Equestria Girls: Justice League

Jim Gordon liked his coffee black. After years of countless sleepless nights working for the police force in one of the most notoriously corrupt and crime-ridden cities on the planet, coffee was a far better addiction than some of the other stuff his colleagues had gotten themselves into to keep themselves awake.

He slurped down the dark liquid, feeling its almost scalding warmth running down his throat, then letting out a small but satisfied sigh once the cup had been empty. Gordon took a look around, even though he knew by no that there was not much to see in the dimly lit halls of Arkham Asylum.

The only reason he was there was because he had gotten word from his old vigilante acquiantance that wished to trade words with one of the inmates. This wasn't the first time such a thing had happened. The only reason Gordon had to be there now and not be at home with Barbara was because after a certain incident a few years back, the Gotham Bat was no longer allowed to wander into Arkham without some manner of supervision.

Speaking of which, a portion of the room suddenly darkened, a few lights going out. A few seconds later, the Batman emerged soundlessly out of the darkness, his white, pupiless eyes almost glowing.

A couple of decades ago this would have almost made the old commissioner have a heart-attack. But after 20 years of these sort of theatrics, not only from the Batman but from every other lunatic in Gotham, it now earned the vigilante little more than a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed huff from the aged commissioner.

"You're on point as ever." Gordon's remark broke the silence, serving as a sort of greeting whilst he put down the now empty coffe mug, "I hope this is worth it. I'm missing taco-night for this."

The dark knight greeted the commissioner with a simple nod, for nothing else was needed between them after all these years. Not exchanging another word of greeting, the pair stated to walk down the desolent, dimly-lit corridor. They passed through many cells, some of them housing some of Gotham's most nutorious loonies. Batman kept his gaze forward and focused, even though a small part deep inside of him stung as he passed the cell-door marked with the name 'Harvey Dent'.

"Any updates?" he asked, his deep and filtered voice echoing in an unsettling fashion within the long and desolent hallway.

Gordon shrugged, gaze fixed straight ahead, "Nothing out of the ordinary. He's quiet, acts skittish, avoids direct confrontation with other inmates, mumbles in his sleep, the usual stuff." still walking, Gordon let out a small grunt as he remembered something, digging into his coat pocket and pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper, catching Batman's attention.

"He's taken quite a fancy to arts and crafts, though." he handed it over to Batman's gloved hands without breaking his front-facing stare. Curious, the vigilante swiftly unfolded it and got a look at what Luthor had been doing at Arkham.

It was a very well done drawing, Bruce had to admit. The shading, the proportions, it was all neatly handled. The drawing itself seemed to be of a man, looking sculpted like a greek god of legend. Tall, broad shoulders and muscles to match, it would have made an imposing figure should it have existed in real life. Chest bare, it only wore a pair of green pants, making its impressive stature stand out more. Its only feature that was distinctly non-human were its pointy ears. Its face was set in a stern and athoritarian scowl, looking ready to tear anything that opposed it to pieces.

"Think it means anything?" asked Gordon, none of the pair siezing their walk.

For all his detective skills, even Bruce was not sure as to what this could mean. It could be a harmless way pass the time within Arkham's walls. But then again, one could never know with Lex Luthor, "We'll see."

All further conversation was halted as the pair at last arrived at their destination. After their long walk down the hallway, they now stood infront of the final door, the one housing the maniac behind Superman's death. Batman's gloved fists clenched tightly at his sides, a grim expression on his face as his eyes read the name of the cell's occupant over and over.

Noticing this, Gordon let out a sigh, turning towards the vigilante with an expression that was part serious, part exasperated. "You know the laws about mistreating inmates. I don't want a repeat of what happened five years ago, no matter how angry he makes you."

Bruce didn't even simply acknowledge his words at first, his dark gaze fixed upon the door. But eventually, his fist unclenched and he spoke, the usually terrifying voice sounding almost somber, "I will never go that far ever again, Jim." Images of that time flashed in his mind.

Blood. Snapped bones. Broken teeth. That damned laugh taunting him from a broken, red mess of a mouth. And above all, the pure rage that had coursed through his veins that day, his inner demons feasting on his hatred and fueling his actions. The feeling of being rendered mentally powerless by his own monstruos anger was one Bruce would rather much avoid.

'Never again.' he vowed internally, 'Never again...'

Outwardly, Batman simply turned to Gordon and said, "I need to talk. Nothing more."

The aged commissioner just gave him a sceptical look, but eventually let out a defeated sigh, "See that you do." he told him before swiftly opening up the cell, allowing Batman a good look inside.

The cell was small and window-less, as expected from Arkham's regular care-package. There was little to no light, the only source of it being a lone lamp hanging from the ceiling, illuminating that which was directly under it. For right there, in the middle of the cell there was a lone desk with two chairs, one of which was occupied.

Time at Arkham had not been kind to Lex Luthor, that much was plain to see. Then again, Arkham wasn't exactly kind to anyone. He was looking far paler than ever before. And even though he had always been rather skinny, he was now looking downright gaunt, his hollowed features only made more clear through the light shining down upon his bald head. Dressed in the usual orange inmate clothes, he sat restlessly at the table, even though his eyes lit up in recognition and something else Bruce could not place as he saw the Gotham Bat standing in his cell door.

Sparing Gordon one last nod, Bruce stepped inside slowly, the sound of his boots being far louder than usual in the silent room. He heared the door closing behind him, leaving him alone in the viper's nest. Good, thought Bruce.

Luthor simply stared at the imposing vigilante in front of him, an unreadable expression whilst his eyes shone with malevolence. So they stood for a good few beats of silence, before the bald man's eyes were eventually caught by the little piece of paper held by Bruce. As soon as he saw it, his impassive face lit up with a smile, as if delighted seeing that Bruce had seen his artistic work.

“You like it?" Luthor's casual inquiry broke the silence, "Not my best work, of course. Then again, this loony bin has some limited art supplies."

Bruce didn't even dignify his words with a response, simply silently gliding over and swiftly taking the seat opposite of Luthor, who seemed to be in his own little world, drumming fingers on his chin in apparent though.

"I’m thinking of calling it... ‘Captain Amazo’!" He had announced the name like some grand hero from a children's cartoon, even putting up his arms in the classical Superman-position. Bruce was far from impressed, crunching up the paper in his gloved fist before dropping it carelessly to the floor, scowling down at Luthor all the while.

Luthor must have caught on, lowering his arms and waving them dismissivley, sounding almost fond as he said, "I know, I know. It’s sounds a bit corny. But, so does ‘Superman’, and everyone just loved him." It was impossible not to catch the sneer on Luthor's face or how his tone quickly turned bitter once he had mentioned the Man of Steel.

But it was quickly replaced by another little smirk as he turned to truly face his interrogator. Bruce hated the way Luthor smirked. It was as if he was always tittering at some big joke only he knew about... Not unlike some other unsavoury types Bruce had dealt with.

"Y'know," said Luthor to break the silence that had fallen over them, "I just remembered that I have yet to thank you. What happened that day couldn't have done so without you."

Bruce did not return the playfulness, his scowl in full effect as he glared down at the man that had caused such chaos over so little."You used me."

Luthor snorted, “Well, duh! You can’t expect to go to MY party in MY house, sneak into MY server room, get caught by MY assistant and steal MY encrypted files unless I want you to!” he giggled, a high-pitched and deranged little noise, “And they say you’re the world’s greatest detective?”

Bruce didn't have time for these games, and chose to instead get directly to the point. Giving Luthor a hard look, he asked, “Why did you do it?”

The bald man blinked, “What? You mean kill Superman?" he shrugged, eyes darting about as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "He was dangerous. Too much power, not enough control." A glint entered his eyes as he gave the masked vigilante an unreadable look, "You knew that, too.”

"I was wrong." It was not something he was proud to admit, but it was the truth. He had failed Clark, only seeing the dangerous threat he had wanted to see instead of seeing the goodhearted individual Clark had truly been. He stared hard at Luthor, daring him to contradict him, "He was a good man."

But Luthor simply snarled, a dismissive sneer on his lips, "He was NOT a man. He was a God, and he was certainly not good. Gods never are." He looked strangely dreamy for a moment, as if lost in some distant memory. All was quiet in the cell for just a short moment, before that infernal smirk returned.

"Mayhaps you have heard of the Epicurean Paradox, hm?" When Bruce simply remained silent, Luthor continued on in a very condescending way, like a dismissive adult to a child, "As I explained to Kal-El, I’ll explain it to you; If God is all good, then he cannot be all powerful. If God is all powerful, well, then he cannot be all good... And that goes for all those other metahumans out there.”

That quickly got Bruce's attention, his thoughts briefly returning to the footage he had seen earlier, the abilities those seven girls had displayed. He leaned in just a tad, the small gesture still giving him a more imposing presence. “You want to get rid of them?” He meant metahumans in general, of course. But Bruce couldn't help but think mainly of those kids.

"I have to." It sounded as if Luthor actually believed that, judging by the conviction in his tone and the serious demeanour he suddenly displayed. He knew that the man in front of him wasn't just some maniac doing things for the kick of it. No, Luthor was a maniac doing things because he always had a goal in mind.

"The protection of our world NEEDS to be in our own hands." He too leaned in closer, gesturing between the two of them as if to punctuate his point, "We can’t trust these aliens and amazons and whatever the Hell else might be out there!" Luthor seemed so unlike the chipper, eccentric sociopath Bruce has so often wanted to avoid at partys and the like. No, he sounded completely serious, as if he had given this a lot of thought.

"At one point or another, there will be a battle for the future of the human race! And I intend for the people of Earth to thrive so that when the time comes we can protect ourselves!" There was a clear drive and even fear in his tone, and the Gotham Bat would be lying if he had said it didn't unnerve him on some small level.

Bruce remained silent as he stared at Luthor, his thoughts going back to the metahumans of Canterlot. As much as he hated to admit it, Alfed had been right in that regard. There were people out in the world with far more sinister intents regarding the special people of the world, and one of them was sitting right in front of him.

What would Luthor have done had he found those girls as he had found the others? Would he have manipulated them as he had done with Clark, Diana and himself? Would he have made those children into more pieces in his sick little game of chess to overcome his hatred of god and powers beyond his control?

Whilst Bruce had been silent in thought, Luthor had taken this opportunity to speak up, now resting his cheek on one hand as he looked at the man sitting opposite of him with that same damn smirk. "You want to know the trouble with Gods, Mr. Man, hm?"

He recieved no response. Bruce just kept glaring darkly at him, but Luthor didn't seem to care, simply continuing,

"They don’t like it when we’re on their level, no no no." He gestured downwards with the palm of his hand, "We’re down here," he lifted that same palm upwards "They’re up there, because that’s comfortable for them. But the very minute you try to change that, the minute you try to even the playing field, things get messy."

It was the same in all the stories, all the myths and legends regarding big bearded people in the sky. If one dares rise against them, if one dares to challenge their established sense of order and hierarchy then your are doomed. As was the case with Lucifer, as was the case with Adam and Eve.

"Be it stealing some fire, eating an apple or building a tower. Suddenly, you’re the threat! You’re the sinner, simply because they deem it so!" A dark frown, almost pitying came to his face as he glared right back at Bruce, "It may not seem like it now, but sooner or later, the other so-called special people out there will turn on you, and you will be powerless to stop them."

He shook his head, looking away with misty eyes, as if he was lost in his own little sick mind once more, softly muttering with a twisted sense of determination, "No, what we need is a tower. One that will give us control over OUR destiny and OUR future." He looked back up at Bruce with an unreadable gaze, a dark and almost crazed look in his eyes, "And I intend to build it."

Bruce would never allow that, cryptic words aside, "I'll stop you."

“You shouldn’t." Luthor replied casually, "Because, I… I know you’ve seen it."

All was suddenly deathly quiet in the cell, the bald man's words having a profound effect on both men. Luthor's determined and serious demeanour vanished, instead replaced by an almost haunted look as his expression turned almost completely blank, the fires of madness dancing in his eyes in spite of the room's poor lighting. For Luthor still remembered what he had seen in the Kryptonian ship. What he had learned, whom he had spoken to.

He knew what was really out there in the deep dark of space. And in spite of his ego and pride, it was no understatement to say that it terrified him.

As for Bruce, his reaction was rather odd, even to himself. By all rights, Luthor's words shouldn't have rattled him at all, they were so vague that they could practically refer to anything. And yet, he couldn't hinder the mild shudder that went through him whilst his mind wandered to the dreaded images he had seen so many times in his nightmares.

And somehow, just by looking into those cold and haunted eyes of Luthor, Bruce knew that he had seen something similar.

He was brought out of his macabre musings as Luthor let out a strange sound, somewhere in between a sob and a laugh. "You see, Mr. Man," He leaned in closer, whispering with an unstable smile and crazed look, "All these, uh, old Gods, are gonna look like nothing once the New Gods arrive."

Once more there was a shift, as Luthor's expression turned blank whilst he stared defiantly into the opposing dark gaze, "It’s gonna take more than the army and the Batman to stop it.”

For a while Bruce was quiet, his scowl only deepening as he thought over Luthor's words. He remembered when the mutant abomination had been let loose upon the world, how overwhelmed he had felt at its pure power. It was only when he had let go of his rage, of his fear, and accepted the help of Clark and Diana that the monster had been slain.

Luthor was right. Whatever would be coming in the future, Bruce couldn't stop it.

Not alone.

"We'll stop them." He therefore vowed in a deep growl, and Bruce honestly didn't know if those words had been meant for Luthor or for himself.

“Oh?" Luthor raised an inquisitive brow, looking highly amused. Though there was an undeniable distain in his voice as he asked, "It’s ‘We’ already, is it?”

With nothing but a stiff nod in response, Bruce then swiftly rose from his chair, his cape billowing as he sharply turned around and headed towards the cell door. He dismissed Luthor with a grunt of, "We're done here."

But Lex Luthor was not a person that let himself be dismissed easily, a mix of a sneer and a smug smile dancing on his lips as he called out the the retreating vigilante, "Do you honestly think this place will hold me?”

The Bat froze in his tracks just in front of the door. After a beat he turned around, looking impassive as he scowled at Luthor, "Perhaps. Perhaps not." He acknowledged, causing the bald man to smirk. But it quickly died once the Batman gave him a small smirk of his own, "What I do know is that the moment your greasy little feet step out of these gates, I will be there to put you right back where you belong."

Without another word, Bruce turned around and exited the cell, leaving a curious and vexed Lex Luthor in his wake. As he stepped out and swiftly shut the door, he saw Gordon leaning against the wall, giving the Bat a raised bushy brow, "I didn't hear any cries of agony or pleas for mercy... So I'm guessing you handled it like a pro?"

Bruce almost snorted. Almost, not quite. Instead he simply nodded to the old commissioner, walking away down the hall with a new sense of purpose in mind, "I got what I needed."

With that done, Bruce gave Gordon a nod in farewell before swiftly making his way out of the Asylum, easily slipping into the darkness of the night once he got outside. Wasting no time, he practically jumped into the securily parked Batmobile and reved the old vehicle up, its engine roaring like a beast out into the quiet night as it sped away.

Whilst the darkened surroundings flew by his view, Bruce brooded in deep though whilst he drove towards the cave. He thought of Luthor's words, that crazed look in his eyes whilst he had spoken fanatically of why he believed metahumans needed to be taken out of the equation.

And with those memories his thoughts inevitably wandered back toward those seven girls from Canterlot City and the abilities they had displayed. He thought of what could have become of them had Luthor or someone else found them first, and just how easily they could be overwhelmed, in spite of their strange powers.

It took a lot of mental debating, but Bruce eventually pressed the comm-button, thus calling his trusty butler who quickly picked up on the other end.

"Yes?" Alfred's voice sounded perfectly controlled and professional as always, in spite of the rather poor way their last conversation had ended. "Is there any trouble, Master Wayne? Should I start up the Batwing?"

"No." said Bruce, not having any trouble talking and expertly steering his tank of a vehicle, "No, I called about our talk from earlier."

"... Master Wayne," Alfred started, sounding apologetic, "I know I had no right bringing up Ja-"

"You were right, Alfred." His words cut off whatever Alfred had intended to say, allowing Bruce to explain himself, "This session with Luthor let me see things more clearly." An underlying tone of resolve entered his gruff voice, "I can't leave those kids by themselves, not with people like Luthor out in the world."

It was quiet on the other end for just a second, before Bruce heard Alfred asked in a rather hopeful tone, "Truly?"

"Yes." Bruce affirmed resolutely, a small smirk appearing on his lips, "After all these years it looks like you finally managed to talk some sense into me."

"There's a first time for everyting, Master Wayne." Alfred commented idly, but after so many years together Bruce knew that his old friend was smiling, "... Does that mean you'll bring them onto that team of yours?"

The lighthearted mood died rather quickly. Bruce spent a few moments in brooding, contemplative silence. He still didn't like this. He never wanted to involve children in his fight against crime ever again. He cringed as he was assaulted by memories the horrible fate of the boy, HIS boy.

A lone body lying bloody, broken and unmoving on the oaken floor while the flames consumed everything around it, that mad bastard's laughter echoing out into the night...

He shook those horrible thoughts away, as he had done many times before, it was the only way he could keep his sanity in tact. Yes, Bruce truly did not want to involve those children in this, nor any children for that matter. But, given Luthor's warnings and those damn visions, they may not have a choice in the future.

But that did not mean he would deprive them of their choice now.

"... Only if they want to." He answered at last, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt, "I won't force this on any of them."

"Well," Alfred said, "I suppose it's better than nothing, wouldn't you say, sir?"

A barely audible snort escaped Bruce, "Yeah, I guess so." It brought some sense of inner peace to his dark mind, knowing that things between him and his oldest friend were still good. Bruce knew he would be nothing without his trusty butler. "Now, pack our bags, would you? We'll be heading to Canterlot City in a few days."

There was a bout of silence and then Alfred spoke. Bruce could practically hear the old butler's smile, "Shall I call in for the Mercedes or the Jet, sir?"

"Jet." Bruce responded easily, tapping a few buttons to make the seven files of Canterlot footage appear on the Batmobile's computer screen. He stared at them with a still lingering sense of doubt, a sense of fear... But also a new sense of duty in his old heart, a duty to protect.

"We might need more seats."