DCU/TSCC/Rush Hour/The Matrix x-over!
Title: Bruce Wayne’s Excellent Adventure
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Cameron Phillips, Detective Inspector Lee, Detective James Carter, Neo, Trinity, Catwoman
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1250
Disclaimer: DC Comics and a whole lot of other people own.
AN: For dragonbat2006’s birthday! Prompt: time travel (um, kinda!)
Bruce awoke with the vague realization that his life had just taken a turn towards something far more complicated. It wasn’t that he was nude and crouching in an empty, dark alley, but that the newspaper which flew by him along with other scraps of debris was an L.A. Times dated February 26, 2008. If the date wasn’t bad enough, the location was. The last thing he remembers was Clark…Darkseid…
“Hurry, John!”
It was a woman’s voice. Bruce moved to hide behind the large trash can bin a few feet away.
“Go,” a different woman’s voice ordered and Bruce could see the petite woman was nothing but a young girl. He watched two individuals, a boy and woman holding a semi-automatic, run past him. The boy stopped to look back, but was dragged away and disappeared around a corner.
Bruce turned towards the girl again. A large man in jeans and a leather jacket stomped towards her without giving any sign he would be stopping. In the blink of an eye, the man and the girl were fighting. Throwing themselves with ease against the already crumbling walls.
Metas.
The man managed to get the girl on the ground. He pulled out a gun and aimed it between her eyes. Bruce made his move. He picked up a rusted tire rim and flung it. It hit the man’s head, though it did little but reveal a metal plate underneath. That’s when Bruce noticed the same kind of metal along the girl’s shoulder. The way they looked reminded him of Metallo.
Perhaps not metas. Cyborgs.
When the man stopped to stare at Bruce, the girl swept his legs from under him. She flipped him over and twisted his arm until she gained control of the gun. Then, she emptied five rounds at point blank range into the man’s head. Next, she aimed the gun at Bruce.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Bruce held his hands up, acutely aware he was still nude.
“Not here to hurt you,” he replied.
She cocked her head to the side and after a few seconds brought her hand down. She grabbed something from the side of the fallen cyborg’s head. Without another word, she turned and followed in the direction the other two had gone.
Bruce could hear the faint cry of sirens. He looked back at the cyborg on the ground. It would have to do.
The clothes were comfortable enough. The shoes were even better. Bruce zipped up the leather jacket and climbed up on the fire escape. By the time the patrol cars reached the dark alley, nothing and no one except a few drops of blood remained.
At the first pay phone he came across, he tried calling the emergency number he and Robin had set up for such an occasion. What a relief it would be to hear Alfred’s slightly sardonic tone, but all he got was a busy signal. A patrol car drove by and he hung up the phone. Later, he would try again.
It was easy to find the part of town he was looking for. The bright lights diminished. The stench of garbage grew stronger. And, the people walking the streets were all trying to sell something. Perfect place to hide in until he knew more of what was happening.
He stepped into a dingy diner and asked to use the restroom. He had taken two wallets from men who looked like they could afford it a few blocks back. Now, he searched through them. The cash, a few hundred dollars, went in his pocket. The wallets were tossed into the trash can on his way out.
There was a row of seedy motels on the next block and he chose the one that offered a free internet connection. He paid the forty bucks it cost for the whole night and quickly made his way up to his room.
If he could get a laptop, he might be able to access the cave computer. Then, his current predicament might make more sense. But it would have to wait. He had never experienced such exhaustion. He felt ready to collapse. The bed was unappealing, however, and Bruce chose the chair instead.
…
The thin, worn-out curtains did little to keep the gloomy sunlight from breaking into the room. Not surprisingly, that wasn’t what awoke Bruce from his stupor; it was the light knock at the door.
A man’s muffled voice was heard, then loud banging commenced.
Bruce snapped to alert consciousness. He got up and ran to the bathroom. No windows. He stepped back into the small motel room and looked around for something he could use.
“Hey, man, open up or I’m knocking this door down!”
The door burst open and two men stood in the doorway: a tall Black man and a shorter Asian man. Both wore suits, both pointed a gun at him.
The Asian man stepped forward, “I have a few questions.”
“Lee,” the Black man interrupted, “Let me handle this.” He turned to Bruce, “You working for Juntao?”
Bruce had didn’t reply. He looked from one man to the other.
“Man, say somethin’! Ain’t no one talking like they suppose to today! Alright, Sinatra, you’re coming with us.”
The taller man reached for him. Bruce grabbed his arm and sent him flying over his shoulder.
“Carter!” the smaller man screamed and lunged himself at Bruce.
Punches were thrown and blocked, kicks landed and avoided, all done quick and with ease like a choreographed dance.
The door was still open and as he watched both men stumble back from a series of short, quick jabs to the head, Bruce caught a glimpse of a man running down the hallway.
“Lee, look.”
“FBI?”
“After Juntao,” the other nodded, then turned to Bruce, “You stay your ass here, you got it? Lee, c'mon!”
They ran out and shut the door behind them.
…
Bruce craned his neck to the side. The door suddenly burst open again. A very pale man dressed all in black ran passed him to the side table. He picked up the phone receiver and handed it to him.
“Here.”
Bruce must have been more tired than he realized because he didn’t even hear the phone ring.
“Take it.”
“Who are you?” Bruce asked.
Nothing felt right. The man standing before him offering the phone, Bruce knew him. Couldn’t say from where or when. He couldn’t place his face, but Bruce knew it somehow.
“Hurry, they’re close.”
His mind was at war. He didn’t want to trust this other man. But he knew he could. He didn’t want to take the phone. But he felt he should.
Narrowed blue eyes searched the brown ones of the familiar, strange man. He took the receiver and placed it against his ear. The world disappeared into silence.
…
Voices.
“How’s Neo?”
So cold. Hearing voices.
“He’ll be fine. How is he?”
A hand on his arm.
“Vitals are stable.”
A voice he recognized.
“Did he find the Oracle?”
Oracle. Barbara. Batgirl. Robin. No. Seraph. Oracle.
“No. That’s when the trouble started. Morpheus said his brain activity became erratic, unstable. Who knows what he might have seen.”
He blinked. Blinked again, slower. He found a pair of familiar green eyes looking back.
“Where…am I?” he asked.
“You’re awake,” green eyes smiled at him, relieved. Green eyes. Short, black hair. Red lips. Selina. No. Catwoman. “You’re onboard the Nebuchadnezzar.” Catwoman whispered, “You're finally back home, Batman.”