Adrian woke to the sound of Alfred humming.
He opened his eyes slowly, finding himself in an actual bedroom this time—not a bunker, not a medical bay, but a proper guest room in Wayne Manor. Sunlight streamed through heavy curtains, and the smell of fresh coffee drifted through the door.
"Good morning, Master Cross," Alfred said, setting a breakfast tray on the bedside table. "You slept for fourteen hours. Master Wayne deemed it best not to disturb you, given the exertion of last night's activities."
Adrian sat up, surprised to find he felt completely restored. No soreness from the Talon fight, no lingering exhaustion from the power surge. His body had healed while he slept, adapting even in rest.
"Fourteen hours?" He checked the clock—2 PM. "Bruce must think I'm lazy."
"On the contrary, Master Wayne is quite pleased with your performance. He's been reviewing footage all morning and compiling a training regimen." Alfred poured coffee with practiced precision. "Though I suspect 'pleased' manifests as 'slightly less disapproving' in his case."
Adrian laughed, accepting the coffee gratefully. "How long have you been taking care of him?"
"Since he was eight years old." Alfred's expression softened. "I've watched him transform from a traumatized boy into the man he is today. It's been... enlightening."
"He's lucky to have you."
"I like to think we're lucky to have each other." Alfred moved toward the door. "Breakfast is served. Come down when you're ready. Master Wayne wishes to discuss your progress, and I believe Miss Gordon will be joining us."
Adrian's heart skipped unexpectedly. "Oracle? She's coming here?"
"Indeed. She rarely leaves her clock tower, but Master Wayne convinced her that meeting you in person would be beneficial for team cohesion." Alfred's eyes twinkled with amusement. "She's quite eager to meet you, actually. Something about 'confirming behavioral patterns' and 'establishing baseline metrics.' Though between you and me, I suspect simple curiosity is the primary motivator."
After Alfred left, Adrian stood and examined himself in the mirror. The white streak in his hair had become more pronounced, and his silver eyes seemed to reflect light in ways normal eyes didn't. He looked like himself, but also like someone else—someone who'd been touched by forces beyond human comprehension.
What am I becoming? he wondered, not for the first time.
The Source Wall fragment pulsed in response, a warm presence in his chest that felt almost alive. Not hostile, not controlling, but aware. Like a passenger who occasionally offered suggestions but let Adrian drive.
He dressed in clothes Alfred had provided—dark jeans, a gray henley, boots—and headed downstairs.
Wayne Manor's dining room was absurdly elegant. Crystal chandelier, mahogany table that could seat twenty, and enough silverware to confuse a normal person. Bruce sat at the head of the table, reading something on a tablet. Dick Grayson occupied a chair nearby, spinning a fork like a drumstick.
And in a specialized wheelchair at the far end sat a woman with red hair, green eyes, and the most intense gaze Adrian had ever encountered.
Barbara Gordon.
She looked younger than he'd expected—maybe twenty-five, with sharp features softened by a genuine smile. Her fingers rested on a tablet in her lap, and Adrian noticed the calluses that came from constant typing. She wore a simple purple sweater and jeans, but somehow managed to look both approachable and intimidating.
"Adrian Cross," she said, her voice matching the one he'd heard through comms. "Finally. A face to go with the cellular scans and behavioral profiles."
"Oracle," Adrian replied, moving to shake her hand. "Thanks for, you know, keeping me alive last night."
Her handshake was firm, confident. "You made it easy. Following instructions, adapting quickly, not doing anything stupidly heroic. Well, mostly not stupidly heroic."
"The bar is low in this family," Dick interjected cheerfully. "Welcome to the 'survivors of Batman's training' club. Membership fee is paid in bruises and existential dread."
"Sit," Bruce commanded, gesturing to a chair. "We need to discuss your development."
Adrian sat, suddenly aware of three very different gazes assessing him. Bruce's was analytical, measuring. Dick's was friendly but watchful. Barbara's was... complex. Curious, calculating, and something else he couldn't quite identify.
Alfred appeared with more food—enough to feed a small army. "I took the liberty of preparing a high-protein meal. Your cellular regeneration requires significant caloric intake."
"How did you know that?" Adrian asked.
"I've been monitoring your metabolic rate," Barbara said, pulling up data on her tablet. "Your body burns calories at approximately three times normal human rate when healing or adapting. After last night's fight, you should be ravenous."
As if on cue, Adrian's stomach growled loudly. Dick burst out laughing.
"Eat," Bruce said. "Then we'll talk."
Adrian didn't need to be told twice. He'd forgotten what actual hunger felt like—the military had trained him to ignore physical needs—but now his body was demanding fuel. He ate methodically while the others discussed Gotham's current threat landscape.
"The Court pulled back after last night," Barbara was saying. "Twelve Talons hospitalized, one enhanced unit completely destroyed, and Dr. Chen's research deleted. They took significant losses."
"But they're not done," Bruce said. "The Court doesn't forgive embarrassment. They'll regroup and try again with different tactics."
"Which gives us time to train Adrian properly." Dick leaned back in his chair. "Speaking of which, when do I get to spar with the new guy? I want to see these adaptation powers firsthand."
"Tomorrow," Bruce said. "Today is assessment and theory. Adrian needs to understand the limits of his abilities before we push them further."
"Limits?" Adrian swallowed a bite of eggs. "I thought the whole point was that I don't have limits. Adaptive evolution, right?"
"Everything has limits," Barbara said, her tone gentle but firm. "Your body can adapt, yes, but adaptation requires time and energy. Overwhelm you too quickly, expose you to too many threats simultaneously, and the system breaks down. We need to map your capabilities systematically."
Bruce nodded. "Last night, you adapted to electrical attacks, kinetic impacts, and even copied combat skills from the Talons. But the enhanced Talon nearly killed you because you couldn't adapt fast enough to its superior strength. Then the Source Wall fragment surged, giving you power beyond normal adaptation."
"I felt that," Adrian admitted. "It was like... like something else took over. Something vast."
"That concerns me," Bruce said bluntly. "Power without control is dangerous. We need to ensure you can access that strength without losing yourself to it."
"Which is where I come in," Barbara said. She pulled up a holographic display from her tablet, showing a detailed map of Adrian's neural activity. "I've been analyzing your brain scans from last night. When the fragment surged, your neural patterns shifted—became less human and more... something else. Your consciousness was still there, but it was sharing space with whatever intelligence the fragment possesses."
Adrian stared at the display, seeing the silver pathways lighting up his brain like circuitry. "So there's something in my head? Some kind of entity?"
"Not exactly. The fragment isn't sentient in any conventional sense—it's more like a vast database of cosmic information. When you need it, your mind can access that database. But access too much too quickly, and you risk losing your sense of self in the data flood." Barbara met his eyes. "We need to teach you how to control the connection. How to take what you need without drowning in what the fragment offers."
"Is that even possible?"
"We're going to find out." Bruce stood. "Oracle will work with you on mental discipline and data filtering. Dick will help with combat adaptability. I'll handle tactical training and power stress-testing. Between the three of us, we'll prepare you for whatever comes next."
"And what comes next?" Adrian asked.
"That depends on you," Bruce said. "Right now, you're a man with extraordinary abilities learning to control them. Eventually, you'll need to decide what you want to do with those abilities. Vigilante work isn't for everyone, even people with powers."
Adrian thought about Dr. Chen, alive because he'd been there. About the Talons he'd stopped from hurting innocents. About the satisfaction he'd felt making his own choices instead of following orders.
"I want to help," he said quietly. "I spent my whole life being told where to fight and who to protect. For the first time, I get to choose. And I choose this."
Dick grinned. "One of us. One of us."
"Don't encourage him," Barbara said, but she was smiling. "Though I appreciate the sentiment. Just know that choosing this life means accepting everything that comes with it. The danger, the sacrifices, the weight of every life you can't save."
"I know." Adrian met her gaze. "I died once already. Coming back taught me that time is finite and regrets are heavy. I'd rather spend my second chance helping people than hiding from what I've become."
Silence settled over the table. Then Bruce nodded once—a gesture of acceptance.
"Good answer. We'll start this afternoon." He stood, gathering his tablet. "Alfred, prepare the training room. Dick, help Adrian with basic equipment familiarization. Oracle—"
"I'll work with him on neural discipline," Barbara finished. "Already planned. I've set up a training module in the study."
As Bruce and Dick left, Adrian found himself alone with Barbara. She wheeled closer, studying him with those sharp green eyes.
"Can I ask you something?" Adrian said.
"You just did. But go ahead."
"Why are you really here? Bruce said you rarely leave your tower."
Barbara's smile turned wry. "Because data only tells you so much. I can analyze your brain patterns, track your movements, predict your behavioral responses. But I can't understand who you are from a screen. And I wanted to understand you."
"Why?"
"Because you're different." She gestured at the house around them. "Everyone in this family came to vigilantism through trauma. Bruce lost his parents. Dick lost his family. I lost..." She paused, something painful crossing her expression. "I lost my mobility. We're all defined by what was taken from us. But you? You were given something. Power without the tragedy driving most heroes. That makes you fascinating."
Adrian considered that. "I did die. That's pretty traumatic."
"But you chose to come back. Chose to use your power for good. That choice matters." Barbara pulled up a new display. "Now, let's see if we can teach your brain to handle cosmic downloads without frying your consciousness. This should be fun."
The next three hours were decidedly not fun.
Barbara's training involved meditation, yes, but not the peaceful kind. She'd set up a neural feedback system that monitored Adrian's brain activity while he attempted to consciously access the Source Wall fragment.
"Feel the connection," Barbara instructed, watching her monitors. "Don't force it. Just acknowledge its presence."
Adrian closed his eyes, breathing steadily. The fragment was there, always there—a silver warmth in his chest that extended threads throughout his body. He reached for it mentally, trying to establish communication.
Hello?
No response. Just the constant hum of potential.
"Try being more specific," Barbara suggested. "The fragment responds to need, remember? So express a need. Ask for something concrete."
Adrian thought about the enhanced Talon, the overwhelming strength that had nearly killed him. Show me how to be stronger.
The fragment responded.
Information flooded Adrian's mind—cellular structures, muscle fiber optimization, bone density increases, metabolic efficiency improvements. Thousands of potential adaptations, each one a path toward greater strength. His consciousness threatened to drown in the data deluge.
"Adrian!" Barbara's voice was sharp. "Pull back. You're losing coherence."
Adrian gasped, severing the connection. His hands were shaking, and his vision swam with afterimages of genetic code.
"That was too much," he panted.
"But you accessed it. That's progress." Barbara made notes on her tablet. "The key is learning to take small sips instead of trying to drink the ocean. Again, but this time, set a limit. Ask for one specific adaptation, not general strength."
They tried again. And again. Each time, Adrian learned to narrow his requests, to control the flow of information. By the end of the session, he could access the fragment without losing himself, though maintaining the connection for more than a few seconds left him exhausted.
"Good work," Barbara said, saving her data. "Your neural plasticity is remarkable. Most people would need weeks to achieve what you just did in hours."
"Feels like someone used my brain as a punching bag," Adrian muttered.
"That's normal. You're literally rewiring your consciousness to interface with cosmic knowledge. Some discomfort is expected." She wheeled closer, her expression softening. "How are you holding up? Really?"
Adrian blinked at the sudden shift from instructor to... something else. "I'm okay. Overwhelmed, confused, grateful. All of it at once."
"That's honest. I appreciate that." Barbara hesitated, then: "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"When I first saw you on the security footage—fighting those Talons, protecting Dr. Chen—I was impressed by your abilities. But what really caught my attention was your face."
"My face?"
"You weren't smiling or enjoying the fight. You weren't angry or losing control. You just looked... focused. Determined. Like you were doing a job that needed doing, nothing more." Barbara's eyes held his. "Most new heroes either love the violence too much or hate it too much. You just accepted it. That tells me you've got the mindset to survive this life."
"I was a soldier," Adrian said quietly. "Violence was the job. I learned not to enjoy it or fear it—just to be good at it."
"Exactly. And that's why I think you'll be okay. As long as you remember—" She reached out, touching his hand briefly. "As long as you remember that you're more than the job. More than the power. You're Adrian Cross, a person with choices. Don't lose that."
Her touch was warm, grounding. Adrian found himself noticing details—the way her red hair caught the light, the intelligence in her eyes, the strength in her grip despite her disability.
"Thank you," he said. "For seeing me as a person first."
"Always." Barbara pulled back, professional demeanor returning. "Now, Bruce will want a report on your progress. Let's go find him before he assumes we're slacking."
As they left the study, Adrian realized something. In just a few hours, Barbara Gordon had gone from a voice in his ear to someone he genuinely trusted. Someone who saw past his powers to the man beneath.
It felt good. Being seen.
They found Bruce and Dick in the Batcave's training area—a massive space filled with equipment ranging from simple weights to impossibly complex obstacle courses. Dick was demonstrating something on the salmon ladder while Bruce took notes.
"How'd it go?" Bruce asked as they approached.
"Adrian successfully established conscious connection with the fragment," Barbara reported. "He can now access specific adaptations on command, though sustained connection remains difficult."
"Good enough for now." Bruce gestured to the training equipment. "Dick, show him the basics."
For the next hour, Dick put Adrian through a workout that would hospitalize most people. But Adrian's enhanced body handled it easily, his muscles responding with superhuman efficiency.
"You're not even breathing hard," Dick complained after their fifth circuit. "That's just unfair."
"Sorry?" Adrian offered.
"Don't be. I'm mostly jealous." Dick grinned. "Okay, now for the fun part. Hit me."
"What?"
"Hit me. Don't hold back—I want to see your current baseline strength."
Adrian hesitated, but Bruce nodded approval. He threw a punch, pulling slightly despite Dick's instructions.
Dick blocked it easily. "I said don't hold back."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. I'm tougher than I look. Now come on—really hit me."
Adrian tried again, this time committing to the strike. Dick weaved past it, countering with a jab that Adrian barely blocked. They exchanged blows for several minutes, Dick's superior experience evident in every movement.
"You're copying my style," Dick said, breathing harder now. "Every time I hit you, you adapt to counter it. That's wild."
"I'm not trying to—it just happens."
"I know. That's what makes it wild." Dick stepped back, grinning. "Okay, Bruce. He's ready for you."
Adrian's stomach sank. "Ready for what?"
Bruce stood, moving into the training ring. "For me to hit you back."
What followed was a masterclass in why Batman was Batman. Despite Adrian's powers, despite his ability to adapt, Bruce systematically dismantled his defenses. Every adaptation Adrian made, Bruce countered with superior technique. Every power Adrian accessed, Bruce neutralized with tactics.
Ten minutes later, Adrian lay on the mat, gasping for air while Bruce stood over him looking barely winded.
"You rely too much on your powers," Bruce said. "When they fail—and they will fail—you need skill to fall back on. That's what we're building. A foundation of technique that no amount of power can replace."
"Got it," Adrian wheezed. "Less powers, more skill."
"Not less powers. Better integration." Bruce offered a hand, pulling Adrian to his feet. "Your abilities are tools. Right now, they're your only tools. We're going to give you an entire toolbox."
Barbara had been watching from the sidelines, taking notes. "His adaptation rate during combat is incredible. He copied Dick's fighting style in minutes and was starting to predict Bruce's movements by the end. Given time, he could potentially match any opponent's skill level."
"Which is why training now is critical," Bruce said. "Before he develops bad habits or over-reliance on raw power."
"I feel like I'm being dissected," Adrian muttered.
"You are," Barbara said cheerfully. "Get used to it. This family runs on paranoia, preparation, and excessive data collection."
"She's not wrong," Dick added. "Bruce has contingency plans for his contingency plans."
"And you're all alive because of those plans," Bruce said flatly. "Adrian, hit the showers. We're done for today. Tomorrow we start weapons training, and Oracle will continue neural discipline work."
As Adrian headed toward the locker room, he heard Barbara's voice call after him.
"Adrian? Same time tomorrow? For the mental training?"
He turned, finding her watching him with that complicated expression again—professional interest mixed with something warmer.
"I'll be there," he promised.
"Good. I'll bring better coffee. The stuff Alfred makes is too refined for serious neural work."
Adrian smiled, heading for the showers with an unfamiliar lightness in his chest. He had training, purpose, and people who actually cared about him as a person. For the first time since resurrection, he felt like he might actually build a life worth living.
Behind him, Dick elbowed Barbara gently. "So... thoughts on the new guy?"
"Professionally? Fascinating subject with unprecedented abilities." Barbara kept her eyes on her tablet, but a small smile played at her lips. "Personally? No comment."
"That's a comment."
"Shut up, Dick."
Bruce watched the exchange with the faintest hint of amusement. His instincts about Adrian were proving correct—the man had potential, character, and the kind of determination that couldn't be taught.
Now they just had to keep him alive long enough to realize that potential.
In the shadows of the cave, something silver flickered briefly—the Source Wall fragment responding to Adrian's growing confidence. It recognized strength when it saw it.
And Adrian Cross was becoming stronger every day.