Every few seconds- truly it was at least a quarter of a minute- a sharp gust of wind would pick up the top layer of sand, tossing the grains about in a whirlwind that stung sharply when it hit; the billows of air threated to toss back Simon's hood, something he found supremely irritating. For the tenth time, he pulled it back up, clinging to it to hold it securely in place as he ducked his head and stepped inside the tent that was serving as his temporary home. The lose flap of dark material over the door shook violently in the gust that he just managed to escape. Glaring at the outside world, Simon jerked the hood from his head, no longer needing what protecting it provided, and moved farther into the massive tent, barely casting a glance around it as he made his way to the single piece for real furniture there, a hard backed chair that was more function than comfortable. The rest of the tent was filled with black crates, tables laden with scientific equipment, and an oddly sterile smell, incredibly strange and foreign considering the setting. With a heavy sigh, Simon sat down in the chair, his posture remaining straight as he settled a hand on each arm of the chair. Seemingly of their own accord, his legs crossed at the knees, the upper foot bobbing to some unheard rhythm.

Minutes passed this way, each one creeping further into the next with each passing second timed with every bob of the foot. All the while, the psychic's eyes moved over the contents of the tent, narrowing to better scrutinize shapes and shadows. His hands tensed, fingers tightly gripping the arm rests of his chair.

"It's impolite to keep people waiting. I'm incapable of being killed with suspense if that is your goal." Simon's voice was high and smooth, unstrained as if nothing were amiss. There was no answer save the howl of the wind outside. Letting out a sigh of irritation, Simon crumpled into his seat, now relaxed and casual with one elbow resting on the arm of the chair and his hand acting as a rest against his cheek. "Well that figures. I travel halfway around the world for this brat and no one else can be bothered to be punctual."

Before the last syllable could leave his mouth, black gloved hands reached out of the shadows latching firmly to the front of his coat and hauling him none too gently from the seat. On a reflex, his own hands grasped at the offending wrists for some sort of leverage; it wasn't a breath later however, that he was being tossed through the air and out of the tent into the beating sandstorm outside. Simon sailed a fair distance before his back struck the ground, his momentum causing him to roll and toss up sand around him that wasn't already caught up in the wind. He lifted his head, the hood falling over his head once more, nearly obscuring his vision as he looked back at the tent. The door flap was tossed open and a pair of black booted feet appeared, striding with clear determination towards the fallen psychic, who now craned his neck to look up higher.

He hadn't expected any different, so he wasn't surprised to see none other than Batman storming towards him, his dark cape flailing wildly in the wind, seeming entirely unfazed by the biting sand that swirled around him. The parts of his face that were visible seemed to be set in his usual emotionless mask, however the set of his mouth and the greater narrowing of his eyes told a different story; the man was displeased, in the nicest of terms, and the fact that is showed made him a more frightening sight than usual. In a matter of moments the black clad man was looming over Simon, one seemingly massive hand reaching out to grip him by the neck and haul him off the ground, fingers squeezing just enough to cause mild alarm.

"You surprised me, I'll give you that." Simon laughed, clutching Batman's wrist with both hands. "It won't do you any good now though." His own eyes narrowed, brow ridges lowering as he glared at the masked man with utter contempt; Batman only glared back, the unnerving white glow in the eyes of his mask revealing nothing. Simon's eyes narrowed further, his jaw now clenched and his mouth pulling into a grim line. As hard as he was concentrating, nothing seemed to be happening, despite the mental spears of agony he was sending at the vigilante. "You did something to me! What did you do?!"

No answer came, only a second gloved hand formed into a fist as Batman lifted the hand not clutching Simon's neck and slammed it into the man's face. A jolt ran through the scrawny man's body from the impact that was soon quickly followed by another, this time landing on his nose with a sickening crack. Even then the blows didn't not stop or slow as punch after punch landed anywhere that could be reached until Simon's face was bloodied and beginning to show bruises, cheekbones barely noticeable under the swelling. Simon had gone limp in Batman's grasp, but still his hands grappled at his assailant's wrists, unsure of whether he was trying to get free or trying to hold himself up. Finally the assault stopped with both men breathing hard, Simon with a degree of difficulty. Broken as he was, a renewed smile dragged across his face, genuinely amused at something.

"If you're trying to scare me i-it won't work." He chuckled quietly, almost drowned out by the sound of the wind and the flapping of both his coat and the other man's cape. "You're Batman. You have a code, morals. You aren't going to kill me." His sentence trailed off in a strained laugh, blood in his mouth and a swollen lip making the words slurred.

"You are right. Batman does have morals." Batman growled, his other hand coming up to grip Simon by the jacket, holding him aloft with his feet dangling in the air. "There is only one problem with that."

If his face hadn't been so swollen and immobile, Simon's expression would have been one of surprise as the whites of Batman's mask turned red, the eerie glow becoming even more menacing. A ripple seemed to pass through him, beginning in the center of his chest and blooming outward. A second ripple passed, faster than the last, followed by a third close behind it that started at his feet, moving up to his head; though it wasn't visible on the outside, shock ripped through Simon as he watched what was once solid black armor morph into brilliant green skin and muscle. The man holding him up was suddenly taller, more angular, and now bore a blatant expression, one of mixed hatred and a disappointment as clear as the bright red X now criss-crossing his chest.

"The problem is that I am not Batman."

I've been working on this chapter a few hundred words at a time the last couple months. It was slow going, but I finally manged it. I've jumped setting here, but it is an important scene for the coming chapters.

Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this. Things have been a little rough around here, and it's going to keep being that way for a while, but I will do my best to keep up with this. Come the fall, things will be better and I'm very optimistic about it. You all have no idea how much it helps and what it means to me to look in my inbox and still find people interested in what I'm up to. I love you all. 3