DC: My Name Is Not Billy Batson [New]

"Did you get the intel you wanted?" Dane asked Batman.

Catwoman, standing behind him, avoided speaking, her expression wary.

Batman's deep voice responded, "I'm done asking. You can handle it now."

Dane turned his gaze to Poison Ivy, who swallowed nervously and stammered, "I can explain."

Dane nodded calmly. "I'm listening, but you're going to do something for me first."

He extended a finger and drew a circle on the ground. Instantly, a shimmering portal opened, revealing another space on the other side.

Catwoman's eyes widened in disbelief. With a casual flick of his wrist, Dane tossed the unconscious Clark through the portal. Then, turning back to Poison Ivy, he gestured. The ropes binding her snapped and fell away.

Batman let out a faint, almost imperceptible "tsk." Catwoman, standing close, caught it and gave him a sidelong glance, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Poison Ivy hesitantly stepped forward, her head lowered. "What do you want me to do?"

Catwoman watched the scene unfold and silently rolled her eyes. Acting all hesitant when she's practically throwing herself at him...

Dane remained unfazed by Poison Ivy's demeanor. In an even tone, he said, "You're going to help Clark with desensitization training. When he's fully immune to your control, you'll be free."

Poison Ivy's face fell, her expression sullen, as if her world had darkened.

Unbothered by her reaction, Dane picked her up effortlessly, nodded at Batman, and stepped through the portal. The circle vanished behind him, leaving no trace.

Catwoman broke the hush, staring at the now-empty spot. "Do all the people you meet these days have to be so... extraordinary?" she asked, still dazed by what she had witnessed.

Batman's reply was cold and curt: "We're not friends."

With that, he turned and began walking away. Catwoman quickly caught up.

"Where are we going now?"

"We've interrogated Killer Croc and Poison Ivy. The only remaining lead is Deathstroke."

Catwoman frowned. "But he's a mercenary. You can't just catch him like the others."

"For Batman, maybe not," Bruce said, glancing over his shoulder. "But for Bruce Wayne? That's easy."

He tapped the communication device on his arm. Alfred answered immediately. "Master Wayne."

"Alfred, transfer $10 million into Deathstroke's account," Bruce instructed. "Then let him know he'll receive another $10 million if he meets me at the bell tower next to Gotham Church."

"Right away, Master Wayne," Alfred replied without hesitation.

Catwoman watched the exchange, her jaw practically hitting the floor. "Is this what being rich is like? Throwing millions around like loose change?"

She muttered under her breath, "Damn rich people."

Unbeknownst to Selina, Bruce had secretly purchased every piece of jewelry and antique in Gotham to deter her from stealing from others. Every treasure she swiped on her nightly escapades was, in reality, something Bruce had bought specifically for her.

Five minutes later, Alfred sent a message confirming the operation was complete.

In truth, Bruce didn't care about the money—not because of his immense wealth alone. The bank account Deathstroke used was handled by a financial institution under Wayne Enterprises. The $20 million simply moved from one of Bruce's "pockets" to another. In reality, no money was lost.

About ten minutes later, Alfred sent another update.

"Deathstroke has agreed to the deal. He'll be at the designated location but only for five minutes. If you're late, he won't wait," the message read.

However, Deathstroke hadn't specified when he would arrive.

Batman smirked. He knew how Deathstroke operated. When it came to money, Slade Wilson was nothing if not professional and punctual. If his hunch was correct, Deathstroke was already on his way to the meeting point.

Without delay, Batman and Catwoman moved through Gotham's streets, heading toward the bell tower near Gotham Church.

Meanwhile, two kilometers away on the rooftop of the botanical garden, a shadowed figure stood silently, binoculars trained on their retreating forms.

"Batman..." the man murmured. His voice shifted between tones—resentful, icy, and laced with a tinge of fear.

"Soon... very soon, Bruce, we'll meet again," he whispered, venom dripping from his words.

Batman, mid-sprint, felt a chill run down his spine. He stopped abruptly, turning his head sharply toward the distance.

"What's wrong?" Catwoman asked, noticing his change in demeanor.

Batman squinted, activating his eyepiece's enhanced zoom. He scanned the distant rooftops but found nothing unusual.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Probably just my imagination."

Catwoman raised an eyebrow, unconvinced but unwilling to press further.

Justice League Headquarters

Dane placed Poison Ivy on her feet, having changed into a casual outfit. Arms crossed, he gave her a stern look.

"Alright, start talking. What's your excuse this time?"

Poison Ivy hesitated but eventually relented, recounting the story in full detail.

A month ago, after Poison Ivy and Barbara Gordon returned to Gotham to form the Birds of Prey, she received a threatening letter. The anonymous sender claimed to have kidnapped one of her closest friends in Gotham.

Before becoming Poison Ivy, she had lived an ordinary life and, like most people, had friends. But the one she held dearest was Harleen Quinzel, a psychology major at Gotham University.

After transforming into Poison Ivy, she cut ties with most of her old acquaintances. Harleen, however, was the exception. Despite Ivy's new appearance and abilities, Harleen didn't distance herself.

Instead, she embraced Ivy's transformation, finding it fascinating. Harleen's support helped Ivy, who was initially self-conscious, find confidence in her new identity.

As Poison Ivy spoke, Dane. "Harleen Quinzel?" he repeated, with recognition.

Of course, he knew who Harleen Quinzel was—she would later become Harley Quinn. But the Joker was gone, incinerated by Zeus's lightning. Every trace of him had been obliterated. Without the Joker's influence, Harley Quinn shouldn't even exist.

Still, Poison Ivy continued her story.

"To make sure the threat was real, I demanded proof that Harleen was alive. The sender agreed to a meeting," she explained.

"Did you see them?" Dane asked.

"Yes, but he never showed his face. He was completely covered in bandages, head to toe."

"So, all you know is that it's a man?" Ivy nodded.

Dane frowned. "Your abilities didn't work on him?"

"No," Ivy admitted, shaking her head. "I tried, but it didn't work."

Even Superman had fallen prey to Ivy's pheromonal control. For someone to resist it entirely was extraordinary.

"What kind of willpower does that take?" Dane murmured, more to himself than to her.

Poison Ivy's face clouded with concern as she continued.

"And I saw Harleen… Poor Harleen. She seemed like she was teetering on the edge of sanity—like she was starting to lose it."

She paused, searching for the right words.

"When I talked to her, though, her speech was still coherent. Her logic made sense. It was unsettling."

"Like she's a little... neurotic?" Dane suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey! Don't talk about her like that!" Poison Ivy protested, her voice rising defensively.

But almost immediately, her expression softened, and she sighed.

"Okay, fine. You're not entirely wrong. She's... 5.2 like a little neurotic—on the verge of crazy, but not completely there yet."

Dane frowned, his mind racing as he processed her words.

Harleen Quinzel—no, Harley Quinn—wasn't fully "born" yet. The transformation was still in progress.

But what could trigger the complete change? And more importantly, who was pulling the strings?

Dane leaned back, crossing his arms as he pieced the puzzle together.

The bandaged man. The description tugged at a memory. This villain sounded eerily familiar—Hush.

In one iteration of the Batman: Hush storyline, the bandaged man is revealed to be Thomas Elliott, Bruce Wayne's childhood best friend. Thomas, a brilliant surgeon with a high criminal IQ, used his intimate knowledge of Bruce and Gotham's rogues to weave a masterful plan. He even managed to manipulate the Joker himself.

But there's another version of the story.

In the animated film adaptation, Hush is an alias adopted by the Riddler. Stricken with a terminal brain tumor, Edward Nygma used the Lazarus Pit to restore his health, but it came at a cost. The Pit amplified his obsessive need to outwit the Dark Knight, leading him to create an elaborate scheme to destroy Batman once and for all.

The real-world versions diverged, but the core theme was the same: Hush was an intellectual mastermind, capable of playing Gotham like a chessboard.

Dane's brow furrowed as he considered the implications.

If the bandaged man was indeed Hush, which version of the story was he facing? Was this the calculating Thomas Elliott or the obsessive Edward Nygma?

And worse—if the bandaged man had a hand in Harleen's current state, what was his endgame? Dane clenched his fists.

"What's wrong?" Poison Ivy asked hesitantly.

Dane shook his head, forcing himself to focus. "Nothing. Just… thinking."

Inwardly, however, he was already strategizing. He would need to prepare for anything.

This wasn't just a matter of saving Harleen Quinzel—it was a race to stop a villain who might be even more dangerous than the Joker.

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