Chapter Two
Chapter Two
The heavy silence of the abandoned building clung to Penny as she stepped outside for the first time in three days. The air was cold and sharp against her skin, a stark contrast to the stale atmosphere of the lab. She walked cautiously, her footsteps echoing in the stillness, following Karen's soft, guiding voice in her ear.
“Turn left at the next intersection,” Karen instructed, her tone calm and precise.
Penny nodded absently, her mind wandering. Something Karen had mentioned earlier gnawed at her. “Karen, you said I was in that container for three days,” she began, her voice quiet but edged with unease. “But the lab was covered in dust. What does that mean?”
There was a brief pause, long enough for Penny to glance at her wrist as though Karen's silence could be seen.
“It’s possible,” Karen replied carefully, “that your alternate self has been to this place before. Frequently, it seems—frequently enough for her body’s muscle memory to guide you, even without my directions.”
Penny froze mid-step. “What are you saying?”
Karen’s reply was matter-of-fact but unsettling. “Your body knows this route, Penny. Not you, but her.”
The weight of Karen’s words settled heavily on Penny. She looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching her fists as if trying to reconcile the foreign familiarity with her sense of self.
Lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear it—the faint, rhythmic thrum of a heartbeat. Penny stopped abruptly, her head snapping up.
“Karen, there’s someone here,” she whispered.
“That’s not possible,” Karen replied. “I’ve hacked into the local surveillance. The streets are clear. No one is nearby.”
Penny closed her eyes, focusing. The heartbeat was steady but soft, almost imperceptible, like a whisper against the backdrop of Gotham’s distant hum. It came from above—somewhere on the rooftop of the building to her right.
She strained her senses further, trying to pick up any other signs of life: breathing, movement, a stray shuffle. But there was nothing. Just the heartbeat.
“Spider’s tickle isn’t going off,” Penny muttered, half to herself. “Whoever it is, they haven’t noticed me.”
“Penny, I recommend you keep moving,” Karen interjected, her voice firm.
Penny hesitated, her curiosity warring with her better judgment. But the heartbeat, faint as it was, brought her an unexpected sense of comfort. It was a reminder that she wasn’t alone.
In the three days, she’d spent in the lab, buried in silence and isolation, her sanity had clung to the memory of New York—the cacophony of lives lived in close quarters, the endless symphony of heartbeats, voices, and footsteps that had always reminded her she was part of something larger.
Here, in this unfamiliar city, surrounded by danger and uncertainty, the single heartbeat was enough to ground her.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and resumed her walk. “Let’s just get to the apartment,” she said quietly.
Karen didn’t respond, but Penny didn’t need her to. For now, she was grateful for the silence.
The imposing gates of Gotham Academy loomed before Penny as she adjusted the strap of her backpack. Her steps faltered as she looked up at the sprawling campus. The grandeur of the place reminded her of how far she was from home—not just in distance but in every conceivable way.
“Relax,” Karen’s voice chimed in her ear. “You’re prepared for this. The test won’t be a challenge.”
“Easy for you to say,” Penny muttered, glancing at the other students filing in through the gates. Most of them were accompanied by parents, their voices hushed with encouragement or last-minute reminders. Penny’s stomach tightened. She was alone.
“Don’t think about it,” she told herself, stepping forward.
Inside, the academy was buzzing with activity, even though classes hadn’t officially started. Tables were set up in the courtyard with staff directing students to their designated testing rooms. The sleek, polished architecture was a stark contrast to the rough edges of Gotham’s streets.
Penny approached one of the tables, her heart pounding.
“Name?” a teacher asked, barely glancing up from her clipboard.
“Penelope Parker,” Penny replied, keeping her voice steady.
The teacher scanned the list and nodded, handing her a paper with instructions. “Room 204, upstairs. Good luck.”
Penny thanked her and made her way inside, Karen’s voice providing small reassurances. The school’s hallways were pristine, lined with lockers, and framed photographs of previous graduating classes. It felt alien, yet oddly familiar—a painful reminder of Midtown High.
When she entered Room 204, a hush fell over her. The desks were spaced apart, and a proctor stood at the front, organizing stacks of test papers. Students were already seated, some nervously fidgeting, others staring straight ahead with a determined focus.
Penny found her assigned seat and sat down, her fingers tapping lightly against the desk. A moment later, the proctor began handing out the test papers.
“Once you receive your paper, do not open it until instructed,” the proctor announced her voice firm.
Penny took a deep breath, staring at the paper as it landed on her desk.
The test began, and Penny dove in. The first section was science, and as Karen had predicted, it was straightforward. Questions about physics, biology, and chemistry felt almost laughably simple compared to what she’d dealt with in her dimension.
She breezed through the math section as well, her pencil flying across the page. Every equation and every problem seemed like a step back in time to when she first learned these concepts.
But then came history. Penny frowned at the unfamiliar names and events on the page. Battles, treaties, and political figures she’d never heard of stared back at her.
Penny gritted her teeth and did her best to piece together answers using logic and context clues. English wasn’t much better.
Still, she persevered.
Two hours later, Penny set down her pencil, the weight of the test finally lifting. She glanced around. Most of the other students were still working, their brows furrowed in concentration. The proctor raised an eyebrow as Penny stood and walked to the front of the room to hand in her test.
“You’re done already?” the proctor asked, suspicion lacing her tone.
“Yes, ma’am,” Penny said politely.
The proctor gave her a once-over but said nothing more, taking the test and nodding toward the door.
Penny left the classroom, stepping into the quiet hallway. A strange mix of relief and anxiety settled over her as she walked back toward the courtyard.
Outside, Penny paused to take in her surroundings. The other students’ families were still gathered, talking in low voices or pacing. She felt the pang of loneliness again but shook it off.
“How’d I do?” she asked Karen as she exited the gates.
“For someone who didn’t study this world’s history or language, you did exceptionally well,” Karen replied.
“Exceptionally well isn’t good enough,” Penny muttered, adjusting her backpack strap.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Besides, you can’t change the past—or in this case, the dimension.”
Penny sighed, her steps slowing as she reached the street. It’s not about the scholarship. It’s about… proving I can do this. That I can adapt
Penny turned toward her apartment. For now, all she could do was wait.
Penny stepped into the apartment and immediately froze. It was small and sparsely furnished, but it felt oddly familiar, like stepping into a fragmented memory she couldn’t quite place. Her gaze swept over the room—a worn couch, a coffee table with a few scattered papers, and a small shelf crammed with books and knick-knacks.
“Not bad,” Karen quipped in her ear.
Penny didn’t respond. Her attention was drawn to a box in the corner, partially hidden under a blanket. Something about it tugged at her heart, an ache she couldn’t ignore. She knelt down and carefully pulled the box out.
Lifting the lid, Penny’s breath hitched. Inside was a leather jacket, soft and worn with age. Her fingers traced the edges, memories of Uncle Ben flashing in her mind. He’d always worn a jacket like this, the smell of leather and faint traces of motor oil clinging to him like a second skin.
Beneath the jacket was a delicate necklace, its silver chain glinting faintly in the dim light. She picked it up reverently, her throat tightening. This necklace had belonged to Aunt May—it was a gift from her parents, passed down through generations.
“Karen,” Penny whispered, her voice trembling. “These were Aunt May’s… and Uncle Ben’s.”
Karen was silent for a moment before replying gently, “It appears they were inherited by your alternate self. She kept them safe.”
Penny’s hands shook as she clutched the items to her chest. The weight of what she’d lost in her dimension crashed over her—Aunt May’s warmth, Uncle Ben’s laughter, the small but precious pieces of a family she’d clung to. And here they were, in a dimension where she didn’t truly exist.
She sat down heavily on the couch, the jacket draped over her lap and the necklace still in her hands. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment to grieve. The weight of the memories pressed against her, but they also brought a strange comfort.
After a long while, she set the items aside and stood her resolve hardening. “Coffee,” she muttered. “I need coffee.”
With a steaming mug of coffee in hand, Penny resumed her exploration. She opened drawers and cabinets, cataloging the other Penny’s life. It was like piecing together a puzzle, one fragment at a time.
In the bedroom, she found a small wooden box on the nightstand. Inside were photographs—most of Aunt May, some of Uncle Ben, and a few of herself, looking younger and carefree. Penny stared at one of Aunt May, her smile warm and eyes twinkling.
“You hadn’t got her killed,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You were so lucky.”
Setting the photos aside, Penny’s attention was drawn to a stack of journals tucked neatly into a corner of the shelf. She pulled them out, inspecting them one by one.
The first diary was plain and well-used. Penny flipped through the pages, quickly realizing it chronicled the other Penny’s life after Aunt May’s death. She read about her struggles, her move to Gotham because of its affordability, and her loneliness—except for a kind police commissioner named James Gordon, who checked on her regularly and encouraged her to apply for the Martha Wayne scholarship.
Penny closed the diary, her heart heavy. This other version of herself had faced so many challenges yet had found a way to keep going.
The second diary was entirely different. Its pages were filled with intricate diagrams, equations, and scientific theories. Penny’s eyes widened as she recognized some of them—clean energy, reactor designs, even notes on time travel, and interdimensional portals.
“She was brilliant,” Penny muttered, flipping through the pages. “All of this… it’s stuff we already figured out back home, but she was so close.”
“Perhaps she was a pioneer in this dimension,” Karen suggested.
Penny nodded, feeling a strange sense of pride for this version of herself. But her curiosity peaked when she reached the third diary. Its cover was unassuming, but the pages were filled with encrypted symbols and codes.
“What’s this?” Penny murmured, trying to make sense of the writing.
“I can’t decipher it either,” Karen admitted. “It’s encrypted with a code I’ve never seen before.”
Penny frowned, a spark of determination igniting within her. “Looks like we’ve got a mystery to solve.”
She set the diaries aside, her mind buzzing with possibilities. This apartment, these belongings—they weren’t just remnants of another life. They were clues, pieces of a puzzle that might help her understand this world and, maybe, find her way back home.
And when she does go home she’ll go to them Ned, MJ, Peper, and Happy. She will tell them everything.