INTERLUDE: THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE

The monitors cast a dim, bluish glow across the room, their soft hum the only sound breaking the silence. Noah Kuttler—the Calculator—leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. Lines of data scrolled across the screens, each window feeding him something new. Security footage, heat maps, transaction logs, communications intercepts—all converging into a single point of interest.

A masked vigilante in Gotham.

Female. 

New. 

Dangerous. 

She moved like someone with experience but hadn’t quite learned the unspoken rules of Gotham’s underworld. Unpolished, improvisational—yet undeniably effective. She’d disrupted his operations, derailed shipments, and drawn unwanted attention from the Bat. And the most frustrating part? Despite all his resources, he still knew almost nothing about her—except for her real name.

Not yet.

A soft chime interrupted his thoughts. The secure line. Right on time.

He exhaled slowly and accepted the call. The screen flickered, revealing a shadowed figure seated deep within the bowels of some ancient stronghold, illuminated only by the faint glow of torchlight. Even through the digital filter, the presence on the other end was unmistakable. 

Ra’s al Ghul. 

Kuttler straightened in his chair. “As expected, the interference in Gotham’s conflict isn’t random. We have an active player moving against us.” 

Ra’s studied him, his expression unreadable. “Proceed.” 

Kuttler tapped a key, and a series of video clips began to play. The vigilante darting through the Narrows, dismantling a weapons deal quickly and ruthlessly. The confrontation with Penguin’s men, where she barely survived an ambush. Her escape from a Black Mask warehouse, wounded but relentless. And the most recent clip—a brief encounter with the Bat’s people, proving she was now firmly on their radar. 

“She’s persistent,” Kuttler said. “More capable than expected. She’s not just reacting—she’s learning. Adapting.” His fingers danced across the keyboard, pulling up another screen. “All we have is her name. No ID. No prior record. Whoever she was before Gotham, she covered her tracks well.” 

Ra’s remained silent, but his eyes gleamed with interest. 

Kuttler continued. “Her tactics suggest formal training, but not the kind we typically see. Not military, not law enforcement. Something… different. She fights like someone who’s used to being in control. Situational awareness, patience, precision—but limited resources. No backup. No network.” 

He let the implications hang in the air. 

Ra’s tilted his head slightly. “And you believe she is important?” 

Kuttler hesitated. He didn’t deal in intuition—he dealt in probabilities, in patterns. And this girl was an anomaly, an unknown variable in a game he prided himself on controlling. That alone made her dangerous. 

He adjusted his glasses. “I believe she’s worth watching.” 

Ra’s hummed softly, considering. Then, after a moment, he spoke. “Continue your observations. Continue testing her, if necessary.” A faint smile touched his lips. “And if she survives… I want to meet her myself.” 

The line went dead. 

Kuttler stared at the now-blank screen, exhaling through his nose. 

So, that was how it was going to be. 

Okay. He could work with that. 

. . . . .

Though open to the idea, Barbara Gordon didn’t believe in ghosts.

But as she stared at the data spread across her screens, she found herself reconsidering.

Lines of code scrolled down one monitor, security footage looped on another, and maps of Gotham marked with red flags glowed in the dim light of the Clock Tower. Days of sifting through dead ends, scrubbing through footage, and cross-referencing every anomaly had led her here. And at last, she’d found it.

A Lazarus Pit activation.

Not just any activation—an unsanctioned one.

The League of Shadows kept tight control over their resurrections, and any deviation from that control was cause for concern. But this? This was something else. No records of who had used it. No witnesses, no trail. Just a burst of Lazarus energy around the time their mystery vigilante had first appeared in Gotham.

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” Barbara said, swiveling her chair to face the figure behind her.

Nightwing leaned forward, hands on his knees, eyes locked on the data. “I wish I could.”

Barbara tapped a key, pulling up an enhanced image of the site—grainy infrared readings, energy signatures fluctuating in a pattern that didn’t quite match the usual Lazarus revival process.

“Someone came out of that pit,” she said. “And it wasn’t a League agent.”

Nightwing exhaled sharply. “Taylor.”

She nodded. “We’ve been watching her for weeks. She’s good, but she’s not from here.”

There it was—the conclusion neither of them had wanted to reach.

Nightwing ran a hand through his hair. “Parallel worlds aren’t exactly new territory. But how does she end up here? In Gotham? And why?”

Barbara folded her arms. “That’s what we need to find out.”

The signs had always been there. The way she fought, the way she operated—good tactics, but gaps in her knowledge. Her understanding of Gotham was surface-level, like she was filling in blanks as she went. And the enhancements—the slight edge in speed, strength, endurance? Not Lazarus Pit madness or even the usual side effects, but something else.

Nightwing’s voice was quieter now. “Think she knows?”

Barbara shook her head. “No. If she did, she’d be hiding it better.”

She didn’t say the other part. The part that worried her more.

If Taylor didn’t know she wasn’t from this world… then who had put her here?

The silence stretched until Nightwing stood, adjusting his escrima sticks. “Alright. Watching isn’t enough anymore.” He met Barbara’s gaze, expression firm. “It’s time to talk to her.”

Barbara exhaled. “Yeah. Just don’t scare her off.”

Nightwing smirked. “Please. I’m charming.”

Barbara rolled her eyes, but as he left, her gaze drifted back to the screen. To the red flags on the map. To the readings that didn’t make sense.

Taylor Hebert wasn’t a ghost.

But someone had gone to a lot of trouble to bring her back.

Just who was she?