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"Gentlemen, it is time to spread the word. And the word is... panic"
- Ra's al Ghul/Henri Ducard (Batman Begins)
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<(Omniscient POV)>
Under the bright glow of the city lights, a beautiful blonde woman dressed in a black leather jacket, short leather jeans, and a pair of fishnet stockings moved through the crowded streets as her eyes darted around in growing panic. She could feel it in her stomach that something wasn't quite right about her current situation. Dinah Laurel Lance, aka Black Canary, felt her breath quicken as she struggled to make sense of her immediate surroundings. The last thing she remembered before waking up on a random park bench in this unknown city was that she was knocked out by that strange woman, someone she guessed was probably a newly hired muscle of the Falcone family. However, after waking up, Dinah suddenly found herself here... wherever here was.
To anyone else, this might look like just another city—big, loud, and alive. But something deep in her gut twisted with unease. This place wasn't normal. It felt... off like it wasn't real. A cold chill ran down her spine as she clenched her fists. She had tried talking with some people here as well, trying to gain as much knowledge as she could. However, everything seemed normal, well, except for the fact that everyone in this place was just referring to this city as The City. Nobody actually knew its name.
"What the hell is this place? And how did I even get here?" Dinah let out an annoyed sigh, running a hand through her hair before turning her attention to a nearby newspaper stand. She silently picked up a paper and quickly flipped through the pages, skimming over the headlines.
Most of it seemed... normal enough. The usual grim reports—violent crimes, passionate murders, serial killers, child predators, corrupt politicians, and, of course, billionaires spewing nonsense that the masses ate up like they were the words of God himself. Nothing new. Nothing surprising.
"Well," she muttered dryly, tossing the paper back onto the stand, "at least the world's still the same twisted mess I remember."
Dinah barely had a second to react before a smooth, masculine voice suddenly cut through her thoughts.
"It is, isn't it?"
Dinah turned sharply, expecting to see some brooding stranger or another playboy trying to score a night with her, but instead, her eyes landed on a kid no older than eight or nine, standing there, watching her with a steady gaze. He had such a stoic expression on his face that anyone would question if he was even a child at all.
"I've always found it funny," he continued with a steady voice, "how people have normalized crime so much that a world filled with it seems natural to us. But a world without it? That sounds like some ridiculous fairy tale. A utopia that'll never exist. Strange, isn't it?"
Dinah blinked, momentarily thrown off. What kind of kid talked like this? "... Hey, kid," she started, trying to steer the conversation to something else... anything else, "you lost? Where are your parents?"
"Dead." The bluntness of his answer made her stomach tighten. "... They were murdered a long time ago," he added.
Dinah exhaled softly, frowning as sympathy crept onto her face. She prepared herself to console the kid, but suddenly the kid's eyes sharpened. "Don't."
That single word carried a weight far beyond his years.
"Pity is for the weak—people too powerless to escape or change their situation. I'm not one of them. Your pity is wasted on me."
Dinah narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him. Just who was this kid?
Before she could press further, he gestured toward a nearby bench. "Come on. Let's sit there. We can talk more comfortably while sitting."
For some reason, Dinah found herself following the kid without the slightest hesitation. She could not understand why, but it seemed as if from the moment they had met, the kid was in control the entire time.
"Who are you?" She asked the kid, wondering if he knew her because he was certainly talking like he did.
"A random concerned citizen." He answered as he sat down after dusting the bench with a pink handkerchief that had an animated picture of a cute orange cat sewn on it. "You were brought here to this place to recuperate after you lost your last fight. You had a severe laryngeal contusion in your throat, which is essentially a bruised voice box. It was not life-threatening, but if not treated urgently, you wouldn't have been able to speak again, so you were quite lucky. You should really thank that woman for bringing you to me in time, even though you and Black Mask were the ones who threatened her life first." The kid explained, reminding her of the strange woman who had been able to humble her without any significant effort.
"Wait, but if that's the case, why don't I remember being in the hospital? Why did I wake up on a bench? And why am I in this unknown city instead of Gotham?" She asked, trying to make sense of the entire thing. "And you... You aren't a kid, are you? Well, at least not an ordinary kid, I presume?" She narrowed her eyes at him as if she were seeing him for the first time.
"You could say I'm Sofia Falcone's newest benefactor," the boy said, his voice steady. "I was the one who got her out of jail and funded her new ventures."
Dinah's brows furrowed, but before she could question it, he continued.
"This form that you see is just a disguise, a way to keep my actual identity hidden… not that it really matters." His tone was eerily calm, too assured for a kid. "Because by the time we're done talking here, you won't remember most of this, especially when it comes to the faces of everyone you've met ever since you walked into the Iceberg Lounge with Black Mask."
Dinah stiffened. There wasn't a hint of a bluff in his expression, no cocky smirk, no tell. Just cold certainty. And that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit, making her wonder if the kid was telling the truth or if he was a god at bullshitting.
"As for where you are, you are still unconscious inside a healing tank in my lair, getting the last bits of your throat healed. It will be done in a few more hours, and then you will be dropped off back at Gotham, probably on a park bench similar to where you initially found yourself here when you woke up." He made an effort to crack a joke to lighten her mood.
"What? But that's impossible. I am here talking to you, aren't I?... Aren't I?"
"Your mind is, yes. But your body is still asleep. You see, this world is not real, it is just a digital construct that your mind interprets as real, kind of like a lucid dream, only a thousand times more detailed." He explained that suddenly the entire world around the two of them, much to Dinah's surprise and mild fear, paused and turned into a black screen filled with billions and billions of sentences composed of green-colored 0s and 1s in different sequences.
"Your brain is just processing data," the boy said matter-of-factly, "converting streams of information from the computer attached to your physical head into what feels like real sensations. But the truth is..." He gestured around them with his fingers. "All of this—every street, every light, every breath you take—is nothing more than endless lines of code."
Dinah felt her stomach twist. That wrongness she had sensed—it wasn't paranoia. It wasn't her imagination.
"That's why you knew something was off," he continued smoothly. "You have a meta-ability—one that lets you do more than just scream. Your body doesn't just produce sonic waves, it perceives them, like a built-in echolocation, kind of like how bats navigate in the dark."
He paused, watching her reaction, then smirked. "That's why the computer couldn't fully trick you. Otherwise, even with this city being so ridiculously named—" he suddenly raised his voice, as if mockingly scolding someone listening in, "'The City'?—you still wouldn't have questioned whether everything here was real." His words made Dinah subconsciously clench her jaw.
"The algorithm running this world didn't have enough data to replicate the exact way your ability processes your surroundings in real life. So even though you don't have full control over this sixth sense of yours, your subconscious still picked up on the inconsistency." He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "Of course, since you're not aware of this hidden sense, you just chalked it up to some gut feeling." His tone was casual, too casual, as if he hadn't just cracked open a fundamental truth about her abilities like it was no big deal.
"But why tell me all this if you're just going to… wipe my memory anyway?"
Dinah's voice was steady, but she couldn't shake the unease curling in her gut.
She had taken a moment to process everything, but in the end, she chose to believe him. As crazy as his explanation sounded, it wasn't impossible. Not when she could scream loud enough to shatter glass across an entire city block. Reality-bending tech? Hyper-realistic simulations? It was a stretch, sure, but not outside the realm of possibility.
Besides, nothing about his words suggested he had some twisted agenda. No veiled threats. No smug power plays. If anything, his tone was clinical, almost detached, like he was just… explaining and playing his part... much like how a doctor explains everything to their patient even if they really don't need to.
"I've decided not to erase all of your memories," the boy started with a calm voice. "I've concluded... after having a quick look at some of our memories that you're not fundamentally a bad person."
Dinah stayed silent, watching him carefully; it was impossible to deduce how she felt about her memories being read from the look on her face.
"What you did for Black Mask wasn't out of malice—it was a debt that you owed him, a final job before you walked away from Gotham for good. You were planning to restart your life, right?" He tilted his head slightly. "Then there's no reason for you to suffer a full memory wipe."
Dinah exhaled, her tension easing slightly—until he kept talking.
"I'll only erase certain faces from your memory. The three women you saw at the Iceberg Lounge? That will be gone. You'll remember that Black Mask got ambushed that night by a criminal gang… but you'll never recall who attacked him. You'll remember getting taken down in a fight… but not who did it. Oh, and of course, you will also forget what this child's body and face look like. Honestly, even though he..." He gestured to his own body, "don't look anything like my original self, I still won't be taking any chances."
Dinah felt a chill crawl up her spine.
"Yeah, I know the entire thing sounds like some sort of mini curse," he admitted, eyes steady on hers, "but believe me, it's a blessing. Now you know there are people out there stronger than you. And more importantly?" A small, knowing smirk ghosted across his lips. "You'll have a reason to never come back to this city."
"So, you're doing this… what? To keep me from making the same mistake again?" Dinah asked, narrowing her eyes. "So, I don't end up helping another crime lord?" She wasn't stupid—there had to be a reason why he was letting her walk away with most of her memories intact. And she needed to know why.
The boy's expression didn't change. If anything, there was a quiet amusement in his eyes, as if he had already expected the question.
"… You can consider it a favor," he finally said, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "One, I will come to collect one day."
Dinah stiffened, instincts kicking in. A favor? From her? She hesitated. After all, the last time someone came trying to collect a favor didn't really end all that well for her.
"You see," he continued, tone still frustratingly calm, "one day, someone will need your unique set of skills and abilities. And when that day comes, I expect you to do the right thing… to stand with them." His gaze sharpened. "To help change the world." He mysteriously said, "You won't understand what I am talking about now, but you will one day." He said before finally looking at his empty wrist. "Oh, look at that. It's time to say goodbye already."
"Wait, I still have questions."
"You'll always have questions," the boy mused, almost casually. "Everyone does. Doesn't mean they get the answers they want."
Dinah opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he muttered something under his breath.
"… Man, I think I have the potential to become a discount Oogway."
She blinked. What?
Before she could even process that bizarre statement, he chuckled to himself, as if he had just cracked the greatest joke in the world.
"Well, that's enough wisdom for one night," he said, straightening up. "Time for you to return to the physical land of the living."
His voice made her tense for some reason.
"When I snap my fingers, this digital world will disappear, and you'll go into a deep sleep. When you wake up in a few hours, all of your memories that I specifically want gone about that night, and about our little encounter, will be gone."
Dinah felt a sharp prickle of resistance rise in her chest, but before she could act on it, he continued, with a smirk.
"And you'll find yourself either safely tucked away in your bed… or just dumped on some random bench in Gotham." His smirk widened just a little. "Honestly, it depends on my mood and how badly I feel like messing with you." He said before raising his hand, fingers poised. "Ciao."
Snap.
And then—nothing. The entire world just submerged into darkness as Dinah herself felt her consciousness slipping away.
"He could have at least introduced himself, even if it was with a fake name." That was the last thought on Dinah's mind before everything finally became silent.
***
<(Bruce Wayne POV)>
"Did you get it?" I asked, pulling the headgear off and setting it aside.
"Yes," Cortana confirmed, her voice as precise as ever. "I've gathered all the necessary readings from her mind. If the data from this interaction is sufficient, we should be able to analyze how the meta-gene in her DNA has been influencing her physiology and cognition. Establishing that link will put us one step closer to integrating it into Project Ascension V1."
As she spoke, a stream of genetic and neurological data flickered across the screen.
"Good," I muttered, scanning the results. Dinah was the only naturally occurring metahuman I knew of through my canon knowledge. If I wanted pure, uncorrupted, and unbiased data on the meta-gene—on its effects on both the body and the mind—she was the ideal subject.
The entire purpose of this interaction had been to measure her brain activity, to see how her mind processed situations, and how her meta-ability subtly influenced her beyond her conscious control. It was definitely not about priming her for some ultimate future superhero team that I might build in the future.
This was simply an experiment. Nothing more.
"So, since we've collected everything we need, should I proceed with the partial memory erasure, sir?" Cortana asked, breaking me from my thoughts.
"Hm?" I glanced at the data once more before nodding. "Yeah. Do it. We need to get her out of here before anyone starts asking questions. Keeping the dead body of a female alien in my basement is enough to make me feel like a creep. I don't want to keep a woman whom I have forcefully kept asleep here as well."
"Too late for that, sir. We have already gone past that stage when we started working with the alien's corpse. And if you were to ever bang me after I transfer myself into the new body that we are currently making using that alien's remains, I think you can even be safely called a necrophile." She teased, her hologram grinning, looking quite proud of herself for making that connection.
"..."
***
<(Omniscient POV)>
A few hours later, Dinah Laurel Lance stirred awake, the cold bite of metal against her back reminding her she wasn't in her own soft, comfortable bed. So, with a sigh, she sat up on the old metal bench, her senses gradually sharpening as she took in her surroundings. The secluded park corner was quiet and empty save for the distant hum of Gotham's ever-present chaos.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed her palm against the bench beneath her, grounding herself. 'This is real. I'm back in the physical world... I think.' she guessed.
Her hand instinctively rose to her throat—the last place she remembered being struck in that fight against…
Her brow furrowed.
'Who did I fight again that night?'
The memory was there—flashes of movement, of pain—but the faces, the details? Gone. She knew she'd taken a hit; knew she had lost… yet there wasn't a single mark on her. No soreness, no bruising. It was as if the injury had never happened.
A creeping sense of unease settled over her, but she forced herself to shake it off. Overthinking wouldn't change anything. She had more pressing matters—like getting home and finally leaving this damn city behind.
Pulling her coat tighter around herself, Dinah made her way out of the park and onto the streets. Almost immediately, she felt numerous eyes on her.
People threw curious glances at her as she passed, some barely containing amused smirks, others outright whispering to one another, their gazes flicking toward her before quickly turning away.
Her steps slowed.
Why the hell are they looking at me like that?
That question haunted her the entire walk back to her apartment, right up until she finally caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror.
There, boldly drawn across her cheeks in bright red marker, were two ridiculous little canary chicks.
Dinah stared at her reflection in mute horror before realization hit.
"… That little shit!"
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(A/N:I have a genuine question. I used a new spelling checker software to edit this chapter. Does this seem better or worse to you guys compared to the previous chapters? Also, most spell-checkers nowadays sound like AI for some reason. To me, this one seemed normal... well, at least, the best out of the bunch. What do you all think? Should I continue using it, or just go back to plain old Grammarly and Microsoft Word Editor?🤔)
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