling the process of coming up with methods of enhancing the physical capabilities of human beings. Apparently the influx of metahumans, superheroes, supervillains, aliens, and things beyond spooked armed forces around the world, including those in the good old U-S-of-A.
Go figure.
'I couldn't possibly imagine why,' Bruce thought sardonically as he continued perusing the information, 'It's like natural selection started an arms race and they're feeling left behind,' Which wasn't really far from the truth.
In an effort to find an affordable way to even the playing field, S.T.A.R. Labs was one of a few different research organizations contracted to come up with a way to give America's fighting men and women a better chance at matching the things that metahumans could do.
Shooting fireballs and sustained flight, things of that nature were far beyond the scope of what they were looking for. To their credit they had been very reserved, more than willing to settle for a mere boost of strength, speed, or durability. One-on-one, yes anyone wearing any of these suits would still more than likely be fodder for the powerhouses that existed out there, but in well-trained units prepared to deal with that kind of thing, and maybe eventually entire branches of armed forces altogether there was potential for effectiveness.
Enhancement Suit #12 is a departure from the previous designs of enhancement suits. Instead of being built with bulky materials that allow the wearer added durability and a wide array of potential built-in weaponry (similar to power armor), which would not be cost-effective for a real fighting force, the focus is more on improving the entire human condition altogether. The lack of focus on protection is made up for by the intrinsic method the designers have used to increase the natural limits of the wearer's body.
Okay, now Bruce could consider himself truly interested.
The design is made to take up as little space as possible. Designers in charge of the project have microfibers capable of channeling and routing electricity, harnessing it from a source close to the suit.
The current subject finds herself able to lift five times her original weight capacity, run at a top speed far beyond that of the fastest recorded Olympic athlete, with reaction time and reflexes that rate off the charts. Subject is able to process cognitive thought at a faster rate and has found an increase in ability to process an overhaul of information over a short period. Rapid-pace problem-solving capabilities have increased.
Prospects on the project are promising.
Bruce closed the file and immediately opened another. There was something about this that was eating at him, and he couldn't just leave it as it was.
Scientists in charge of the project have revealed more of the Enhancement Suit #12's workings. The capabilities it provides the wearer are created through a chemical reaction triggered in the body's atoms. Enhancement Suit #12 draws upon the combined electric charge of the subatomic particles in the human body for different tasks.
Prolonged use of Enhancement Suit #12 seems to improve upon the abilities it provides the wearer by forcing an increase in the amount of energy the body's atoms can generate, allowing the potential for gradual increase of a wearer's capabilities. It is currently unknown if this can be further enhanced by a subject's training independent of the suit's use.
Still testing and observing to determine the side-effects or additional traits provided by Enhancement Suit #12.
Prospects on the project are promising
The suit was meant to harness the natural bioelectricity that every human body had to enhance their physical abilities while wearing it. Reflexes, physical strength, the limits of what human muscles were capable of. That kind of potential was honestly alarming to consider. And S.T.A.R. Labs had been in the process of testing this suit? It sounded like they had been fairly far along with the trials as well.
Then, the next note that drew everything to a grinding halt.
An immediate stop is being put to the Enhancement Suit #12 project. Attempting to create a self-sustaining power source for the suit using the human body itself has turned out to bring unforeseen complications to the wearer.
Several test subjects have been produced over the past 24 months since the project was green-lit. None are alive.
The body's natural energies are not meant to be increased past its original limits. Though the order of symptoms and the length of time they've lasted has varied, the end result has been the same; expiration. The first and second symptoms however, are always uncontrolled electric discharges, eventually leading to increased fatigue due to the loss of energy.
Enhancement Suit #12 project is scrapped.
Enhancement Suit #13 project design is pending.
It was flawed. Dangerously so. And things had gone downhill quickly thereafter. So much so that the decision had been made to cut off their support to the project within the span of one note, though the second and third notes had been separated by several months' time.
He kept reading and learned more about this failed endeavor. Holding a firearm or lingering in the presence of flammable materials while wearing this suit were actions next to suicide. That aside, using the suit more than a few times would lead to a slow death, even if one stopped.
Bruce read back and listed out the known abilities that wearing the suit presented the user, and then another alert from his computer presented him with a design of the suit itself.
He knew that everything he'd read seemed familiar... and that wasn't necessarily a good thing.
XxX
Hobbling home on a crutch was thirsty work.
*BZZT!*
"Ow," Max let out, feeling an electric shock from the vending machine as he reached for his drink. Apparently the universe was unhappy with his choice of soda as he'd been walking home, but then again that had been happening every so often when he'd been touching certain machines powered by electricity, "Still 100% with buggy machines…"
That was his excuse and his only explanation, and he was sticking with it.
It was either that, or his clothes were holding static electricity better than if they'd just come out of the dryer for whatever reason. Speaking of which, doing his laundry back before he'd gone on the Deathstroke mission had been an experience. Washing had been fine, but reaching into a dryer had almost shocked him back to the Stone Age.
Fucking Deathstroke.
If Max ever saw that one-eyed, white-haired, humorless, gun-toting, sword-swinging psycho again he'd… he'd… probably turn and run for the hills. But that didn't mean he couldn't act like he'd kick his ass inside of his own mind until that point in time, if it ever did occur.
As he continued to walk and stew in the discomfort of his own injuries, a car pulled up and slowed down to keep pace with his stride, the passenger's side window rolling down to reveal the person within; none other than Miss Kyle herself.
Max stared at Selina for several tense seconds before continuing on down the road without saying a word to her.
"So how was school?" She asked, jokingly trying to break the ice and failing from how he failed to respond, "Come on Maxie, was it really that bad?" To illustrate, Max actually stopped again to point with great fervor at his crutch and stick out his leg that had been shot, "Is that supposed to mean your leg? You can still stand and move on it. That's not so bad."
Wasn't that bad? He hoped the incredulous look on his face really wasn't as pronounced as he could swear that it felt. Max liked to think that he'd taken the high road and been the bigger man by choosing to try and completely disassociate himself from the conversation.
"Bye Selina," Max said, feeling like this really would be the last time he'd see her, "Thanks for the job. Getting shot aside, it worked out. I got what I wanted. That 50K I got is enough to tide me over for a good, long time."
"Fifty-tho-…" A disbelieving Selina said to herself before her jaw dropped and suddenly she was the one giving him a look of bewilderment. Max took that as a cue to look smug, but he didn't know what she knew, '…Should I tell him that Deathstroke shortchanged him? By a lot?'
The pay for services rendered were incredibly low. But then, how would Max have known that? To him, fifty-thousand dollars was probably enough money to change his life. If she'd have told him that the mission should have been AT LEAST six or seven figures, depending entirely on what he'd managed to steal and where it had come from, his heart might have stopped.
It would definitely tick him off more than he already seemed to be.
That could come a bit later. Apparently her work with him wasn't quite done yet. Why she cared was a question that she didn't have the patience to sit and think of answering with the curiosity she had running through her mind.
"Do you have anywhere to be?" Selina asked, "We need to talk."
Other than to the apartment to do homework and try and get in some of the workouts that he could actually do without re-injuring his leg? "Nope," Max said bluntly, "But I don't want to talk either. Why would you want to talk to me right now anyway?" She had to know that he wasn't taking another of her 'gimme jobs' after how the last one turned out, even if he hadn't decided that he was done.
"Because I gave you a book of matches to fumble around in the dark with when I should have at least given you a torch to light," Selina grumbled. The fact that he'd managed to survive this long was less of a testament of how well she'd trained him and more of luck as well as a combination of his tangible and intangible traits.
That was a nice-sounding way of putting it. Unfortunately, Max wasn't really into making it seem so poetic, "You got me shot," There was that stark bluntness again.
"And if you don't listen up, someone else'll wind up doing it to you. You might not walk again the next time it happens."
Never had Max said anything with more pleasure than the next statement out of his mouth. He had to stop and make sure he'd made eye contact when he'd said it, "Well that next time will have to wait for a long time. I'm done for now."
Max had a survival instinct, and he wouldn't deviate from it. Never stick your neck out, and never do something that would put yourself in trouble if there was a better alternative. He couldn't make things better for himself if he was dead, and as far as he was concerned, walking around with 50 grand stashed away for safekeeping was all he needed to survive long enough for that to happen.
Selina just stared at him, entirely unconvinced, "You're done? Really? That's how it is?" It was one thing to be cautious, but as far as she was concerned, if he'd survived Deathstroke's machinations it meant he was on a streak. She expected him to be full of piss and vinegar after getting a big win, not wary and guarded.
Then again, apparently getting shot took the euphoria out of being successful, even for kids. Go figure.
Well, come to think of it he didn't exactly seem to live lavishly either. People barely scraping by who then gained the means to come into large sums of money usually came in two different types: the kind who blew it quickly on opulent purchases they couldn't have even dreamed of before, and the kind of people who clutched every penny close to them in the assumption that it could all be taken away again just as easily as it came.
Selina would readily admit to being more along the lines of the first, while Max appeared to be the second. Good, and simultaneously bad for him, for different reasons. Good as in that was the responsible outlook to have. He was on his way to responsible adulthood. Bad as in, that was such a boring way to go about having money! What good was it then?
Besides, even if he had gotten paid what amounted to chump-change for a hell of a job, 50-thousand dollars was still more than enough to tide a regular person over for a considerable amount of time.
"That's how it is," Max confirmed. It was like magic to him. The more he said it, the better it made him feel, "Why? You gonna blackmail me or something?"
A part of Selina wanted to be offended, but once again, past exchanges between the two of them couldn't have given him much trust in her. Aside from that, blackmail was definitely in her wheelhouse. It was a shame, because she'd probably had a good semblance of his trust right after they'd gone their separate ways after she trained him. He had probably been the last man in Gotham City that would have granted her such.
*BZZT!*
What the hell was that?
She noticed that whatever it had been, Max had flinched and seemed to be biting back a yelp or a curse of some sort. Odd, "...Was that from you?" Selina asked, "Did you shock yourself on your crutch or something?" She didn't see how. There wasn't even any way for him to build any static electricity, especially not enough for her to hear the jolt. It sounded like a bug zapper had gone off.
Max was equally confused and put out. He had gotten used to it happening and chalked it up to whenever he was interacting with appliances and whatnot, even when he'd caught them while doing nothing. This was clearly not the case, "I… don't know. It happens sometimes."
He didn't know what was going on, and it was starting to scare him. The shocks had been getting progressively more painful and random, and he had always been able to but they had never come any closer than hours apart before. Sometimes they were days between each other.
Clearly it showed on his face how put off by these happenings he was starting to become, because Selina leaned over her armrest to try and get a closer look at his alarmed demeanor, "Do you think maybe you should get that checked out?" She didn't know how to handle it.
"I wasn't in the hospital too long ago," Max reasoned, trying to calm himself back down. It was probably nothing anyway, "They didn't notice anything off when I was there."
He went to a hospital? Oh, right. He had been shot after all. Yeah, she'd definitely only given him the starter course, and as good as he seemed to be doing with it, it was looking more likely every moment that if left alone he'd wind up getting killed.
That or locked up. Hypothetically, if police knew who 'Null' was, and that he had been wounded in a similar manner to the way Max had been whenever he'd stumbled into the hospital that night, it would have been easy to figure his identity, find him, and lock him up.
If he was lucky, because of his age, demeanor, and record of thefts judges wouldn't have deemed him dangerous enough to send to Blackgate.
It really was a marvel at the combination of talent he seemed to have at the things he knew about, and the luck he seemed to have at the things he had no idea about.
"Honey, honey, honey," Selina said to him as if she were speaking with a child, "You don't go to hospitals when you get hurt doing what we do. You need a more… ahem, private-practicing physician, let's say," She opened the passenger side door for him and gave the seat of the expensive ride a pat as an invitation, "Come on."
He hesitated significantly, face expressively twisting in thought as he mulled over the reasons to go and the reasons to take his chances. Eventually he stopped fished through his pockets. It took considerable effort on her part not to snicker when he pulled out a quarter and flipped it in the air to make his decision for him.
Aw, that was so adorable. And here Two-Face made it look so obsessive-compulsive and creepy.
Apparently the result came up in her favor, as Max gave her a hangdog look before sighing and climbing in, setting his crutch aside, "…Doctor said I should be resting," He muttered hypocritically, knowing full well that earlier that morning he'd stupidly worked out, avoiding the injured leg of course.
The cat-themed burglar simply put her car back into drive and pulled off from the sidewalk back into traffic, "Oh Maxie, didn't you know? There's no rest for the wicked."
XxX
(Later That Evening – Elsewhere in Gotham City)
As horrible as Gotham City could be, it was still home to many people that loved it, some of whom were willing to fight for it.
Amongst them was a young man formerly known in his younger years as the previous Robin. Those days were over with and gone however. Now as he had moved out of adolescence and approached true adulthood, he had taken on a name to reflect as much.
Criminals in Gotham had an equally dangerous adversary to keep watch for on the streets in Nightwing.
He was a tall young man with dark hair that fell to his neck. He wore a domino mask and a full black bodysuit emblazoned with a large blue bird emblem on his chest that stretched up to his shoulders and down his arms to his fists. The armor lining his suit was significantly lesser than that of Batman's or any of his protégé's.
As he rode through the streets at a swift pace on his personalized motorcycle, Nightwing could only think to himself about how outrageous the never-ending struggle always seemed to be. There were more heroes abound than ever, but no matter what, more villains would always come out of the woodwork to add to the number that already permeated society.
'I guess there really is something to all of that yin and yang 'balance' stuff after all,' He thought to himself, rounding a corner with practiced efficiency, 'If the universe finds it reasonable to keep throwing out bad guys left and right even after everything we've done for years.'
As he flew past an alley, a set of high beams turned on as a sheer black, sleek, jet-engine powered vehicle sounded to life and pulled out, following behind Nightwing before pulling just ahead of him and keeping pace. Nightwing let out a laugh and shook his head as the car slowly pulled ahead at a speed that he could follow along on.
Well, that was probably as close to being asked as he was going to get.
Fortunately, Batman and Nightwing were both more than familiar enough with the streets to stick to the less populated places so they could stay out of sight until they reached the area where Batman wanted to go. That wound up being an underground parking garage near the East End of Gotham.
"Well-well-well," Nightwing said, climbing off of the Wingcycle after being as good as flagged down by one of the last people he'd expected to see in person that night, "You know, there are ways to get in contact with me that aren't so intrusive."
The bulletproof door panel opened vertically, revealing Batman in his black-cowled glory as he climbed out, no humor in his demeanor. Quickly, Batman and Nightwing went nose-to-nose for several tense seconds until Batman spoke, "Did you get what I sent you?"
The information from earlier that day? On the guy that had been working for Deathstroke during his latest foray into Gotham City? Just like that, Batman's straight to business question defused most of the tense atmosphere.
"And you're sure about all of that?" Nightwing asked, raising an eyebrow behind his domino mask, "That… suit, definitely belongs to that kid?"
"From what I've seen, and from everything Barbara and Tim have told me, it's a direct match for the same one I wound up looking into," Batman said, trying to move past the uncomfortable pressure that had existed between the two of them since Nightwing's departure from the fold.
"So he's wearing a suit that's basically gotten him killed?"
"I doubt he knows. Not that it matters now. Even if he stopped wearing it, the damage is already done. "
Well that was unpleasant. How old was that Null person anyway? Sixteen? Seventeen maybe?
Thinking of that made Nightwing focus in a bit more on the two still with Bruce that he actually had a good rapport with, "Speaking of Barbara and Tim, where are those two anyway?" It had been a few weeks since he'd caught up with either of them. On a slow night like tonight it would have been a good time to stop in and say hello, maybe help one of them bust some bad guys for an hour or two.
"Tim is finishing up some work before he leaves with the Titans this weekend and Barbara's picking up his patrols for the evening," Batman said. His relationship with Nightwing might have been estranged, but Nightwing had always kept good relations with the others, "I'm not telling her about Null's little situation, so if you're going to see her don't bring it up."
"What?" That was certainly random. Sure, Batman let his partners in on a strictly need-to-know basis when it came to everything, but from what he remembered, he was putting the responsibility of that boy onto Robin and Batgirl. "Why not?" He hadn't been planning on it, but he may have brought it up in passing to perhaps tease her on how she hadn't been able to catch him after at least three run-ins.
Wait. Batman would only keep one of his wards out of the loop if things were too dangerous for them, or if emotions were more than likely to get involved.
Null was a kid, brand new and greener than a blade of grass to boot, so his abilities weren't out of their league. Nightwing himself had done enough snooping to find that his crimes weren't even close to being violent, so it wasn't that he was dangerous. That meant that Barbara was either extremely angry at this Null figure, or she was-.
No way.
Nightwing slowly looked up from his internal musings and fixed Batman with a straightforwardly dull look, "No," He stated flatly.
Knowing that Nightwing had caught on to what he needed to about that particular facet of the situation, Batman simply spoke without directly confirming it, "Whether she is, or she isn't doesn't matter. The chance that she could is enough."
Nightwing couldn't believe what he was, or in this case wasn't, hearing. Batgirl? As in Barbara? Their Barbara? She was getting interested in a petty thief?
"Okay, even if she was... let's say emotionally compromised, that wouldn't matter, she'd still bust his sorry ass," Nightwing defended on the red-haired girl's part, "I mean, it happened to you didn't it?" He ventured to compare, realizing this as a mistake only when Batman's head snapped his way. Clearly he wasn't a fan of his own personal history in that regard, "Sorry," Nightwing quickly apologized before smirking at his former mentor, "I meant to say, 'Still happens to you.'"
"I can count on her to do the right thing when the time comes, I know that," Batman told his adopted son, "But she's not me. And she's young. Any doubt when you're on the job could cause a tragedy."
Lord knew he'd made enough mistakes on his own end when it came to dealing with Catwoman. He didn't want Barbara to be put in a situation even close to that where she might wind up doing the same.
XxX
(Atlantic Ocean – Undisclosed Coordinates – International Waters)
For the last few days, Rose had been wondering if her father had been angry. It was an entirely reasonable question to ask. His training had ratcheted up in intensity three-fold since the conclusion of the mission at S.T.A.R. Labs.
Even as she crossed swords with Deathstroke she was feeling as though there was less of a margin for error than usual. He was honestly attacking her, and while she wouldn't say that it was his best, it was enough to give her pause at times. But those times were ruthlessly squashed. He was expecting her to come at him with full intent to maim and kill, and that was what he would get.
Still, as the sparks flew and the clang of metal echoed out in their training area, Rose felt that her full efforts in sparring weren't enough to make him forget about her performance against Batgirl and Robin.
Every strike of her sword aimed for any part of his body was parried with cold efficiency, and his responding attacks always made contact. The best she could hope for with any evasive movement or block she attempted was that she would get nicked and nothing worse.
Clashing metal again, the two pressed against each other trying to force the other back, but with a shifting of his foot position, the man known as Deathstroke drove her all the way across the room, slamming her into a wall and imposing his will.
Rose attempted to knee him in the groin, but Slade raised his own knee inward to stop the attack and subsequently forearmed his daughter in the head, knocking her sideways off of the wall. She stumbled, but maintained her balance. Unfortunately she was less than a year into the life, and the man she was up against had been at it for decades.
Feigning with a sword slash, when Rose reacted, Slade slammed the handle of the sword into her stomach, doubling her over and dropping her to her knees, involuntarily sending her sword clanging to the ground.
Any hope for a momentary reprieve was dashed when she saw the glint of the sword's steel move up above her. In desperation, Rose, lifted her body up and caught both of Slade's hands at the wrists as they had been coming down for a death knell of a strike. Her body protested with a quick wave of nausea she had to fight down. It didn't want to have to react so soon after being hit the way she had been, but her body wasn't in charge, her mind was.
This left her exposed for a knee straight to the chest that knocked her away from him. A few injured ribs were better than the alternative, which would have resulted in death.
Her father had little patience as he stood sternly over the girl, crouched down on one knee, "If you're fool enough to give me a fatal opening in practice, I will kill you. I want improvements. What happened on the last mission will not happen again, are we clear?"
"Yes," Rose said, keeping down the cough that she wanted to let out to clear her lungs. Talking was good. Talking gave her a chance to suck down as much air as she could to help settle her stomach, "What was the endgame you're looking for out of that mission anyway?"
She knew what Kryptonite was, and what dubious uses people like them would have for it. She just hadn't been aware that her father had been harboring machinations of dealing with Superman.
"What I'm presenting clients with now is an opportunity," Slade said, "I have in my possession a copious amount of one of the few things in this world or any other that is guaranteed to kill the Man of Steel, with the potential to weaponize it in a form that he'll never know is a threat until it's too late. And for the time being at least, I won't be the one to take the heat for it."
It was obvious who in this scenario would be, "Null."
"Exactly," Deathstroke said, "I had meant to send Catwoman in to take nothing more than the technology specs. She would have never given Kryptonite of all things to me," And he would have been fine with that. You couldn't always get everything you wanted, "But the boy? He was talented enough to get what I needed, and new and clueless enough to give me something on my wish list. I took a gamble and it paid off."
"Do you think if he knew what it was, he wouldn't have stolen it for you?"
"No. He still would have, because if I told him to and he had refused after being brought into the fold I would have killed him and he would have known as much. But he has morals. He saved you after all," Out of his sight, Rose noticeably fidgeted at the reminder of Null's attempt at heroism, "Even if I'd have told him what it did, he would have stolen it regardless, but would have probably immediately told someone that could have stopped me from getting too far with it. If I told him, I really would have wound up having to kill him."
The young man at least had one thing in common with Catwoman, as Null didn't see heroes as an object of abhorrence, something to be permanently removed from the equation. They were obstacles. A fish was going to swim, a bird was going to fly, a superhero was going to try and stop him from doing illegal things, and it was up to him to avoid that. He didn't take the never-ending back and forth personally. It was actually a rather professional outlook to have, especially for a punk kid. Still though, that was all he was. A punk kid.
A punk kid with some semblance of iron in him, even if it was just raw ore. There was a use for that kind of punk.
"He served his purpose as an early patsy, and now he'll serve one last purpose as a cheap decoy," Slade explained. He wanted Rose to learn just how all of this worked. She would be so much better off once she did, "Even if it's been deduced that he only stole from S.T.A.R Labs in my employ, it won't absolve him of anything," Null was still a known accomplice with a clear base of operations. When the interested parties realized they couldn't find Slade, they would search for Null, "If he has even an ounce of fight in him, he'll at least make it interesting."
'Interesting' as in he would take more effort than anyone would like to bring him in. The more eyes on the bottom rung of the responsible party would be time that Slade could use to get word of what he had to the right people. The right people who could profit from the services only he could provide, and pay him a hefty sum in return.
"Now, pick your sword back up," The man known as Deathstroke demanded, pointing at Rose with his own blade, "We're not done training yet."
Of course they weren't. Rose narrowed her single eye, knowing full well he wasn't going to just let her retrieve her weapon after she had dropped it while they had been fighting. Alright then. She was going to put his other damned eye out if she got the chance.
Maybe then he'd actually be proud of her?
XxX
(Meanwhile – Around Midnight – Gotham City)
The entire car ride back to Max's apartment from where Selina had taken him had been a quiet, awkward affair. The only sound inside of the vehicle was the drone of the radio, turned down low. It just didn't seem appropriate to have it turned up too loudly after what they'd heard.
"Max, I-," Selina started to say before she realized that she didn't know what to say. She was completely at a loss for words. After all, how did you talk to someone who had basically been told that they were going to die?
(Flashback – Earlier That Afternoon)
"This isn't a doctor Selina."
"Yes he is."
"Okay, this isn't a medical doctor."
Indeed, while Max had been expecting some sort of seedy back-alley stitch-up joint, or at least a quiet, tucked away office of a licensed physician that Selina had an in with, they were sitting in what was clearly a lab.
And not one for medical science either, which was kind of relieving. At least he hadn't been sold up the river to be experimented on. As outrageous as it sounded, it didn't really seem that much so those days. Gotham was a large city with a thriving, sometimes un-policed scientific community. There were plenty of uncontracted men and women of science all over, not just ones that worked in the big-time labs.
"I have contacts through my work Maxie," Selina explained, studying her nails as she sat and waited with her would-be ward, making idle chat as they waited for the man to return, "You probably wouldn't believe how much more you can get for certain pieces of equipment and technology than jewels."
Still, she had a soft spot for lifting the shiny stuff instead. There was just a sort of panache that came with stealing artifacts and other priceless valuables. Above all else, Selina liked her jobs to come with a certain amount of flair. Taking tech just was not sexy.
Max shifted, trying not to fidget uncomfortably in his chair as they waited, "You're still not touching on the fact that this isn't a doctor-doctor."
Selina rolled her eyes in return. Semantics, "Well obviously, whatever's wrong with you isn't a medical problem. You said it yourself, you've already been to the doctor, and having been shot before, I can tell you that they probably ran several tests on you to make sure you weren't as hurt as they first thought, especially since you took it fairly close to a main artery. If anything had been medically wrong with you, I'm pretty sure the trained medical professionals would have caught it already."
"So you take me to a freelance scientist?" Not that he really had anything against scientists, but after the life he'd led thus far, the uncontracted ones had something of a stigma with him. From the looks of things, this guy was doing better than his parents ever had with their attempts to go it themselves.
"I can drop five names off the top of my head who would have said they should have gone to a scientist instead of a doctor for their little situations," Selina said, "...Or were scientists and did whatever it was to themselves to begin with, but either way. When there aren't any reasonable answers, you have to look at the unreasonable ones."
None of that sounded particularly good. Unreasonable answers were unknowns, and unknown things were scary by default. That was just the way things were.
Max had to stand in place for the better part of an hour as composite scans were taken of several different parts of his body. What exactly a full-scope breakdown of what made him tick would do when for the most part he already knew it was beyond him, but it wasn't exactly hard to endure. It was the waiting that took it's toll.
Footsteps coming their way directed Max and Selina's attention to the man walking back to them, holding a few images in his hands, probably from the results of the scans. As he reached the thieving pair, he looked up at Max seemingly measuring his words.
With a shrug he seemed to cast away that line of thought and come at him bluntly, "Kid, your body is coursing with more energy than I've ever seen a human have my life. It's literally converting your kinetic energy into mechanical energy and then storing it up, and I can't even begin to understand how."
Really now? As interesting as that sounded, it didn't really explain much, "So what the hell does that mean?" Max should have been more ashamed at needing an explanation than he was, but he wasn't. He wasn't some kind of genius, but advanced science classes just looked too good on a transcript to pass up.
"Okay, imagine a guy on a treadmill or an exercise bike powering a lamp or something. That's what it is; energy generated by a separate force of some kind," The scientist said, trying to break things down, "Basically, every move you make is causing you to stockpile more of a charge in your atoms than your protons, electrons, and neutrons should be holding."
That was what had been causing the painful electric discharges? Well it was inconvenient, but even if it was something that was permanent it was something that sounded easy to manage, at least as far as Selina could see, "So we just tie Maxie down for a few hours every so often so he can lose what he has without making anymore," If he wasn't moving to build energy, he wouldn't have any to let off, "Problem solved."
The scientist would have felt like laughing if this had been any kind of laughing matter. Unfortunately it wasn't, "Oh no. Problem not solved," He said, "Human beings are always in motion. Even when they're sleeping. I'm not just talking about him moving around and doing things, though that's how he's getting most of it. His heartbeat, his blood pumping through his body, every bodily function. With every breath he's taking, he's getting more of it."
Max held out a hand and flexed his fingers, "So doing that gave me more energy instead of costing energy?" Max asked, getting an honest nod, "Wow. And people don't do that, so what does that mean?"
"It means that you're literally coursing with more energy than the human body is meant to handle. I don't even know how that's possible. If you don't find a way to fix it or deal with it though, you're going to start hurting yourself with that crap."
"I'm already hurting myself with this crap," It was the reason they were there in the first place after all.
"No, I mean really hurting yourself," the learned man explained, lightly tapping Max on the head with the clipboard to get his full attention, "Maybe now it's just as annoying as dragging your feet on the carpet and getting a good shock off of the doorknob. Well since you keep building more of it, sooner or later it's going to feel like you're getting tased, probably within several months or so, and eventually you're going to be doing a damn good impression of a person with a toaster in a bathtub."
Selina's jaw dropped as Max's entire body stiffened up at the implication, "You're kidding."
As much as the scientist wished he was, he wasn't. He ran a hand through his own hair as he continued on, "Right now it's not so bad because even with the energy you're building, the bodily functions cost more energy than they're giving you. You're not stockpiling that much electricity. But trust me, it'll start adding up. When you're active, that's when you're building your real overcharge."
Max shook off his shock and awe, though he was still quite visibly affected, "So I'm gonna start letting off lightning bolts until I explode or something?"
"Nothing that dramatic. Could be a year, could be five years, ten years. I've got no idea," The scientist said, "You'll know when it's getting close once you start getting sick. That'll be your body beginning to shut down from all of the power."
Sick.
Sick like his mother had been before she'd passed.
Sick like his father had been.
And then one day after they'd been bed-ridden for months, their hearts just stopped. Just like that. What were the chances that they'd taken the final shock that had stopped their hearts cold in their chests? Well that made sense. More sense than both of them coming down with the same mystery illness that left him all alone.
And now the same thing was going to happen to him if he didn't find a way around it.
Jesus, he had no idea how he was going to do that. He was a run-of-the-mill high school student and a masked crook on the side with no real, helpful connections. If it was down to him and him alone, he might as well have marched to the graveyard and picked out a plot right then and there.
It would have saved everyone the time, and the city from having to do it themselves later.
(End Flashback)
Selina had pulled up in front of the apartment building some time ago, but the two just sat inside of the car for several minutes, neither moving after she had parked.
Pursing her lips, she finally turned to her sort-of protégé, "Max, how did this happen?" It was the only thing she could come up with to ask. It just didn't make any sense. If the electricity thing had been happening for some time already, what had he done to put himself in such a situation?
Max sank down into his seat, not really wanting to talk about the entire experience. And he'd been feeling so great lately too. He had a good idea what might have done it, as there was only one conceivable thing involving any sort of electricity that had a major role in his life.
His stomach turned at the thought of telling anyone else about the suit, but Selina already knew he was Null. Telling her about the suit wasn't really that much more of a nudge and it wouldn't really change anything that hadn't been turned on its head already.
"I want to trust you," Max said carefully, "You gave me a chance to get myself out of trouble. You didn't have to, but you did, and I'm really grateful."
Well didn't this sound like the beginning of a double-edged remark? "But..." Selina said, wondering what exactly this had to do with what was going on. Whatever it was, it wasn't anything that Max wanted to talk about openly at all, and it wasn't necessarily career-related either.
"But you kind of royally screwed me with the Deathstroke thing Selina," Max said, still slouching, "Still, you trained me for absolutely nothing, so I'll call it a solid wash. I mean, what's a scary three-day stretch and a gunshot wound for a life skill?"
Especially when that life seemed like it was going to be shorter than one would have liked. Holding slighted grudges and being pissed off didn't seem that important when you were staring at the end of the line.
Selina looked at him in surprise before smiling widely at him, "Has anyone ever told you that you're a weird combination of juvenile and mature?"
"I get the juvenile part sometimes," Max rebutted before pushing the passenger's side door open and getting out, "Alright, let's do this before I lose my nerve. If I'm gonna die anyway, I at least want one person to know why."
As odd as that statement was, she knew an invitation to follow when she heard one, and proceeded to go with him into the complex. As they tackled the stairs, Selina felt the need to talk again to keep things from growing awkward again, "So you trust me in your house."
"Yeah," Max told her, his crutch clicking on the stairs as he pushed himself up to the next floor and led her to his door, "There isn't anything in there worth taking, except for one thing maybe."
The next few moments didn't feel real to him, as if he were watching himself move from outside of his own body. Was he really going forward with doing this? It remained that way right up until he retrieved the case that contained the Null suit and brought it to where Selina was sitting and waiting in the living room of the tiny one-bedroom apartment.
He set the case on the cluttered coffee table between them and popped it open, having unlocked it back in the room to try and at least keep the mechanism to open it to himself.
"What's this?" Selina asked.
"The only thing here worth taking," Max explained, sitting down in a nearby chair as he held the source of his roller-coaster of fortunes in his hands. Without it, he never would have gotten himself in a position to live comfortably again, but he also wouldn't be set to die, "This is what probably screwed up my stuff."
And so he explained what little he actually knew about what his parents had left him with. It was only after the short explanation that had taken less than three minutes that he realized just how little he really knew. He wore it, electric things happened, and then it let him do things that even world-class athletes weren't able to come close to.
By the time he'd finished, Selina had fixed him with an accusatory look, one that confused him, because he couldn't really tell what she was more aggravated with.
"You weren't using this when I was training you," The career thief stated more than asked, "You were as fast, strong, and agile as a regular human being when I finished with you. A really athletic human being, but you still weren't anywhere near my league."
Definitely not good enough to think of butting heads with Batman's gaggle of brats. And yet, he'd done that twice and even come out on top once. Remembering a conversation from a month or so ago, Batman had told her that Null had a suit that seemed to do something with electricity after all. This was obviously it.
Max mulled his response over in his head before saying something, "No, I did the training for real. I thought it would work better if my body was already in really good condition before I put it on and the suit jacked everything up past ten. If I could sort of hang with you without the suit, with it on I figured I'd be that much better, and I was kinda right. The better my body is, the better it works in the suit."
"Except for the part where now it's killed you," It was hard for Selina to understand why she cared, but damn it, she'd put a month's worth of time into this kid, and a handful of months later he was actually showing some real potential. There was a point of pride there. Now he was dying? "Why didn't you bring this up before we'd started?"
Max would have laughed if the question hadn't been about something that was actually supposed to be serious, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't have thought of stealing it from me if I'd told you about it before you knew I could actually square off with a few capes."
"I wouldn't have thought of stealing it," Selina said before her serious expression broke into a small smile in the face of Max's stony skepticism, "Damn, couldn't even keep a straight face for that one," The only reason she wasn't still thinking of it right then was because apparently that was the trigger that had set Max on getting his atoms turned into energy-storing time-bombs that would eventually zap him hard enough to kill him.
Greedy as she was, she still had some semblance of morals, shades of grey though they were. A suit that killed the person who used it a couple of times trampled all over her sense of decency. Ripping off clients was one thing, getting numerous people completely unassociated with the deal she was welshing on killed really pushed her limits past what she would tolerate to get ahead.
"I really don't think I can get any worse than I already am by wearing it more," Max muttered, staring intently at his combination blessing/curse of an enhancement suit, "I need a cure. There has to be something I can do, or somebody else can do."
Drumming her fingers on the armrest of the sofa, Selina's lips pursed as she thought of what to do. The most permeating thought she had stuck in her head wouldn't go away, but she was more than certain that Max wouldn't be a fan of what it was.
Still, it was the most encompassing idea she had, and the least likely to end with him dying, which was the most important thing at this point, "I can talk to someone who would have the resources that may be able to figure out something," Selina told Max, "If he can't, he'll definitely know someone who can."
Immediately, Max was on edge. Selina's contacts were criminals more than likely, and there was a very small chance of any of them doing something to help out of the goodness of their hearts. That wasn't to say he was unwilling to work for his salvation, but he had better moral standards as to the nature of the jobs he'd take than most people in the same situation.
In other words, it sounded too good to be true, just like the last time, "Who?"
Who else? The only person she knew that she might have been able to convince to help, definitely the only person in Gotham City, "Batman," Max immediately drew backwards in his chair, recoiling at the idea of being connected to Batman, even loosely through Selina, "I don't have to use your real name! He knows Null and I are connected already, and as long as we don't keep meeting like this-," She emphasized their current chat in Max's home, "-We can keep him from catching on."
At least for a while.
"I just worked with an assassin to fight with Batman's crew and steal... whatever it is I stole," Max said, recapping his most recent crime against the good people of Gotham City, "Why the hell would he help you help me?"
"Because you're young. Because you're not a killer. Because the most you've done is just steal, and that was the only big job you've ever pulled," Selina said, getting up to stand over the still seated teenager, "Because it would be a favor for me. If I tell him you're going to die, he won't just say 'tough' and let it happen."
"And what if he does?"
"Batman isn't that kind of person."
"If he finds out who I am, he's gonna throw me in prison."
"I won't let it come to that."
"The 'him finding out who I am' part, or the 'me going to prison when he does' part?" Max asked, "Because if I'm gonna die anyway, I'd rather be outside than behind bars when I do."
Selina let out a scoff and rolled her eyes, "Both. Put a little faith in me here."
"Yeah totally," Max said cynically, "Just in case you forgot, the last time I did that, you gave me a job that got me shot."
"Oh please Maxie. That's ancient history."
XxX
(A Few Days Later – Gotham County Limits)
Batman had sent Robin off for his usual excursion to the west coast to work with the Teen Titans for the weekend, but unbeknownst to him, Robin had planned to turn right around and come back. Not without a few others in tow however. This of course would have to be kept from Batman to the best of Robin's ability.
The reprisal he would receive if this weren't kept as under wraps as possible would be great. That was putting it lightly.
The Titans' plan of action was rather straightforward. While they would enter on Friday night, they would make their exit Sunday night. They would let Robin remain in Gotham City to make it home on his own on the final evening and return with the T-Jet at the end of the weekend, but until then they were trying to fly under the radar for a Titan-related mission.
Robin was the first to emerge from the entrance of the old, unused Titans Lair where they had landed. From there they could sneak back into the city without Batman getting on him about allowing other heroes into Gotham without his permission.
The first member of the shortened Teen Titans team accompanying Robin into Gotham City was Kid Flash, one of Robin's oldest friends and crime-fighting allies. A teenage speedster sporting red hair and a bodysuit comprised of a yellow upper half with a red lightning bolt emblem on the chest and a red lower half with yellow boots, red gloves, and a yellow half-mask.
The other was Beast Boy, one of the longest-tenured active Titans. A young man with green hair, green skin, and a unique ability to transform his body into any animal imaginable given to him by a dangerous disease that at one point in time had very nearly taken his life. In the field he wore a purple and white bodysuit, boots, and gloves.
Nodding to himself, comfortable that they would be able to make it within the city limits and begin their short campaign before long, Robin turned to the two teammates with him on the assignment, "Alright, we're completely under the radar from here on guys. Let's get this started."
"Is this really a good idea?" Kid Flash asked, tapping his foot on the ground as he surveyed the area as if he were expecting the Batplane to come flying in out of nowhere, just like that, "If Batman finds out, I'm pretty sure we won't be able to find Robin's body afterwards," He half-joked.
While it was true that Null had originated in perhaps the most dangerous place for any young hero or villain to break in, that meant that the only people who would usually deal with him would be the lunatics trapped within that zoo. Gotham City was notorious for the fact that Batman would not allow any hero to do their thing in his neck of the woods without his say so. It was an unwritten rule amongst their ilk.
Even so, Robin felt responsible for the dust-up during the S.T.A.R. Labs heist that Deathstroke had perpetrated. While it had been a breakdown on several levels, and it hadn't been solely his fault that things had transpired the way they had, he couldn't help it.
What had been taken was an extreme threat to the notable Kryptonian heroes, even if it hadn't fallen into the wrong hands, of which Deathstroke's most definitely were. Those heroes of Kryptonian linage included more than just Superman. It included Supergirl and Superboy, one of whom was a friend of the Titans and the other who was actually an active member of the team.
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't," Beast Boy said with a shrug, "But this guy worked with Deathstroke, who hates us even on a good day, and gave that lunatic something that could kill two of our friends. If there's even a chance he could wind up showing us how to find him, I say go for it."
A large portion of the ongoing chain of events had been Beast Boy's idea. As an elder statesman member of the Teen Titans so to speak, his agreement that the mission to capture Null was something that they could and should have done held enough weight for Robin to take up the cause in earnest.
Kid Flash frowned at Beast Boy's statement. It was wasn't like he himself needed a reminder of the kind of man Slade Wilson was. Deathstroke had blown out Kid Flash's kneecap not that long ago and he was still fresh off of recovering from that particular injury.
"Besides," Beast Boy followed, lightening up with a toothy grin, "I kind of like the idea of rubbing elbows with a villain our age, it kinda puts things into perspective, you know? Maybe we could make it a regular thing? Like, 'Welcome to the wonderful world of crime and punishment! Come quietly please!'"
"Yeah," Kid Flash followed up, playing along, "'We're the Teen Titans, and trust us, we're the lightest you're going to get off if you keep it up.'"
Robin's lips quirked ever so slightly at the byplay of his two eccentric friends, "If he sees me first he might hightail it before you get the first word in edgewise. Null isn't much for fighting."
"Well what a coincidence," Kid Flash said, speeding over to Robin's side, throwing an arm over his shoulder, "I'll just catch up with him and say, 'Hi! My name's Kid Flash, and it just so happens that while your thing may be running, my fine hooded friend, it turns out that mine is too! Small world!"
Robin shook his head, "Maybe you two can annoy him into giving himself up?"
"You really think so?" Beast Boy asked in jest.
If only it would be that easy.
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