Teen Titans Fan Fiction ❯ Teen Titans: Future Storm ❯ Side Story 9: Son of the Bat ( One-Shot )

 

“Teen Titans: Future Storm”

Side Story 9: “Son of the Bat”

Disclaimer: The concept of Teen Titans does not belong to me. The concept of Batman was created by Bill Finger and Bob Kane, not me. The various Batman-associated characters you will see are the property of DC Comics. That technically includes Nightstar, as she is the figurative granddaughter of Bruce Wayne, a.k.a. Batman. Mercury himself belongs to DC and Marvel via Amalgam Comics.

Author's note: Ever wonder if Batman had a son? A biological son, that is? You'll see him. You'll definitely see him in this. If you're thinking Batman Beyond . . . well, you're half right.

Now on with the story.

Two teenagers reclined on a large purple blanket out in the park. One was male, silver-haired, and somewhat pale. The other was female, with long wavy black hair and skin like orange-tinted gold. A basket of fruit lay between them.

The silver-haired teen reached into the basket and pulled out a branch of purple grapes. The black-haired teen pulled a grape off and ate it, slowly, teasingly.

“Mar'i . . .” the silver-haired boy spoke.

Mar'i stared at her silver-haired companion through lidded green-on-lime eyes.

“You want one?” she asked.

The silver-haired boy just ate a grape, savoring the flavor.

Mar'i ate another grape in the same teasing manner as she had the first one.

Next to her, the silver-haired boy kept his expression tightly controlled, no matter how much certain parts of him wanted to just kiss that aggravatingly beautiful mouth of hers.

Mar'i took the branch of grapes from her companion and dangled it in front of him, smiling. The silver-haired boy just snatched another grape off the branch and ate it.

“You could try to have some fun,” she said.

“I am having fun,” he answered.

Mar'i pulled off another grape and placed it between immaculate white teeth, letting it protrude just past her lips.

It was perfectly obvious what she wanted, the silver-haired boy deduced. Was he to give it to her, or was he to let it dangle in the air?

A long silence passed between them and just as the young man started to lean forward, Mar'i looked away.

“What's wrong, Mar'i?” he asked.

Mar'i swallowed the grape.

“Trouble, Raziel,” she answered.

Raziel adjusted his expanded vision, looking in multiple directions simultaneously. It only took a few seconds for him to see what Mar'i saw - a mugging in progress.

Both teens rose from the blanket they'd been reclining on and moved toward the mugging, Raziel running and Mar'i flying. However, someone else got there first.

There was a glint of metal and a scream of pain.

“My hand! My hand! You goddamn snot!”

“It'll be your head next.”

The two teens heard the sound of running by the time they were upon the scene. There was no one there, save a figure clad completely in black, and he was already on his way to disappearing.

“We'll split up,” Mar'i whispered. “You find the mugger, I find the guy with the sword.”

Without a word, Raziel ran after the mugger, using preternatural speed to catch up to him. He grabbed the mugger, who was still clutching the wrist of the arm where the wounded hand resided.

“Who was he?” he asked.

“Some freak in black!” the mugger yelled. “I didn't see his face! He just came the hell out of nowhere and sliced my hand!”

Raziel tore off a piece of his jacket and wrapped it around the mugger's wounded hand.

“Come on, you're going to the police,” he said. “They'll get some paramedics to take care of that for you.”

“The police!” the mugger exclaimed. He slumped. “Aw, crap. This is my second strike, man.”

“Hm,” Raziel murmured as he began taking the would-be mugger to the police station.

Meanwhile, Mar'i pursued the shadowy figure from the air. She had to hand it to him; he was very good at evading her. If not for her sharpened night vision, she would not be able to track him at all.

Unfortunately, he proved to be even better at evading than she was at tracking and he vanished within the shadows.

She and Raziel converged back at the park.

“Where's the mugger?” she asked.

“With the police, getting his hand taken care of by paramedics,” Raziel replied. “Where's the swordsman?”

“He's gone,” Mar'i answered. “He evaded me.”

“That's interesting,” Raziel murmured. “Not that many people can evade you.”

“We'd better get back to the Tower,” Mar'i said.

When the two teens returned to Titans Tower, they found someone besides themselves and the other Titans there.

He was tall, perhaps a little over six feet. He was dressed completely in black, a mandarin-collared coat that closed in the torso but was open past his waist and leather pants with thick combat boots and kneepads. His black clothes complemented somewhat tan skin and black hair with two locks resting over his right eye. Storm blue eyes stared out at the Titans.

“What are you doing here?” Mar'i asked.

“Your security is very impressive,” the black-clad young man replied. “However, I've planned this for a while.”

“Are we going to fight?” Mercury asked.

The young man let out a short laugh. “No. That is not my purpose for coming here.”

“Then what is your purpose?” Samara asked, black energy coiled around her hands.

The young man looked at Mar'i.

“You,” he spoke, his voice barely higher than a whisper yet carrying a heavy air of . . . something.

“Me?” Mar'i asked, even as Raziel moved closer to her.

“Yes,” the young man confirmed. “I've . . . been fascinated with your work for quite a while. I believe I can assist.”

“How?” Bladefire asked skeptically.

The young man smirked. “You've been looking for the producers of a certain steroid that can alter a normal human's physiology in such a way that he or she develops powers akin to those possessed by known metahumans. I know how it's made.”

“How?” Mar'i asked.

“The steroids are based on the DNA of those metahumans, DNA acquired in the aftermath of particularly brutal battles,” the young man explained. “They take blood, tissue samples, hairs, and convert that into a chemical that when injected causes the user's genetic code to resemble that of the metahuman whose DNA was used to create it. The side effects are the same as any steroid, although the aggression factor is even worse in many cases.”

“Whose idea was it?” Inferno asked. “To give criminals powers?”

“It was a scientist named Dr. Kaplan,” the young man answered. “He used to work for Project Cadmus, until it was disbanded. He moved underground, getting secret funding from people like Luthor's brat.”

“Lena,” Mar'i muttered. “Figures she'd do something like that. She hates us as much as her father did.”

“We know who's making the stuff now, but who's distributing it?” Beast Girl asked.

“Kaplan has distributing centers all over the city,” the young man replied. “It could be all over the country, for all I know.”

“Then we hit them all,” Inferno said. “Simple as that.”

“Better idea,” the young man interjected. He sat in front of the Titans' mainframe and began typing. Soon, a map of a distribution center appeared on the screen. “This is his main base of operations. Hit that and he'll be crippled.”

“How do you know all this?” Raziel asked suspiciously. “And who are you?”

“I have resources,” the young man answered. “And my name is Ibn al Xu'ffasch.”

Raziel continued to stare at him, feeling that something wasn't quite right with the young man.

“I assume you have a vehicle,” Ibn al Xu'ffasch said. “For those of us who aren't blessed with flight or superhuman motion.”

“We have something,” Mar'i answered, beginning to descend to the Tower's vehicle bay. As she did, she stripped out of the clothes she had been wearing, revealing her Titans uniform underneath and slipping on her purple bracers. The other Titans and Ibn followed her, Samara and Beast Girl slightly irritated at how their male companions had been eyeing Nightstar as she shed her civilian attire for her combat attire.

The eight made it to a sleek black van.

“The front section's for us to ride in,” Nightstar explained. “The back section is where we do our ops work.”

“A mobile base,” Ibn remarked.

“Something like that,” Bladefire confirmed.

Nightstar, Ibn, Bladefire, and Cipher got into the front section. Nightstar was at the wheel with Bladefire riding shotgun, and Ibn and Cipher sat behind them. Inferno, Samara, Beast Girl, and Mercury got in the back section, Inferno and Samara taking over navigation.

“Let's go,” Nightstar said, driving out of the vehicle bay and through the underwater tunnel that would take them into the city itself.

Meanwhile, at the distribution center, Dr. Kaplan - a bespectacled man with a trimmed black mustache and slightly thinning hair - was standing before six gangsters. They were none other than the same gangsters that had confronted the Teen Titans weeks ago . . . only to be routed by that damnable Mercury.

And now they were ready for another dose of the power they had had when they confronted the teen heroes.

“Look, Doc, we need that stuff,” the leader, the one who had imitated Superman, said, “and we need it NOW. Got me?”

“How much do you have for me?” Kaplan asked.

“How's about this much?” the Static imitator answered, putting down a gym bag full of money.

Kaplan passed six inhalers to the gangsters after examining the money.

“Inhalers?” the Plastic Man imitator asked. “Man, we ain't got asthma!”

“It's a new delivery system,” Kaplan replied. “More efficient.”

“If you say so,” the leader said, picking up one of the inhalers. “This is the one that gives me Superman's powers, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Kaplan answered.

Just before the leader could inhale the meta-steroid, the meeting was interrupted by the door exploding and eight teens - well, seven teens and one man in his early twenties - stepping through.

“Nice seeing you losers again,” Mercury greeted. He looked at the leader. “Your eyes look better.”

“Won't be able to say the same for yours when I'm through,” the leader retorted, inhaling the meta-steroid. Once he'd finished, he grinned at Mercury as his eyes glowed scarlet.

Ibn grinned at the Superman imitator. “The one problem with shifting your genetics to resemble a metahuman's is that you inherit the weaknesses, too, not just the powers.”

“Oh, what, you got some Kryptonite on you?” the Superman imitator asked arrogantly.

Ibn reached inside his coat and pulled out a small black rod with tubular ends. He pressed a button on the rod and a sword-like line of red light extended from the end that was facing away from him.

“A lightsaber?” the Superman imitator asked. “Who the hell do you think you are, a Jedi?”

“Actually, the red color of the saber would be more akin to a Sith than a Jedi,” Mercury corrected.

“Save it for later,” Nightstar said. “Titans Together!”

The Titans and Ibn charged into battle against the six gangsters.

Ibn took on the Superman imitator, slicing him with the red-bladed “lightsaber.” The Superman imitator cried out in pain, his clothes and the skin underneath shredded.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“This `lightsaber'?” Ibn answered. “Red solar radiation. Saps a Kryptonian's powers.”

“You goddamn son of a -” the Superman imitator roared, firing a blast of heat vision, which Ibn dodged.

“You don't want to know who I'm the son of,” the young man answered as he slashed the Superman imitator again. He reached into a lead-lined pocket and slipped a set of brass knuckles onto his hand. The knuckles, when revealed, had Kryptonite gems where each finger would be. Immediately, the Superman imitator began to stagger back.

Ibn charged and punched him in the face, knocking out a tooth or two and leaving the imitator tasting his own blood.

“Jax!” the Static imitator shouted, firing a blast of electricity at Ibn, who was shielded by Nightstar flying in front of him and crossing her bracers. The bracers deflected the lightning and it flew at the Green Lantern imitator, who had to create an emerald shield to block it.

The lightning continued to bounce around. Finally, the room started to get very, very hot.

“Ugh,” Samara moaned. “When did it get so hot in here?”

The lightning dissipated.

“My fault,” Inferno said. “I figured the increased molecular activity from superheating the room would cancel out the molecular activity from the electricity. After all, electricity is very hot and my heat would absorb the electricity's heat.”

“Good thinking,” Samara said. “Now . . . do you mind turning it down before I have to take off my cloak?”

“Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing,” Inferno mused.

A pair of glowing white eyes staring at the pyrokinetic from beneath the seemingly fathomless darkness of her hood persuaded Inferno to turn down the heat back to more . . . survivable levels.

“That's better,” Nightstar said.

Ibn gave no sign of having suffered any discomfort from the heat.

“That's some pretty stoic stuff right there,” Mercury commented. “I thought you were Batman for a second.”

“Goddamn!” the Ice imitator shouted. “I thought I was gonna melt!”

“That's what you get for copying someone who can manipulate ice and cold,” the Fire imitator sneered.

“Screw you,” the Ice imitator grumbled.

“That's your mother's job,” the Fire imitator mocked.

“Christ,” the Plastic Man imitator groaned. “Don't you realize we've got meddling kids to mess up?”

“We're gonna make that punk in black pay for what he did to Jax!” the Green Lantern imitator declared.

Ibn retracted his red solar blade and placed the rod back in his coat. He reached inside and pulled out three pellets.

“Cover your ears,” he ordered the Titans.

“Excuse me, but it's Nightstar or Bladefire who gives the orders,” Inferno said.

Ibn's only response was to throw the pellets at the Green Lantern imitator, who caught them with a construct of a giant hand. Unfortunately for him, the pellets emitted a hypersonic shriek, nearly shattering his eardrums and disrupting his concentration.

It wasn't just the Green Lantern imitator who was affected. Everyone who was in range was brought to their knees . . . except Ibn, who rather calmly waited for the shriek to stop. Once it stopped, the gangsters were still brain-scrambled from the sonic attack. The Titans quickly moved in to secure them so that they didn't get away once they'd recovered.

Bladefire looked around. “Kaplan escaped.”

Ibn looked at Beast Girl. “Track him.”

“Are you forgetting who gives the orders?” Nightstar asked sharply.

Ibn grinned. “And what would your orders be?”

Nightstar looked at Beast Girl. “Track him.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Beast Girl answered, shifting into her feline hybrid form and sniffing. She began to move on all fours, very much like a cat, as she followed his scent. Nightstar, Ibn, and Bladefire followed, with the rest of the Titans going along.

“There you are,” Mercury said, having found Kaplan and now binding his wrists with Flexisteel cords. “Come on, time to go to jail. If you're lucky, some high-up government guy will bust you out and have you work for him on illegal genetic research.”

“Mercury,” Inferno groaned.

“What?” Mercury asked. “I'm just saying what really goes on.”

Ibn chuckled briefly.

The Titans and Ibn returned to the Tower, where Nightstar whirled upon Ibn.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” she asked.

Ibn didn't answer.

“You are not the leader of this team,” she went on. “In fact, you are a stranger to us. What the hell gave you the right to start giving orders?”

“I recall warning you to cover your ears,” Ibn mentioned. “The blood in your ears is your own fault.”

“Hey, how is it that your ears aren't bleeding?” Beast Girl asked.

Ibn turned his head and pointed to his ear canal, revealing a skin-colored device inserted within.

“They protect me from noise higher than a certain number of octaves,” he explained.

“Not the point,” Bladefire said. “You're not the leader or even a Titan for that matter. Don't give orders again.”

“I didn't steer you wrong,” Ibn answered before departing the Tower.

“Ibn al Xu'ffasch,” Cipher murmured. “That name . . .”

“What about his name?” Inferno asked.

“It means something,” Cipher replied. “Something familiar.”

“Then get your Arabic-to-English dictionary,” Samara droned.

The next day, Mar'i had finished her assignment and she was just out for a ride . . . on a motorcycle.

Technically, Mar'i didn't need any kind of vehicle; she could fly at speeds up to escape velocity. However, it was a thrill to ride a motorcycle, as it was the closest a flight-incapable person could get to flying.

Her motorcycle was pitch black and emblazoned by purple wings. Mar'i wore black-and-purple motorcycle leathers and her face was concealed by a black motorcycle helmet with a darkly tinted visor.

As she was riding, she took notice of another biker - this one male - riding next to her. He wore a very familiar mandarin coat, only opened this time, and his helmet and bike were much the same as hers, except that the latter did not have a purple wing emblem. The other motorcyclist pulled his visor up briefly, revealing very familiar stormy blue eyes.

“Xu'ffasch,” Mar'i muttered. She instantly accelerated, Ibn al Xu'ffasch accelerating after her.

The two weaved through traffic, each trying to outrace the other. Mar'i doubled back and began riding back to Titans Tower, but Ibn remained on her tail. He launched himself over a passing sedan to follow her.

Finally, Mar'i made it to the entrance to the underwater tunnel that would take her into the vehicle bay of Titans Tower. Ibn continued to pursue her, driving through the tunnel into the vehicle bay.

Once Mar'i parked her motorcycle, she got off and removed her helmet, shaking out her wavy red-accented black tresses.

“What are you doing, Xu'ffasch?” she asked.

Ibn removed his helmet, revealing a slight smirk on his darkly handsome features.

“I wanted to test you,” he answered.

“For what?” Mar'i asked.

Ibn just gave her a cryptic smile.

“For what it's worth, you're an excellent rider. Gave me quite a challenge catching up to you.”

“I'm flattered.”

The two went up to Titans Tower, where Cipher gazed at them.

“I'm glad to see you two are getting along better.”

“Thank you,” Ibn answered. “I'd like to see you in the combat simulation room.”

Mar'i and Cipher looked at each other briefly, Mar'i squeezing Cipher's hand before they went to the combat simulation room with Ibn.

“How well do you know this tower?” Mar'i asked.

“Well enough to know that there are a number of points I can infiltrate,” Ibn replied. “You might want to be more careful.” He looked at Cipher. “Time for us to begin.”

Mar'i went to the observation deck of the combat simulation room. Ibn drew his katana while Cipher materialized his psychic blades.

“You want to go first?” Cipher asked.

“First move is yours,” Ibn replied.

Cipher lunged at Ibn with inhuman speed, slicing at him with his psychic blades. Ibn dodged and slashed at Cipher with his katana. Cipher jumped backward and propelled three needles at Ibn at high speeds. Ibn ducked and rolled out of the way of the needles and threw three shuriken at Cipher, who caught them with superhuman reflexes and threw them back at even greater speeds. Ibn barely managed to evade the shuriken, which embedded themselves in the wall.

Ibn charged Cipher and slashed at him. Cipher moved out of the way of his slashes and swung down with his psychic blade, cutting Ibn's katana in half.

Ibn discarded the broken katana and began fighting Cipher with his fists and feet. Cipher blocked as many as he could, but Ibn was more skilled than the combat psychic had given him credit for and was giving him all that he could handle. Cipher swung his leg out in a swift and fierce high kick, but Ibn caught his ankle and used it as a fulcrum to swing into a kick to Cipher's head.

Mar'i watched the two young men battle, observing Ibn's fighting style very closely. He was definitely a master of the martial arts and his style was actually a hybrid style, taking elements from various unarmed combat techniques, like how many members of her father's side of the “family” had been taught to fight.

Back in the combat simulation room, Ibn and Cipher continued to fight. Cipher threw a swift punch that would have done real damage if Ibn hadn't moved out of the way at the very last second. He rewarded Cipher for his miscalculation by grabbing his wrist and spinning him into a facedown slam. Ibn straddled his back and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Good,” he whispered. “You had a very skilled teacher. But you're not perfect. Not nearly as perfect as you seem to think.”

Cipher swung his leg back in an attempt to kick Ibn from behind, but the other fighter seemed to have predicted this, as he grabbed his ankle and successfully twisted him into a veritable pretzel.

Ibn leaned down and whispered, “Is this the best you have? I thought Mar'i would have chosen someone who wouldn't be overcome so easily.”

Cipher glared and charged Ibn's body with enough kinetic force to throw him off him.

“Interesting,” Ibn spoke, rising to his feet. “But I already have what I wanted.”

Later on, Mar'i and Ibn were having dinner together at a downtown restaurant. Cipher had objected to it, but Mar'i had assured him that she was more than capable of taking care of herself if the mysterious young man tried anything. Of course, the source of Cipher's objection came from the dress Mar'i had chosen, a low-cut, virtually backless dress with slits very high up each leg.

Ibn wore his mandarin coat closed, as he usually tended to do, and other than that he hadn't changed his outfit in the least.

“Why are you so interested in me?” Mar'i asked.

Ibn just looked at her. “You are a flower among weeds, Mar'i. That is why.”

“What do you mean, `a flower among weeds'?” Mar'i asked.

“He is unworthy of you,” Ibn stated.

“Who is?” Mar'i asked, dreading the answer.

“The one you call Cipher,” Ibn answered. “He is a talented fighter, but arrogance and self-doubt coexist in him and it clouds his thoughts. He does not have clarity of purpose . . . not the way you and I do.”

“What do you mean?” Mar'i asked, becoming quite offended.

“The first time I saw you was two years ago, when you and your brother still battled in Blüdhaven,” Ibn explained. “I saw a streak of purple light and I followed it, out of curiosity. I found you, my flower among the weeds, and I was so astonished to see such beauty in such a desolate place.” He gazed into her eyes. “I have much to do in Gotham City; this was just a detour . . . but an important detour. Come with me.”

“I can't,” Mar'i said.

“Why not?” Ibn asked.

“I have responsibilities to the Titans,” Mar'i replied. “I can't just abandon them . . . and Cipher's my boyfriend. I won't abandon him, either, no matter what you say.”

“He cannot return your love,” Ibn said. “Not the way I can.”

“I'm flattered, but the answer is still no,” Mar'i responded firmly.

Ibn relented. “If that is the way you want it. I will be gone by tomorrow morning.”

Meanwhile, Cipher was at the Titans Tower mainframe, searching for information on Ibn al Xu'ffasch.

“What, you think you're going to find something on him from Interpol?” Samara asked.

“I don't trust him,” Cipher replied.

“Is somebody just jealous?” Samara asked.

“It's not that, though I'll admit it plays a part,” Cipher answered. “I don't like the way he looks at her.”

“Like someone who actually desires her?” Samara questioned. “Like somebody who isn't afraid to get close to her?”

Cipher never took his eyes off the screen. “The name means something . . . I'm trying to translate it.”

“I can tell you what it means right now,” Samara said.

“What?”

“Son of the Bat.”

“Son of the Bat? Who would name their kid that . . . unless . . .”

“Bruce Wayne was quite the playboy, and he certainly had a number of women who were interested in him as Batman.”

Before they could speak further, they were interrupted by Mar'i's arrival.

“How was the date?” Cipher asked.

“It wasn't a date,” Mar'i replied. “And even if it was, I doubt he'll come back for another one. I doubt he'll come back at all.”

“You drove him off,” Samara deduced. “He asked something of you that you couldn't give.”

“Yes,” Mar'i confirmed. “He said he had something to do in Gotham and I have a bad feeling about it.”

“I've seen his fighting style before,” Cipher said. “That was League of Shadows combat technique he used on me.”

“And his name is Arabic for `Son of the Bat,'” Samara said.

“Son of the Bat?” Mar'i echoed. She thought about it for a while. “Son of the Bat . . . but who would give him such a title . . . he's obviously Grandpa Bruce's son just from the name, either literally or metaphorically, but who would the mother . . .” She gasped. “It's starting to come together now. The fighting skills, the level of knowledge and preparation for his opponents, the way he knew our Tower . . . why the hell didn't I see it sooner?”

She flew from Titans Tower like a purple-black bullet.

In Gotham City, Tim Drake, garbed as the Dark Knight from whom he'd inherited the mantle, stood on a rooftop in Crime Alley . . . where Batman had been born.

Beside him stood Dick Grayson, garbed as Nightwing once again.

“You got the message, too?” Batman asked.

“Yeah,” Nightwing replied, “but where did it come from?”

“It came on Oracle's network,” Batman said. “That much we know. What we don't know is who the hell was able to get into it and send us a message through it.”

“It could be Carrie playing a prank,” Nightwing suggested.

Batman just shook his head.

“It was me,” a dark, raspy growl of a voice answered.

Batman and Nightwing turned to see the meager light distort itself in front of them and a figure shimmer into view.

The figure was definitely male, lean and muscular. Metallic black covered his body, with sharp twin scallops extending from each forearm. A hollow black bat outlined in blood red was emblazoned on his chest. A metallic black mask covered his face, pointy-eared and crimson-eyed.

“Who are you?” Nightwing asked.

“The true heir to the Dark Knight,” the faux Batman answered, “and I'm going to prove it.”

He flicked his wrists and modified Batarangs, black with red edges and looking more like shuriken than the usual Batarangs, popped out. He threw both Batarangs at Batman and Nightwing, who dodged.

The faux Batman was not deterred by this, unsheathing twin blades from his forearms that crackled with electricity. He charged Nightwing first and slashed with both blades. Nightwing barely managed to get out of the way in time and even then he wasn't unscathed; one of the blades had managed to cut through the outer layer of his costume. The original Robin knew that it was just luck; if he hadn't been able to get out of the way in time, the faux Batman would have cut through his suit entirely and reached the more vulnerable skin.

The faux Batman swept his leg out to trip Nightwing, but the veteran hero jumped over the leg and swung his leg out in a fierce kick. The faux Batman seemed to not have been seriously hurt by the kick and spun around to slash Batman, who had been moving to assist Nightwing.

Nightwing withdrew a disk from his belt and threw it at the faux Batman, who let it hit him. The disk released compressed Freon, trapping him in a block of ice.

To the surprise of both crime-fighters, the block of ice imprisoning the faux Batman started vibrating.

“Oh, sh -” Batman began to say, before the ice shattered.

“Internal heating system,” the faux Batman stated before releasing his electro-blades and redoubling his attack on Batman and Nightwing, who fought back just as fiercely. Both drew Bo staffs and extended them to their full lengths, using them as striking instruments. The faux Batman simply crossed his blades to block their attacks and proceeded to kick them both.

“This guy's tough,” Nightwing remarked.

“We're tougher,” Batman hissed, throwing flash-bang grenades at his impostor. The grenades exploded in the faux Batman's face, which should have disoriented him. Indeed, it did . . . it just wasn't for as long as it should have.

Meanwhile, in the cave beneath Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne was watching the fight on his computer monitor through the feed from the sky-cams he had set up all over Gotham City to monitor criminal activity and his successor's efforts to curb it.

“That's League of Shadows combat technique,” he murmured.

“Right you are, Detective,” a familiar and unexpected voice confirmed.

Bruce whirled in his seat to confront a man with handsome Arabic features and green eyes that glittered with intellect and deadliness. A familiar green cloak covered his shoulders.

“Ra's al Ghul,” he said. “You're supposed to be dead.”

“I faked it,” Ra's al Ghul stated. “Detective, you should have known better than to assume my life would be so easily ended.”

“Who's the Shadow?” Bruce asked harshly, pointing to the faux Batman on the screen.

“Your son,” Ra's answered simply.

“Talia miscarried,” Bruce stated.

“She didn't,” Ra's corrected. “She pretended to in order to protect the child from us both, fearing that he would become a pawn in our struggle, each one of us trying to impose our morals on him. She thought she could hide him from me, give him to a couple in America. Do you know what his name was, before I found him?”

Bruce didn't answer.

“Terrence. Terrence McGinnis.”

“What did you do to his parents?” the original Batman asked, dreading the answer.

“Eliminated them,” Ra's answered. “Then I spent the next fifteen years molding the boy into Ibn al Xu'ffasch, the true Son of the Bat. He will be the Batman you should have been, but that can only be once your false sons are out of the way.”

“What about Jason?” Bruce asked.

“Jason?” Ra's echoed. “He'll have a place with us. He will guide Ibn, much like you guided Richard and Timothy.”

“You mean you'll make him a murderer like you,” Bruce growled.

“It's called justice,” Ra's answered. “Real justice, which must be delivered without mercy, pity, or compassion. I told you before, Bruce, the corruption we struggle against is unrelenting and we must be unrelenting as well.”

“And I told you that things like mercy and compassion are what prevent those who truly care about justice from being vigilantes,” Bruce retorted.

Ra's looked at the screen. “I see that young Ibn is handling himself quite well against Grayson and Drake.”

“He won't win,” Bruce stated.

“Can you be so certain of that, Detective?” Ra's asked before departing from the cave.

Bruce growled and pressed a button on the keyboard of the computer, opening a chamber in the cave to reveal an armored Batsuit, black and metallic gray.

Back in Crime Alley, Batman and Nightwing continued to battle the faux Batman, also known as Ibn al Xu'ffasch, formerly known as Terrence McGinnis.

“I know why he called us here,” Nightwing whispered to Batman.

“This place was where the original Batman was born,” Batman whispered back. “It's symbolic. By besting us here, of all places, it'll be a baptism of fire for this guy, whoever he is.”

“Ibn!” a young female voice sharply cried out.

The three combatants stopped and looked up, seeing Mar'i Grayson, still in the dress she had worn to her dinner with Ibn, hovering above them.

“Stop this,” Mar'i spoke.

“It is necessary,” Ibn answered. “The pretenders must be removed. Only then will I be ready.”

“Mar'i . . .” Nightwing uttered.

“Ready?” Mar'i asked, holding up a hand to tell her father that she was all right. “For what? To clear the way for Ra's al Ghul's `purifying' this city? Is that what you want? To help destroy something your father worked so hard to preserve? Would that make your father proud?”

“My father . . .” Ibn snarled.

“Yes, your father,” Mar'i answered, descending until her feet touched the rooftop. She walked to him, speaking as she did. “He loves this city with every fiber of his being. He would die to protect it, because there are still good people here, people who would fight to create a better Gotham.” She smiled sadly. “But it's not about destroying the city with you, is it? You want to prove yourself to Bruce, to show him that you're a worthy son.” She reached out to him and gently touched his mask-covered cheek. “If you want to prove yourself to him, prove it by helping him, helping Uncle Tim, and helping my father preserve this city.”

She removed his mask, revealing blue eyes that were electric with realization, regret, and turmoil.

“It's ok, Ibn,” Mar'i whispered. “We can go to him.”

“Mar'i,” Nightwing repeated.

Mar'i looked at her father and said, “It's ok.”

Ibn donned his mask and leaped out into the sky, extending bat-like glider wings from under his arms. Mar'i flew after him.

“What do you want?” Bruce asked.

“A chance,” Ibn replied.

“Why?” Bruce asked. “And don't say it's because you're my son. Biology or not, we're strangers.” His expression and tone softened. “But that doesn't mean I don't want to know you. If I had known you were alive . . .”

“You would have made sure Ra's al Ghul never got to me,” Ibn finished. “What's done is done, Father. I have only one thing to ask of you.”

“What's that?” Bruce asked.

“My name,” Ibn answered. “I was only five when he took me. I don't even remember what my name was before he found me.”

“Terrence,” Bruce stated. “It was Terrence McGinnis.”

“Terrence,” Ibn murmured. “Not a bad name.”

“My advice to you: Find out who you are,” Bruce said. “A name can't tell you that. Ra's al Ghul gave you your identity as my son. I told you who you were before he found you. You have to find out yourself who you'll be.”

Nothing was said for what felt like forever. Finally, Ibn spoke.

“Thank you.”

The next morning, Ibn was in the airport, waiting for his flight. He had gone back to his usual mandarin coat and leather pants. Beside him stood Mar'i, dressed in a black zip-front top and a purple skirt over black shorts.

“Feeling nervous?” Mar'i asked.

“No,” Ibn replied.

“Liar,” Mar'i said. “I've seen your father and brothers look exactly like that when they're nervous. It's in the way you set your jaw, like you're on the verge of grinding your teeth.”

“I suppose you're right,” Ibn conceded. “I am nervous. I'm a free man. Able to go where I want and do as I will. It scares me somewhat.”

“You'll be ok,” Mar'i said.

Just then, they heard a voice over the loudspeaker saying, “Flight 635, leaving in ten minutes. Flight 635, leaving in ten minutes.”

“It's time I was on my way,” Ibn said. He turned to Mar'i. “I'll see you again.”

“I know,” Mar'i responded. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Ibn on the cheek. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Ibn whispered before leaving for his flight.

End Notes: Well, that's that. As seems to be the trend with me these days, the chapters for this are getting longer and longer. Fortunately, you're still sticking with me, although I get the feeling I might have lost some of you, and for that I'm grateful.

Well, some explanations are in order.

Ra's al Ghul, in the Batman comics and 90s animated series, was an environmental terrorist. His idea of saving the world was to purge it of humanity, whom he saw as a corrupting influence. In Batman Begins, he was the leader of a secret cabal whose goal was to save humanity from itself by purging it of corruption. The methodology behind that was often to single out civilizations where corruption flourished and destroy them, often ending a lot of innocent lives as well, but then there was the whole “greater good” thing going. Personally, I liked the Begins methodology of Ra's al Ghul better than the original comics' methodology, so I made Ra's in Future Storm continuity more like his movie self although I preserved his Arabic background.

Jason is Jason Todd, the second Robin who died and later came back to life in the pages of last year's Batman comics. In Future Storm continuity, Jason merely ran away after being fired from his role as Robin for being too violent and fell in with Ra's al Ghul, whose methods were more in line with Jason's beliefs.

Dick and Tim you ought to already know by now, the former simply for being the Robin depicted in the show and the latter if you read Batman comics regularly or keep up with them online.

Everybody knows who Bruce Wayne is, so I'm not going to elaborate on him.

Lena Luthor is not an OC; Lex Luthor actually had a child in the Superman comics of the late 90s, but nobody's heard from her since.

Ibn al Xu'ffasch in this story is a combination of Ibn al Xu'ffasch from the Kingdom Come timeline and Terry McGinnis from Batman Beyond. Since in both continuities they're biological sons of Bruce Wayne through unusual circumstances and it's technically too early for Batman Beyond, I decided to just combine them.

His origins lie in the Batman graphic novel “Son of the Demon,” which basically had Batman ally with Ra's al Ghul, marry his daughter Talia, sire a child with her, and later lose that child, although the loss was a deception engineered by Talia due to her not wanting Batman to constantly spend his time protecting her. When the child was born, she sent him to an unnamed American couple, the only clue to his origin being a necklace she wore.

Ibn's relationship with Nightstar comes from the continuity established in Kingdom Come. They were lovers there, and had I known that at the time I was coming up with this little epic, I might very well have never created Raziel/Cipher, since his presence would not have been needed. However, what's done is done and Mar'i is absolutely loyal, so I had no choice but to make a little love triangle. There's no doubt that she feels something for him, but Raziel is her boyfriend and to reiterate, Mar'i is absolutely loyal.

Flight 635 is named after the Batman issue in which Jason Todd reemerged as the brutal vigilante Red Hood, who is not to be confused with Lian Harper's alias in this continuity.

P.S. A romantic/sexual relationship between Nightstar and Ibn al Xu'ffasch would not technically be incest since Dick Grayson is not biologically related to Bruce Wayne.

That's enough out of me. Feel free to tell me what you thought of this.