Three weeks.
That's how long Adrian had been training in the Batcave, and every day felt like a year compressed into hours. Bruce's regimen was relentless—combat drills at dawn, tactical simulations until noon, power control exercises with Barbara in the afternoon, and patrol simulations at night. Dick dropped by twice a week to spar and offer what he called "emotional support," which mostly meant sarcastic commentary and the occasional pizza.
Adrian loved every grueling minute.
He stood now in the Batcave's main training area, facing a holographic simulation of six armed hostiles. Sweat dripped down his face, his breathing controlled despite two hours of continuous combat. His body moved with a fluidity that hadn't existed when he'd first arrived—a blend of military training, copied techniques, and his own emerging style.
The first hologram lunged. Adrian sidestepped, his enhanced perception slowing the attack to manageable speed. Counter-strike to the solar plexus. The hologram flickered and vanished.
Two more came from opposite sides. Adrian dropped low, sweeping the legs of one while his hand caught the weapon of the other. A twist, a throw, and both were down.
"Better," Bruce's voice echoed through the cave. "But you're telegraphing your movements. The third attacker would have read your counter and adjusted."
As if on cue, a holographic blade stopped inches from Adrian's throat.
"Dead," Bruce said flatly. "Again."
Adrian groaned but reset to the starting position. This was the forty-seventh run through this particular scenario, and he'd yet to complete it perfectly. The simulation reset, and—
"Actually, let's take a break," Barbara's voice interrupted. She wheeled into the training area, two coffee cups balanced on her lap. "He's been at this for two hours straight, Bruce. Even metahumans need rest."
"Metahumans need to survive combat situations that last longer than two hours," Bruce countered, but he shut down the simulation. "Fine. Fifteen minutes."
Adrian gratefully accepted the coffee Barbara offered, dropping to sit cross-legged on the mat. She positioned her wheelchair beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
"Forty-seven attempts," she said, having obviously been monitoring. "You're improving exponentially. The first run took you eight minutes and resulted in seventeen fatal injuries. This last one was ninety seconds with only one failure point."
"Only one failure point that killed me," Adrian said wryly.
"Details." Barbara pulled up data on her tablet. "Your adaptation speed has increased by thirty-seven percent since we started. Your body is learning to anticipate threats before they fully manifest. Another week of this, and you'll be operating at peak efficiency."
"Just in time to get thrown into something worse, I'm sure."
"That's the spirit." She smiled, and Adrian found himself noticing—not for the first time—how her entire face transformed when she smiled. The intensity softened into something warm and genuine. "How are you feeling? Honestly?"
Adrian considered the question. "Stronger. More capable. Less lost." He paused. "Less alone."
Barbara's expression shifted, something vulnerable flickering across her features. "Good. That's... good."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, drinking coffee while Bruce reviewed footage at his main console. Adrian had learned to read the subtle dynamics of the Batcave—when Bruce wanted conversation versus solitude, when Alfred's appearance meant actual food versus concern, when Dick's jokes were deflection versus genuine humor.
And when Barbara's visits were purely professional versus something more.
Like now. She'd brought coffee—the good stuff from a café in Burnley, not the cave's industrial machine. She'd positioned herself close, within comfortable conversation distance. And her eyes kept drifting from her tablet to his face, as if confirming something she'd only seen in data before.
"Can I ask you something?" Adrian said quietly.
"Always."
"Why do you do this? The Oracle thing, I mean. You could work anywhere, do anything with your skills. Why risk your life helping Batman?"
Barbara's fingers stilled on her tablet. "Because someone has to. Because I can. Because..." She met his eyes. "Because I used to be Batgirl. Used to patrol the streets, fight alongside Bruce, make a difference with my hands. Then I made a mistake, and—" She gestured to her wheelchair. "And I had to find a new way to help. Oracle lets me be more than what I lost. Lets me prove that disability doesn't mean inability."
"I'm sorry," Adrian said. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't." Her tone was gentle but firm. "Don't apologize for asking. And don't pity me. I've made peace with who I am now. Honestly? I help more people as Oracle than I ever did as Batgirl. From my tower, I coordinate dozens of heroes, prevent crimes before they happen, save lives without throwing a single punch. It's not what I planned, but it's meaningful."
Adrian nodded slowly. "I get that. Finding meaning after everything changes. That's what I'm trying to do."
"And you're succeeding." Barbara's hand moved, hesitated, then gently touched his shoulder. "You're going to be amazing, Adrian. I can see it in the data, in the way you fight, in the choices you make. You're going to be someone Gotham needs."
The touch lingered, warm through his training shirt. Adrian felt something shift in his chest—not the Source Wall fragment, but something equally powerful and infinitely more human.
"Barbara, I—"
"Adrian!" Dick's voice shattered the moment as he dropped from the ceiling with typical dramatic flair. "Stop flirting and come see this. We've got a situation."
Barbara pulled back, cheeks coloring slightly. "We weren't—"
"Sure you weren't." Dick was already moving toward Bruce's console, grinning over his shoulder. "Come on, lovebirds. Duty calls."
Adrian stood, offering Barbara a hand. She took it, and he pulled her wheelchair back slightly to give her room to maneuver. Their eyes met briefly, and something unspoken passed between them.
Later, that look said. We'll finish this later.
Bruce's main console displayed multiple camera feeds from across Gotham. Red markers indicated points of interest, and Adrian's enhanced vision picked out details that made his stomach sink.
"Court of Owls activity," Bruce said without preamble. "They've been quiet since the Dr. Chen incident, but Oracle detected unusual movement patterns tonight. They're mobilizing."
Barbara wheeled up beside him, all business now. "Twelve different locations, all activated simultaneously. Warehouses, abandoned buildings, even a few residential areas. They're not hunting—they're positioning."
"For what?" Adrian asked.
"Unknown. But the pattern suggests preparation for a major operation." Bruce zoomed in on one location. "This warehouse in the Bowery has the highest concentration of thermal signatures. Fifteen Talons, plus support staff. Whatever they're planning, this is the command center."
"So we hit them there," Dick said. "Fast and hard, before they can execute whatever they're planning."
"Not we," Bruce corrected. "Me and Adrian. You're in Blüdhaven until tomorrow, and I need Oracle coordinating from the tower. This is reconnaissance only—we go in, identify the threat, extract before engagement if possible."
"And if engagement isn't avoidable?" Adrian asked.
Bruce met his eyes. "Then you show me what three weeks of training has taught you."
Thirty minutes later, Adrian found himself on a rooftop overlooking the Bowery warehouse. The night air was cold, carrying the scent of rain and industrial decay. He wore prototype armor Bruce had designed—lightweight, flexible, and equipped with enough gadgets to make his military gear look primitive. No cape though. Bruce had been firm about that.
"Capes are for established heroes with years of experience," he'd said. "You get a tactical vest and Kevlar. Earn the cape."
Adrian didn't mind. The armor felt right—protective but not restrictive, allowing his enhanced agility full range of motion.
"Oracle, status?" Bruce spoke quietly into his comm.
Barbara's voice came through crystal clear. "Thermal imaging shows fifteen targets in the main warehouse area, five more in the office section. No hostages detected, but there's something in the center of the warehouse—large, metallic, and radiating energy I can't identify."
"Energy signature?"
"Unknown. It's not registering on any conventional spectrum. Adrian, can you sense it?"
Adrian focused, reaching out with senses he was still learning to trust. His enhanced perception pushed beyond normal sight, feeling the electrical signatures of the Talons, the ambient radiation of the city, and—
There. Something cold. Ancient. Wrong.
"I feel it," Adrian said. "It's like... like it's pulling at something. At me specifically."
Bruce's cowled head turned sharply. "Explain."
"The Source Wall fragment is reacting. It recognizes whatever that thing is." Adrian pressed a hand to his chest where the fragment resided. "It's afraid."
"That's concerning," Barbara said. "Things that scare cosmic artifacts tend to be very bad news."
"All the more reason to identify it." Bruce pulled out a grappling gun. "Adrian, stay behind me. We're going in through the skylight—silent approach, observe only. If they detect us, we extract immediately. Clear?"
"Clear."
They descended like shadows, Bruce's cape billowing silently while Adrian relied on his enhanced agility to land without sound. The warehouse interior was dimly lit, crates stacked to create corridors and cover. They moved through the maze with practiced stealth, and Adrian marveled at how much he'd learned—how to distribute his weight, how to breathe silently, how to become part of the darkness itself.
They reached a vantage point overlooking the central chamber, and Adrian's breath caught.
In the middle of the warehouse sat a machine—no, a throne. It was constructed from materials that seemed to drink in light, covered in symbols that hurt to look at directly. And surrounding it were the Talons, all standing at attention, all facing one figure.
A man in an owl mask, but different from the others. His mask was gold, ornate, and his robes suggested leadership. The Grandmaster of the Court of Owls.
"Brothers and sisters," the Grandmaster's voice echoed through the warehouse. "Tonight, we reclaim what was stolen. Tonight, we capture the Adaptive One and unlock the secrets of his power."
Adrian felt Bruce's hand on his shoulder—a warning to stay still, stay quiet.
"The throne before you," the Grandmaster continued, "was forged in the deepest vaults of our order. It is designed to suppress and extract metahuman abilities, to pull the very essence of power from its host and transfer it to a worthy vessel."
"They want to steal your powers," Barbara's voice was tight with concern. "Adrian, that machine—it's a metahuman power extractor. Court of Owls technology, based on designs stolen from Cadmus Labs. If they get you in that thing—"
"I know," Adrian whispered. "They'll take the fragment."
"Not just take it. That technology isn't precise—it rips powers out violently. The process would kill you." Bruce's jaw was tight beneath his cowl. "We need to destroy that machine."
"Agreed," Barbara said. "But you'll need to do it fast. I'm detecting incoming vehicles—reinforcements. You have maybe ten minutes before this location is swarming with Talons."
Bruce was already calculating angles, approaches, weaknesses. "Adrian, can your powers adapt to whatever energy that throne is radiating?"
Adrian focused on the machine, feeling the Source Wall fragment's fear more intensely. It wasn't just fear—it was recognition. That throne was designed specifically to counter beings like him.
"I don't know," he admitted. "The fragment is warning me away. Whatever that thing is, it's my natural predator."
"Then we don't give it a chance to catch you." Bruce pulled out several devices from his belt. "I'll create a distraction, draw the Talons away from the throne. You get to it, plant these explosives, and we extract before they realize what's happening."
"Bruce, that's at least fifteen trained killers—"
"I've handled worse. Trust your training. Trust yourself." Bruce's white eyes met Adrian's silver ones. "Can you do this?"
Adrian thought about the past three weeks. The endless drills, the simulations, the slowly building confidence. He thought about Barbara's faith in him, Dick's encouragement, even Alfred's quiet support. He thought about the choice he'd made in that moment of silver light—to live, to help, to be more than a weapon.
"Yes," he said. "I can do this."
"Good. Oracle, signal if those reinforcements get within two minutes of arrival. Nightwing, if you're listening—"
"Already en route," Dick's voice crackled through. "ETA eight minutes. Try not to die before I get there."
Bruce actually smiled—a brief, savage expression that reminded Adrian why criminals feared the Batman. "On my mark. Three... two... one... mark."
Batman dropped from their perch like an avenging angel, cape spreading wide as he crashed into the center of the Talon formation. Chaos erupted instantly—Talons shouting, weapons drawn, the Grandmaster bellowing orders.
Adrian moved.
His enhanced speed carried him along the warehouse rafters, unseen in the confusion. He dropped behind the throne, pulling out the explosives Bruce had given him. His hands worked quickly, placing charges at structural weak points while his enhanced senses tracked the battle below.
Bruce fought like a demon, his movements a blur of calculated violence. Talons fell in rapid succession, but more kept coming. The Grandmaster had drawn a sword—ornate, ancient, radiating the same wrong energy as the throne.
"Adrian, hurry," Barbara urged. "Reinforcements are three minutes out. And that sword the Grandmaster has—it's reading similar to the throne. I think it's connected to the same power-suppression technology."
Adrian placed the last charge and activated the timer. Thirty seconds. He started moving back toward Bruce's position, but—
The Grandmaster's head snapped up, gold mask fixing directly on Adrian's location.
"There!" His voice was sharp with triumph. "The Adaptive One! Take him alive!"
Five Talons broke from fighting Batman, converging on Adrian with frightening speed. Adrian's training kicked in—he assessed threats, calculated responses, and moved.
The first Talon came in high. Adrian ducked under the strike, his fist driving into the attacker's midsection with enhanced strength. The Talon folded, and Adrian was already spinning toward the next one.
His body adapted mid-fight, copying techniques and optimizing movements. He felt the Source Wall fragment feeding him information—weak points, attack patterns, optimal counters. It was like dancing, each move flowing into the next with supernatural grace.
Three Talons down. Two remaining, both more cautious now.
"Twenty seconds," Barbara counted. "Adrian, get clear!"
But the Grandmaster was moving, his sword raised. Adrian saw the strike coming, saw the energy gathering along the blade's edge, saw his death approaching with mathematical certainty.
Then Batman was there, intercepting the Grandmaster with a flying kick that sent the cult leader sprawling. "Go!" Bruce shouted.
Adrian ran. He grabbed a grapple line and fired, pulling himself toward the skylight just as—
The explosives detonated.
The throne exploded in a shower of twisted metal and wrong-colored fire. The blast wave caught Adrian mid-swing, and he felt the energy wash over him—cold, hungry, seeking. The Source Wall fragment screamed, pulling inward to protect itself.
Adrian's grip faltered. He fell.
Time slowed as he dropped toward the warehouse floor, the world spinning around him. His enhanced perception caught every detail—Bruce fighting toward him, Talons recovering from the blast, the Grandmaster rising with murder in his eyes.
Adapt, Adrian thought desperately. I need to adapt to falling. I need—
His body responded. His bones became denser, his muscles tensed to absorb impact, his skin hardened. He hit the ground in a crouch that cracked the concrete but left him unharmed.
"Impressive," the Grandmaster said, stalking forward with his sword raised. "The stories are true. You can adapt to anything. But can you adapt to this?"
The sword came down, and Adrian rolled aside. The blade struck where he'd been standing, and reality screamed. The concrete didn't just crack—it unmade itself, atoms scattering as if the sword's edge cut through the fundamental bonds of matter.
"That blade can cut through your adaptations," Barbara warned. "It's attacking you on a quantum level. Adrian, don't let it touch you!"
Adrian backed away, his mind racing. Normal combat wouldn't work here. The Grandmaster had a weapon specifically designed to counter his abilities. He needed something new, some adaptation he hadn't tried before.
The Grandmaster lunged, sword whistling through the air. Adrian's hand shot out instinctively, and—
—and caught the blade.
Not with hardened skin or adapted defense. With energy. Silver light erupted from Adrian's palm, the Source Wall fragment responding to the existential threat. The sword's reality-cutting edge met the fragment's cosmic power, and the two forces annihilated each other in a burst of impossible colors.
The Grandmaster's eyes widened behind his mask. "What—"
Adrian didn't give him time to finish. His other fist, glowing with residual cosmic energy, drove into the Grandmaster's chest. The cult leader flew backward, crashing through a stack of crates.
"Adrian!" Bruce was beside him suddenly, checking for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
"I... no." Adrian stared at his hand, still glowing faintly silver. "I projected the fragment's energy. Just... manifested it outside my body."
"New adaptation," Barbara breathed through the comm. "You just weaponized cosmic power. That's... that's incredible."
"Also terrifying," Dick added, apparently having arrived. "Hey guys, I'm at the perimeter with about twenty very angry Talons. Could use an exit strategy!"
"North wall," Barbara said. "There's a weak point three meters from the loading dock. Adrian's strong enough to punch through."
Adrian looked at Bruce, who nodded. Together, they ran—Batman providing cover while Adrian focused on the wall ahead. He channeled the fragment's power into his fist, silver light coalescing around his knuckles, and punched.
The wall exploded outward.
They burst into the night, Dick falling in beside them as they ran. Behind them, the warehouse was chaos—Talons shouting, the Grandmaster screaming orders, and the destroyed throne still burning with that wrong-colored fire.
"The Batmobile's two blocks east," Bruce said. "Move!"
They ran through Gotham's back alleys, their footsteps echoing off brick and steel. Adrian's heart pounded, but it wasn't from fear. It was from exhilaration. He'd faced the Court's trap, destroyed their weapon, and discovered a new aspect of his power.
He felt alive.
The Batmobile materialized from the shadows—because of course Batman had stealth parking—and they piled in. Bruce took the driver's seat, Dick rode shotgun, and Adrian found himself in the back, still processing everything that had happened.
"Well," Dick said as they sped toward the cave, "that was exciting. You okay back there, Adrian?"
"Yeah." Adrian looked at his hand, the silver glow finally fading. "I'm okay."
"Better than okay," Barbara said through the comm. "You just went toe-to-toe with the Court's Grandmaster and won. That's a hell of a first real mission."
"It was... intense." Adrian met Bruce's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Thank you. For trusting me out there."
"You earned that trust." Bruce's tone was approving—the closest he came to praise. "You followed orders, adapted to changing circumstances, and discovered a new power application under pressure. That's good work."
Adrian felt warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the Source Wall fragment. He'd proven himself. Not just as someone with powers, but as someone worthy of fighting beside Batman.
"Though," Bruce added, "we'll need to analyze this new energy projection ability extensively. Manifesting cosmic power externally could be dangerous if not properly controlled."
"Tomorrow," Barbara said firmly. "Tonight, you all need rest. Especially you, Adrian. Your neural patterns are showing signs of strain."
"She's right," Dick agreed. "Let's get home, eat whatever amazing thing Alfred made, and pretend we're normal people for a few hours."
"We're not normal people," Bruce said.
"Which is why we have to pretend."
As the Batmobile raced through Gotham's streets, Adrian allowed himself to relax slightly. They'd stopped the Court's plan, destroyed their machine, and he'd survived his first real mission. More than survived—he'd succeeded.
And tomorrow, he'd continue training. Continue growing. Continue learning what it meant to be part of something bigger than himself.
But for tonight, he was content to ride in comfortable silence with his new family, heading home to the cave that was slowly becoming his sanctuary.
Barbara's voice came through one more time, soft and private on a channel only Adrian could hear. "You were amazing tonight. Really amazing. I'm... I'm proud to know you."
Adrian smiled, touching his comm. "Thank you, Barbara. For everything."
"Anytime. Now get home safe. I'll see you tomorrow for neural training. And Adrian?"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe we can actually finish that conversation we started. The one Dick interrupted."
Adrian's smile widened. "I'd like that."
The comm went silent, but the warmth in Adrian's chest remained. He leaned back in his seat, watching Gotham's lights blur past, and thought about silver eyes meeting green ones, about touches that lingered, about conversations interrupted but not forgotten.
Tomorrow held training, challenges, and the continued threat of the Court of Owls.
But tomorrow also held possibility. Connection. The chance to be more than just a weapon or a hero.
The chance to be human.
And that was worth fighting for.