In DC/Young Justice with the Omnitrix/Ultimatrix and a Chat Group

The GCPD interview room is exactly what you'd expect in Gotham - dingy fluorescent lighting, walls that might have been beige once but have faded to an indeterminate gray, and a metal table bolted to the floor.

I've been here for two hours, answering the same questions repeatedly as different officers cycle through, each trying to catch me in an inconsistency.

"Let's go through it one more time," Detective Renee Montoya says, flipping open a fresh page in her notebook.

She's been the most persistent, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "You were coerced by the Joker to help him build some kind of... dimensional portal?"

"Yes," I reply, keeping my voice steady. "He believed it could be used for time travel. He wanted to insert himself into Batman's origin story."

"Right." She makes a note, her skepticism evident. "And when his device malfunctioned, you... absorbed the energy discharge? Using what you describe as 'abilities'?"

"That's correct."

"And these abilities - you've had them how long?"

I choose my words carefully. "Recently. They're still new to me."

"Convenient timing," she remarks.

"Not really," I counter. "If I hadn't had them, a lot of people might have died last night."

She studies me for a long moment. "You know, most kids your age are worried about homework and dating, not stopping psychopaths with doomsday devices."

I shrug. "I'm not most kids."

"Clearly." She closes her notebook. "Wait here."

After she leaves, I lean back in the uncomfortable chair, considering my situation. The police have been remarkably restrained about my transformation - no demands for demonstrations, no threats of containment or study.

That suggests Batman has instructed them to proceed carefully. Whether that's for my protection or because he has his own plans for me remains to be seen.

The door opens, and Commissioner Gordon enters, looking tired but alert. He carries a thick folder and a cup of coffee that smells strong enough to strip paint.

"Mr. Morningstar," he says, taking the seat opposite me. "You've had a busy night."

"Commissioner," I acknowledge with a nod.

He opens the folder and spreads several photographs across the table - surveillance images from GSI, shots of me entering my apartment building, even a grainy picture of me talking to the street performer who was actually the Joker.

"You've been under observation," I observe, keeping my tone neutral.

"Not initially by us," Gordon says. "These came from Batman. He's been tracking the Joker's movements and noticed his interest in you."

"I see."

Gordon takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the taste. "What I don't see is how a sixteen-year-old prodigy ends up with the ability to transform into a... what did you call it?"

"Chromastone," I supply. "And I don't have a simple explanation for you, Commissioner."

"Try me anyway."

I consider my options. Outright lies might be detected eventually, but the truth is too complex and would raise more questions than it answers. A partial truth, then.

"The device on my wrist is my own creation," I say, keeping my voice steady. "It's connected to my research at GSI, though not officially. I've been testing it privately."

Gordon's eyebrows rise. "You're telling me you created technology that allows you to transform into a crystalline energy-absorbing being?"

"Yes," I reply simply. "The principles are related to the dimensional research at GSI, but applied differently. The transformation is a side effect of the quantum field manipulation."

It's not entirely false - the Ultimatrix is bound to my soul, having been made by my soul absorbing the blueprint through accidental means - but still made by my essence, making it, in a sense, my creation.

The technobabble is grounded enough in the work I've been doing to sound plausible. Gordon doesn't look entirely convinced, but he doesn't immediately dismiss it either.

"And you didn't think to inform anyone about this 'creation'?"

"I was still testing it, still understanding its capabilities and limitations," I explain. "And frankly, Commissioner, I wasn't sure who to trust with the information.

Technology like this could be dangerous in the wrong hands."

Gordon's expression hardens. "Like the Joker's."

"I never intended for him to know about it," I say firmly. "I was trying to keep the hostages safe while buying time for help to arrive.

When the device went critical, I had no choice but to use the transformation to contain the energy discharge."

He studies me for a long moment, then sighs deeply. "Here's the situation, Samael.

You're a sixteen-year-old emancipated minor who's just been involved in a confrontation with one of Gotham's most dangerous criminals.

You possess technology that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands. And now, the Joker knows about you and your abilities."

I nod, acknowledging the gravity of the situation.

"Standard procedure would be protective custody," Gordon continues. "But given the nature of your abilities, that presents its own challenges. However, there's another concern that I can't ignore."

"What's that?" I ask cautiously.

"Your living situation," Gordon says firmly. "Gotham has a track record with isolated individuals developing... problematic tendencies.

Particularly those with enhanced abilities or access to advanced technology.

The psychological toll of isolation, combined with the pressure of your research and now the trauma of last night's events - it's a recipe for disaster."

I straighten in my chair. "I'm perfectly fine on my own, Commissioner. I've been managing just fine."

"Until you were coerced by the Joker and ended up in a life-threatening situation," Gordon counters. "The fact is, you're a minor.

Emancipated or not, the events of last night have changed the equation. We can't allow you to continue living alone, not with the target that's now on your back."

My heart sinks as I realize where this is going. "You're revoking my emancipation?"

"Not exactly," Gordon says. "But we are instituting a guardianship requirement. You need supervision, Samael. Not just for the city's protection, but for your own."

"I don't need a babysitter," I protest, frustration building. "I handled the Joker, didn't I?"

"After being coerced and nearly causing a catastrophic event," Gordon points out. "This isn't negotiable. The only question is who takes on this responsibility."

I clench my jaw, fighting to control my anger. The idea of losing my autonomy, of being placed under someone else's authority, feels suffocating. "And who did you have in mind for this 'guardianship'?"

Gordon hesitates, then says, "Bruce Wayne has offered to take you in."

That stops me cold. "Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? Why would he-"

"He funds your internship through the Wayne Foundation," Gordon explains. "He was at GSI yesterday and witnessed part of what happened last night.

He's expressed concern about your welfare and believes he can provide both the security and resources you need."

My mind races. Bruce Wayne. Batman. Of course he'd want to keep me close, to monitor me directly.

But living under the same roof as Batman? That would mean constant surveillance, no privacy, no freedom to investigate on my own.

"I appreciate the offer," I say carefully, "but I prefer my independence. Surely there are other options."

"There are," Gordon acknowledges. "Foster care. A group home for gifted youth. Or another approved guardian if you have someone in mind.

But given your unique situation, Wayne Manor offers distinct advantages - security, privacy, and resources for your continued research."

"I don't want to be adopted by Bruce Wayne," I say firmly. "I don't need a new family."

Gordon's expression softens slightly. "It's not adoption, Samael. It's guardianship. Temporary, potentially, depending on how things develop.

Wayne has the means to protect you and the influence to ensure your research can continue. He's also expressed interest in your technology - thinks it could have beneficial applications if properly developed."

Of course he does. Batman wants to understand the Ultimatrix, to assess whether it's a threat or a potential asset. And what better way than to have its creator under his roof?

"I need time to think about this," I say, trying to buy myself space to maneuver.

"You have until tomorrow morning," Gordon replies, his tone making it clear this isn't really a request.

"Either you accept Wayne's guardianship offer, or we find alternative arrangements. But you will not be returning to living alone. That's final."

I clench my fists under the table, frustration building. Everything I've worked for - my independence, my freedom to investigate my situation - is being threatened. But arguing further would only make things worse.

I can't even just up and decide to escape for then the entire Justice League will be after me - and I have no interest in drawing Superman and the Flash to look the entire world over for me.

I could possibly escape the planet, but then I will be in the unknown - Ultimatrix or not, without the stronger aliens unlocked, there are threats even dangerous to me out there.

Damn this situation!

"Fine," I say tightly. "I'll consider it."

Gordon nods, seemingly satisfied with this concession. "Good. In the meantime, you'll be released into temporary protective custody.

Detective Montoya will escort you to your apartment to collect any essential items, then to a safe house for the night."

"Is that really necessary?" I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"The Joker may be in custody, but he has associates," Gordon says grimly. "And you've just become a person of significant interest to Gotham's criminal element. So yes, it's necessary."

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to accept the situation for now. Fighting it will only make things worse. "Understood, Commissioner."

Gordon stands, gathering the photographs back into the folder. "For what it's worth, I think you did a brave thing last night.

Foolish, perhaps, but brave. Let's make sure it doesn't cost you more than it already has."

After he leaves, I sit in silence, contemplating my options.

They're limited, to say the least. Accepting Bruce Wayne's guardianship means placing myself directly under Batman's supervision.

Refusing means potentially worse restrictions through foster care or a group home. Neither allows me the freedom I need.

Detective Montoya returns to escort me out. "Ready to go, kid? We'll stop by your place first."

The police station is busy even at this early hour, officers processing the night's arrests, civilians filing reports, the constant background noise of phones ringing and keyboards clicking.

As we pass through the main bullpen, I notice several officers watching me with barely concealed curiosity or suspicion.

News travels fast in the GCPD, it seems.

Outside, the morning sun struggles to penetrate Gotham's perpetual haze. I check my phone - 7:42 AM. I've been at the station all night.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at me, I know sleep will have to wait. I need to process what happened and prepare for whatever comes next.

Montoya drives me to my apartment building in silence. When we arrive, Mr. Finch is in the lobby, collecting his mail. He looks up as we enter, his expression shifting from greeting to concern when he notices Montoya's badge.

"Samael? Is everything alright?"

"Just a precautionary measure, sir," Montoya explains before I can answer. "Mr. Morningstar was involved in an incident last night. He's not in any trouble, but we're keeping an eye on him for his safety."

Mr. Finch looks at me with concern. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Finch," I assure him, though the words feel hollow even to me. "Just need to pick up some things. I'll be staying elsewhere for a while."

His expression falls slightly. "I see. Well, if you need anything..."

"Thank you," I say, genuinely appreciating his concern.

Upstairs, I quickly pack a bag with essential clothing, toiletries, and my journal. Montoya watches from the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"How long have you been living alone?" she asks suddenly.

"Since my mother died last year," I reply, sticking to my cover story.

She nods, a hint of sympathy crossing her face. "It's tough, being on your own at your age. Even tougher in Gotham."

I don't respond, focusing on packing instead. The last thing I need is pity.

"Wayne's not a bad option, you know," she continues. "He's got resources, connections. Could open doors for you."

"I don't need doors opened," I say curtly. "I was doing fine on my own."

"Until the Joker took an interest in you," she points out. "That changes things, kid. Once you're on his radar, you stay there. Having protection isn't weakness - it's survival in this city."

I zip up my bag with more force than necessary. "I'm ready."

The safe house turns out to be a nondescript apartment in a building owned by the GCPD, used for witnesses and others needing temporary protection.

It's sparse but functional - a bedroom, bathroom, small kitchen, and living area with basic furniture. Two uniformed officers are stationed outside the door.

"Make yourself at home," Montoya says. "There's food in the fridge. The TV works. Someone will check on you later."

"Am I a prisoner?" I ask bluntly.

She gives me a level look. "No. You're a kid who needs protection. There's a difference." She hands me a card with her number on it.

"Call if you need anything. Gordon will be in touch about your living arrangements."

After she leaves, I explore the apartment, checking for surveillance devices.

I find two - a camera in the living room disguised as a smoke detector and a microphone in the light fixture.

Standard precautions for a safe house, but irritating nonetheless.

I collapse onto the couch, exhaustion finally catching up to me. The events of the past twenty-four hours have fundamentally altered my position in this world.

Batman and the GCPD know to a incredibly limited extent about my abilities.

Yet they still know about them.

The Joker too, though he's securely locked in Arkham for now. And now I'm facing the prospect of living under Batman's roof, subject to his constant scrutiny.

Sleep tugs at me, but my mind refuses to quiet, replaying the confrontation with the Joker, the revelation of my abilities, the interrogation at the police station, Gordon's ultimatum about my living situation.

Just as my eyes begin to close, a shadow detaches itself from the corner of the room. I bolt upright, instantly alert, as Batman steps into the dim light filtering through the blinds.

"We need to talk," he says, his voice a low growl.

I manage not to show my surprise at his sudden appearance. "Most people knock."

"I'm not most people." He remains standing, his cape draped around him like living shadow. "Gordon told you about Wayne's offer."

"Yes," I reply, not bothering to pretend I don't know Bruce Wayne and Batman are the same person. "I'm not interested in being your ward."

His eyes narrow behind the cowl. "This isn't about what you want. It's about what's necessary."

"Necessary for whom?" I challenge. "For me? Or for you to keep me under surveillance?"

"Both," he says bluntly. "You're a sixteen-year-old with technology that could destabilize reality itself. Technology you claim to have created."

"I did create it," I insist.

"Then you need guidance," Batman states. "Power like that comes with responsibility. Without proper direction, it can lead down dangerous paths."

"And you think you're the one to provide that guidance?" I ask skeptically.

"I've spent years developing and controlling advanced technology. I understand the risks and ethical considerations better than most."

He steps closer, his imposing presence filling the small apartment. "But more importantly, I can protect you from those who would exploit your abilities."

"I can protect myself," I argue.

"Last night proves otherwise," he counters. "The Joker manipulated you, nearly caused a catastrophe that you barely contained. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

I clench my jaw.

There were so many different things I could have done if he simply wasn't in the way then - but I won't tell him that, I have no interest in revealing my cards.

"I don't need a guardian. I need autonomy to continue my research."

"You'll have that," Batman says. "Wayne Manor has facilities that would make GSI look primitive. You can continue your work there, with resources few others could provide."

"And constant supervision," I add bitterly.

"Initially, yes," he acknowledges. "Trust is earned, Samael. Prove yourself responsible, and the restrictions will ease over time."

I stand, facing him directly. "And if I refuse? If I choose foster care or a group home instead?"

"Then you'll face far more restrictions with far fewer resources," Batman says simply. "And I'll still be watching you, just from a distance."

The reality of my situation sinks in. I'm trapped - either way, I'll be under surveillance.

At least with Wayne, I might have access to technology and information that could help me understand more - and have more influence down the line for my future plans.

"I want conditions," I say finally. "Guarantees about my research, my privacy, my autonomy."

Not that I'll believe them, I have Graymatter for that - but it would be weird to not demand anything.

"Name them," Batman replies, surprising me slightly.

"I continue working at GSI. I maintain access to my current research. I have private space at the manor where I can work without constant monitoring.

And I want a clear timeline for when this 'guardianship' ends."

Batman considers this for a moment. "Your work at GSI continues. You'll have a lab at the manor with equipment beyond what GSI can provide.

Privacy will be respected within reasonable safety parameters. As for duration - that depends on how the situation develops. Minimum a year, with reassessment afterward."

It's not ideal, but it's better than I expected. "And the Ultimatrix remains mine. You don't study it without my permission or involvement."

"Agreed, with one caveat - any modifications or new applications must be discussed beforehand. No surprises."

I nod slowly. "Fine. I'll accept Wayne's guardianship. But I'm not calling you 'dad.'"

The corner of Batman's mouth twitches in what might almost be amusement. "Wouldn't expect you to. Alfred will pick you up tomorrow morning. Be ready by eight."

With that, he's gone, melting into the darkness beyond my window as if he were never there.

I exhale slowly, the tension of the encounter draining away. I've just agreed to live with Batman.

The idea is simultaneously terrifying and fascinating. On one hand, I'll be under constant scrutiny from the world's greatest detective.

On the other, I'll have unprecedented access to resources, technology, and potentially information that could help me understand why I'm here.

Exhaustion crashes over me in a wave. I barely make it to the bed before sleep claims me, pulling me into a deep, dreamless dark.

When I wake, the digital clock reads 4:17 PM. I've slept most of the day away, yet still feel the lingering effects of the night's events.

My body aches from the energy absorption, and my mind feels sluggish from the stress and interrogation.

A shower helps restore some clarity, the hot water washing away the physical remnants of the confrontation.

As I dress, I check my phone and find several missed calls and messages from Dr. Chen, wondering why I didn't come to work today.

I send a brief reply explaining that I was feeling unwell but will be in tomorrow. It's not entirely a lie - I do feel drained, though not from any conventional illness.

I also mention that my living situation is changing, though I don't specify how or why.

With the immediate crisis of the Joker behind me and my new living arrangements decided, I can focus on adapting to this dramatic shift in circumstances.

I'll need to navigate my relationship with Batman carefully, maintaining enough independence to pursue my own investigation while satisfying his need for oversight.

I prepare a simple meal from the supplies in the safe house kitchen and settle at the small desk, opening the journal where I've been documenting my experiences.

As I begin to record the events of the past twenty-four hours, I carefully analyze my position.

Batman knows about the Ultimatrix but believes it's my creation. The GCPD is watching me but has accepted the cover story about experimental technology.

The Joker knows what I can do but not why or how. My position at GSI remains secure, providing continued access to research that might help me understand my situation.

All things considered, it could be worse.

I've maintained essential secrecy about my true origins while establishing a tentative arrangement with Batman that provides protection without complete loss of autonomy.

The restrictions on my independence are frustrating but potentially manageable.

The immediate challenge will be adapting to life at Wayne Manor while continuing my investigation into why I'm here.

I'll need to be careful about what I reveal and when, strategic in how I use the resources available to me, and vigilant against threats like the Joker who might take a renewed interest in me once he inevitably escapes Arkham.

The game has changed dramatically, but it's far from over. In fact, it's only just beginning.

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(Author note: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Yeah, I couldn't see Samael getting out of this without consequences.

Yet, I hope I expressed the logic of the situation and the logic behind Samael's decisions.

Do please tell me how you found it and I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)