2358: Son of a Smith – Chapter 2Posted: June 16, 2019
Title: Son of a Smith
Media: Comic Book? Cartoon? ff.net lumps the animated Justice League into the same section as the comics, so it’s impossible to tell.
Topic: Justice League
Genre: Supernatural / Friendship
URL: Chapter 2
Critiqued by BatJamags
Hello once again, patrons! I’m your host, BatJamags, and we’re back with another Justice League fic that I think was a Batman fic in disguise. Seriously, what is with that?
Anyway, last time our self-insert got reborn as the demigod child of Hephaestus and some random Amazon who was named after food. He went to school in Gotham and made friends with baby Pamela Isley and eight-year-old Bruce Wayne. He also swore a lot, which is mostly my job. We resume the fic in the process of building an obnoxious Gotham Babies spinoff series.
Actually, I’m pretty sure we already got one of those, but I guess it didn’t have a totes badass to the max self-insert in it.
Four years since I met Bruce but damn it all the little bastard endeared himself to me, I often do wonder if this is what it’s like to have a little brother.
Bruce Wayne: Well known for endearing himself to people.
Soon after meeting him I realised something worrying, there are sudden gaps in my memory, well my old memories of my old life, not just DC related but more like everything that made me, me, if I pushed my mind to remember I could just about recall the gaps but a literal headache that caused a lot of physical pain accompanied the memories almost as if something was forcing me to forget.
Ow. I forgot how strong the run-ons were with this one.
“OOUUMFF.” I jolted awake as I felt two people jump off my bed.
So you didn’t feel them hop on, but it’s the jumping off that gets you?
“WAKEY, WAKEY, BIRTHDAY BOY.”
“WE GOT YOU A CAPS LOCK KEY FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY.”
Great, now the Formless Voices have discovered cruise control for cool.
“WE WERE ALREADY COOL, THOUGH. WE JUST HAVE CRUISE CONTROL NOW.”
I groan in annoyance, “You two are so heavy and loud. Get off.” I move to yank my blanket in hopes they fall off the bed.
“My, my someone sure is a grump in the morning.”
Yeah, it’s me. I’m also a grump in the afternoon. And the evening. And the night. And just to be clear, I’m a grump at noon sharp, too.
I peek my head out of the covers and I see mum have a playful smile on her face, “Tell me about it, he acts like a grumpy old man.”
No, most grumpy old men know how to separate a paragraph into multiple sentences.
I glare at the two of them, “Morpheus is my favourite god.” Apparently only the Olympian Gods can tell when their names are spoken.
Because reasons. And while I assume you’re referring to Neil Gaiman’s Sandman (who, if I recall correct, is sometimes known as Morpheus), Morpheus is an Olympian god. He’s referenced a few times in the (excellent) Post-Crisis Wonder Woman run by George Perez. That does beg the question whether that guy and Dream of the Endless are two different Morpheuses (Morphei?), but we’re getting off track here.
Dad reaches for his heart in mock pain, “My precious son turning his back on me, even when I come bearing gifts.”
I’m told you’re supposed to beware of Greeks bearing gifts.
I reluctantly got up while throwing a quick glare at the two ridiculously cheerful bastards, it’s six fucking am.
“So I made this for you, to help with your magic.”
I couldn’t help but grumble in annoyance at the memory of me after learning basic spells that a monkey could learn e.g. maintenances spells, spells to heat up your body, cleanliness spells which by the by is a freakin boon when I hit puberty again, because I have that to look forward to, anyway after learning the basics spells I was giddy at the prospect of learning literal magic, like the summoning elements to my fingertips and all that crap.
You know, just a bunch of stupid crap, like manipulating the fabric of the universe to make the laws of physics cry even more than usual.
There’s a reason that magic users are usually some of the most powerful and dangerous superhumans in the DCU. I’d say the top three most powerful superheroes are the Spectre, the Phantom Stranger, and Doctor Fate, all of whom are magical in nature. Even more mundane sorcerers (that is, just humans who can do magic rather than any kind of fundamentally supernatural entity) like Zatanna are far more versatile than most metahumans.
Though I was in for disappointment when I actually tried to use one of those spells and it completely drained me of all of my energy rendering me unconscious, to say I was embarrassed when I tried to summon a fireball only to pass out was clear, but that embarrassment only increased when mum flat out forbid dad from teaching me any more magic while smothering me with a bout of an overprotective nature which considering our training sessions are entirely one-sided session of dodge her blade only makes it further confusing, now that I think about it she always hated me learning any form of magic.
It’s a rule (an extremely inconsistently applied rule, but a rule nonetheless) in the DCU that magic doesn’t work without some sort of price. The specifics vary by the individual magic user, but there’s usually a pretty heavy price tag on that kind of power. So basically, a random nerd like you isn’t going to be casting spells.
I open the pristine box and see a medium arm length sized bracer, I don’t even question it and with practice ease equip it on, when nothing happens I take a quick glance at my dad only to see him tap the side of his forehead, so I have to concentrate… on what?
So… do you or do you not know what the thing is?
I see the bastard roll his eyes as if he could read my mind, he raises his hand and wills an open fireball, so I guess I have to concentrate on fire… I’m gonna kick his arse if he rolls his eyes one more time, the fire suddenly becomes more intense as mum backs away from dad.
The magic I have to concentrate on the magic in me, as I do just that I notice the bracer turn into a full-length unidentifiable metal plated gauntlet with a red gem on the palm, however I don’t have time to admire the craftsmanship of this beaut as I feel a sudden drain on practically everything I could possibly feel.
That’s not true. That’s impossible!
IT’S SAM MOTHERFUCKIN’ JACKSON FROM THE DORK PATROL ALL OVER AGAIN!
He’s a descendant of Hephaestus/Vulcan with magical gauntlets that shoot fire. That’s literally the exact same character concept. God damn it.
Good thing I was still on my bed as I felt mum and dad slowly lower me down on it, the last thing I saw was dad guilty face.
“Hephaestus, are sure about this.”
Hephaestus: Yes, and am Tarzan.
“Aye. This is for the best.”
If you say so, friend.
Ambrosia had a look of disdain, “Fucking magic. I don’t want my baby boy learning that filth.”
Because… reasons? It’s not like Amazons don’t use some magic. They’re mostly not actual sorcerers, but they have access to a lot of magical creatures and artifacts.
Hephaestus rolls his eyes, “Magic is a tool. Just because the likes of Circe use it less than pleasant means, doesn’t mean Pyrrhos will end up like her.”
What this guy said. Your queen and princess both use magically empowered artifacts, and the whole island regularly consults with a resident oracle.
“Yes, yes, I know. But know this if this backfires and hurts Pyrrhos…”
It’ll be so much the better.
“Aye, you’ll cut off my bits and feed them to me. You Amazons need knew threats.” Hephaestus waves her off as he engulfs in a blaze and disappears, Ambrosia grunts in annoyance which turns into outrage as she hears a noise in the kitchen, “Get out of my fridge, you arse.”
Fic, you can develop a plot any time you like.
I rub my forehead in a failed attempt to sooth the oncoming migraine, it feels like I just necked a whole bottle of cheap ass whiskey… damn, I miss booze, can’t wait till I turn eighteen… fuck I’m in America.
I mean, there’s no need to rush or anything. Just… sooner is better.
I head towards the kitchen and I don’t even bother question the black eye my dad was sporting or the bleeding knuckles mum was washing off, seriously if I was in the mood I would question how mum could even cause dad any harm in such short amount of time, but the sluggish way I was feeling I was more likely to bite their heads off.
Domestic abuse is hilarious.
“Hey, Champ. How are you feeling?”
Not great, I gotta be honest. This story is really slow, and I feel like it’s hard to be funny when nothing’s happ- Oh, you were talking to the SI Stu. Never mind me, then. By all means, carry on with your present lack of interesting activity. Don’t start doing things for my benefit.
I glare at them and make myself some coffee which after years of arguing with mum she finally allowed me to have one weak cup a day, “Like your anvil after you fold a sword.” As I join them I take a deep sip enjoying the soothing heat, “So what does this really do?” I raise the now bracer still attached on my forearm.
Why is coffee a bad thing?
“In its gauntlet form; it acts likes a wand.”
No, it acts like a gauntlet. In other words, it doesn’t act, at least not of its own volition. Much like its owner, as it happens.
I see where he was going, “So a focusing point for my magic.”
He has a blank look on his face, “What part of ‘acts like a wand’ don’t you get?” Jeeze someone doesn’t like interrupted.
The part where there’s a predefined thing that a wand acts like? Real wands don’t act like any damn thing because they’re just sticks, and a hypothetical magic wand could function any number of different ways.
“Fine go ahead.” I wave him on while mum has an amused look on her face.
“The gauntlet is made up from Uru, a strange metal a friend gifted me.” Uru isn’t that the stuff Thor hammer is made up of in Marvel comics.
Oh hell. Surprise crossover! I guess?
“Umm, dad strange metal?”
I see mum raise an eyebrow, “Yes, Hephaestus. Strange metal?” Mum holds her butter knife up as if she was about to pry off the bracer from my arm.
GoodJamags: *Leans in* Strange metal?
*Waves arms frantically* Strange metal!
Kane: *Appears* Strange metal?
*Points* Strange metal.
Kane: *Gasps* Strange metal!
“Relax Amb. Strange as in the metal is highly durable and is incredibly attuned to magic.” He waved off her worries, “Anyway I enchanted it so that it will grow with you both literally and magically, which it will act like a wand empowering your magic, it will also give you extra protection while also giving you a mean southpaw.” Dad finishes with a ruffle of my hair, which right now I didn’t mind so much due to this freakin awesome gift.
I wonder if something will happen soon.
Might not be as powerful as Mjolnir, but this will defiantly be invaluable to me, “Heh, must have been a bitch to forge it into a gauntlet.”
“Yeah tell me about,” Dad grunts out.
“So quick question. How do I take it off?” My eyes roam the bracer checking if there’s a hidden latch.
“Uumm hehe.” He rubs the back of his neck, I don’t like where this is going, “The bracer is fused to your arm…”
“I can’t take this off, can I?”
“…No.” He finishes lamely.
He is Sam Motherfuckin’ Jackson from The Shadow Warriors.
OK, some profile diving suggests this is not the guy who created SMJ, but the concept is eerily similar. It would’ve been really weird if it were that guy, since while I was looking for this fic I found another story that was a prequel about an OC the author had submitted to one of Shadow knight1121’s Edgelord stories.
I looked over to mum in shook that she hasn’t lost her mind over this, only to see she has the same guilty look on her face as dad.
In “shook?” *Snerk*
“Guyyys.” I drawl, “What’s going on?”
They just permanently fused a gauntlet to your hand.
“Son.” Dad clamps a calloused hand on my shoulder, “I know we all have an odd relationship. Where we don’t shield you away from stuff where we should.” Now that I think about it they do treat me like an adult, well not so much an adult but entirely more than a child.
That probably meant something in the author’s head.
“But please drop this and know that this is.” He gestures to the bracer, “Is to protect you.”
I sigh and concede, I guess I owe this bastard for everything I mean Olympian gods tend to treat their children like literal trash, I lucked out and got one of the decent ones as a dad, “Alright.”
“Alright?” He raises an eyebrow, “I was expecting more resistance, you digging up any information, you dragging your feet in a figurative sense.”
You’re not concerned about this at all?
I shrug my shoulders, “What can I say but I trust you.”
Oh, right, because actually explaining shit might cause the plot to move forward.
An unreadable expression comes across his face before he swallows thickly and coughs, “Now why don’t you run along and get change,
SMJ Mk. 2: I’m fresh out. If I give you a five-dollar bill, can you give me four ones and four quarters?
you’ll be late for that prison you mother sends you to.”
And we wouldn’t want to have any kind of conflict.
“Well excuse me for wanting our child to have a normal childhood.”
Dad grunts in an amused way, “What would you know about normal?”
Says the guy who just fused a gauntlet to his son’s hand for no sensible or readily apparent reason.
Well, I take that as my queue to duck out before they start one of their ‘fights’, as I leave my room and head off I had to suppress a wave of disgust as I heard some moans coming from mums bedroom, “Wait for me to leave.” I slam the door shut not bothering to wait around for a reply.
What they’re doing sounds at least marginally more interesting than the rest of the fic.
I ride the elevator down to the lobby of our apartment complex only to briefly pause when I don’t see a haggard British Gentleman only his ward.
Alfred is so classy he’s a Gentleman with a capital G.
Except… he’s also haggard. For some reason.
Author, you don’t know what that word means, do you?
“Bruce, where’s Alfred? It’s his turn to take us hell I mean school.”
Bruce smiles, “Alfred not coming.”
Bruce: Me Bat-Tarzan
Better Fic Ideas than This One count: +1
I just ignore his smile and groan, “Great I have to interrupt mum to get her to drop us off.”
OK, seriously, with the Bruce smiling thing? Have you not seen a Batman story?
He doesn’t question what she’s doing at this moment, “Nope.” He continues to grin like a moron.
Grinning like a moron.
“What do you mean nope?”
I mean that it’s completely out of character.
“Pry it’s your birthday.” The normally subdue Bruce actually cheered.
I let out a small smile, “Yeah I know man. It is my birthday after all.”
Wait, is it his birthday? I’m confused.
“Well, last year you forgot.” A girls voice sneaked up behind me though I don’t let it on that I was surprised.
GAH! Formless Voice ambush!
“Hey, Pam. What are you doing here?”
Boring me. It seems to be a group activity.
The redhead wrapped her arms around me despite my protest, “It’s your birthday doofus. Where else would I be? Now come on.” She released me from the hug but she still held onto my hand.
“Where?” I drawled not liking where this was going.
This is going somewhere?
“We’re going to the carnival.” Bruce piped up.
Oh, what fresh hell is this?
“Yeah me and Wayne figured we could all skip school seeing how it’s the last day the carnival is in town.”
OK, this is definitely not Bruce. It seems we’re faced with the Return of Namtab.
“Isley and I aren’t going to take no for an answer.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little flattered while also exhausted with these two and their interactions, both of them vehemently deny being friends with each other while also placing a strong claim that they’re my best friend.
It’s all so sweet that I just contracted terminal diabetes.
Kids and they’re made up rules of only having one best friend.
Observe, as SMJ Mk. II actively resists actually doing anything. Keep up the good work, SMJ Mk. II! At this rate, we’ll never have a plot!
“I told you he would say it,” Pam spoke with a blank look on her face.
Don’t make me haul out the Question picture again.
“Fine, fine.” Bruce waves her off.
Well, they gave up uncharastically easily, “Yeah I guess we’ll go on our own.”
“You know I could just tell my mum.”
“You’re going to go to your mum, the woman who wants you to get into ‘adventure’ as she calls them, and you’re going to snitch on us.” I roll my eyes, as in this life I got a loving mum but to balance it out she’s pretty loose on child safety.
Can this “adventure” actually happen before my brains leak out my ears?
I change my mind I fucking hate these kids, “I fucking hate you guys.”
Well, he’s not wrong. I hate them too.
*Headshotted in the head*
They choose to ignore me, “Let’s go.” For fuck sake, I trail after them knowing they’ll defiantly be safer if I go with them.
And this brings us to our first line break.
I pay the vendor and grab the drinks and handed them to Pry and Isley, Pry gives me a quite thank you while the redhead gives me a grunt in acknowledgement.
Oh what even fresher hell is this? Did we just shift into Namtab’s POV?
“So birthday boy.” He sends me a glare with no real heat behind it, “What should we do first?” He just shrugs his shoulders while looking around for trouble.
I couldn’t stop myself from shaking my head, Pyrrhos Herod my best friend. A boy who Alfred says has a mouth of a sailor and yet claims he’s also a well-mannered boy. A guy who hates fighting schoolyard bullies when they bother him but is willing to get his hands dirty when it comes to me.
*Silent alarms blare*
Well, that’s annoying.
*Headshotted in the chest*
And most importantly, “Pam did you put on your sunscreen?” A mother hen.
“Don’t sass me, young lady.”
“Whatever doofus. I need to go to the toilet.”
When she’s out of earshot I comment on how charming she is, “You know I would like it if you two got along.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen.”
BLUH! Wha? Uh… I wasn’t sleeping. I was… resting my forehead. On the keyboard. Yeah.
Whatever Pry was going to say froze as when we saw all of the adults in the area start to panic running towards the exit.
Oh, thank fuck, a supervillain or something.
“Only in Gotham.” I hear Pry mutter before he starts running towards where Pamela went off to.
We run towards where the portable toilets were only to see the carnival completely deserted with the exception of us and these terrifying monster men, seeing them I quickly duck down while grabbing Pry with me.
Monster men… sounds like Hugo Strange’s mutants.
They were monstrously large with almost orange skin with multiple flaws and scars, one of them was drenched in blood with a caress by its feet.
That’s almost a description, but then was hit brick by???
“Bruce. Leave.” Pry spoke with a hint of steel in his voice making him sound a lot older than twelve.
It’s really pathetic when the demigod SI Stu with the saccharine family is still more Batman-like than Bruce Wayne.
“Pry… come on.”
He looks over to me with a hard look on his face, “I need to make sure Pam is okay, but you have to leave…” The kiosk we hid behind was ripped straight out of the ground before I could react I felt Pry push me away with enough force that I skidded away at least ten feet away.
And he can use the Force.
I see an ornate gauntlet cover his arm as he jumps up and brings his fist directly on top of the beasts face, the monster was thrown back from the punch and all I could do was stare at him with a dumbfounded look.
Dumbfounded is another thing that Bruce Wayne is well known for often being.
The look turns quickly in to fear as the two other monsters charge Pry, though he spots this as well his face doesn’t show any hint of fear if anything he has a look mixed between anger and excitement.
With a hint of vanilla!
One of the monsters brings its meaty fist down to where Pry is standing, though Pry dodges just in nick of time and the beast whole arm was stuck in the ground as splinters showered the area, somehow Pry ended up on top of the monsters hunched over back and brought an armoured fist on its neck effectively knocking it out.
But not actually knocking it out, just in case you were wondering.
I hear Pry let out a sigh of relief however the other monster took advantage of his distraction and swung his burly arm throwing Pry across the docked ground, the mindless beast kicked its ‘friend’ out of the way to get at the downed form of Pry.
The “docked” ground? What’s that mean?
I jumped in sheer fear as I heard the distinctive sounds of a firearm, the beast stops his stalk towards the retreating Pry and heads towards the heavyset man, but once again when it’s in range to its prey another but a much louder gunshot is heard as a familiar man is holding a smoking shotgun.
The who and the what happened just now?
“Bruce? Are you okay there son?” Detective James Gordon, the Detective that was in charge of my parent’s case, I truly believed he wasn’t like the other police in Gotham, but in the end, I was proven wrong and shown how he was like any other person in Gotham, corrupt to their core.
Huh? What? When did Gordon get here, and since when has he been corrupt?
“Pry. Are you okay?” I stride past Gordon and head towards where my best friend was previously lying down, he openly stared at me with a confused look on his face, but only I could see the pleading look on his face, a look telling no begging me to keep quiet, a look that without question I will oblige to.
That’s a chatty look.
“Yeah bud, the big bastard couldn’t touch me.” Pry puts on a mock arrogant voice, which easily fools the Detectives.
Detectives? Plural? Where’s the other one?
“Son.” Gordon lays a hand on Pry shoulder, which knowing Pry he’s trying his hardest not to swat it away, “What were you thinking getting near those beasts?”
Pry briefly looked relieved and if I had to guess, he was glad to hear that Detectives didn’t see him fight off those monsters and instead only saw him backing away from it.
And why are you capitalizing it? It’s not part of a title in this context. Sure, you might have to capitalize if you were reading some sort of Detective Comics, but… you’re not.
“I was…” Pry eyes widen, “Crap. Pam.” He runs towards the toilet’s while me and sadly Gordon follow.
He went in there and fished out a fanfic called Son of a Smith out before posting it on the internet. The en-
It didn’t take long to reach where the grimy toilets were located, “Pam.” Pry calls out to her.
Which was immediately responded as a red missile clashed into him, “Pyrrhos…” She was actually weeping, I look over to where she emerges from to see the wall was caved in and there blood and gore everywhere, I had to will myself to stop the candy we ate earlier from emerging from my mouth at the sickening sight.
Huh?! Where did the gore come from? What happened? What are these monsters? Why didn’t they do to Pam whatever they did to the people that gore used to be? Where are they now? Did Pam gib them? If so, how?
“Come on kids.” Gordon moves to block the sight while leading us away.
“I promise you, Pam, no one will hurt while I’m around.”
Gordon has a condescending smile on his face which most adults give to kids like us, only if he knew what actually happened.
Him and me both.
“Sweetheart, are you sure you don’t want me to wait around with you for your mother?” I give the stunning redhead an attempt at a charming smile, while also cursing my childlike body, Miss Isley was defiantly a looker, and if I was in my old body I probably would have made her feel sorry for me due to my horrendous attempts at flirting.
You people are twelve. Actually, she’s probably younger, since I don’t think she’s Bruce’s age. Nobody’s a looker at twelve.
“It’s fine Miss Isley, I got Bruce with me.” I point at the silent boy sitting next to me, “and plus I think it’s better if you get Pammy home sooner better than later.” I send said girl an understanding look withholding the pity as she clasped the woman’s hand, “I’ll see ya soon, Pam.”
Despite everybody saying everybody else’s names, I still can’t tell who’s talking in which lines. That’s impressive.
“Miss Isley, I’ve arranged a squad car to drop you and daughter off.”
Miss Isley sends James Gordon the future Commissioner of this hell hole a grateful smile, “Thank you, James.” She says with some form of familiarity.
Wait, is Miss Isley not Pamela? Now I’m even more confused. Is that her mother? When did she show up?
It was a struggle to keep the smile off my face, these two met when I reported Pam’s scum bag father for armed robbery, it was a restraint to stop myself from pummelling the man into a pulp when I saw the fat lip on Pam was sporting one day, with a little coaxing she confirmed who I already suspected.
Which two, goddammit?!
I trailed the shit stain with a camera in hand, thankfully I didn’t have to wait long for a scumbag to commit a crime in Gotham and within in an hour of the crime, a young and newly promoted Detective Gordon had arrested Kyle Isley for armed robbery with photographic evidence anonymous given of course.
Also, I’m pretty sure in most versions of continuity, Gordon moved to Gotham from Chicago around the same time Bruce got started as Batman.
When Pam, her mum and Detective Gordon left me and Bruce he looks around to see if we were actually alone before facing me, “What the heck was all of that?” He practically yelled in a hushed tone.
I agree with Bruce, though I’d phrase it less politely.
I sigh knowing this was a long time coming after the fateful day we met, “Where do you want to start?”
Personally, I’d rather just end.
He puts on a thoughtful look, “How did you fight those things?”
*Snatches look off of Bruce’s face*
As superhero identities go, “Thoughtfulman” doesn’t really suit you.
“Bruce before I tell you, know that I am being entirely honest with you.”
He nods, “I trust you Pry, always have.”
No idea why, though.
“My dad is an Olympian God, and my mother is… well, it’s kind of a long story, but let’s just say she’s not human. Her people are skilled warriors and she wanted me to follow in her footsteps.”
The Amazons haven’t stopped not being not human.
After all, don’t put the blame on me.
I let give him a moment to digest what he just heard, but I mean come on this is a far-fetched story despite it being the truth that I’m feeding him, but I in no way want to lie to him about the important stuff, just in case depending on the type of Batman he turns out to be, I defiantly don’t want Batman making plans to fight me in the future.
You know, I’ve been ignoring it, but it’s starting to get really frustrating that this author misspells “definitely” as “defiantly” LITERALLY EVERY FUCKING TIME.
Back to my point, Bruce is an insanely smart kid blowing me and Pam out of the water, I know for a fact that he wouldn’t believe me on face value and would require more proof, “I believe you.” Fuck the fates and their agenda of me always being wrong.
I’d ask why on earth Bruce’d believe him, but he just saw some wacky shit and I guess he’d be willing to swallow the first plausible explanation he was given. Maybe not an adult Bruce, but a less paranoid pre-training one, maybe.
Maybe I giving him more credit at this age and just seeing me pull off one miracle of fighting off those altered humans is enough to believe whatever I say, like any child would.
Fic, I’m going to have to ask you to seriously fucking stop with the predicting what I’m going to say.
“Cool.” I’m not really sure what else to say.
Neither am I, but that’s more a mixture of boredom and confusion.
After a few moments of silence I see Bruce finally open his mouth to ask me whatever question is gnawing in his mind, “Pry can you teach me how to fight?”
Oh, I wasn’t expecting that “Umm, Bruce I, not much of fighter yet, I know enough to hold myself in a fight for sure, but not enough to actually teach. Which begs the question of why do you want to learn to fight from me of all people.”
You know goddamn well exactly why.
He looks at me like I’m stupid, “Are you kidding me? You were beating those monsters like they were…”
“Bruce, don’t call them that.” I snap at him.
“What they’re monsters. They’re…”
Whatever he was going to say was stopped by my glare, when he firmly closes his mouth my glare softens, “Bruce those things. They were people… you could see it in their eyes. Somebody turned them into that.” He opens his mouth to retort but I cut him off, “I glad they were stopped.” I wince at my words implying I’m glad one of them were killed by Detective Gordon but I didn’t bother to correct myself, “They couldn’t have been allowed to continue their rampage. But you’re also forgetting that they’re also victims to whatever bastard did that to them.”
I’m sick of the Stu trying to out-Batman Batman. I really am.
He looks down in contemplation, “What will happen to them? Now I mean.”
Well, they’re probably going to continue being dead.
“If I had to guess, they probably going to be lobotomised and their bodies will be experimented on.” I let the wince show on my face, I really wished I could pull these punches, but Gotham needs Batman, not a paranoid psycho who doesn’t trust anyone, but a Batman who is willing to help all with everything he has physically and mentally.
How does not being blunt about something really implausible cause Batman to be a paranoid psycho who doesn’t trust anyone?
Bruce once again looks down in contemplation, I just hope things don’t get any more hectic anytime soon, but than again this is Gotham Fucking City.
And with that the chapter comes grinding to a halt. Or rather, grinding to an author’s note.
Sorry this took so long, I just couldn’t get this chapter to a point where I was happy to upload, (still haven’t.)
Dear god, you actually edited this? That’s horrifying.
Also Just felt I need to point out his gauntlet is not even close to compare to Mjolnir in terms of power. I just felt like he need a trump card compared to the likes of Diana seeing how she has the lasso and her bracelets made of Amazonium something that comparable more stronger than Uru.
Wow, that was almost a sentence. The rest of the author’s note is just responding to reviews, so we’ll wrap it up here. This was updated pretty recently, so there may be more chapters for me to look into later. I’ll probably monitor this and come back to it later when it’s finished or dead. In the meantime, I’ll see you guys next time for some more Sueby action.
And now, your out-of-context quote from the next riff:
So we’re going all in on Bat-Ozpin. I’m OK with this.