Joseph didn't regret saving those people. What he did regret was running into Batman.
"It's not like I'm a hero or anything," he thought, adjusting the suit he'd taken from Black Spider as he moved through the shadows. He wasn't Flux to fight crime. He had his own reasons for doing this, his own objectives. But sometimes, things got in the way.
Tonight, he was investigating charitable organizations—the real kind, the ones that actually helped people. Money had a habit of vanishing in Gotham, funneled into the pockets of corrupt administrators instead of the mouths of starving children. He wasn't about to let that happen to his donations. If he was going to put his money toward something good, he needed to be sure it would actually help.
He had already given thousands to places like the Gotham City Networking Foundation and Leslie Thompkins' Clinic. Bruce Wayne had been keeping Gotham afloat financially for years, but more help never hurt. So here he was, checking out yet another orphanage.
Slipping in through a second-floor window, he landed silently in the administrator's office. The place was unimpressive—cheap furniture, water-stained walls, and a single overhead light flickering every few seconds. But what bothered him wasn't the lack of funding.
No security system. No locked files. No records on the desk.
He frowned, scanning the room. Something felt…off. The silence pressed against his ears, thick and unnatural.
It was December. Late afternoon. Too cold for the kids to be outside playing, and yet, no laughter, no footsteps, no voices.
A slow dread settled in his chest as he moved through the building, checking the dormitories. Room after room of children, lying still in unnatural postures, their small bodies eerily stiff. He leaned closer, pulse spiking.
Joseph clenched his fists. He had seen enough. He quickly made a call to the police with his burner phone.
Then, he moved deeper into the orphanage, muscles tensed, every step silent as he searched for signs of staff, of any adult responsible for this place. But there was no one. Only rows of unconscious children and an oppressive, suffocating quiet.
Then—a sound from below. A low mechanical hum, barely audible.
Joseph bolted for the basement door. Nova reacted instantly.
//Warning: Immediate danger detected. Activating Speed State.//
Everything around him froze.
He moved, crossing the threshold into the basement—and saw them.
A human woman in Apokoliptian armor. A dark-green humanoid with a tail in golden winged armor. Six unconscious children, strapped to trolleys, being wheeled toward a glowing red portal surrounded by alien machinery.
Joseph moved to intercept—except he didn't move at all.
His entire body locked up.
//Warning: Space-time fluctuations detected. Unable to maintain Speed State properly. Attempting recalibration… Unable to deactivate Speed State. Unable to—//
A surge of panic shot through him. He could only watch as the power he had been borrowing betrayed him. Frozen, helpless.
Then the Speed State collapsed.
Agony tore through every nerve.
The basement flashed red.
Joseph drifted in and out of consciousness.
Every time he woke, pain consumed him. Then, blackness.
Wake. Pain. Blackness.
At some point, in the brief moments he could see, he thought he saw a reptilian face, illuminated by harsh artificial lights. Rough, scaly skin. Yellow, slitted eyes. Lips curled in curiosity, or perhaps amusement.
'Why isn't Nova putting me in the Dream State?'
'What's happening to me?'
But he could form no words. Think no further.
The Gordanians had struck a deal with Intergang—humans in exchange for weapons.
The Gordanians, in turn, funneled some of their captives to the Psions.
For the Psions, it was an opportunity. A chance to test, dissect, and push biological limits. They had experimented on countless species, but humans… humans were special.
Most broke under their experiments, mutated into grotesque abominations or collapsed into lifeless husks. But some—a rare few—adapted.
The Psions had been studying these anomalies. They had isolated a gene that granted humans a unique level of adaptability.
Their latest acquisition—this human—had it.
And yet, something else had suppressed it. Foreign chemicals in his bloodstream, inhibiting its activation. The Psions had removed them immediately.
Then there were the nanites. Millions of them, dormant. But when exposed to extreme radiation and cosmic energy, they had briefly flickered back to life, resisting the experiments in ways no previous human subject had. Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅•𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝗇𝖾𝗍
They had pushed further. More radiation. More energy. The human should have mutated or died.
The Psions were intrigued.
They would add the genes of their more successful subjects into the mix.
They would see how far they could push his limits.