Batman and Green Arrow crossed the threshold of the basement door, descending the creaking wooden steps that led down to the basement of the house on Crest Hill. The air down there was fresher, laden with a faint metallic smell of recent welding and the subtle odor of machine oil, mingled with the earthy aroma of bare concrete. Each step echoed softly in the expansive space, revealing that the basement was not a mere storage room for familiar junk, but a vast and organized domain, a true sanctuary hidden beneath the ordinary suburban facade. The ceiling was high enough to allow free movement, with exposed beams painted industrial gray, and the polished concrete floor extended at least ten meters in each direction, creating an area that rivaled the size of a double garage. Lighting came from LED fluorescent lamps hung in regular rows, emitting a cool white light that banished shadows, except in the furthest corners, where stacks of boxes and equipment created niches of penumbra. It was evident that the boy had invested time and resources to transform that space into something functional and secure – the multiple locks on the door now made perfect sense, not as paranoia, but as a calculated precaution to protect a personal laboratory of impressive proportions.
Batman, his vision trained and enhanced by the multi-functional lens of his mask, scanned the surroundings immediately upon stepping onto the last step. His eyes adjusted to the artificial lighting, cataloging every detail with the precision of a forensic detective. The basement was divided into distinct zones, as if the boy had efficiently designed the layout: a central area dominated by a colossal workbench, flanked by shelves crammed with materials; a corner dedicated to physical exercise, isolated by an improvised partition of metal panels; and another section with advanced electronic equipment, including a computer that looked like it came straight out of a science fiction movie. Green Arrow, Oliver Queen, followed close behind, his steps more casual, but his senses equally alert – years as a vigilante in Star City had taught him to assess potential threats in unfamiliar environments. He whistled softly, a sound of genuine admiration, as he absorbed the sight. "This isn't just any basement. It looks more like a high-tech bunker. The kid knows what he's doing."
The centerpiece of the basement was the workbench, a massive wooden surface reinforced with metal edges, measuring at least two meters long by one and a half meters wide, positioned under one of the brightest lamps to maximize visibility. On it, spread out in an organized fashion – not chaotic, but methodical, with tools grouped by function – was an impressive array of instruments. Precision screwdrivers with ergonomic handles, cutting pliers with sharp blades, digital multimeters blinking with residual readings, soldering irons still warm to the touch, spools of copper wire in different gauges, and electronic components such as resistors, capacitors, and microchips in small, transparent boxes labeled by hand. Batman approached, leaning slightly to examine more closely. His eyes fixed on one particular item: an improvised utility belt, stretched across the table as if in the final stages of assembly. It was similar to his own belt – modular compartments for gadgets, magnetic closures for quick access, and even a Kevlar lining for durability – but with notable differences. The compartments were smaller, adapted for compact tools, and there was a module that seemed to integrate a small power generator, perhaps to power portable devices. Batman thought to himself, in an analytical stream of consciousness: Clever imitation. Not an exact copy, but inspired. Did he study vigilante designs? Or is it a coincidence? The belt was incomplete, with exposed wires awaiting connection, suggesting the boy was in the middle of an improvement iteration.
While Batman inspected the table, Green Arrow circled the area, his gloved fingers lightly brushing the tools without disturbing them. He noticed a series of prototype inventions scattered around the edges of the surface: a small, hand-sized drone with retractable propellers and a tiny camera mounted on top, likely for discreet surveillance; a device that looked like a grappling hook launcher, with a coiled cable and tensioned spring mechanism, reminiscent of the climbing tools used by heroes like himself; and what appeared to be a portable shield, made of a lightweight composite material, with reinforced edges and an embedded circuit that could generate a basic force field. "Look at this," Oliver murmured, carefully picking up the drone and turning it over in his hands. "This kid isn't messing around. This could rival some of my equipment in Star City. I need an assistant like him." Batman grunted in response, a sound of reluctant agreement, as he continued his visual scan. The walls around the table were lined with cork boards and magnetic whiteboards, covered in handwritten notes: diagrams of electrical circuits, chemical formulas for adhesive compounds, and sketches of mechanical mechanisms. Heavier tools hung on hooks: a cordless drill with various drill bits, a compact circular saw, and even a precision torch for fine soldering. It was clear that the boy didn't just collect items – he used them to create, to innovate, transforming the basement into an amateur inventor's laboratory with professional potential.
Further on, in a secluded corner of the basement, separated by a wire mesh screen that created a semi-private barrier, was the physical training area. It was a space dedicated to physical conditioning, contrasting with the technical zone by focusing on strength and raw agility. In the center, a pull-up bar fixed between two ceiling beams, polished by constant use, with chalk marks on the ends where sweaty hands had repeatedly gripped it. Next to it, a set of free weights – dumbbells ranging from 5 to 20 kilos, arranged in an improvised rack made of reinforced PVC pipes – and an Olympic bar with stacked iron plates, ready for deadlifts or squats. A heavy punching bag hung from a chain on the ceiling, its synthetic leather surface marked by repeated impacts, with patches where the padding had been reinforced. Worn boxing gloves, with frayed Velcro and stains of dried sweat, were tossed on a nearby bench, next to shin guards and a lightweight sparring helmet. The floor in that area was covered with rubberized mats, cushioning falls and absorbing the impact of kicks and punches. Batman approached, noticing the details that revealed dedication: the punching bag swayed slightly, as if it had been used recently, and the air there carried a faint odor of sweat mixed with disinfectant.
But what really caught Batman's attention were the photos pinned to the adjacent wall, an improvised gallery of martial arts achievements. They were tacked to a corkboard, slightly faded with age, but clear enough to tell a story. In the first, the boy – younger, perhaps 12 or 13 years old – posed with a black taekwondo belt tied around his waist, sweaty and smiling, next to an instructor in a crowded dojo, a trophy in his raised hand. The scribbled caption below read: "Regional Taekwondo Championship – 1st Place, Advanced Kata." Next to it, another image showed him in an improvised ring, wearing red Muay Thai shorts and black gloves, exchanging blows with a taller opponent; the background was a community gym in Gotham, and the photo captured the moment of a precise high kick. "Open Muay Thai Tournament – Semifinalist, Youth Category." Further on, a black and white photo of a boxing match: the boy in classic shorts and red gloves, his face protected by a face shield, throwing a jab cross at a sparring partner. "Gotham Amateur Boxing Championship – Winner, Junior Lightweight." And finally, an image of him in a white judo kimono, executing a perfect throw on a mat, with his opponent in the air; the emblem on his chest indicated a state tournament. "State Judo Championship – Gold Medal, Randori." Batman absorbed all of this, his mind connecting the dots: the boy's physique, though not as athletic as Robin's, was forged by varied martial disciplines.
Taekwondo for agility and kicks, Muay Thai for clinching and knee strikes, boxing for quick punches, judo for takedowns and grappling. He's not a casual fighter. Trained in multiple disciplines. Potential for real combat, but no street experience? Batman thought, assessing the risk. Green Arrow, stopping beside him, crossed his arms and nodded. "The kid's versatile. Remember when I started with boxing and archery? This is an arsenal of skills."
Turning to the most technologically advanced section of the basement, the two heroes came upon what appeared to be the intellectual heart of the space: a monumental computer occupying an entire table, measuring approximately two meters by one and a half meters, similar to the desktop but dedicated exclusively to computing. It wasn't a commercial setup – it was a hand-built machine, with open cases revealing custom motherboards, multiple processors in parallel, fans humming softly for cooling, and a triple curved screen that stretched out like a spaceship control panel. Fiber optic cables snaked across the floor, connecting to a wall-mounted rack server, and the keyboard was ergonomic, with custom keys for programming shortcuts. Batman recognized immediately: Built from scratch.
High-performance components, possibly recycled or purchased on Gotham's black market. Processing power for complex simulations or advanced hacking. Beside the computer, metal shelves reached the ceiling, crammed with books – not one, but several rows, perhaps fifty volumes in total, organized by subject. Using the optical zoom integrated into his mask, Batman read the titles effortlessly: "Advanced Programming in Python" by Mark Lutz, "Quantum Physics for Engineers" by David Griffiths, "Principles of Electrical Engineering" by Allan Hambley, "Organic Chemistry" by Clayden, and a stack dedicated to computing – "PC Assembly and Maintenance" by Mueller, "Electronic Soldering for Beginners" by an anonymous author, "Artificial Intelligence Algorithms" by Russell and Norvig, "Neural Networks and Deep Learning" by Goodfellow. There were even volumes on quantum cryptography and bioengineering, suggesting broad, self-taught interests. Green Arrow leafed through one of the more accessible books, a guide to assembling drones. "That explains the drone on the table. The boy is self-taught. Books like that aren't cheap – he must devour knowledge like I devour targets."
As they inspected, Batman and Green Arrow exchanged meaningful glances – words weren't necessary; years of alliances in the Justice League had honed their nonverbal communication. Oliver's eyes gleamed with a mixture of excitement and caution: This kid's a genius. Dangerous, but with potential. Batman, in turn, nodded imperceptibly, his masked expression conveying agreement: Yes. A prodigy. But why hide here? What's he building? They knew, instinctively, that they were facing someone exceptional – not just intelligent, but creative, disciplined, an inventor in the making who could become an ally or a threat, depending on the path he took.
It was then that they heard the click of the locks behind them. Turning, they saw the boy – disheveled black hair, blue eyes fixed intensely on them – having already closed and locked the basement door, descending the last steps with firm steps. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, crossing his arms over his lean but muscular chest, his posture defensive yet confident. The air in the basement seemed to thicken, heavy with expectation. "I thought my trial was over," he said, his voice echoing with a calm, challenging tone, as if resuming an interrupted conversation.
Advance chapters: https://www.patreon.com/cw/pararaio