This DCverse is Maddening

"You land-loving maggots are soft! Look at you! Even the way you two stand is disgraceful! Are you trying to stand or pose?! This ain't no fashion show! Just by looking at you two, I can easily see where to knock you ants over! But by the time I get done with you, you'll be at least cease to be a bigger embarrassment than you already are!"

"...You're having too much fun with this."

The rather husky voice said with a consistent droll as though that little bit of speech would soon be followed by a yawn. Albert, with his back ramrod straight, side-eyed his colleague in this mess they both got dragged into. A rather striking woman with a thick mass of red hair tied up in a loose ponytail stood in a rather relaxed manner, her arms crossed as she fought the urge to roll her green eyes. That iconic forest green skin looked to be a few shades paler than when they first met all those months ago.

Pamela Isley, or better known as Poison Ivy, was nothing like the common depictions shown in the comic books. She wasn't some seductress that just oozed sexual energy nor she even seem like a megalomaniac hellbent on the human race being wiped off the face of the Earth. In his own words, the poison mistress seemed more like a lazy cat than anything else. In the few times he's been to their apartment, it wasn't a strange sight to see her just taking a nap with rays of sunlight streaming through an open window.

In simplest words, it was a rather odd-sight to see her up and about. Especially wearing what looked to be exercise clothes; a baggy blue t-shirt that drooped over her black leggings.

"I know!" Their instructor, an all too eager blonde, grinned widely as she stood before them both wearing bright basketball shorts with that same baggy university sweater over top a pitch black muscle shirt. Her own hair forced into a tight bun. "I mean! Who told you to speak out of line maggot? Drop and give me twenty!"

"No."

"...Fifteen?"

"No."

"Fine!" Turning her false wrath his way, he just knew what happened next wouldn't be pleasant. "Albert, what are you smiling at?! Drop and give me ten!"

'I wasn't even smiling…' But nonetheless, Albert did drop to the cold concrete ground and begin to slowly force his way through a set of push-ups. At least he tried to anyway as just after completing a few, a burning feeling ran up his arms and back. Face flushed in both embarrassment and exertion, he forced himself to finish the last couple. By the time he stood back up to his feet, a fine sheen of sweat dripped down his forehead and it took all his self control not to just wipe it away.

"See?!" Harley jabbed her thumb his way as though to prove a point. "That's how you do it! I'm the boss here, say! You're in MY dojo!"

Her 'dojo' as she called it, was just some abandoned warehouse she frequented and turned into a makeshift gym for all her needs. All around there were old looking workout equipment that seem like they would've found a better how in a museum...or a scrapyard if he was being honest. But despite that, they seem to still be capable of fulfilling their jobs. Especially if only the blonde's rather impressive biceps were considered.

There were a few dumbbells, these large flat weights neatly set off to one side, another set of barbells each looking covered in some sort of white powder and finally, of course a large red mat in the middle of the room.

"Sure, 'boss'."

"Good!" It didn't matter if everyone could hear the sarcasm practically dripping from the red head's lips, the blonde probably knew when to take her victories and now was certainly that time. "With you two all properly stretched out.."

With the grin across her pale face, he knew that phrasing was intentional.

"I'll begin my lesson! First, what is the most important thing in combat? Specifically, melee combat."

"Taking a hit?" Now, Albert didn't know a lot about martial arts that didn't come from those old movies. And a lot of those people usually wound up pretty banged up near the end of most of their fights. So maybe she would be teaching them how to take a punch and keep on going?

'I sure hope not…' He didn't think his HP would be enough to withstand either of these people's strikes, especially not Ivy's.

"Eh!" Harley mimicked a buzzer and shook her head with disappointment evident on her face. "Wrong! While it is important to learn how to take a hit, you're both WAY to inexperience where I would trust either of you to learn! I'm gonna take you both to the basics!"

"I'm gonna be teaching you how to avoid taking hits in the first place!" With that, the blonde held up a single hand with a wider grin that threatened to split her face. "There's three primary components to the art of dodging; reflexes, foot work and muscle memory. We'll start with your reaction speed! Now, just stand there and trying to either catch or dodge these beanbags!"

"Uh…" He decided to pipe up with a concern," I don't think this-"

"Think fast!"

He in fact, did not think fast. The human mind usually had a slight delay measuring around one-hundred and twenty milliseconds when trying to react or respond to any form of outside stimuli, usually more than enough time to subconscious catch a ball hurtling around forty to sixty miles per hour. But none of those facts help him then. Not even her 'helpful' warning was enough to even give a chance for his body to tense up for the blow.

Barely even a blur registered in his mind as a sudden force nearly send him spinning like some sort of top or dreidel.

"Hey!" Albert whined, hating how alike he sounded to the crazy blonde in that moment. Tt seems she was contagious after all. "I wasn't ready!"

"Oops! My bad!" The grin across their teacher's face threw any attempts of sincerity in the trash. "Here, I'll give you a count down! That sound good?"

"She's not going to sti-"

"Zero!"

Just as Ivy was prepared to spit out some rather wise advice, she too was interrupted by a palm sized bean bag bouncing off her right shoulder. But judging from the glare that was now leveled at the blonde, it had not done anywhere enough damage to do anything besides annoy her. Despite the fact he could hear the clear sound of impact that would've most assuredly had him on the ground seeing stars and wheezing.

It showed the blonde had some degree of control, something future Albert would greatly appreciate.

"C'mon Red!" Harley whined at her friend's milk curdling glare, even going as far to throw up puppy dog eyes in hopes to assuage the woman's ire. "I have to throw that hard with you! And that didn't even hurt you! You're WAY tougher than him! He'll topple right over if I did throw that at him!"

"…Please don't use that much force wh-" Albert's heartfelt plea was too mercilessly cut off.

"Ten!"

Like a flashing bolt, a yellow blur came hurtling his way and without any second thoughts, he dropped down into a small ball with arms wrapped above him. It took the heavy sound of a beam bag slapping against the surface of concrete for him to release he had closed his eyes tight and by then, the bright red beanbag falling his way was already much too close.

"Twenty four! That's what you get for cheating! One hundred-two!" She huffed, chucking a surprise fast ball Ivy's way. "I don't wanna see any more of that girly dodging around here! Otherwise next time, I won't be so merciful to throw underhand!"

***********************************************************************************

Darkness surrounded him from all sides, sweat soaking through his training gi. Chest rising and falling in a control pattern as years of breathing exercises, etched into the deep crevices of his consciousness, made themselves known. He stood slightly crouched, soles slightly lifted off the ground and toes supporting the entirety of his body weight.

With his sight compromised, he took in everything else. Smelled the awful combined stench of old body odor, tasted the slight salty tinge to his sweat and even heard the slight whirling gears. A distraction he knew, a misdirection to the real threat in the room. The whooshing of wind coming in from his left, he knew, was his sign to dodge out of the way.

So clenching screaming muscles, he dug his toes in deep and leapt up high into the air. Curling like some sort of carp ready to transcend the heavenly gates, he could feel the small tuneless of wind left behind as more objects flew past him from a multitude of angles. Tightening his core, another large swoop of wind barely grazed his slick skin. Snapping an arm out, he clutched at the cushioned arm passing by and use it's momentum to yank himself out of the way of more soft clicking sound.

Falling into a gentle crouch, muscles already weaning thin nearly collapsed entirely at this but with all his remaining willpower, the teen slid to the side one last time just as another loud thump shook the sweat stained ground. He could feel a sens of relief run through him like a trickling stream, hours of effort. Equal parts pain, sweat and tears were forced into this exercise his mentor force him into.

And now, it was finally over.

"Can I take this blindfold off now?"

He asked hopefully, fingers already fiddling with the much too tight knot. Today had truly been a long day, no one liked being woken up at three in the morning for training and the teen was no different. No matter how much discipline was forced down his throat.

"No."

He froze at that simple word which held the force of a hammer against his shattered dreams. A hot spool of anger roiled up to the surface, dropping fuel in that growing fire. None of this was fair, why in the world was he punished like this? Nothing came to mind as to why his mentor was being extra harsh now of all times.

"Why?!" The teen snapped back, fist shaking as he clenched them hard enough to cause them to pop. "You said I would be done once I dodged everything without taking a hi-"

A heavy force slammed into him, knocking the air right out of him with a few bits of saliva. The blow was too sudden and too strong to do anything but fly a few feet away. For the first time that day, his feet leaving the ground no longer filled him with that feeling of freedom only his namesake truly had.

This was a different feeling entirely, none of the control he so often took for granted. Instead it was an uncontrolled crash, an unstoppable object meeting fragile flesh. He landed on his shoulder first, all to thankful at the flash of hot fire that didn't appear on this recent tumble. Muscle memory beyond the point of conscious effort tried in futility to infuse some form of control but the way his lungs constricted with great effort, it amounted to naught. On he spun, limbs tangling in each-other and hips slapping against the ground until eventually skidding to a stop.

Mind spinning, years of discipline forced him back on wobbly feet. Lungs working like bellows, he tried to gulp down as much air as possible. Forgoing any technique and just gasping like any-other normal human.

"T-that…" He panted, wincing slightly as his fingers grazed across his stinging chest. "Was dirty and you know it."

"You should always expect the unexpected." His mentor's deep voice had hints of humor in them as soft, relaxed footsteps patted against the nearby mats. Something they both knew he did for the teens' benefit. "You let your guard down much too soon."

"What did you hit me with?"

"You're allowed to look."

He didn't need to be told twice and with nimble fingers, the world was revealed to him entirely. The large room lacked any finery or decorations. No posters, no photos, no trophies or really anything that made it seem like it had been used for years. That ugly bright green mat was the only thing that gave the chamber a sense of life. Everything else there was strictly for function above all else. A rather weird machine spun three arms in alternating positions, it's audible whirling sound now becoming nothing more than a mere whisper on the breeze. Another contraption off to the side with a series of random seeming holes across it's surface shunted out small projectiles in an erratic pattern. And finally, a single machine that looked the most medieval out of everything present was just a padded ax of some sort attached to a simple rotating box.

Seeing everything like this made all the struggle he endured seem a lot less impressive. Hell, even looking down at his sore body, the amount of bruises he was sure would be there wasn't. Leaving nothing but unblemished skin treated with product expensive enough to bankrupt most smaller businesses.

But what really shook him, what really caused that stupid grin to flitter across his mentor's face, was the single object that had knocked him completely out of place.

"Why do you have that?!"

There lying innocently, as though it hadn't hit him with enough force to send stars in his eyes, was large doll. But not just any doll, this one was above six feet tall with broad shoulders and a jaw chiseled enough to chip away at stone. It had that iconic confident but compassionate grin spread across it's traditionally handsome face, slick hair that looked like it made of solid ink and finally a pair of piercing blue eyes that even Barbara seem affected by sometimes. If the face wasn't enough to realize who this mannequin was modeled after, the iconic red and blue suit with that bright crimson 's' spread across it's chest was.

"I recently bought up the likeness of all Justice League members." Bruce, shrugged his equally broad shoulders. As though that statement wasn't ridiculous to hear, like really how could he essentially 'own' his friends? "The allotted budget I've set aside as shown to be inadequate to support the League's need. Selling merchandise seems like the best idea to not only control what companies can use their likeness for but also benefit from the popularity each of them has."

"But still!" Dick was still slightly gobsmacked as he looked at the doll still in the pose lying face down on the ground. All of this was much too weird for his liking. "Don't you think this is going too far? Whose next? Wonder Woman?"

Despite how he sounded, there was still a twinge of desire that whirled up inside him as he imagined a life sized doll of the Amazoness. Blame it on his hormones.

"No." The burning blue eyes sent his way told him exactly how transparent those desires were. "Flash is. But first we plan to test the waters with this Superman doll and see how it goes."

"Aren't you worried about people being capable of find out their secret identity from the body shape alone?"

"The proportions are slightly off. Either shifted up or down to suit our needs."

It seems his mentor had an answer for everything, like always. Just so coolly batting asides each of his concerns, a skill he oh so desperately wanted.

"But none of that explains why you used it here!" And just like that, that simmering ball of anger shot up back to the surface. A mixture of youthful hot headiness and exasperation at the levels of shamelessness on display. "I would've been done if you hadn't pulled out that little trick!"

"Little trick?" And just like that, the smile on the man's face slipped away. That jovial look in those eyes vanished with the sound clinking armor. "Did you forget those 'tricks' are exactly how we survive in this world? This isn't a punishment."

"Sure feels like it…" Dick kicked at an imaginary pebble at his feet, gaze cast down from those burning eyes. He hated how small they made him feel, how it was like the walls were closing in from all sides. The man's presence was just too much in times like these.

"You were shot." He said simply, a statement proven by the deep purple bruising that sprawled across the teen's chest. Just hearing that fact made him visibly flinch and resist the urge to poke at the healing injury.

"I get shot all the time thought, it's kinda in the job description."

"You get shot 'at'. You haven't had an injury like since your earlier years."

"I wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had that armor! With that in mind, why the hell am I running around in bullet proof spandex when you had those armors just lying around collecting dust?! Didn't you see how much easier it was for us? We could lift more, jump higher, run faster and even become invulnerable to bullets!"

"Those armors were a crutch." Bruce voice was as steady as it was somber, a tone he knew all too well. A lecture was incoming, whether it was desired or not. "As is all forms of 'invulnerability'. What do you think happens when you believe nothing can hurt you? You become lazy, stagnant, sloppy and blasé about the world. Like you had this week. That crook wasn't some expert marksman, barely above the ability to point and shoot. There were so many ways you could've handled that, but instead you just stood your ground and took it. Took a bullet straight to the chest for no other reason than arrogance."

The teen was silent at his mentor's admonitions, there wasn't a lot he could say here. Everything was true. In the moment, he could remember looking down at the thug's gun with a smug grim itching to spread across his face. The man had been nervous and more scared of actually pulling the trigger on a kid of all people, practically screaming a multitude of openings that would allow for a quick take-down without either party being too badly injured. But instead of all the options flittering through his head, he had only stood there and waited as the man's resolved hardened enough to actually fire.

Color him surprise when instead of the satisfying force lightly pushing him back a step along with that loud accordance of metal bouncing ineffectually of a slick metal covering, he only found himself lying flat on the rough alley ground wheezing for wildly for air with the slight taste of copper on his tongue.

"They were only made in the way they were to increase the margin of error that the situation required, nothing more." Suddenly, the man's lecture petered off to silence as he looked off into something invisible. His jaw visibly clenching as he continued," That and, the suits were flawed."

"Flawed? How?"

The amount of times Batman of all people actually admitted to making a mistake is few and far between. Like sleeping with a notorious cat burglar no matter how many times she inevitably acted exactly like an outside feline and left him scratched. Or leaving the Joker to plot in his cell… All mistakes on his part but actually hearing him to admit to his execution was flawed. If Dick didn't think it would break the moment, he would actually want to record the man saying as such.

"Batcomputer, pass-code Nine-One-Nine-Three-Nine." On the surface of a nearby wall, an unseen panel slid out of the way revealing a screen that alighted with a single bat symbol glowing ominously.

"Welcome Master Bruce, BATCOM Version eight point three dash two-two-one online."

The voice that came out of the wall was synthetic but all encompassing as it seem to from their very feet instead as it rumbled through the cushioned mat. After such a display maybe anyone else would've been struck by some mixture of awe and apprehension but after so many years of being shocked or awed, he had long since grown numb to such showings. From what he knew, the artificial intelligence in the Batcomputer itself should be connected to almost every room in the mansion.

"Pull up Codename: 'LUCKY SHOT'"

"Affirmative."

And with that, a single file popped up. Showing a rotating image of a heavily muscled man covered in what seem like scales from head to toe, his face at rest as yet another image slid right up next to it. Both of them were familiar to him.

"I modeled the material that those suits after Waylon Jones own skin, taking many samples over the years I found it was capable of repelling most commonly procured firearms. This way before his recent...mutation."

Dick had to resist the urge to shiver in disgust as yet another image slid next to the duo, easily towering over both of them with it's strangely proportion body. It was tall with long thin arms, a torso much to long and legs that didn't look strong enough to support such a massive body. Those dark green scales looked jagged and uneven, as though some uncaring god just slapped them on there with most of them overlapping each-other crudely.

"This most recent version of Waylon Jones has shown evidence of that resistance growing to unprecedented levels, now only specialized firearms designed to break through high levels of defense will be capable of breaking through his skin. Not to the levels of tanks, yet, but still enough that combined with his increased strength, no one in this should've been capable of taking him down."

He remembered that night vividly, it was the night where Bruce had called off the nightly patrol and told them both to rest. Something both teens needed above all else but the call Barbara received threw any plans of that happening out the window. After a mad scramble to the other side of town, they had suited up in their full armor with grim expressions, expecting the worse. Growing grimmer as they passed by the absolute carnage. Only to get there and seem...that thing knocked unconscious on the street.

"But someone did and judging from the flood of specially tailored variant of a Valerian, Pamela Isly at least played a major role. And when she's around…"

"Harley Quinn isn't too far behind.." It was a leading question Dick knew his mentor wanted him to figure out and it was true, the pair were known as good enough friends to live together so it wasn't strange to see them when the other appears. Honestly, he liked this version of the blonde. At least she wasn't out causing trouble. Again.

"Not only that," Bruce continued with a nod, "There were also signs of two other people present. One wielding a sort of decommissioned military shotgun and the other, a 9mm revolver. By looking through the records, a veteran by the name of Darnell Francis was present that night. And finally due to the call Barbara received, we know for certain Nelson was also there. That and the puddles of vomit he left behind, which showed heavy levels of caffeine."

"But you just said it'll take a higher caliber gun to breakthrough Killer Croc's defenses." The teen argued, that moniker on the news already becoming much too catchy. "There must've been someone else there. Maybe a sniper on the roof?"

"Yes, Waylon's Jones's," He emphasized the monster's name with a hard expression," Skin would require something stronger than anything present in the city. But no, there was no sniper. A single 9mm bullet was found, having broke through a thinner scale."

"..It would've blown right through my armor…" The unasked question was there, a common tactic Bruce used to force him to think ahead. And it was true, without a doubt. If their armor was truly based off Waylon's skin then that single shot would've rendered it all for naught. The point was made but it didn't seem like the man was done with his speech.

"Worse." His voice was grim, a somber tone filling the room as he painted an image of gore with his next words. "There would be a large chunk of your side missing."

"….I thought you said he wasn't a Meta. That sounds like the opposite."

"He's not one." He grimaced, jaw flexing visibly. "I checked again."

"Then..what is he?" Do you think he's some sort of trained assassin? Maybe apart of th-"

"Not them. He's too sloppy to be one of their ilk." Dick couldn't help but agree. His thought was more fantasy than anything else. "That doesn't matter for now, I got my answers from Zatara as to what Nelson is. If you want to find out, investigate yourself. What I'm saying is this, there will be times where you can't rely on external means to stay alive. When all these gadgets and gizmos will fail you when you need them most, you'll only have the training and instincts to take yourself through. Do you understand."

Despite that last bit seeming like a question, Dick could tell it was simply a statement. Again a common tactic the man loved to use, a tool to force one to truly think back on the conversation. To digest the lesson enough to be able to apply it to reality. No matter how much it hurt to admit, Bruce was right on all accounts. After all, didn't his parents rely to heavily on their tools of the trade? Didn't they put too much trust in that wire to keep them safe? And look at where they are now.

Six feet under in the ground.

Just that simple thought caused a spike of pain in his heart, a pain so sharp it couldn't be anything physical. With an effort of will and seething annoyance, that particular emotion was forced far down until it could only useless claw at the walls of his mind. Joining the others as they struggled to escape their cage.

"Why can't you just tell me?" He latched onto a particular comment his mentor left behind, annoyance churning deep inside at man's antics. "Even you admit that you were told by Zatara!"

"My information network is not your information network." Bruce shrugged his broad shoulders, looking completely uncaring of the boy's plight. "That's the benefit of leaving the mansion every once and awhile."

"…." The boy squinted his eyes at the literal cave dweller, the hypocrisy so great that he was kinda expecting some sort of divine retribution to be enacted on him. But no matter how long he looked, not even thunder rumbled in the distance. "Did Alfred put you up to this?"

"Going out to explore the city as just another face in the crowd would do you some good." Bruce expertly slid past the question, dodging similarly to when he fought some of his most dangerous of foes. "Talk to people, explore the city and experience what it's like for the average citizen to live here…. The world is a lot bigger than this mansion. I noticed you've received an invitation to one of your classmates party, maybe yo-"

"I'll explore the city!" Being the adoptive son of the 'illustrious' Bruce Wayne wasn't all what it was cracked up to be, something he wished other people understood. Especially with the stringent diet, harsh training and of course fighting literal super villains with a moral handy cap. But despite all that, the amount of times he had been accosted by people who saw him as nothing more than a charity case or a path to further their own family, was staggering. That and, it was like they could all tell he didn't truly belong in their world. Sure they smiled to his face, but when his back is turned he could feel their gazes of disdain for the mere fact of him being a 'Carni'. Hell, in his entire schooling career, he could accurately state that his only friend in Gotham was Barbara and that relationship was already complicated as is. So just the idea of dressing up in some much too stiff suit and forced to bear those masks of future socialites was enough to force a shiver to run down his spine.

"Do as you wish." The small upturn of his lips told Dick all he needed to know. He'd been had. And so expertly so. "We'll go again, you know the drill. Blindfold on and start doing pull ups until I say stop."

Barely biting back a groan, he slipped the small strip of cloth over his eyes enter back into the void, already feeling his recovering muscles to spasm at the upcoming exertion. Sometimes, being Robin sucked.