Watchtower – Debrief Room
The holographic schematics of Project Clean Slate pulsed above the table, its glowing "W" branding the air with urgency. Vixen stepped into the light, her gold armlet reflecting fractured data streams.
"Five minutes of darkness? You said it yourself—power grids, hospitals, kids on life support. You really betting their lives on your preparation?"
Bruce didn't look up from the supercomputer. "I'm not gambling. I'm containing."
"Containing?" Vixen's laugh was a whipcrack. "Waller's already moving. This isn't chess—it's triage. Call. Gohan."
Damian's checkers piece cracked in his hand as he stood, brow furrowed. "Lord Gohan?" he echoed, voice edged with suspicion. "You're awfully chummy with his name." He crossed his arms, not bothering to hide his disdain. "We don't take orders from mercenaries who cozy up to power."
"Cozy up?" Vixen's glare could've cut Kryptonite. "I've shut down rogue metahuman trafficking rings, taken warlords off the map before they hit UN radars, and pulled entire cities back from collapse while you were still working on your posture, Robin. This isn't pride—it's triage. Five minutes in the dark is a death sentence for thousands. You think your EMP toys matter if ERs go silent? If pacemakers stop?"
Barbara's fingers froze over the console. The tower's hum dipped into a tomb-like hush. At this point, no other members were willing to engage in such a loaded topic.
Power Girl crossed her arms, cape flaring. "Says the woman who ghosted the League during the Shadowpact Wars."
Vixen didn't blink. "I was sealing Nyarlathotep's rift while you lot debated ethics. But sure—let's tally sins. You first, Karen."
Batman stood at the edge of the war table, arms crossed like he was daring anyone to disagree. His voice was steel.
"Emperor Velius plotted behind closed doors. Gohan caught him. Acted fast. Wiped the empire out overnight." He scanned the room, eyes cold and steady. "Clean. Swift. No war. No hope of ever coming back."
Vixen's lips curled, half amused. "So, we're mad at him for being efficient?"
"No," Batman said. "Because it was inevitable."
Power Girl frowned, skeptical. "He did what any of us would've done. Velius was double-dealing. Got caught. That's justice."
Batman turned to her, dead serious.
"It's justice when we do it. When Gohan does it, it's just judgement."
His hand flicked to the map hovering over the table. Thanagar's territory glowed red, like a wound fresh and raw. "Thanagar relied on Velius. His death shattered their supply lines, military pacts, even their own security. They tried to take Rann—failed hard. Now their empire's humiliated twice—once by bad luck, once by Gohan."
He paused, voice dropping low. "They're bleeding. And empires that bleed? They start looking for knives, regardless of how successful they are."
For a moment, Batman was alone in the silence, staring at shifting maps—solar empires, broken timelines, local fractures torn reality apart.
"Thanagar was a metaphor," he said finally, flat and hard. The real threat? Not armies. It's structural."
Vixen raised an eyebrow, biting back a smirk.
"What, you think the universe caught termites or something?"
Batman didn't flinch. "No. The frame holding it all together is gone."
Power Girl crossed her arms, frowning, shivering from the sensation. "You mean the Collapse."
"I'm talking about after," Batman said, turning on his heel. "When reality started to unmake itself. You felt it—body slipping, time unraveling, the sound of your own blood screaming."
Vixen's voice dropped to a whisper. "Wai-" She had felt that incredible shockwave while traversing in a bird's body. "You're telling me that was the whole world?" She asked.
Batman nodded slowly. "Because Gohan stopped it. Not just a fight. Not a punch or a paradox. He grabbed existence. Every layer—Heaven, Hell, Dreams, Numbers. All of it. He held it in his hands. The very things that allow you to use your abilities, allow you to experience consciousness." Batman was internally somewhat confused; Vixen should have at least been aware of the broadcast, but it seems she wasn't.
The map shifted, realms folding inward like paper, colors bleeding beyond reality's edge. Everyone felt the cold unease.
"That's why Apokolips has gone dark," Batman said, eyes hard as steel. "Gohan sealed Darkseid into a Sword, as well." Batman enlightened Vixen.
Vixen had known of that little detail, but she clearly missed some key points that she had built her reasoning on.
"They're not regrouping. They're waiting. Darkseid already failed here. They know: Gohan isn't just a warrior—he's the cornerstone. The keystone. The glue."
Power Girl exhaled, voice heavy. "And that's the problem, isn't it?"
Batman nodded, slow and deliberate. "If he's the only thing holding reality together... what happens if he changes his mind? Falls? Fades? Or gets taken out? We're not just dependent on him—we're trapped by him. Everyone is breathing now because of him." Batman painted the picture for Vixen, not even realizing that while she had good intentions, you shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you, even if the hands offer food willingly and provide shelter.
Vixen paused, the weight settling deep. "Is that what scares you? That we owe him too much?"
Batman's voice dropped—no anger, just raw truth. "I'm worried the gods have already left. That The Presence—Zeno, whatever—left an unfillable void. That no divine intervention will step in. That there's no frame left. Just… Gohan, Lord Gohan. One man, one deity, between us and oblivion. And no plan B."
He slid the Clean Slate drive across the table. The blinking red light synced with the tower's failing pulse.
"Every time he intervenes, he binds himself deeper to our reality. We keep calling, we keep pulling. One day, he won't be able—or willing—to answer."
Vixen's hands curled into fists. "Then what? We just sit here, hoping the god we need still likes us?"
Damian sneered. "Sentiment's for the weak."
Vixen snapped. "And arrogance is a disease of the strong. How's that working out for your father?"
The silence was instant. A vacuum. Even the Watchtower's hum seemed to hold its breath.
Barbara finally spoke, voice flat. "We're out of time."
Power Girl looked toward the flickering grid. Her voice wavered. "Even if we move now... the power's going out. For a few minutes, minimum."
Vixen stepped forward, almost pleading. "He can reverse death itself—"
Batman cut her off, cold. "You really think he'd toy with life and death when reality is hanging by threads? You want to risk everything for minutes of comfort?"
Vixen's anger flared. "You don't understand. Half the galaxy would swarm this planet if it sensed weakness. You think Earth's unique? We're just another data point to the universe. If we fall into chaos, they will come." She was now grasping on straws, even if she didn't like it she could understand Batman's logic.
Batman narrowed his eyes. "Be careful, Vixen. That logic leads to ruin. If we call a god every time we misplace a screwdriver, what happens when we actually need him—and he's done answering?"
Vixen didn't respond. Her stare held—defiance, frustration… then something else. The fire dimmed.
"Can't we at least try?" she asked again, but softer this time—like she already knew the answer.
No one spoke.
She looked away. "Right," she muttered, more to herself than the room. Her shoulders dropped as she turned.
"Let's just hope your contingency plans…" A pause. The rest didn't come.
She left it hanging, unfinished.
She walked out, not with purpose, but with weight. Behind her, the hologram flickered. One hospital bed in Gotham blinked red—flatlining.
Bruce didn't move.
Damian pocketed his broken checkers piece, glancing at his father. "He's never wrong."
Barbara didn't look up. "No. But he's not always right either."