Unidentified Flying Spider

It’s not unusual for Bruce to be on edge. The man is essentially a human-shaped pile of suspicion and thinly veiled anxiety. What is unusual, however, is for the reason Bruce is so on edge to be unconscious and in the basement.

Bruce has only just emerged from the cave, pressing both hands against the study’s desk with a deep sigh. The man is tired.

For just one day, Bruce would love for everything to just go to plan. But as usual, that could never possibly happen. So now he has a whole new situation to worry about and what is likely going to be an exhausting phone call to make.

As he pulls out his phone, Bruce takes a steadying breath and says a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening. ‘Please for the love of all that is good, make this call blessedly short and uncomplicated.’

He clicks the contact and the ringback tone trills, Bruce lets himself take a few extra deep breaths. Bruce was a master of dealing with the unexpected. From mass Arkham breakouts to the appearance of previously unknown children, he was an expert. This didn’t mean, however, that he doesn’t get just a little shaken by situations like this one. The unexpected always hits harder when it toes the line between a ‘Bat problem’ and a ‘Bruce problem’. This was well and truly toeing that line.

The ringback tone stops and a tinny voice says ‘This is Clark, leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can!’

Bruce lets out an audible sigh of relief.

“Clark, it’s Bruce. We’ve got a situation at the manor that-” The line clicks

“Bruce? What’s going on?”

Shit.

“Clark.”

“That’s me, what did you need? Is everything okay? You never call-” Bruce cuts him off before the man can get himself worked up.

“Nothing life or death I think”

“You think-” Bruce cuts him off again.

“We’ve just got a situation at the manor and before you say anything no, no one's hurt.” Bruce can hear the man’s sigh of relief through the phone “But we’ve had an unexpected, what I can only describe as a ‘crash landing’, on the manor's grounds.”

“Like a ship? I haven’t heard about anything coming anywhere close recently, what does it look like?” The man's confusion and concern are easy to hear in his voice.

“Not a ship.”

“It wasn’t a ship?”

“No…” Bruce pauses for a moment before continuing, “It was a person. More specifically what we believe to be a teenager, one that is actively demonstrating accelerated healing.” Bruce finishes. Clark is silent on the other line for so long Bruce pulls the phone away from his ear to check if the line is still connected.

“How long ago?” The man asks finally.

“About twelve hours ago now.”

“And you waited this long to call me Bruce? Really?” 

“It’s non-urgent. I only just got a good look at the labs.” Clark sighs again, Bruce thinks that’s all the two of them do these days.

“Alright, we’ll debrief when I get there.”

“You’re still off-world as far as I know. We can handle things here until you finish up there.”

“It’s fine Bruce,” Bruce can imagine Clark rubbing a hand over his face as he speaks, “I’ve already sorted out what I needed to, I’ll be back in range soon.”

“When you say soon-”

“Two days, give or take.” Bruce can do a lot in two days, that will have to do.

“See you then.”

“Likewise. Be safe, all of you.”

The line clicks again.

Just under one day ago, a teenager crashed directly into the grounds of Wayne Manor. Not onto the ground, that would be too easy, fell with so much force that a crater was created in the ground around him. 

Tim can already feel the headache brewing behind his eyes.

After Jason and Dick had rushed the kid downstairs, Bruce had locked down a good portion of the cave. This just happened to include all of the medical treatment areas. If any of them were injured on patrol, they had been told to deal with it upstairs. Considering Bruce’s history of dishing out a lengthy lecture to whoever left the cave without medical treatment, this was strange. Even Dick and Jason had been kicked out of the medical wing as soon as they had transferred the kid to a treatment table. Bruce was adamant that none of them were to get anywhere near the medical facilities until he cleared them to do so.

As soon as Jason had been kicked from the room, the man had shoved his way past the crowd outside of the study. His heavy footfalls echoing in the hallway as he grabbed his jacket off of the coat rack and left, slamming the front door behind him.

Dick had emerged from the room moments later, looking back to the study door as he closed it behind him. He stayed that way for a moment before shaking his head and starting down the hallway towards the kitchen. 

It was safe to say the mood of Family Bonding Time™ had been shattered. Some stuck around to lounge in the manor, but those like Barbara, Steph and Cass had all taken their leave.

“We’ll try again next time, keep me updated.” Barbara had smiled at him, patting his knee before wheeling to the front door.

It doesn’t take long for Bruce and Alfred to finish taking various blood samples and treating the boy's injuries. Treatment which consisted mostly of injecting IV fluids, scrubbing dried blood off the skin, applying some kind of antiseptic and bandaging up what was left. Once the two men had finished, Bruce had whisked the boy away, still on his exam table, to another medical suite. Hours later, Bruce would emerge from his study looking worn down and restless. Tim couldn't say he felt much different.

Tims curiosity was kept at bay for much longer than he anticipated, he was quite proud of himself. But finally, he found himself settling down in the den and pulling up the camera feed on his laptop. 

Was it a breach of privacy? Absolutely. Has that ever stopped him before? No.

Although it was called a medical suite, Tim had seen the plans, this was a holding cell. 

The white walls and clinical lighting give off the appearance of a medical facility, for a false sense of security maybe, while the blueprints hold the real truth.

Sure it could be used for medical purposes, but the room was entirely removed from the rest of the medical facilities in the cave. Tim was sure that if he looked, he would find protocol after protocol for this room alone. 

The walls are lined with lead and triple the thickness of any others in the cave, gas distribution along with air filtration systems are built into the roof and motion sensors are designed to lock everything down like a prison if there is a single unexpected movement.

This room is no joke, designed for something Bruce thinks poses a real and potentially fatal threat to them all.

And there is a kid inside of it.

A kid that no one but Bruce and Alfred are allowed anywhere near. 

Bruce might be trying to keep things on the down low, but that has never worked well for him. At least where Tim is concerned. It doesn’t take long to get a hold of the tests Bruce had run on the kid. Pretty basic stuff, a basic metabolic panel, full blood count, and blood smear. Nothing Tim can see that would cause the level of paranoia Bruce was displaying. It isn’t until he looks closer at the finer details that he notices something strange. The kid’s white blood cell count is way higher than it should be. Not only that, but the cells themselves look abnormal. It takes Tim a good chunk of research to find out exactly why. 

The kid’s blood cells are coated with radiation. So much radiation in fact that any normal human should be actively dying from radiation poisoning.

That can’t be good

The boy is… unremarkable, to put it simply. His hair is presumably a medium brown, although the true colour is hidden under a layer of dirt and grime. He would have to be five-nine, maybe five-ten. Limbs that Tim remembers being covered in nasty purple bruises now look much less severe with the greenish-yellow colours they sport instead.

The boy also hasn’t moved an inch since being brought into the manor. If Tim didn’t know any better, he would be convinced the kid was dead. 

That is until the kid opens his eyes and, after a moment, looks directly into the camera.

Waking up is… strange. 

Bright white lighting is pulling him from unconsciousness before he can process the fact he was ever asleep in the first place. He wasn’t in this place when he fell asleep, he was sure of it. 

Was he sure? He would know if he had fallen asleep in a place like this… surely.

Now that he thinks about it, he can’t recall anything before these exact moments. There is no certainty that he didn’t fall asleep here because he has no idea if he ever fell asleep in the first place. 

What he does know, however, is that his own body feels very foreign to him. Like his skin doesn’t quite fit the way it should, like something inside his body is bursting with the urge to escape. He can feel something tickling the back of his mind like a buzzing insect inside his head. 

He decides he hates it. 

He realises he should sit up, he has been staring at the clinical white lights above him for much too long and it is doing awful things to his eyes.

Now that he’s upright, he looks around the room only to find it completely barren bar the table he sits on. A door and floor of light grey and a tiny grey air vent are the only deviations from the white walls surrounding him. 

White walls, white roof, light grey floor, light grey door. He can’t say it’s an especially comfortable room to be spending any length of time in just based on aesthetics alone. 

The feeling of unease that he now realises has been a constant since he woke up starts to make itself known. He follows the whispering of the insect-like buzz in his head and finds himself looking in the top left corner of the room. 

He looks away. 

There’s nothing up there, just his tired mind playing tricks on him.

But the insect speaks again, buzzing louder in an almost yell to ‘look back again! look, look!’. And so, he looks.
There in the corner, so small it could comfortably fit on the nail of his thumb, is a little white device. Now that he’s looking at it, he has no idea how he could have possibly missed it before. The more time he spends looking at it, the more details seem to become easily visible. 

Two circles in the centre seem to move just slightly at seemingly random intervals, a practically invisible piece of glass covers them. The back of the device is triangular in shape, slotting perfectly into the corner where the two walls meet. 

He is not sure how long he is lost in thought before he startles at the sound of footsteps, two sets even, measured and approaching the door in front of him. 

“We should give it more time, see what he does and how he acts before going in.” One voice says, deep and rich. 

“There is an injured child in that room, Master Bruce. He has been unconscious for god knows how long and hasn’t eaten a thing.” A voice responds, older but just as refined as the last.

“He hasn’t needed to eat, we gave him fluids and he’s been unconscious” The first voice counters.

“It’s the principle of the thing, sir. Go talk to him, now, if you please.”

“Yes, fine, fine. Just leave that at the door, I would feel better if you weren’t so close to him.”

This time the older voice doesn’t respond. There is the sound of something being placed on the ground and one set of footsteps returns the way they came.

Time lets itself pass uncounted once again before the door suddenly opens, sliding into the frame and disappearing.

The man that walks through the door could not be any more opposite to the room he finds himself in. 

Where practically everything around him is white, the man is covered almost entirely in black clothing, the bottom half of his face and eyes being the only parts left uncovered. In his hands, a paper plate of what looks like unseasoned chicken and rice.

Despite having two ear-like points on his head and a presumably impractical cape, the man is large and intimidating. He reeks of danger.

Without any sort of cue, the door closes behind the man, the room now feeling impossibly small despite having only one extra occupant. The fact the man is silently staring at him does not help in the slightest.

This continues for much longer than he can imagine is comfortable for either of them, the man is the one to break the silence.

“Name.”

“What?” He says, it’s not an intelligent answer, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Your name. What is it?” The man repeats.

He thinks for a moment before answering with a shrug. “Don’t know.” 

This was apparently not the correct answer.

“Where did you come from?” Although the man’s tone doesn’t change, he can practically taste the man’s irritation.

“You’re gonna hate this.” He says, looking to the wall beside him. Anything to stop looking directly at the man, the whites of his eyes almost seem to glow from behind the black mask. 

At the man’s silence, he continues. “I don't know”

The man is silent still, eyes boring into the side of his head. He was starting to get sick of this man's apparent love of eye contact. 

Still looking away, he asks “Can I ask my own question? Wait, no. If I ask a question will you give me an answer?” He’s not entirely sure where this confidence has come from, but he really doesn’t have anything to lose. At least he doesn’t think he has anything to lose.

“That depends.” The man responds. Cryptic, how fun. 

He takes a deep breath before continuing “Who are you, who am I, how did I get here, Where am I and why am I here?” the words come out in a rush, falling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“That was more than one question.” Is the man’s only response.

“Figured I should just throw everything out there.” He shrugs, “So… are you going to give me an answer? Or should I try and come up with more questions?” 

The man narrows his eyes just slightly before saying “Do you have an answer to either of my questions?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

The man tsks, placing the plate he still holds onto the floor and taking a step backwards. The door slides open again. 

“Pity.”

He blinks. 

The man is gone and the door is closed.