"I was beginning to think you’d never grace me with your presence," I said, my voice calm but welcoming.

  My fingers tore open another sachet of sugar, the granules cascading into the cup of coffee before me. I stirred slowly, the spoon clinking softly against the porcein, before finally lifting my gaze to meet his.

  The Dark Knight himself.

  The st of the big trio I hadn’t officially met.

  Batman.

  Without a word, he took the seat across from me, his piercing eyes hidden behind the mask, yet still managing to convey an intensity that let me know this wasn’t a courtsey visit.

  The silence stretched between us.

  Then—finally—he spoke up

  “Seventy-three dead.”

  A statement, not a question.

  I tapped the spoon against the rim of my cup once before setting it down. “Yes,” I replied simply.

  “Unacceptable.”

  “Agreed but that is hardly any fault of mine as your tone seems to imply.” I exhaled slowly, watching the steam rise in zy tendrils from my drink.

  “You were given this quarter of the country to manage because it is assumed you would be able to keep things under control.

  Superman once stopped an earthquake from colpsing Metropolis. He stabilized the fault line and evacuated thousands in under three minutes.”

  I didn’t blink. “Impressive.”

  Batman didn’t acknowledge my response. He continued, unrelenting.

  “On another occasion, he intercepted a tsunami headed for the Philippines. Redirected it. Sped across the entire coastline, ensuring zero casualties. No deaths. No injuries. Not one person lost.”

  I exhaled softly, unimpressed. “Are we listing his greatest hits now?”

  Batman ignored the remark. “He’s pulled pnes out of freefall. Snatched missiles from the sky before radar could register the threat. He can hear a scream from space and be there before the second breath is drawn.”

  His hands beneath the table, fingers steepled. “I know the stats. You have his strength. His speed. His mind.” His voice dipped lower, the words cutting with the efficiency of a scalpel. “So tell me—why the hell did seventy-three people have to die today when you’re this side of the coast??

  “Seventy-three lives,” I murmured, setting the cup down with an absent tap of my fingers. “That number was locked in before I arrived, Detective. The damage was done before my confrontation with this machine even began.” I tilted my head slightly. “Unless you’re suggesting that Superman could undo the past?”

  Batman’s jaw shifted—again, just the faintest motion, almost imperceptible. If I hadn’t been watching, I wouldn’t have noticed.

  “I’m suggesting,” he said, voice low and even, “that Superman would have found a way to do better. To be faster. I am not asking for miracles. I am asking that you be ‘better.”

  Ah.

  This was quickly proving to be a very disappointing conversation.

  I let the silence stretch before finally leaning forward, just slightly, mirroring his position. My gaze locked onto his.

  “You expect quite a lot from me you know. I didn’t ask to be created, to have everyone look to me like I am the answer to all their problems.”

  Batman didn’t so much as blink. “The night we found you—the night you escaped that facility—you became a problem yourself.”

  He let the words sit, let them settle like lead between us before continuing.

  “The st time another Kryptonian set foot on this pnet, Metropolis paid for it in blood.”

  No embellishment. No dramatics. Just fact.

  “Now, there are two of you.”

  He leaned forward slightly, just enough for his presence to press against the space between us, his voice dropping to something colder, something final.

  “That means that you—” he emphasized—“have everything to prove.”

  I smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. “In other words, you’re telling me my actions have to be ‘super.’”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “Because if they’re not, more people will die. And next time, it won’t be seventy-three. It’ll be hundreds. Thousands. I have seen it happen.”

  The weight of his words settled over our table. I leaned back, breaking eye contact, and stared out the window. Outside the clean up crews were already working to clear the wreckage of the battle as Happy Harbor tried to rebuild.

  “Tell me, Batman—” my voice dipped lower, a quiet edge curling beneath it, “when exactly did my existence become a debt I’m expected to repay?”

  Batman gave a long hard stare. I almost thought he wasn’t going to be answering and we had entered into an unannounced staring competition.

  “The moment we had to ask ourselves whether you are in essence Superman’s legacy,” he paused, letting it sink in “or a big risk with an inescapable consequence. Like Zod.”

  He leaned forward slightly, his gloved hands still steepled on the table.

  “You want to act like this is about choice. It isn’t. You were made from Superman. Whether you wanted it or not, you have power—enough to shape the world or break it. And when power like that exists, it demands accountability. It is a responsibility. A debt. One you repay with your actions.”

  He let that hang. Before continuing.

  “Superman never had a choice in what he was either. He didn’t ask to be a symbol. He didn’t ask to be their protector. But he understood what his existence meant. He understood what was at stake.”

  A pause.

  “And so do we.”

  His stare seemed to harden, even through his cowl.

  “You want to reject everyone’s expectations? Fine. But by the virtue of who you are, you do not have the luxury of inaction.”

  Batman’s voice dropped lower.

  “Your inaction becomes a problem.”

  A slow, deliberate beat.

  “And problems get solved.”

  The room felt colder. With the implication of what he said heavy in the air.

  “Amazing speech,” I said as I took another sip of my coffee. “ But like I have been saying, I gave nothing less than a 100%. The casualties today sad as they were, occurred before I arrived on the scene.”

  He said nothing, watching me. Like he was already getting my measure. Waiting to see which side of the line I would fall on.

  “For now, the only responsibility on my mind right now is my brother.” I continued, my voice edged with something firmer, something colder. “You know the one that your Superman is keen to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

  Batman shifted slightly, turning his face to the side. “Superman has been particurly stubborn on the case of Superboy.” he admitted. “I believe you made some kind of arrangement with him.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “I will remain Superboy’s guardian for the foreseeable future.”

  Batman gives me a long stare, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. Then he reached into his utility belt, pulled out a small bck card, and pced it onto the table.

  “For you and your brother. It has no limit.”

  My eyes widened at that. The shiny bck card suddenly seemed even more precious.

  Thank you, Bruce Wayne.

  I looked up, expecting to meet his unreadable stare once more, but the booth across from me was empty. The shadow he had occupied mere moments ago now belonged to no one.

  I turned my head out the window just in time to catch him in slipping into his Batmobile parked outside.

  The vehicle blending in with the bcked out street.

  Then came the sound.

  A guttural roar as the engines of the Batmobile surged to life, vibrating through the bones of the night. A sleek shadow against the darkness, its silhouette barely distinguishable from the night itself.

  Through the cockpit’s gss, I caught a glimpse of him—his face impassive, his hands steady on the controls. And then, just before the thrusters ignited, I heard his mouth move.

  Not a command. Not an order. Just a quiet, final promise.

  “I will make him listen.”

  With a deafening rush, the car shot off. Roaring into the distance.

  I exhaled softly, slipping the bck card into my pocket. The weight of it felt heavier than it should—a silent tether to Batman’s expectations, to a world that didn’t care if I’d asked for this.

  And just like that, the night swallowed the st of his presence, leaving only silence behind.

  It was too quiet now. Unnaturally so. The kind of stillness that pressed against my ears, begging to be filled with something—anything—to drown out the echo of his words. “Problems get solved.” A threat wrapped in a promise.I took one final sip of my coffee, the bitterness lingering on my tongue as I set the cup down.

  My fingers lingered on the handle, tracing the edge absently.

  Seventy-three dead. Superboy’s abandonment. Dubbilex’s absence. All of it stacked like stones on my chest, and Batman thought he could add more.

  The quiet chime of the deli’s bell rang behind me as I rose and stepped into the cool night air. The city sprawled beneath a fragile calm, but I could still hear it—the distant hum of cleanup crews, the faint wail of a siren. Lives I couldn’t save. Lives I wasn’t fast enough for.

  I tilted my head toward the sky.

  Then I took off.

  The wind howled past me as I ascended, cutting through the night like a bullet. Faster and faster, the city shrinking beneath me as I shot north, my speed tearing through the sound barrier in a deafening boom.

  The Fortress awaited.

  Tonight, I wasn’t seeking refuge.

  I was visiting an old friend.

  The crystalline monolith loomed ahead, glinting under the moonlight like a ghost of a world long gone. I decelerated sharply, bleeding off an inhuman amount of momentum as I reached the entrance. The dispced air followed in a violent rush, snow swirling in my wake, sonic echoes still catching up to me as I nded softly on the frozen ground.

  I stepped inside.

  The halls of the Fortress were silent. Cold, their crystalline walls glinting like the edge of a bde under the dim light.

  No hum of life, no warmth—just the sterile echo of my own footsteps bouncing back at me.

  I was the only one here. Had to be. I’d timed my arrival down to the second, ears straining for any sign of intrusion, any whisper of movement. Nothing.

  When I reached the chamber door, I stopped cold. My hand hovered over the controls, the faint tremble in my fingers betraying me.I breathed in, sharp and shallow, the icy air stinging my lungs. Steeled myself. Then I entered.

  And there he was. A corpse on a sb.

  The medical-grade lights above cast a cold, sterile glow over his body, bleaching his gray skin to something ghostly, accentuating every detail. From the face I had known since Cadmus. To the body with his chest, a gaping ruin where life had been torn out.

  Dubbilex.

  He had kept me sane when I should have broken. Guided me when the weight of who I was—what I was—threatened to drag me under. That was just his nature. A psychic with a range beyond comprehension, a mind vast enough to touch the deepest corners of my own when I needed it most.

  That craved nothing more than a home for all Genomorphs.

  I would have called him brother, but he felt more like my father to me.

  And now?

  Now, he was just another body on a sb.

  I exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers against the cool surface of the table.

  “You weren’t supposed to die.”

  The words felt small. Insufficient. As if saying them could rewrite reality.

  I rubbed a hand along my jaw, staring at him, my mind already racing through possibilities, calcutions, risks.

  No.

  He wasn’t allowed to die.

  “Kelex, scan avaible genetic tissue.”

  A soft chime preceded the AI’s response. “Tissue scanned. Unidentified species.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Update species name as Genomorph. Subspecies: G-Goblin. Save under Double X.”

  “Directory updated. What is your request?”

  I inhaled deeply, steeling myself for what I was about to ask. “Are there any known methods that would allow full, complete regeneration of all damaged tissue, including but not limited to cardiac and neural tissue.”

  A brief pause. Then Kelex responded.

  “There exist means of electrical stimution that may awaken nerve tissue commonly used for memory assessment even in death. However, regeneration and reanimation of site of cardiac trauma is not possible with this method.”

  My fingers curled into a fist. “….Is not possible with this method? There are other methods then?”

  Another pause. Then—

  “…Complete reanimation of the deceased is forbidden.”

  “So it is possible then.”

  “…yes.”

  “It is forbidden by whom?”

  “It was decreed by the Council of Krypton—”

  I let out a sharp breath. “And where is this Council?”

  “Destroyed, sir.”

  My lips parted slightly, exhaling slightly before I replied. “Then proceed.”

  Kelex hesitated, the faint hum of its systems the only sound in the room. Then, finally, it relented. “…Very well, sir.”

  The fortress seemed to come alive around me. A mechanical whir filled the chamber as Kryptonian Service Droids detached from the walls, their sleek, metallic forms gliding silently towards the sb. They moved with precision, their movements almost reverent as they lifted Dubbilex’s body and carried it toward the natural genesis chamber.

  The waters of the chamber glowed faintly as the droids lowered him in, one droid gripping each of his limbs. The moment his body touched the surface, the water erupted in a cascade of light, pulsing with rhythmic electrical impulses. The droids held firm, their grips unyielding as Dubbilex’s body began to convulse violently.

  The process was brutal.

  I watched, my heart pounding in my chest, as the chamber lit up like a storm. The convulsions continued for what felt like an eternity, the droids working in perfect synchronicity. After an hour, they began their operation—cutting open his cranium with surgical precision, their movements swift and methodical. When they sealed him back up, the water fred again, the electrical surges intensifying and the convulsions resumed.

  Finally, the lights dimmed, and the convulsions ceased. The droids stepped back, their task complete, and the chamber fell silent.

  I stood there, my breath caught in my throat, waiting.

  Nothing.

  My fingers twitched. “Kelex, why isn’t anything happ—”

  Before I could finish, the water exploded.

  Dubbilex’s body shot upright, his eyes wide and unseeing, a guttural scream tearing from his throat.

  _________________________

  Hello, everyone! Khanadiety here, right on schedule as promised.

  The test chapter of my fanfic is finally up! In this installment, the story takes a thrilling turn as our main character dives into the daunting task of resurrecting Dubbilblex. But the real question is: did it work out as pnned, or has he just stirred up a bigger mess for himself? All the juicy details unfold in this chapter!

  Want more? You can jump ahead with two advanced chapters avaible now on my Patreon, plus get a taste of my brand-new fanfic, “I Am Odinson: An MCU Thor Self-Insert”, with five chapters already waiting for you.

  Swing by and check it out! Just click the link in my bio or head over to Patreon and search for me at:Patreon.com/khanadiety

  For the update scoop: Thor SI drops fresh chapters every Friday, while this fanfic sticks to its regur Sunday releases. So, keep an eye out, and don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe for more. Can’t wait to catch you all in the next one!

  Ciao!