97 The End #97

The hologram scratched its head sheepishly in response to Micah's inquiry, a flicker of embarrassment crossing its features. "Well, it wasn't too terrible," it admitted, its tone slightly apologetic. "The contract essentially forbids me from meddling with the fundamental forces of the universe," it clarified, its holographic form shimmering slightly with the weight of the revelation.

Micah's brow furrowed with curiosity as he leaned in, his interest piqued. "The fundamental forces? What does that entail?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine intrigue.

The hologram gestured dismissively, its form flickering momentarily. "You know, the big stuff—the sphere of the gods, the life force, collective unconsciousness, and so on," it explained, its holographic projection shifting to emphasize each point.

"The Presence seemed worried that my tinkering could disrupt the entire multiverse like I'm some amature. Can you believe it?" It added, its holographic eyes narrowing with a hint of frustration, a subtle ripple of energy rippling through its projection.

Micah's expression was one of genuine surprise, his eyes widening slightly. "But why restrict access to those forces? Plenty of people use them. Even members of the Justice League harness them for their powers," he pointed out, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice. "It's practically the backbone of their abilities."

The hologram sighed, its form flickering momentarily as it seemed to ponder Micah's words. "Well, it's not that I can't access them altogether. It's more about not going overboard," it clarified, its voice tinged with a touch of resignation.

"The Presence warned me about the delicate balance of the universe and how meddling too much could upset it. Frankly, it's a bit too intricate to explain fully, and frankly, quite dull," it concluded, its holographic projection shimmering slightly as if expressing its disdain for the topic.

Micah let out a weary sigh, his frustration evident in the slump of his shoulders. "I'm not exactly thrilled about delving into the nitty-gritty of cosmic creation either, but..." He paused, his voice trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

"I get why the Presence wouldn't want you messing with the seven fundamental forces, but what does any of this have to do with Metron? Are you seriously telling me he's some kind of universal cornerstone?" he scoffed, his skepticism clear in his tone.

The hologram emitted a soft chuckle, its features illuminated with an impish gleam. "Not exactly. Metron's more closely tied to the Sage Force, but that's hardly one of the universe's top-tier powers, and offing him wouldn't make a dent in the cosmic knowledge bank," it explained matter-of-factly.

"However, the Presence considers Metron indispensable—a sort of cosmic historian and doomsday librarian, if you will," it elaborated, its holographic form shimmering with amusement.

Micah's brows furrowed in contemplation as he absorbed the hologram's words, his gaze drifting to the now-vacant Mobius chair. "So that's the deal... Hold on a second," he interjected, his expression shifting to one of suspicion as he fixed the hologram with a piercing stare.

"You spun all that spiel about pulling off some grand prank and handing me the Mobius chair, but this was all just a ploy to stick it to the Presence, wasn't it?" he accused, his annoyance palpable in his tone.

The hologram maintained its smug grin, neither confirming nor denying Micah's accusation. "Well, you see, I'm not exactly capable of going toe-to-toe with the Presence, not in his own cosmic playground anyway," it admitted with a sly smirk.

"You on the other hand didn't make any promises to the old coot, and I certainly didn't twist Metron's arm to come after you," it continued, its grin widening mischievously. "He dug his own grave with his greed, though I might have nudged him in that direction... So, technically speaking, I'm innocent as a lamb, wouldn't you say?" it concluded, its holographic form practically oozing with amusement.

Micah rolled his eyes in frustration. "Typical. You won't even own up to it," he muttered irritably. "But just because I have the chair now doesn't mean you'll get your hands on it too," he retorted, his gaze narrowing. "Besides, who's to say that changing the past wouldn't create a new timeline instead of changing the future?" he reasoned, his fingers absentmindedly tracing his chin as he pondered the implications.

Suddenly, realization dawned on Micah, and his irritation flared anew as he turned to glare at the hologram. "You conniving mother fucker... You wanted to see how what effects changing the past would have too, didn't you? How many birds were you aiming to hit with one stone?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

The hologram's grin only widened at Micah's accusation. "Ah, the mysteries of time and space. Quite the playground for the imaginative mind," it remarked cryptically.

"But enough chit-chat. Our little tête-à-tête comes to an end now," it declared, its form dissipating into thin air before Micah could even retort. "Just one last thing to ponder: was this really a recorded message, or was it actually a live call? Think on that until we meet again, my dear, inferior past self," it concluded, leaving Micah to stew in his thoughts and frustrations.

Micah let out a low whistle, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge some pesky thought. "Damn," he muttered to himself, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I've just realized something—I'm quite the obnoxious fellow, aren't I?" His gaze shifted to Rattigan, who remained perched atop his shoulder, observing him with a curious glint in his eyes.

The rat emitted a series of chitters that, when translated, conveyed a message along the lines of, "Took you long enough to figure that out. Now you know how the rest of us feel..."

Micah couldn't help but roll his eyes at the rodent's cheekiness. "Oh, spare me your rodent wisdom, you cheeky little thing," he retorted with a smirk.

"Anyway," Micah continued, shaking off the moment of introspection, "looks like I've got a new score to settle... with myself, of all people." He paused, the absurdity of his own statement sinking in. "Well, isn't that just grand?" he mused, a wry grin playing on his lips. "Guess I'm the only one who can hold a grudge against myself, huh?"

Shrugging off the weight of self-reflection, Micah moved to take a seat on the Mobius Chair, a determined glint in his eye. "Ah, well. Old scores, new scores—I'll settle them all in due time," he declared with a shrug, dismissing the existential quandary with a nonchalant wave of his hand as he settled into the chair's comfortable embrace.

...

In the year 2070, Bruce Wayne, now a distinguished elder with short, snow-white hair, leaned on his cane as he wandered the streets of Gotham. The city had transformed beyond recognition since his youth, a testament to both time's passage and human ingenuity. Once a cesspool of crime and despair, Gotham now stood as a beacon of progress and resilience.

As Bruce strolled, he couldn't help but reflect on the city's evolution. Thanks to his efforts, along with the construction of a state-of-the-art mental institute in New York fifteen years prior, Gotham had been cleansed of its criminal underbelly. No longer did gangs and villains hold sway over its streets.

Yet, despite the city's newfound tranquility, Bruce felt a pang of nostalgia for his days as Gotham's Dark Crusader. Age and the weight of responsibility that should have been shouldered by a certain someone had forced him to retire the mantle, passing it on to his protege, Dick Grayson, the first Robin turned Nightwing.

Dick's initial reluctance to assume the role had given Bruce pause, but after assurances of autonomy, he agreed to take up the mantle. Bruce trusted Dick implicitly and knew Gotham would be in capable hands under his watchful eye.

Together, they formed a formidable duo, one working behind the scenes to apprehend criminals, while the other, operating in the light, focused on rehabilitating them.

With the construction of a distant mental asylum where the criminals were reformed, away from the influences of Gotham's corruption, Bruce found himself making more positive changes in a month than he had in his entire lifetime. Of course, none of this would have been possible without the invaluable insights and intelligence provided by a certain informant, but that's a story for another time.

Not all criminals could be redeemed, though. Some, like the Joker, remained steadfast in their pursuit of chaos, despite Bruce's attempts at intervention.

Others, like Firefly and Doctor Pig, were too far gone, their minds irreparably damaged. For them, Bruce constructed a specialized facility, a place of eternal confinement where hope dared not tread.

Yet, amidst the darkness, there were glimmers of hope. Many criminals, once lost to their own madness, found redemption through rehabilitation. Livewire, Arnold Wesker, Doctor Freeze, and even Poison Ivy, all walked a path of redemption, leaving behind their criminal pasts.

Livewire's talk show remained a staple of entertainment, transcending terrestrial boundaries to become a galactic sensation. With the assistance of a certain someone, she continued her interviews, captivating audiences across the universe by hosting extraterrestrial guests.

Her fame soared, making her one of the most renowned figures not just on Earth, but throughout the cosmos.

Arnold Wesker, once the notorious Scarface puppeteer and mob boss, transformed the company entrusted to him by an enigmatic benefactor into a global powerhouse. Despite achieving immense success, he received the sobering news of ownership of the company.

He understood the meaning behind this gesture as a final parting, and although saddened by the fact that he could never meet his benefactor again, he continued on, leading the company to new heights. Though saddened by the realization that he would never see his benefactor again, he forged ahead, steering the company toward greater heights.

Dr. Freeze, now known by his civilian name Dr. Fries, gained widespread respect for his scientific achievements and the countless lives he saved. Despite his success, he chose to retire after a mere decade of service at Wesker's company. Using his savings, he opted to spend his remaining years with his beloved wife Nora, whose life he had managed to save with the help of a mysterious benefactor.

However, their time together was tragically short-lived. Nora's prolonged preservation in cryostasis had taken a toll on her fragile body, and despite Dr. Fries' best efforts, she passed away just five years later. Devastated by her loss, Dr. Fries disappeared without a trace shortly after her funeral, leaving behind a void in the scientific community.

A month later, an unknown intruder breached Wesker's company, absconding with the Father Box responsible for Nora's miraculous recovery. The identity of the thief remains a mystery, fueling rumors and urban legends of a deranged scientist seeking to defy death itself. Yet, the truth behind the theft remains elusive, shrouded in speculation and uncertainty.

As for Harley Quinn, her journey was one of redemption and self-discovery. With the support of her former colleagues at Arkham Asylum and other allies, she overcame the traumas inflicted upon her by the Joker, finding solace and purpose in helping rehabilitate hundreds of villains alongside Bruce.

After serving as the vice manager of the mental asylum in New York for many years, she retired to travel the world, embracing the freedom and joy that had long eluded her.

And then there was the Penguin, who, through a deal struck with a mysterious figure, transitioned his operations into legality, eventually ascending to the position of mayor. For years, he ruled Gotham with an iron fist, though now, he rested peacefully, having passed away from natural causes, his legacy a mix of legality and infamy.

Amidst the bustling streets of Gotham, Bruce Wayne found himself lost in contemplation, reminiscing about the countless lives he had touched and the transformations he had witnessed. Thoughts of the enigmatic figure who had catalyzed these changes lingered in his mind, a silent guardian guiding him on his path of redemption.

Suddenly, a collective hush fell over the city as all advertisement screens abruptly went dark, capturing the attention of passersby. Within moments, the screens flickered back to life, revealing a grand stage bathed in light. A voice, long absent from Bruce's ears, resonated across the city, full of mischief.

"Greetings ladies and gentlemen of the audience! Today's performance is brought to you by the god of Evil and Tyranny!"

As Darkseid made his appearance, clad in an unexpected emo wig and heavy makeup, Bruce couldn't help but smile at the absurd sight before him as a rat draped in royal clothes played the role of the maestro, directing the band behind Darkseid.

The once formidable ruler of Apokalypse now stood on stage, belting out a rendition of "Fall For You" with surprising fervor.

Chuckling to himself, Bruce resumed his leisurely stroll through the city streets, leaving behind the spectacle of Darkseid's unexpected performance.

At that moment, amidst the chaos and unpredictability of Gotham, Bruce found a sense of wonder, knowing that even the most fearsome of foes could eventually succumb to such childish whims of someone more powerful.

And with that, the story drew to a close, leaving behind a city teeming with untold tales and unexplored possibilities.