{AN: To those who havn't read my revisions, make sure to catch up. I wanted to make sure everything flowed well together, so I changed a few things here and there. Anyway, sorry for the trouble and I promise I won't do this again!}
Jonathan stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the stiff collar of his Gotham Academy uniform. He looked less like a student and more like a civilian forced into a role. His reflection blinked back at him—disconnected but composed.
"Attire conforms to institutional standards. Facial expression: neutral. Physical tension: moderate."
Thanks, Nexus. I'm sure that'll win me a lunch table.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath.
"Reminder: this is a social environment. Combat subroutines disabled. Communication filters engaged."
Appreciated. Let's try not to scare anyone.
The gates of Gotham Academy loomed like the bars of a gilded cage. Students in pressed uniforms flooded through the walkways, some clustered in laughter, others trailing behind like shadows. Jonathan stood alone at the threshold, taking in the sights with an analytical gaze.
"Scanning. Facial recognition running. Unknowns: 94%. Known public figures: 3. Anomalous readings: 2. Compiling behavioral patterns."
Any names worth noting?
"One anomaly matches Richard Grayson. Publicly known as Bruce Wayne's ward. Status: senior. High peer influence."
Jonathan's eyes settled on a charismatic older student in casual conversation with a few others—laughing, easygoing. But Nexus noted the slight tension in his jaw and the occasional glance toward Jonathan. Watchful, beneath the charm.
"Additional anomalies: Damian Wayne. Status: same academic year. Records redacted beyond baseline education."
Jonathan didn't need Nexus to pick Damian out. The boy approached him like a lion scenting a new predator.
"You're the transfer," Damian said flatly, not asking.
"I guess so," Jonathan replied, meeting his eyes.
"You carry your shoulders too square for a civilian. Don't try to blend. It won't work."
Jonathan tilted his head. "Friendly place, isn't it?"
Damian didn't smile. "Friendly's for people who need it."
Then he walked past, not sparing a second glance.
"Posture: confrontational. Gait: balanced. Combat-trained. Likely monitoring you."
Great. The welcoming committee is a ninja.
Barbara Gordon intercepted him near the lockers. She offered a smile far more approachable than Damian's scowl.
"New guy?" she asked. "Jonathan, right?"
"Yeah. First day."
"Don't worry, everyone's mostly harmless." She leaned in with a smirk. "Except for the ones who aren't."
He managed a chuckle.
"Anomalous signal detected. Barbara Gordon. Observational pattern consistent with data analysts. No public affiliations flagged."
She handed him a rough map of the school and pointed out a few helpful spots. Her eyes lingered on him a second too long. Friendly, but measuring.
By midmorning, Jonathan had noted a pattern.
Grayson was liked by everyone—too liked. Every laugh seemed easy, but each glance was calculated.
Barbara operated like a social engineer, blending helpfulness with precision.
Damian didn't bother to hide his scrutiny. He moved like a hawk circling prey.
Others popped in and out of his field of vision—students Nexus flagged with low-level anomalies: heart rates too stable under pressure, movement too economical. Subtle signs of training. But their files? Sanitized. Backgrounds smoothed out.
"These students do not align with civilian norms. Nexus recommends further observation."
But nothing conclusive?
"Correct. No confirmation of affiliations. Limited data access. Behavior suggests coordinated awareness."
Jonathan sat through his classes quietly. He didn't speak unless spoken to. Every interaction felt like a test.
Lunch came and went. He sat at the edge of a table, poking at food he didn't want. Conversations swirled around him, light and meaningless—yet always watching.
Dick Grayson slid into the seat across from him, wearing the perfect mask of casual interest.
"So you're the kid Bruce took in," he said with an easy grin.
Jonathan offered a shrug. "I didn't exactly have a lot of options."
"He tends to find people who don't."
They watched each other for a moment. No challenge, no threat—just quiet assessment.
Dick leaned forward slightly. "How are you finding it?"
"Still finding it."
"Let me know if you need help. I've been around this place a while. Kinda like the friendly ghost."
"Facial microexpressions suggest sincerity with undertone of guardedness."
Noted.
Damian passed by behind them, glancing once at Jonathan, then back to Grayson.
"Careful," he muttered, just loud enough. "It might bite."
Dick smirked but didn't reply. Jonathan returned to his tray, pretending not to hear.
By the last class of the day, Jonathan had memorized the building layout, most of the teachers' patterns, and a rough psychological profile of every student within twenty feet. Still, something gnawed at him.
Not threat. Not yet.
But a sense of placement—like a chess piece dropped into the middle of a game already in motion.
After class, he skipped the main exit and climbed the old stairwell to the roof.
The breeze hit him like a reset button.
"Social data logged. Internal communication remains secure. Nexus status: stable."
They're too perfect, Nexus. It's like they've all been trained for this.
"Pattern consistency with field unit cohesion. Possibility: covert group integration."
But no confirmation?
"Insufficient evidence. Recommend passive monitoring."
He exhaled. Then it happened.
A flicker. A pulse in his chest. Like the air vibrated through his atoms.
And the world—froze.
A pigeon mid-flight paused in midair. The trees stopped swaying. Voices fell to complete silence.
"Temporal distortion detected. Acceleration ratio: 2000:1. Subject perception increased exponentially."
Jonathan walked slowly across the rooftop. The breeze was no longer felt. Sound didn't exist.
The world was still.
"Unknown mechanism. Could be linked to nanite-enhanced neural response. External energy signature resembles phenomenon previously tagged in global anomalies."
I'm not moving faster. The world's slowing down.
"Or both. Terminology unknown. Working label: localized temporal dilation."
He moved with ease now. Down the stairs, through the hallway—each step fluid. Each motion met with no resistance.
And then—like a wave collapsing—
The world resumed.
Time snapped forward. Sound returned. The wind whispered. A bell rang far below.
And in the Batcave, hidden behind a dozen firewalls, Bruce Wayne watched footage from a hidden camera.
Frame by frame, he slowed the video down. What had been empty now showed a blur—a human shape, visible only in the slowest playback.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. He'd seen this before.
But never layered with LexCorp tech.
Never this quiet.