Note: If they made a Batman Beyond movie, how do you think it would go? Well this is my little interpretation. Also you might want to know that if you find some weird things that are different in here than what's seen in the show, remember that every time they make a movie about something (comics, books, etc.) they always change it to make it more movie-wise instead of series-wise. Get it? :-D





OTHER BB. WORKS BY ME (on ff.net):

- 'FIRST CHANCE'







Prologue



I'm getting too old for this.

It was the first thing he thought about every time he went out. Every night he would get dressed, check his gear, and step outside. And the same thought would cross his mind, haunting him, lingering like a ghost.

How much longer is this going to last?

Batman liked to pride himself in his agility and strength, particularly in his genius when he had created the new batsuit. He was more limber with the new design, more capable of things he could only dream of when he first donned the original suit so many years ago. It made him feel younger, stronger.

Lately though, even the suit couldn't prevent the inevitable. His age was effecting him, with or without the suit. And he hated the feeling. He hated it with passion. Yet it was that same hatred that drove him out every night. The want to prove to himself that age couldn't stop him. Age could never stop the bat.

Well.now it was.

He perched atop one of the tallest buildings of Gotham and peered down at the street. It was past midnight but the city was still alive. The high rooftops were one of the darkest spots to be and he liked to be there. To feel the city beneath him, to feel the freedom he always enjoyed as the bat.

This time, he wasn't feeling quite as enjoyable as he might have liked. Over the past few months he had noticed a stiffness in his body whenever he moved, the need to work harder to do the simpler things. He had tried telling himself it was nothing, and spent several hours in the workout room to prove himself. He had only succeeded in getting tired quicker and making the stiffness increase. It was times like these he wished Alfred were still alive.

He let his mind wander briefly, and almost didn't catch the scream.

It was a woman's scream, coming from the street below. Even from his altitude he could still here her thanks to the latest adjustment to the suit, and he was off the rooftop. He leapt over the side, feeling the air rush up on his sides, feeling the split seconds of nothing as he bolted straight for the ground.

At the last minute he unleashed the wings. Extending his arms he pressed the trigger installed in his right glove, and the wings came out, catching the wind and softening his fall. He landed almost noiseless on the ground, staggering for a quick second to regain balance. It took him a little while longer than usual to look around for the source of the scream.

The alley.

He darted around the corner, barely visible in the darkness as he heard a door slam fifty yards away. The woman continued to scream until he heard a sharp slap. There was one last cry, then silence.

Batman quickly went down the alley, slinking through the shadows like he wasn't even there.



Chaz Thompson considered himself a man not to be easily reckoned with. He knew the ins and outs of Gotham city as well as he'd gloat to any of his friends, and had evidence to back that up. Never mind the fact that he stole money and killed people and kidnapped important women for ransom. He considered himself a working man.

He looked down at Kylie Marshal, the blond anchorwoman from the CMSB newstation. She was in her mid-twenties, very beautiful and very rich. She had to be one of the highest paid anchorwomen in America.

Which was why they had kidnapped her.

It hadn't been hard, actually. All he had to do was send some of his men to follow her for several days, learn her schedule, figure out where she was at what time. Then all they had to do was take her when no one was watching. Easy as pie.

She wasn't looking at him for the moment. She was on the floor, head down, bottle-blond hair covering her face. Her body shook with sobs. He watched her for a couple of seconds, admiring the shape and form of the way her dress hugged her body. No wonder she got paid so much.

Shaking his head briefly he grabbed her wrist, yanking her up. She cried out in pain as he handcuffed her to the metal pole protruding from the center of the room, going all the way up to the ceiling.

"Now don't you go anywhere," he told her, "we need you."

"What now, Chaz?" a voice spoke up, and he turned to look at Warren Warrington. Warren was sitting at the table across from the room, a phone sitting in front of him. Several men stood around him, waiting.

Chaz looked at Kylie. "Make the call. She should be worth a lot."

"How much?"

"Ten grand."

He could almost feel Warren gawking at him even though he was still watching Kylie. The woman was still crying, head down, not looking at them. He had given her a good slap to keep her from screaming, and that was all it took. She wasn't very smart.

"Make. The. Call." He repeated, finally looking up.

Warren didn't answer. He put the phone to his ear.

The next thing caused them all to jump in surprise.

The door leading to the small room was forced off his hinges, flying across the room and landing hard on the concrete floor. Everyone starting yelling as the dark figure entered the room.



Batman hadn't wasted any time taking out the men. They all hesitated when they saw him, not sure exactly how to react, but Batman made the choice for them. He attacked, fists flying, legs kicking, grapnals whistling through the air.

On the side of his vision he could see the woman, handcuffed to the rail in the middle of the room. She was hunched over, trying to cover herself from the fighting in front of her. He made a move toward her, fighting as he went.

It took less than three minutes to floor most of the men. The rest were trying to get out of there and Batman let them. He didn't care about them. He cared about the woman. But someone was blocking him from getting to her.

Clearly he was the leader of the gang. He stood in front of the woman, effectively blocking his way. Batman stared at him, not believing it. This man actually thought he had a chance?

The man attacked and Batman didn't even have to think as he blocked him. Right hook, left jab, upper cut- he blocked them all almost effortlessly. He was just about to go in, to floor him right there and get him out of his way, when something wrong happened.

Pain exploded in his chest and his eyes widened in surprise and agony, freezing in his movement. The man, thinking he had overtaken the bat, started pounding down on him. Batman's hand moved up to his chest and for a split second thought he had been shot.

But he hadn't.

The man continued to pound on him, and that was when Batman realized that his first priority was to get him to stop. But he couldn't. The pain weakened his knees and he dropped to the floor, pain spreading through his body. He could barely see clearly.

His hands groped around and he grabbed the first thing he saw.

A gun.

One of the previous men had used it and there he was, lying unconscious on the ground. He had been holding the gun when Batman knocked him out and the weapon had been lying there since. It was the first thing he saw and he grabbed it.

Head suddenly clear he moved his arm, pointing the gun at the man.

The man froze, stepping back as he stared down the barrel. Batman's hand started to shake as he struggled to sit up, propping himself on his other elbow as he held the gun straight out at him. His finger played across the trigger and for a moment he thought about it.

He actually thought about it.

As long as it would help keep the woman safe.and himself.

Batman watched his face as the man's expression turned to one of fear.

He slowly started moving toward the door, not looking away from Batman and the gun he held. Batman followed him with the weapon, clenching his teeth from the pain his chest that was slowly subsiding.

Then the man turned and bolted.

Batman's entire body was shaking now, and he knew it wasn't because of his health. He stared at the gun in his hand.

He couldn't believe it. Never before did he have to result to using a gun. It was the most hated weapon and he had told himself years ago that he would never use it. Never in his whole life. Because bad guys used guns. And he fought bad guys. He fought the bad guys that carried guns. It would be wrong if he ever used it. Or threatened to use it.

He didn't know how long he lay there, staring at the gun. Slowly he let go and it fell back to the ground, clattering. He turned and looked at the woman. He recognized her now. She was the famous anchorwoman on that one news station he watched every now and then. She looked different in person.

She was staring at him hands still tied. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but by the look of her face she was horrified. Not because of the fact he had used a gun, no. It wasn't that. It was because of his reaction. She had watched him, waiting to see what he would do.

He slowly got to his feet, staring at the gun on the ground, and moved over to her. Without speaking he picked through the handcuffs and helped her up.

"T-thank you," she stammered, running from the building.

He remained there, staring at the gun. Then he pulled off his mask.

He was different than the way he once was. It wasn't the gray-white hair or the wrinkles or the wider he appeared all together from age. It was his expression. And he was completely horrified.

When he left he didn't even bother going back out to patrol. He went straight home. For the last time.





Chapter One Twenty years later.



Derek Powers stood at the window overlooking Gotham city, hands folded behind his back. His face was expressionless.

The sun was high in the sky, shining down through the large picture window and into his office. In the glass he could see a shadow of his reflection, white hair, aging face, clear eyes. He stood straight up, wearing an expensive business suit. He had to admit, he thought he was quite good looking for someone his age. He hadn't lost his spunk either. People were still scared of him, his authority.

"Come in," he barked when there was a knock at his door.

It opened. He didn't turn away from the window.

"Mr. Powers sir?"

Then he turned to see Stewart Hughes standing in his office. He had closed the door behind him and was holding an envelope in his hand. He was avoiding contact with him, looking nervously at the floor. Derek plastered a smile on his face as he turned to approach him.

"Doctor Hughes, always a pleasure! How is our project progressing?"

"So far, farther than we'd expected at this rate," Mr. Hughes said. His voice was softer and he stooped over when he stood. He was just as old as Derek Powers, but he looked older. "That is why I'm here Mr. Powers."

"Please, sit down," Derek offered, indicating the chair set up before his desk. He himself sat down, straightening his suit. By the look of Stewart's face he knew it wouldn't be a good report. It made him dislike him even more. But still, courtesy was critical. "I'm sure whatever's wrong can be worked out."

"It's this, Mr. Powers," Hugh said, handing him the manila envelope. Powers accepted it over the desk and started opening it casually. His curiosity had been perked. "We didn't think it would advance this quickly and frankly.I'm a little worried about its progress."

"Oh?" Derek said, sliding the envelope's contents out onto the tabletop. They were photographs, facing down. He picked them up and turned them over. He blinked at the images.

"I'm sure you know what I mean, sir," Stewart said, "I thought you should know right away. Perhaps we should, I don't know, postpone the project until medical assistance can deal with this sort of effect. Before it's too late."

Derek shuffled through the photographs expressionless, taking his time. He could feel Stewart's nervousness grow and he sighed, putting the pictures back into the manila envelope. "I understand your concerns, Mr. Hughes, I really do. But if we stop now it'll risk our funds and the project itself. This is just a slight side effect. I'm sure it could be managed." He started to get to his feet, indicating the end of the meeting.

Stewart looked at him in surprise, standing up also. "Sir, the photographs showed-"

"What they show is a slight alteration to the doses and its effects," Derek interrupted, "I won't postpone or terminate the project unless something really critical happens. This project can be the end of bacterial infections, perhaps the end of sickness as we know it, cure all cancer."

Stewart Hughes shuffled uncomfortably. "But sir, if these effects continue we might loose the test subject all together."

"That's fine." Derek rounded the table to show Stewart out.

"Fine?"

"Yes Mr. Hughes. I'm willing to risk anything for this project, and one test subject won't matter. We'll just get another one."

"But this is people we're referring to-"

"Thank you Mr. Hughes." Derek held the door open. "And just between us, I would like you to keep the project away from the public, especially from any form of media. I wouldn't want anything bad to leak out. And for now I would like to hold on to these photos. Just to keep them safe."

"Yes sir," Stewart nodded, stepping out into the hallway. "I have more if you ever need them." He left.

Derek Power's smile faded away as he closed the door. "Do you now?"



Terry McGinnis could feel the sweat pouring down his forehead as he stared intently at Nelson Nash, waiting for the next move. Long black bangs dropped in front of his line of vision, but he ignored them. Nelson was just as big as he was and if he were to let his guard down for even a minute, he would be a Terry-pancake.

"Anxious, huh Terry?" Nelson said, grinning at him. He had short red hair, kept cleanly away from his eyes as he circled the wrestling ring, arms out, knees slightly bent. He was enjoying himself. Terry, on the other hand, wasn't.

Yeah, sure I'm anxious, he thought, anxious to knock your face in.

The two young men were seniors at Hamilton High School and part of the wrestling team. Both wore the brightly colored uniforms and protective gear, standing in the middle of the wrestling mat as their other teammates and coach watched on. It was always interesting watching Terry and Nelson wrestle. Because it was more than just wrestling. They really did want to kill each other.

"Focus Terry," he heard Coach say. "Keep your eyes open. Nelson, shift your weight, he'll pin you if you don't fix that."

"I think we should place a bet," Nelson said, his voice low so only Terry could hear and understand him. "I beat you, you have to do everything I say you'll do for the next week. You beat me."

"You stop hitting on Dana," Terry answered simply, not really paying attention.

Nelson's eyebrows rose. "That's it? Nothing else? I hit on everyone."

"Not Dana. Not her."

It wasn't a huge price to pay, but Terry had noticed the looks Nelson gave her every time they passed in the halls. Dana could never understand the look but Terry did. And he was going to make it stop.

At that moment the door leading into the gym opened and laughter broke out. Girl laughter. Terry shifted his eyes at the distraction to see Dana and her two friends walk in. She had long black hair and dark slanted eyes. In Terry's opinion, she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

Next to her were Chelsea Cunningham and Blade. Chelsea and Blade were the two bottle-blondes and they were the two laughing loudly. Dana looked in his direction and smiled.

That's when Nelson attacked.

He grunted as Nelson wrapped his arms around his neck, holding him forward. He was holding on him tighter than usual and Terry had to fight to breathe. Nelson started talking again.

"You can't blame a guy though, can you?" he said conversationally, both looking in the girls' direction. "Schway girl like her, I don't know what she's doing here with you. You're nothing but a loser McGinnis."

Terry wasn't really listening to him. He was trying to figure out how to get out of the hold and bury Nelson's face into the mat.

"A loser McGinnis. Just like your father."

That did it. Terry stopped thinking then and reacted. His dad was a hard worker, working under Derek Powers for Wayne Enterprises. He knew his dad didn't have the highest-ranking position and didn't bring in the most amount of money, but Nelson thought it was hilarious. His own father was one of the richest men in Gotham other than Wayne and Powers and Nelson always used it as a grudge against Terry whenever they were fighting. He knew what it did to Terry and he always brought it up deliberately, just for his reaction.

The fist came out of nowhere. Nelson felt his nose explode with pain and he released his grip around Terry's neck, staggering backward. Yells echoed through the gym as Terry continued punching him. Coach jumped forward and grabbed him around the waist, jerking him back.

"McGinnis, enough!" Coach shouted, "that's enough!"

Terry pulled away from his grasp and stared angrily at Nelson. The other boy had his hand covering his nose and blood was everywhere. The rest of the wrestling team wasn't sure to start cheering or not. They stood there, watching.

"Geez Terry, what's your problem?" Nelson demanded behind his cupped hands. It only added to Terry's anger. Nelson knew exactly what his problem was.

"This has been the fifth fight you've started this semester!" Coach said angrily, "If you keep this up you'll find yourself off the team!"

Terry detected a small smile behind Nelson's hands and he narrowed his eyes. "Fine." He said. "Fine!" He reached up, yanking the wrestling helmet off, throwing it to the floor. "I'm out of here."

No one said anything as he turned and headed for the locker room. In the corner of his eye he saw Dana watching him, shocked at his behavior. He silently cursed himself for acting like that in front of her, but nothing could excuse Nelson's attitude. He deserved it.

He pushed the locker room doors open and went for his locker, violently throwing it open. It banged against the locker next to it and started swinging back toward him, nearly hitting him in the head. He pushed it out of his way and started pulling off his uniform.

"You know Terry, if you wanted to drop him you should have pick a more 'less-school' oriented place."

"Knowing my luck, it'll end up back in school and I'll get suspended," Terry answered, looking up as Jared walked into the locker room. Jared wasn't part of the wrestling team, but he had come to watch them prepare for the big meet coming up. He was African American and one of Terry's friends since middle school.

"Are you really going through with this? I mean quitting the team and all."

"Coach doesn't want me around," Terry answered, grabbing the things out of his locker and stuffing them into his backpack. He took out a towel and slung it over his bare shoulder. "Least I can do is get out of his way. Simple as that."

Jared watched him pack up for a few moments. "Look, since you're obviously leaving practice early, how 'bout we hit the town? Bring Dana, stop by a few clubs. Might help you unwind."

"Can't," Terry answered, heading for the showers. "Mom wants me home to help watch Matt for a few hours while she goes out."

"I thought your Dad was home."

"He is, but he tends to shut himself up in his office. Either that or he leaves for work. No one really is there to watch Matt."

Jared shrugged. "Well the invitation is still open for you if you still feel like coming. Just give me a call and we'll set up a meeting place."

"Schway," Terry answered, disappearing into the showers. Jared nodded and turned, leaving the locker rooms. With his luck it would the last time he would ever shower after a team meet again. He didn't care.

Well.maybe a little.



Warren McGinnis had been working in the lab station when Stewart Hughes met up with him. Dressed in the white lab uniform and wearing protective gear he had been working on a vaccine for Colon Cancer.

He was nearly a splitting image of his son. He had the same dark hair, same build, and same charming smile.whenever Terry bothered to be charming.

He had been bent over the counter, too intent on his work to hear anyone approaching. Not until a folder plopped down in front of his project did he look up, startled.

Stewart Hughes stood in front of him. He had put on the protective gear as well, but just as precaution before entering the lab. He was looking at Warren.

"Geez Stewart, careful around here," Warren said, moving the equipment over, "you're a scientist too, or at least supposedly." He grinned, but it vanished as he noticed Stewart's grim expression. "What's wrong?"

"This remains between you and me," he said, picking the folder up and holding it out. Warren took it curiously. "I tried running it through with Mr. Powers, but he refused to terminate the project. I got these extra photos to show you, plus a few last minute additions from when I checked up on it a few minutes ago."

"And what project is that?" Warren inquired, flipping the folder open.

What he saw caused him to nearly drop it.

"We were searching for an antidote that would decease the growth of bacteria completely. We had to use a mixture of toxins in order to develop the basis for it. Top secret. I'm coming to you because I thought I could trust you."

The photos were the most grotesque things Warren had ever seen. The first one was of a man, lying on a small platform. He was naked and he looked relatively normal. But as he continued to flip through the photos, he noticed differences.

Parts of the man's body were dissolving completely from him.

"Looks to me that the experiment went wrong," Warren said, looking around quickly to make sure no one else was there.

"That's what I thought. And I showed them to Powers but."

Warren could feel his insides fold as he continued to flip through them. Then he stopped at the last one. "Did he see this one?"

"No. That's the latest. I'm sure if he did he would've terminated it."

Warren wasn't so sure about that. He handed the photos back. "Are tests still being ran on other subjects?"

"Not now, I postponed it for the day. I play to go back to Powers as soon as I can." He checked his watch. "If I can catch him before closing time I will. If not I'll give him a call and come back in tomorrow morning."

"Good." Warren nodded. "It's almost time to close up and I need to get home to watch Matt. But I'll do what I can to help you with this case. Can you save these pictures onto a disk so I can take them home with me?"

"Sure thing. I'll get to it now."

"Great."

Suddenly feeling better Stewart headed off back to his lab. Warren stood there, considering what he had just seen, before shaking his head in disgust and cleaning up the counter.

Unseen by him was a large man standing on the balcony above, looking down into the laboratory. He had short spiky hair and he had a nasty scare down his right eye.

Frowning at the doctor, he turned and left the building.



The room was dark except for the late evening sunset shining through the window. There was almost no motion inside. A figure stood at the window, looking out onto his property, the Great Dane mix standing beside him loyally.

Even though Bruce Wayne had to rely on a walking stick, he absolutely refused to let that effect his posture. He still stood as tall as his body would allow, with defiance in his expression as he stared out the window. One hand occasionally reached down to stroke the dog on its head.

The clock chimed the hour and he turned away from the window. He no longer had a butler. It was just him and his dog. And he preferred it that way.

"Come Ace," he said, his voice naturally grave as he crossed the room. The dog watched him for a moment, then followed, tail wagging.