"Where exactly did you come from?"
I leaned in slightly, eyes bright with mockery. "From my mother's womb, Pedoman. Where else?"
His jaw twitched.
"Gerald," Diana snapped, voice suddenly sharp—like a whip wrapped in royal command.
I raised my hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. You want a serious answer? Here's your breadcrumb."
I leaned forward, expression sobering just slightly.
"I came from Midgard."
That caught them both off guard.
Batman's eyes narrowed. "As in Norse mythology?"
I nodded. "Nine Realms, Yggdrasil, Bifrost. All of it. Very real. Very complicated. Very much not the bedtime story version you're used to."
"Are you perhaps related to the Norse of this universe Wonder Woman?" I asked, feigning innocence as my eyes drifted to Diana's ornate armor and regal stance.
She arched an eyebrow "No."
"I am of Greek descent," she said firmly. "Amazon. Daughter of Themyscira. Champion of the Olympians."
"Greek, huh?" I leaned back, scratching my chin theatrically. "Figures. You've got that whole 'divine elegance and eternal judgment' vibe."
Diana didn't respond, but I swore I caught the ghost of a smirk before her expression returned to stone.
Then her tone shifted. Sharp, inquisitive. "You mentioned the Nine Realms. What brought you here? Magic? Technology? A curse?"
I shrugged, glancing between her and the Bat.
"Honestly? No idea. One minute I'm minding my own business—walking through a Realm Gate, probably humming something stupid—and then BAM!"
I slammed my hand against the table for emphasis, making both of them blink.
"I'm falling through the sky like an unwanted Amazon package. Crash-landed in some Gotham alley between a dead raccoon and a guy in a hotdog costume who didn't flinch once."
Batman's eyes narrowed, likely trying to gauge whether I was joking. I wasn't.
"Didn't even get a proper multiversal welcome party," I added, shrugging. "No cosmic booming voice. No ancient prophecy. Just face-first into garbage and thirty minutes of trying to figure out what century I was in."
Diana tilted her head slightly. "And your first instinct was… to kill the Joker?"
"No," I corrected, raising a finger. "My first instinct was to eat something that didn't taste like garbage. Joker just happened to interrupt my burger."
Batman's tone was flat. "You vaporized a building."
"Correction—he vaporized the building. I just made sure he didn't walk away from it."
Silence.
Then I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table.
"I get it. You don't trust me. I'm an anomaly. An off-script chapter in your tidy little Justice League yearbook. But here's the truth: I didn't ask to be here. But now that I am? I'm not playing by your old rules. Especially not the ones that kept a lunatic like the Joker alive long enough to rack up a body count that makes war criminals blush."
Diana's expression remained unreadable—but I could tell she was weighing her words carefully. Not out of fear, but something else. Consideration.
Batman, meanwhile, was still staring at me like I was a riddle written in blood and fire. His voice, when it came, was low but steady.
"You've already altered the balance."
I blinked. "You're gonna have to be more specific. Do you mean 'balance' as in metaphysical alignment, or are we talking about your moody little hero club's political status quo?"
He ignored the jab. "You took out a high-value, high-risk target. The Joker. A decision that could have long-reaching effects—on Gotham."
"And you think I care about that?" I asked, genuinely curious. "You think I crossed a dozen realms and got wrapped up in your morally flexible mess because I wanted to join your council of caped philosophers?"
Diana leaned forward slightly. "You may not care. But you're in this world now. Your presence alone is a variable we can't ignore."
I shrugged. "So lock me up. Label me a threat. Throw away the key. That's the usual protocol, isn't it?"
"Then don't waste your presence," she said, more earnestly now. "You have power. Experience. And based on what I've seen—you do care. Maybe not about law or procedure. But you care enough to stop monsters when you see them."
Her words hit differently.
I squinted at her. "Wait… are you trying to recruit me?"
My tone was confused, almost sarcastic—but not entirely dismissive.
There was a pause.
Then Batman spoke. His voice was low, measured. Sharp.
"We're evaluating you."
He stepped closer.
"You're not a hero. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You act with recklessness. Ruthlessness. And complete disregard for civilian oversight. You're unstable, unpredictable, dangerous."
I smirked. "Aw, stop. You're gonna make me blush."
Batman's stare didn't falter. "You took down the Joker, yes. But you also annihilated half a city block. You bypassed every moral framework we work within. That makes you effective… but not trustworthy."
I tilted my head slightly. "And yet… you're both still talking to me."
Diana interjected, her tone diplomatic but firm. "Because there's something in you that's salvageable. Your choices were brutal—but they saved lives. We don't condone your methods, but we can't ignore the results either."
Batman didn't break eye contact. "We need to know what you are. Not just your abilities. Your intentions."
"I'm not a god, if that's what you're worried about," I said, leaning back. "No hammer. No lightning bolts. No weird speaking in riddles or naming my horse after Norse tragedy."
"Then what are you?" he asked, no humor in his voice.
I held his gaze for a long moment.
"…Tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable. Like you. Just with better hair."
Diana actually looked like she was holding back a smile.
I sighed. "Fine, fine. If you want the serious version: I'm someone who used to be part of something… big. Then something broke. And I fell here—quite literally—face-first into a Gotham dumpster behind a taco place. Honestly? Not the most glorious entrance."
"You're deflecting," Batman said coolly.
I gave a mock gasp. "No! Me? Deflecting? That's absurd—next you'll say I use sarcasm as a trauma response."
Silence.
"I do use sarcasm as a trauma response, by the way. So you're not wrong," I added, then pointed at him. "Points to the detective."
Batman stepped forward again. "You're dangerous. Unpredictable. If you step out of line—"
I raised a hand. "Let me guess. You'll stop me?"
He didn't answer. Just stared.
I leaned back with a lopsided grin. "Look, I'm not some cosmic horror or interdimensional conqueror. I'm just a guy with a dark sense of humor, a nasty right hook, and a low tolerance for clowns."
Then I shrugged. "Also, mild god-complex. But I'm working on that."
Diana finally spoke. "You'll be evaluated. Watched. And if there's even a hint of instability—"
"You'll hit me with a magic rope or lock me in a sun-proof vault. Got it." I tapped my temple. "I'm very good at reading the room."
She stepped closer, calm but firm. "We're giving you one chance. Earn it."
I raised an eyebrow. "So, no hug? No welcome party? Not even a fruit basket?"
Batman turned toward the door without a word, his cape swirling like a thundercloud.
He stepped out.
Diana didn't.
She lingered, arms crossed, eyes still locked on me.
"I'd like to have a little talk, Gerald," she said, tone softer now—but no less commanding. "Just the two of us."
Diana took the seat across from me again, this time without the tension of interrogation. More… conversation.
"I don't think you're evil," she said plainly.
"Well, that makes one of us," I replied.
She didn't react to the sarcasm. "But I do think you're angry. And maybe even a little lost."
I tilted my head. "Lady, I fell between worlds and crash-landed into a city where everyone wears leather and trauma like fashion accessories. I'm very lost."
A soft exhale. and a laugh.
"But you still saved people," she said. "Despite everything, despite how you talk… you didn't let Joker walk out of there. And you didn't walk away either."
"Yeah," I said, my voice quieter now. "Because someone had to do what no one else would."
There was silence between us for a beat. Not tense. Just… real.
"You remind me of someone," she said at last. "A warrior. One who had no place in the world he found himself in… but still fought for it."
"Is this where you say I have potential?" I asked, cracking a wry smile.
"No," she said, rising from her seat. "This is where I say—you have a choice."
She started toward the door, but paused.
"If you ever want to talk again—not as a League member, but as someone who's also walked between worlds—" she glanced over her shoulder, "—you'll find me."
I watched her leave, the door closing behind her.
The room was quiet again.
I leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.
"…Note to self," I muttered. "Maybe don't open with Pedoman jokes when Wonder Woman might actually be the only person who sees through your crap."
I sighed.
"…Still not sorry, though."