Bruce had never been a fan of aliens. They were an unknown. An unpredictable threat. He saw his friendship with the Kryptonian Kal-El as an exception to these rules, and the only one that he was willing to accept. So, when an alien vessel crashes in...
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Gotham was beginning to illuminate against the night. Electric lights sizzled and jagged in the main thoroughfares, gas-lamps in the side streets glimmered a canary gold or green. The sky was a crimson battlefield of spring, smoke mitigating the splendour, and the clouds down Kane Street were a delicately painted ceiling, which adorned while it did not distract.
Rahn flew through the sleepy city, a bizarre silhouette against an otherwise normal night. Once she turned into Mountain Drive, and Wayne Manor was in view, she vanished like a fabled phantom. Within seconds she was reappeared inside of the Batcave, and was not surprised to see Bruce exactly where she had left him; slouching in front of the wall of monitors.
"Did you get the costume?" Bruce asked without even bothering to look at her.
Rahn let her gaze lift to the screens. There were two switched to muted news channels covering a recent break-out at Arkham Asylum. The others will filled with schematics of the prison, a document detailing large sums of money donated to Arkham by Bruce Wayne, and dozens of crime photos. "The Small Bird convinced me that he is in more dire need of it than you are."
This time Bruce finally turned around. He said nothing to her but his glare was enough to convey that he was annoyed by this response.
"He will not cease his crime-fighting activities, even if I took his suit, so there was no point," Rahn elaborated. "Since it offers protection against your primitive human weapons, perhaps it would be safer for him if he kept it."
Bruce huffed and directed his attention back to the monitors, "I should have gone there myself."
Rahn shrugged off his anger and stared back at the crime photos. There was one in particular that caught her eye. It looked like one of those rainforests she had read about; all green chords and floral arrangements. The only difference was that there were two dead bodies this image.
One of the corpses had a tree growing out of its stomach, insects crawling around inside the opened abdomen, and flowers in his eye sockets. The other was naked, and his skin was decorated with a blotchy red rash; like he had bathed in Poison Oak. It was clear by the red and blue tinge of his face that he had been strangled. If that wasn't enough, though, there was a vine still wrapped so tightly around his neck that it had almost decapitated him.
She realised at this moment that Bruce was observing the same picture, his brow furrowed in concentration as Rahn spoke, "That is a very elaborate display of death, whoever did this must find more pleasure in the aesthetic of a murder than the act itself."
"Mhm," Bruce murmured, clearly much too lost in thought to give a proper response. He closed that particular image of the crime scene, typed something into his document folders, then enlarged another photo. This one was of a woman with a strange green hue to her skin and hair a deep crimson.
"What manner of creature is this?" Rahn asked curiously.
