Chapter III

Wayne Manor; January 25, 1:12pm

Bed rest. Knowing Bruce's thirst for…adventure, the doctor urged us to force him to remain in bed for at least a week. It's been three days and surprisingly, there's been no escape attempt… yet.

Diana stays with him for hours at a time and when she's away, Alfred takes her place. Ironic how a man who thrives in isolation has so many that deeply care for him. Not wanting to invade on their privacy, I've kept my distance; instead continuing on with the investigation, as Bruce would want me to do. That said, it's been far too long since I've jawed with my best friend.

I climb the double-tiered staircase and weave my way through the maze of hallways that make up the east wing. Twenty-foot ceilings tower overhead. A burgundy runner guiding my way seems to continue on indefinitely. In that moment I realize, I've never been in this area of the manor.

Portraits line the walls, each frame holding an original oil painting of one generation of the Wayne family tree. Every generation is present, stretching all the way down to the final frame, which holds a beautiful portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne. I stop for a moment, look at the empty wall space next to it… Bruce's portrait will be hanging there soon. Will it be just of him? Or will it include…?

Below each painting sits a centuries old piece of furniture, all proudly displaying a different family heirloom – each piece could not only buy my apartment but the entire building. I continue towards the only open door in the wing, but find myself stopped just before I reach the room, standing in front of an oak desk. Atop the table's flat surface sit two heirlooms. A glass case on the left displays an old, silver pocket watch. The finish is rubbed off in some areas and the edges are worn from use. On the right side of the table, in a similar display, is a single set of stringed pearls.

This piece of furniture also contains something that none of the others have though. Between the two heirlooms sits a framed photo – the only somewhat modern snapshot displayed in the entire mansion. In the 30-someodd-year-old, black and white photo, a young Bruce Wayne climbs on the back of his father, pulling at his ears – a rerun of The Grey Ghost can be seen on the vintage television in the background. His mother sits beside them, laughing.

The sincerity of the moment captured sends a chill down my spine. The photographer – presumably Alfred – had caught the family at the most perfect time. All three so genuinely happy – so natural – playing together during their favorite television show. It's hard to explain, but the sight of Bruce's mother, mid laugh, brings a smile to my face. I've only ever seen photos of her in formal settings; but this, this single candid photo gives her life that none other can. Here she's just a mother, a wife, laughing with her family; her two favorite men. There was no place in the world, no art gala or city function that she'd rather be in that moment.

I remind myself that I owe my own mother a phone call.

The photo exudes joy…but I can't help but feel something else, a deep ache in the pit of my stomach.

"Ahh yes…" Alfred exits the bedroom stopping next to me, "That is my absolute favorite photo of young Master Bruce and his parents. There's just something about it, wouldn't you say? Something that makes you smile."

But underneath his smile I can see something else. Sympathy. The regret that the young boy's childhood was cut down. Anger, accumulating for thirty years, for the man responsible. He lingers on the photo for just a moment longer before continuing on his way as I turn in the other direction and head into Bruce's room.

From the doorway I can hear muffled laughter.

"Don't let him flatter you, Diana, he's just trying to catch you off-guard so he can plan his escape." I say entering the room.

"I don't think we have to worry about that, we all know who'd win that struggle," She shoots a playful grin his way.

"Kaff, the watchtower's training room archives would prove differently." Checkmate, as only Bruce can do.

I take in the scene in front of me for a moment; Diana is sitting on the bed beside Bruce, laughing. Their hands lay flat on the mattress, fingers intertwined. A few months ago, Bruce would've already pulled away.

"I think I'll go join Alfred for lunch." She leans over and softly kisses his cheek, "Give you two some much needed bro time." She pats my shoulder on her way out.

"I really hate that you taught her that word…" He is still speaking weakly, but it's an improvement. "What are you smiling about?"

"What…? Oh, just something I thought of on the way in. How you holding up?"

"I've had better days."

"I'll bet. Like that time you let Deathstroke get the drop on you before I swooped in to save the day?"

"I seem to remember that mission entirely different."

"Of course you do." I laugh. "Still, it was fun watching you struggle to get back on flat ground after I rescued you from certain death."

"Kent…"

Three months doesn't hurt our repartee.

"It's good to have you back, buddy."

He nods his thanks. "I know their plan."

"This exclusive club?"

He nods again. "They, kaff, they're obviously looking to take control of the majority of the world's governments by enticing a war. They wanted me on board so that they could use Wayne Enterprises' advanced technology to make weapons and supply both sides."

"Unreal. So they get Luthor into office and tell him to immediately take sides and have the nation officially enter the battle…effectively starting the third world war. Then they supply weapons for both sides and build up a fortune and then what… use that money to exploit the weakened governments after the fighting?"

"Bingo. They've made one glaring mistake though."

"What's that?"

"Putting their trust in Lex Luthor. He's a wild card – we can't assume what his next move will be, but we know that he has an ulterior motive. And they just gave him control of the free world."

"Luthor's no pawn. Hell, he's not even the king… he's the player."

"And he needs to be stopped!" Diana slams the door open; with her, a woman of similar build, and beauty, clad in full Amazonian armor.

"The seers have foreseen the fate of man's world and there are very dark days forthcoming." The red headed woman says.

"This is Artemis, royal advisor to the throne – to my mother on Themyscira."

"For some time now, our seers have been getting visions of our world colliding with man's, only recently have they discovered the link and it does not bode well for you or your world"

Three pairs of eyes stare back at her, she has the complete attention of the room.

"The god of war is currently imprisoned in the depths of Tartarus - doomed to eternal captivity by Zeus himself."

"The god of war," Bruce says, "You mean Ar-"

"Don't say his name!" The woman shouts before continuing. "The prison will not hold him much longer though. The hatred, fighting, and war of man's world are feeding him; he's absorbing the negativity and chaos and growing stronger each day. If you allow the final domino to fall… he will escape and unleash his fury. He will enslave man's world and use it to attack Mt. Olympus and take revenge on the gods – it will truly be an end to life as we know it."

"We've beaten those odds before." Bruce says, never a man of fate.

"Not like this you haven't."

A heavy silence grips the room.

Bruce turns to me, "Looks like you should welcome your old pal to office."

The two amazons watch as Superman takes off towards the nation's capital, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Artemis watches, her mouth agape, still in awe at the hero's abilities.

"What troubles you, Artemis? I sense sadness in you."

"It's nothing, Princess."

"Artemis," Diana turns towards her friend, "We've known each other our entire lives. We've spend days sparring and served together in countless battles. I know something's eating at you."

"I…" She drops her head, hesitancy in her voice, "I promised your mother I wouldn't tell." She sighs, reconsidering the importance of the knowledge. "The seers, Diana, they foretold a prophecy."

"Prophecy!?" Diana's eyes widen, "Our seers haven't foretold prophecy in centuries; it's an almost guaranteed fate… destiny."

Artemis nods.

"What did it say?"

She hesitates.

"Artemis," She grips her friend, voice stern, "What did the seers foretell?"

Artemis takes a deep breath before meeting Diana's blue eyes, "The prophecy calls for the rise of a god and the fall of…."

"Dammit Artemis, who!" She shakes her shoulders, yearning for an answer.

"They've seen the Batman die."