FIC: His Silicon Heart
Title: His Silicon Heart
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Batman finds his mind trapped in a malfunctioning robot body, he calls on Superman for help.
Warnings/Continuity: This is a slashed-up version of the Batman: The Animated Series episode "His Silicon Soul," which is a sad episode.
Word count: 3200
Notes: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange: F34: "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." (Kurt Vonnegut)
It was the crashing sound that brought him to full consciousness. He was in a warehouse of some sort. He was on his feet, swaying, and there were three men with guns in front of him.
He saw the finger of the man nearest him tighten on the trigger.
There was a loud noise. He tried to dodge, but felt the bullet hit him, low and to the right of his torso: a strange, uncomfortable thump that he knew would turn into pain soon enough. He let his instincts guide him through the rest of the motion, rolling forward to deliver an uppercut that left the man unconscious.
The other thugs stared at him, then backed away, broke, and ran into the night.
Bruce would have followed them, but the pain was starting to settle in: a strange, searing pain like jolts of electricity. He staggered, the world going dim and red for a moment. A sense of unreality seemed to settle over him, a strange detachment. He was bleeding to death, he thought distantly, but when he looked down there was no blood on the floor.
It hurt to walk.
He groped for his communicator, dialed a number without thinking. If he really was dying, if this was the end, he wanted--
"Clark?" he whispered. "I need you."
: : :
The air hissed by Superman's ears as he arrowed toward Gotham, homing in on the signal that was Batman's communicator. Bruce was supposed to be off-planet until tomorrow, at an intergalactic design conference--but the weak, hoarse voice had been unmistakable. "I need you."
Superman put on another burst of speed. What the hell had happened?
He saw the huddled form on top of a building, curled in on itself. "Batman," he said as he landed next to it. "What's wrong?" Panic gripped him as he grasped Bruce's shoulder, turned him over--
Bruce's tense, drawn mouth seemed to relax slightly at the sight of him. "Clark," he whispered. But Clark's attention was dragged downward, down to where Bruce's stomach was torn terrifyingly open...
...to reveal a mass of spitting wires protruding from shining metal below the ripped black cloth.
Bruce drew a long, shaking breath, seemingly unaware of the Geigeresque nightmare revealed below. "Clark. I'm glad you're here."
It was Bruce's voice, Bruce's inflections, pitch-perfect, blurred by pain and emotion.
"What happened?" Clark asked, still struggling to make sense of the scene.
"Got shot. Stupid," Bruce said, smiling slightly. "Zigged...when I should have zagged." He grasped Clark's cape, gathering up red cloth to pull him closer. "I wanted to tell you. Wanted to let you know."
Superman shook his head stupidly. "Batman. What's going on?"
"Listen to me," Bruce said, shaking Clark slightly. "Listen. I have to tell you. I won't die without letting you know..." The white-lensed eyes finally followed his downward and widened in shock as they finally seemed to take in the sight of wires and cables. "My God..." Bruce whispered, horror staining his voice. "What...what happened to me?" He let go of Clark and reached down, jerked his hand away as sparks spat. "My mind...they've put my mind in some kind of robot body."
"Who? Who did this to you?"
Panic edged Bruce's voice. "I don't know. I...I can't remember. Something wrong with me..." A crackle like static. "Clark. Help me."
Unsure what to do, only aware that the metallic shell that held his friend's mind was failing, Clark hastily soldered wires that seemed to belong together. Electricity coursed around his fingers and Clark had the uncomfortable feeling at having his hands inside Bruce, as if the sparks were his very soul. As he connected the last wires, there was a faint chuckle from Batman. "Tickles..." Bruce whispered.
"I don't dare, uh, close you up," Clark said, ignoring Bruce's familiar gallows humor. "I'm not sure if I've done it right."
There was a pause. "It seems to be stabilized," Bruce said. "It...doesn't hurt anymore."
"You can feel pain...in there?"
"Oh, believe me, I can." Bruce sat up carefully. "I need to get back to the cave. Figure out what happened. Fix it."
"I'll take you there, if you want."
Batman glanced at him. "I'd like that," he said.
Clark gathered his friend's body--so heavy, so fragile--in his arms and lifted into the sky.
: : :
Bruce took off his glove and flexed his fingers, staring at them. They looked perfectly lifelike; it was hard to believe they were artificial. The skin was even warm to the touch.
A horrific cage, a parody of true existence. Bruce suppressed a shudder. When he found out who did this to him, where his real body was...
"Alfred's not in," Clark said, coming down the steps in a blur of motion. "You were supposed to be off-planet; it's possible he's taken a little vacation."
"I don't remember," Bruce muttered. "I can't remember being off-planet at all."
"What's that last thing you do remember?"
"I..." Bruce paused. "I remember who had monitor duty for the League in October. I remember you came to that silly Halloween party dressed as Tigger." He pulled off the cowl and rubbed at his forehead.
"You've lost over a month," Clark said grimly.
"I need to talk to Rossum," Bruce said. "He'll be able to fix this body, maybe tell me how my consciousness was transferred into it."
"Karl Rossum? The inventor? I thought he gave up robotics after..."
"That wasn't Rossum," said Bruce. "It was his rogue A.I., HARDAC, that replaced Gordon and the mayor with robot duplicates. There's no better mind on robotic engineering in the world. If anyone can help me, he can."
After a moment, Clark nodded. "Let's get going, then," said Bruce.
"Wait," said Clark, holding up a hand. "Back on the rooftop, when I first found you. You said there was something you had to tell me."
Bruce made a noncommittal noise and shrugged. "Nothing important."
Clark huffed an exasperated breath. "You said you had to tell me before you died, Bruce."
"Well." Bruce looked away. "I'm not dying now." He pulled the cowl back on, grateful for the lenses that hid his eyes. "Let it go."
Clark stepped closer to him and Bruce felt discomfort prickle along what passed for his nerves now, but Clark merely nodded. "All right. But Bruce...don't put it off forever."
"I don't have forever," Bruce grumbled.
"Exactly," said Clark.
: : :
Superman looked down through a fine drizzle at the Batmobile below him, heading toward the coast and Karl Rossum. I won't die without letting you know. Clark wasn't a fool; he knew what Bruce had needed to say. He would need to say it too, if he were facing death. They'd danced around it so long, and to have Bruce come so close to admitting it was...exhilarating. Terrifying.
Wonderful and hopeful and like the moment just before the roller coaster starts its rushing descent, the timeless moment when everything just waits.
Clark took a long breath as the car pulled into the compound. He intended to savor that moment, live in the uncertainty, just a bit longer.
"If it's about robotics, you've come to the wrong place," said Rossum as the two heroes drew near. His hands were stained with dirt; he gestured around the greenhouse. "After HARDAC, I prefer to focus on living things."
"Rossum." Batman unwrapped the cape from around himself and the scientist's eyes widened at the sight of the wiring and metal. "Do you know who could have done this?"
Rossum approached cautiously, casting a glance over at Superman, standing with his arms crossed, watching. He looked gingerly into the maze of wires; when he drew back his face was studiously blank. "Only HARDAC could have made this."
"HARDAC," Batman rasped. "And how did he get my mind into this body?" Rossum hesitated, looking increasingly anxious. "Tell me!"
"HARDAC didn't have the ability to do that," Rossum said, his voice low. "It made perfect duplicates. It could never transfer consciousness."
"What are you implying?" Batman's hands clenched at his sides.
"I'm not implying anything." Rossum turned to Superman and addressed him. "This is not Batman. HARDAC was obsessed with Batman; this must have been its final attempt at understanding him." He pointed at Batman, still standing motionless. "This is a robot duplicate programmed with Batman's knowledge, far superior to anything HARDAC ever made before. But it is not Batman."
Batman stared at him, then at Superman. "You're wrong," he said. "I remember--I remember what I bought Robin for his birthday."
Rossum shook his head. "You remember facts. Data. Descriptions stolen from the real Batman's computer. Do you remember how you felt when you gave him that present? Can you recall the taste of the food you shared? Or is it just a list of purchases, abstract knowledge?"
"I--" Batman shook his head from side to side, slowly, not in negation but in pain. "No," he said, his voice flat. Clark knew that monosyllable; it was the sound that Bruce made when he had accepted something but didn't want to admit it.
"This can't be true," Clark said, glaring at Rossum. "I'm telling you, this is Batman. He knows too many things only Batman would know."
Rossum glared back. "HARDAC transferred the entire contents of Batman's computer into this duplicate. The impersonation is nearly perfect. But the robot is not the real thing. It's meant to be a mole, a plant that HARDAC can activate when he wants."
"But I feel," said Batman. He was looking at Superman. "I feel."
Rossum was inexorable. "You simulate feeling based on the parameters you've been programmed with. You're acting as Batman would act based on the information available to you. Look inside, access your programming. You know it's true."
Batman stared down at his hands. He made a low noise in his throat, and Superman stepped forward, unable to bear it any longer. "Batman," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
At the touch, Batman whirled on him. "Don't touch me," he said, and threw Superman across the greenhouse.
Perhaps he had underestimated his strength; perhaps he hadn't meant to throw the Kryptonian through the greenhouse supports. But the whole structure swayed alarmingly, the shattering of glass filling the air, jagged translucent knives falling, metal girders groaning and collapsing.
As Superman pulled himself to his feet, he saw Batman grab Rossum and pull him out of the disintegrating greenhouse.
By the time he reached the scientist, Batman--the robot--was gone. No heartbeat, no sound to track.
Rossum was still sitting on the ground, covered with glass dust, looking dazed. Superman helped him to his feet. "You have to stop it," Rossum said. "Its programming is clearly faulty, its memory flawed. But if it re-integrates with HARDAC there will be hell to pay."
"He saved you," said Superman.
"It's a threat."
"He saved you," Superman repeated.
: : :
Batman lowered himself through the window of the warehouse. Pain flashed along electronic nerves at the motion, pain from the still-unhealed damage. The warehouse was totally dark, but he didn't need light with this body. There, on the floor where he had first come to--fragments of wood, the remains of a crate.
It couldn't be true. He remembered Clark's face, the sound of Clark's voice. It couldn't be true that what he felt was merely an algorithm, a copy of what a real human felt.
Among the fragments, a small chip glinted suddenly, as if his presence sparked a response. He reached down and picked it up. It sparked red again, and gripped by a sudden disquiet he tried to drop it.
His fingers wouldn't open.
The robotic body was no longer obeying him.
"Accessing," said a remorseless electronic voice in his mind. "Insert for full activation." His other hand lifted, grasped Bruce Wayne's face, and lifted it off the metal casing like it was another cowl, revealing the port between his eyes.
Useless panic seized him as the chip was inexorably lifted. He felt the circuitry slide home into his brain.
Pain. White pain. He felt the programming in the chip testing his neural pathways, making connections, fixing--fixing damage. Violating him. No. How I feel, who I am, it isn't damage. It isn't a flaw. No!
Except that it was.
HARDAC reprogrammed around the memory error and rebooted the program, and the code glitch that had thought it was Batman blinked into nothingness.
HARDAC replaced the face covering and left the warehouse. Batman's computer would accept the HARDAC chip and be reprogrammed in turn, and then humans--these messy creatures, with their loves and their fears--would be replaced with something much more efficient.
: : :
The drizzle had become a downpour by the time Superman gave up on scanning Gotham. Discouraged, he headed back to the cave. Batman--the real Batman--was due to return soon; Clark would wait for him and tell him what was going on. Or what seemed to be going on. Clark wasn't exactly sure at this point. He entered the cave--and stopped dead.
The cave should have been dark, but was instead flooded with light. The giant computer screen was flashing strange diagrams and schemata, flickering light bathing the stone walls. Batman was standing in front of the computer. As Superman moved forward, the computer voice intoned, its usual clear voice blurred and distorted: "Countdown initiated. Full access available in ten minutes."
A timer appeared on the screen, ticking down, at the same moment Batman turned to look at Superman.
His eyes were glowing red.
"You are too late," the robot said, his voice a metallic parody of Bruce's true voice. "The process cannot be stopped. HARDAC will use the resources of this computer to reprogram all of Gotham. And then all of the world. Humans will be replaced."
Superman surged forward, but Batman met him halfway across the cave. They clashed, and as the robot's hand swung forward Superman noted with a strange sense of inevitability the green gleam.
The Kryptonite ring slammed into his face, propelled by more-than-human strength, and Superman was thrown backwards across the cave. Blood dripped into his eye immediately; as he blinked to clear it the assault came again, crushing him to the ground this time. Desperate, he reached up to try and rip off the robot's head, but all that happened was that half of the face ripped off, leaving him staring at a half-metal monstrosity, with eyes like coals and a mouth half-frozen in a silver rictus grin. Another punch. Then another. He tossed the robot off, but the radiation was already weakening him and he staggered, unable to dodge a steel-reinforced blow to his legs that swept his feet out from under him and left him gasping on the floor again. Then a sharp blow to his side; Clark felt something snap, tasted blood.
The robot crouched above him, fist raised, clearly intent on pummeling him to death. Through a haze of red pain Superman could see the timer clicking down to seven minutes. "Bruce!" he croaked. "Fight it--you don't have to do this!"
The robot cocked its head at him. "HARDAC commands it," it rasped. "The Earth will be peaceful. Safe."
Superman struggled to say something more, but pain was making it hard to string together sentences. He waited for the final blow.
And continued to wait.
The robot was still standing over him, poised to strike, but the blow hadn't come. "You...you can't do it," Clark croaked. "You're a perfect duplicate of Bruce, and Bruce would never take a life."
"You lie," the robot grated. "I will terminate you now." The fist raised again.
And then there was a grunt of impact as a dark figure slammed into the robot. The two tumbled away and Batman came up on top, his unmarred, human face taking in the situation. He made a move for the computer, but the robot blocked it easily, a contemptuous backhand sending the human across the room. "Stop the countdown!" Bruce barked. "You'll doom Gotham--all the people in it!"
"The world," the robot agreed, deadpan, lunging at Batman.
The fight raged around the cave, almost too fast for Clark to follow in his dazed and injured state. He tried to crawl toward the computer, inch by agonizing inch, but it was clear he could never get there in time. Heat vision wasn't functioning. Damn it. He pulled himself a few inches closer. He'd at least die closer to his goal, he thought grimly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the robot back Bruce to the edge of one of the ledges. Bruce's foot turned on a rock, hovered over nothingness...then the ledge gave way beneath him. The robot lunged forward but caught only a scrap of cloth. Superman's choked cry was lost in the sound of tumbling rock. The countdown was at two minutes.
Maybe only a Kryptonian ear could have caught the sound of rope against stone, the faint grate of a grapple, but Clark felt a sense of absurd relief grip him.
To his surprise, the robot didn't exult in its apparent victory. Instead, it went heavily to its knees, burying its face in its hands. "No," it groaned, the sound of Bruce's voice still recognizable under the static. It held out its hands, stained with human and Kryptonian blood. "I've taken a life. I've killed. No!"
It stood suddenly, swaying, staring at the countdown on the screen, then staggered over to the computer. "My city," it choked, regret and anguish radiating from its voice, its stance. "My people! What have I done?"
In the echoes of that last wild cry, the robot lifted its hands and smashed them down into the computer.
A nimbus of sparks arced around the dark form, convulsing the body in electrical discharge, but the robot slammed into the computer again with a shriek of tortured metal.
A final burst of energy knocked the robot reeling to land heavily near Superman, limbs akimbo like a broken doll. Wisps of smoke lifted from its body. Its red eyes flickered, fixing on Clark. "I have to--" it started, voice buzzing and distorted. Still Bruce's voice. "Have to tell you--too late--" The voice broke off in a sharp metallic click.
Clark dragged himself the last few feet, rested a hand on its shoulder. "Shh," he said.
"Have to," repeated the robot. "Clark." A burst of static. "I lo--" Another click. "I lo--" Click.
Clark bent down and touched his lips briefly to cool metal. "I know," he whispered.
The robot fell silent.
After a while, its eyes dimmed out, the glow fading away into darkness.
Clark rested his head on the robot's chest for a moment, marshaling his strength. When he looked up again Bruce was there, kneeling by the side of the robot. As Clark watched, he crossed the metal hands over its chest, arranged the tattered cape.
"HARDAC programmed him too well. He couldn't do it. Couldn't betray his city," Clark said.
"Couldn't kill you," Bruce said.
Clark laughed a little and stopped, wincing.
Bruce didn't look up from the half-torn face. "He died a hero."
"In the movies--" Clark said, "In the movies, the hero always gets to finish his last line. It's--it's not fair."
"He waited too long."
"Don't--" Clark's voice suddenly failed him. "Don't wait too long. Please."
Bruce reached out and touched Clark's face; black-clad fingers smoothed away tears.
"I won't," said Bruce.
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Batman finds his mind trapped in a malfunctioning robot body, he calls on Superman for help.
Warnings/Continuity: This is a slashed-up version of the Batman: The Animated Series episode "His Silicon Soul," which is a sad episode.
Word count: 3200
Notes: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange: F34: "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." (Kurt Vonnegut)
It was the crashing sound that brought him to full consciousness. He was in a warehouse of some sort. He was on his feet, swaying, and there were three men with guns in front of him.
He saw the finger of the man nearest him tighten on the trigger.
There was a loud noise. He tried to dodge, but felt the bullet hit him, low and to the right of his torso: a strange, uncomfortable thump that he knew would turn into pain soon enough. He let his instincts guide him through the rest of the motion, rolling forward to deliver an uppercut that left the man unconscious.
The other thugs stared at him, then backed away, broke, and ran into the night.
Bruce would have followed them, but the pain was starting to settle in: a strange, searing pain like jolts of electricity. He staggered, the world going dim and red for a moment. A sense of unreality seemed to settle over him, a strange detachment. He was bleeding to death, he thought distantly, but when he looked down there was no blood on the floor.
It hurt to walk.
He groped for his communicator, dialed a number without thinking. If he really was dying, if this was the end, he wanted--
"Clark?" he whispered. "I need you."
: : :
The air hissed by Superman's ears as he arrowed toward Gotham, homing in on the signal that was Batman's communicator. Bruce was supposed to be off-planet until tomorrow, at an intergalactic design conference--but the weak, hoarse voice had been unmistakable. "I need you."
Superman put on another burst of speed. What the hell had happened?
He saw the huddled form on top of a building, curled in on itself. "Batman," he said as he landed next to it. "What's wrong?" Panic gripped him as he grasped Bruce's shoulder, turned him over--
Bruce's tense, drawn mouth seemed to relax slightly at the sight of him. "Clark," he whispered. But Clark's attention was dragged downward, down to where Bruce's stomach was torn terrifyingly open...
...to reveal a mass of spitting wires protruding from shining metal below the ripped black cloth.
Bruce drew a long, shaking breath, seemingly unaware of the Geigeresque nightmare revealed below. "Clark. I'm glad you're here."
It was Bruce's voice, Bruce's inflections, pitch-perfect, blurred by pain and emotion.
"What happened?" Clark asked, still struggling to make sense of the scene.
"Got shot. Stupid," Bruce said, smiling slightly. "Zigged...when I should have zagged." He grasped Clark's cape, gathering up red cloth to pull him closer. "I wanted to tell you. Wanted to let you know."
Superman shook his head stupidly. "Batman. What's going on?"
"Listen to me," Bruce said, shaking Clark slightly. "Listen. I have to tell you. I won't die without letting you know..." The white-lensed eyes finally followed his downward and widened in shock as they finally seemed to take in the sight of wires and cables. "My God..." Bruce whispered, horror staining his voice. "What...what happened to me?" He let go of Clark and reached down, jerked his hand away as sparks spat. "My mind...they've put my mind in some kind of robot body."
"Who? Who did this to you?"
Panic edged Bruce's voice. "I don't know. I...I can't remember. Something wrong with me..." A crackle like static. "Clark. Help me."
Unsure what to do, only aware that the metallic shell that held his friend's mind was failing, Clark hastily soldered wires that seemed to belong together. Electricity coursed around his fingers and Clark had the uncomfortable feeling at having his hands inside Bruce, as if the sparks were his very soul. As he connected the last wires, there was a faint chuckle from Batman. "Tickles..." Bruce whispered.
"I don't dare, uh, close you up," Clark said, ignoring Bruce's familiar gallows humor. "I'm not sure if I've done it right."
There was a pause. "It seems to be stabilized," Bruce said. "It...doesn't hurt anymore."
"You can feel pain...in there?"
"Oh, believe me, I can." Bruce sat up carefully. "I need to get back to the cave. Figure out what happened. Fix it."
"I'll take you there, if you want."
Batman glanced at him. "I'd like that," he said.
Clark gathered his friend's body--so heavy, so fragile--in his arms and lifted into the sky.
: : :
Bruce took off his glove and flexed his fingers, staring at them. They looked perfectly lifelike; it was hard to believe they were artificial. The skin was even warm to the touch.
A horrific cage, a parody of true existence. Bruce suppressed a shudder. When he found out who did this to him, where his real body was...
"Alfred's not in," Clark said, coming down the steps in a blur of motion. "You were supposed to be off-planet; it's possible he's taken a little vacation."
"I don't remember," Bruce muttered. "I can't remember being off-planet at all."
"What's that last thing you do remember?"
"I..." Bruce paused. "I remember who had monitor duty for the League in October. I remember you came to that silly Halloween party dressed as Tigger." He pulled off the cowl and rubbed at his forehead.
"You've lost over a month," Clark said grimly.
"I need to talk to Rossum," Bruce said. "He'll be able to fix this body, maybe tell me how my consciousness was transferred into it."
"Karl Rossum? The inventor? I thought he gave up robotics after..."
"That wasn't Rossum," said Bruce. "It was his rogue A.I., HARDAC, that replaced Gordon and the mayor with robot duplicates. There's no better mind on robotic engineering in the world. If anyone can help me, he can."
After a moment, Clark nodded. "Let's get going, then," said Bruce.
"Wait," said Clark, holding up a hand. "Back on the rooftop, when I first found you. You said there was something you had to tell me."
Bruce made a noncommittal noise and shrugged. "Nothing important."
Clark huffed an exasperated breath. "You said you had to tell me before you died, Bruce."
"Well." Bruce looked away. "I'm not dying now." He pulled the cowl back on, grateful for the lenses that hid his eyes. "Let it go."
Clark stepped closer to him and Bruce felt discomfort prickle along what passed for his nerves now, but Clark merely nodded. "All right. But Bruce...don't put it off forever."
"I don't have forever," Bruce grumbled.
"Exactly," said Clark.
: : :
Superman looked down through a fine drizzle at the Batmobile below him, heading toward the coast and Karl Rossum. I won't die without letting you know. Clark wasn't a fool; he knew what Bruce had needed to say. He would need to say it too, if he were facing death. They'd danced around it so long, and to have Bruce come so close to admitting it was...exhilarating. Terrifying.
Wonderful and hopeful and like the moment just before the roller coaster starts its rushing descent, the timeless moment when everything just waits.
Clark took a long breath as the car pulled into the compound. He intended to savor that moment, live in the uncertainty, just a bit longer.
"If it's about robotics, you've come to the wrong place," said Rossum as the two heroes drew near. His hands were stained with dirt; he gestured around the greenhouse. "After HARDAC, I prefer to focus on living things."
"Rossum." Batman unwrapped the cape from around himself and the scientist's eyes widened at the sight of the wiring and metal. "Do you know who could have done this?"
Rossum approached cautiously, casting a glance over at Superman, standing with his arms crossed, watching. He looked gingerly into the maze of wires; when he drew back his face was studiously blank. "Only HARDAC could have made this."
"HARDAC," Batman rasped. "And how did he get my mind into this body?" Rossum hesitated, looking increasingly anxious. "Tell me!"
"HARDAC didn't have the ability to do that," Rossum said, his voice low. "It made perfect duplicates. It could never transfer consciousness."
"What are you implying?" Batman's hands clenched at his sides.
"I'm not implying anything." Rossum turned to Superman and addressed him. "This is not Batman. HARDAC was obsessed with Batman; this must have been its final attempt at understanding him." He pointed at Batman, still standing motionless. "This is a robot duplicate programmed with Batman's knowledge, far superior to anything HARDAC ever made before. But it is not Batman."
Batman stared at him, then at Superman. "You're wrong," he said. "I remember--I remember what I bought Robin for his birthday."
Rossum shook his head. "You remember facts. Data. Descriptions stolen from the real Batman's computer. Do you remember how you felt when you gave him that present? Can you recall the taste of the food you shared? Or is it just a list of purchases, abstract knowledge?"
"I--" Batman shook his head from side to side, slowly, not in negation but in pain. "No," he said, his voice flat. Clark knew that monosyllable; it was the sound that Bruce made when he had accepted something but didn't want to admit it.
"This can't be true," Clark said, glaring at Rossum. "I'm telling you, this is Batman. He knows too many things only Batman would know."
Rossum glared back. "HARDAC transferred the entire contents of Batman's computer into this duplicate. The impersonation is nearly perfect. But the robot is not the real thing. It's meant to be a mole, a plant that HARDAC can activate when he wants."
"But I feel," said Batman. He was looking at Superman. "I feel."
Rossum was inexorable. "You simulate feeling based on the parameters you've been programmed with. You're acting as Batman would act based on the information available to you. Look inside, access your programming. You know it's true."
Batman stared down at his hands. He made a low noise in his throat, and Superman stepped forward, unable to bear it any longer. "Batman," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
At the touch, Batman whirled on him. "Don't touch me," he said, and threw Superman across the greenhouse.
Perhaps he had underestimated his strength; perhaps he hadn't meant to throw the Kryptonian through the greenhouse supports. But the whole structure swayed alarmingly, the shattering of glass filling the air, jagged translucent knives falling, metal girders groaning and collapsing.
As Superman pulled himself to his feet, he saw Batman grab Rossum and pull him out of the disintegrating greenhouse.
By the time he reached the scientist, Batman--the robot--was gone. No heartbeat, no sound to track.
Rossum was still sitting on the ground, covered with glass dust, looking dazed. Superman helped him to his feet. "You have to stop it," Rossum said. "Its programming is clearly faulty, its memory flawed. But if it re-integrates with HARDAC there will be hell to pay."
"He saved you," said Superman.
"It's a threat."
"He saved you," Superman repeated.
: : :
Batman lowered himself through the window of the warehouse. Pain flashed along electronic nerves at the motion, pain from the still-unhealed damage. The warehouse was totally dark, but he didn't need light with this body. There, on the floor where he had first come to--fragments of wood, the remains of a crate.
It couldn't be true. He remembered Clark's face, the sound of Clark's voice. It couldn't be true that what he felt was merely an algorithm, a copy of what a real human felt.
Among the fragments, a small chip glinted suddenly, as if his presence sparked a response. He reached down and picked it up. It sparked red again, and gripped by a sudden disquiet he tried to drop it.
His fingers wouldn't open.
The robotic body was no longer obeying him.
"Accessing," said a remorseless electronic voice in his mind. "Insert for full activation." His other hand lifted, grasped Bruce Wayne's face, and lifted it off the metal casing like it was another cowl, revealing the port between his eyes.
Useless panic seized him as the chip was inexorably lifted. He felt the circuitry slide home into his brain.
Pain. White pain. He felt the programming in the chip testing his neural pathways, making connections, fixing--fixing damage. Violating him. No. How I feel, who I am, it isn't damage. It isn't a flaw. No!
Except that it was.
HARDAC reprogrammed around the memory error and rebooted the program, and the code glitch that had thought it was Batman blinked into nothingness.
HARDAC replaced the face covering and left the warehouse. Batman's computer would accept the HARDAC chip and be reprogrammed in turn, and then humans--these messy creatures, with their loves and their fears--would be replaced with something much more efficient.
: : :
The drizzle had become a downpour by the time Superman gave up on scanning Gotham. Discouraged, he headed back to the cave. Batman--the real Batman--was due to return soon; Clark would wait for him and tell him what was going on. Or what seemed to be going on. Clark wasn't exactly sure at this point. He entered the cave--and stopped dead.
The cave should have been dark, but was instead flooded with light. The giant computer screen was flashing strange diagrams and schemata, flickering light bathing the stone walls. Batman was standing in front of the computer. As Superman moved forward, the computer voice intoned, its usual clear voice blurred and distorted: "Countdown initiated. Full access available in ten minutes."
A timer appeared on the screen, ticking down, at the same moment Batman turned to look at Superman.
His eyes were glowing red.
"You are too late," the robot said, his voice a metallic parody of Bruce's true voice. "The process cannot be stopped. HARDAC will use the resources of this computer to reprogram all of Gotham. And then all of the world. Humans will be replaced."
Superman surged forward, but Batman met him halfway across the cave. They clashed, and as the robot's hand swung forward Superman noted with a strange sense of inevitability the green gleam.
The Kryptonite ring slammed into his face, propelled by more-than-human strength, and Superman was thrown backwards across the cave. Blood dripped into his eye immediately; as he blinked to clear it the assault came again, crushing him to the ground this time. Desperate, he reached up to try and rip off the robot's head, but all that happened was that half of the face ripped off, leaving him staring at a half-metal monstrosity, with eyes like coals and a mouth half-frozen in a silver rictus grin. Another punch. Then another. He tossed the robot off, but the radiation was already weakening him and he staggered, unable to dodge a steel-reinforced blow to his legs that swept his feet out from under him and left him gasping on the floor again. Then a sharp blow to his side; Clark felt something snap, tasted blood.
The robot crouched above him, fist raised, clearly intent on pummeling him to death. Through a haze of red pain Superman could see the timer clicking down to seven minutes. "Bruce!" he croaked. "Fight it--you don't have to do this!"
The robot cocked its head at him. "HARDAC commands it," it rasped. "The Earth will be peaceful. Safe."
Superman struggled to say something more, but pain was making it hard to string together sentences. He waited for the final blow.
And continued to wait.
The robot was still standing over him, poised to strike, but the blow hadn't come. "You...you can't do it," Clark croaked. "You're a perfect duplicate of Bruce, and Bruce would never take a life."
"You lie," the robot grated. "I will terminate you now." The fist raised again.
And then there was a grunt of impact as a dark figure slammed into the robot. The two tumbled away and Batman came up on top, his unmarred, human face taking in the situation. He made a move for the computer, but the robot blocked it easily, a contemptuous backhand sending the human across the room. "Stop the countdown!" Bruce barked. "You'll doom Gotham--all the people in it!"
"The world," the robot agreed, deadpan, lunging at Batman.
The fight raged around the cave, almost too fast for Clark to follow in his dazed and injured state. He tried to crawl toward the computer, inch by agonizing inch, but it was clear he could never get there in time. Heat vision wasn't functioning. Damn it. He pulled himself a few inches closer. He'd at least die closer to his goal, he thought grimly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the robot back Bruce to the edge of one of the ledges. Bruce's foot turned on a rock, hovered over nothingness...then the ledge gave way beneath him. The robot lunged forward but caught only a scrap of cloth. Superman's choked cry was lost in the sound of tumbling rock. The countdown was at two minutes.
Maybe only a Kryptonian ear could have caught the sound of rope against stone, the faint grate of a grapple, but Clark felt a sense of absurd relief grip him.
To his surprise, the robot didn't exult in its apparent victory. Instead, it went heavily to its knees, burying its face in its hands. "No," it groaned, the sound of Bruce's voice still recognizable under the static. It held out its hands, stained with human and Kryptonian blood. "I've taken a life. I've killed. No!"
It stood suddenly, swaying, staring at the countdown on the screen, then staggered over to the computer. "My city," it choked, regret and anguish radiating from its voice, its stance. "My people! What have I done?"
In the echoes of that last wild cry, the robot lifted its hands and smashed them down into the computer.
A nimbus of sparks arced around the dark form, convulsing the body in electrical discharge, but the robot slammed into the computer again with a shriek of tortured metal.
A final burst of energy knocked the robot reeling to land heavily near Superman, limbs akimbo like a broken doll. Wisps of smoke lifted from its body. Its red eyes flickered, fixing on Clark. "I have to--" it started, voice buzzing and distorted. Still Bruce's voice. "Have to tell you--too late--" The voice broke off in a sharp metallic click.
Clark dragged himself the last few feet, rested a hand on its shoulder. "Shh," he said.
"Have to," repeated the robot. "Clark." A burst of static. "I lo--" Another click. "I lo--" Click.
Clark bent down and touched his lips briefly to cool metal. "I know," he whispered.
The robot fell silent.
After a while, its eyes dimmed out, the glow fading away into darkness.
Clark rested his head on the robot's chest for a moment, marshaling his strength. When he looked up again Bruce was there, kneeling by the side of the robot. As Clark watched, he crossed the metal hands over its chest, arranged the tattered cape.
"HARDAC programmed him too well. He couldn't do it. Couldn't betray his city," Clark said.
"Couldn't kill you," Bruce said.
Clark laughed a little and stopped, wincing.
Bruce didn't look up from the half-torn face. "He died a hero."
"In the movies--" Clark said, "In the movies, the hero always gets to finish his last line. It's--it's not fair."
"He waited too long."
"Don't--" Clark's voice suddenly failed him. "Don't wait too long. Please."
Bruce reached out and touched Clark's face; black-clad fingers smoothed away tears.
"I won't," said Bruce.