The Greatest Superhero You've Never Heard Of

[Booster Gold]

I have been to Washington DC so many times.

That isn't as impressive a statement as it sounds. Sure, coming out of the mouth of a superhero, you think of someone like Superman, someone with gravitas and respect, who does press conferences and stands up for principles, telling people to care about the environment, to be kinder to their fellow man, to eat their vegetables and all that good stuff. You think of meetings with the Joint Chiefs, appearances before Congress, face time with the President. Truth is, the only time I ever met the President was when I tackled him to the ground in the process of heroically saving him from a grassy knoll gunshot all of his own.

And then I got arrested.

Turns out the 21st Century is a little different from the 25th. They don't have high energy photon rifles that hurl bolts of invisible laser across miles of distance with pinpoint accuracy. They don't have multispectral imaging lenses either, or kinetic deflection barriers in convenient portable harnesses. So instead of being showered in adulation by a crowd of onlookers for my daring, noble, and incredibly handsome feat of heroics, instead I got piled upon by a bunch of sweaty men in suits, all wearing those little earpieces and the exact same tie. Instead I got dragged off to a room somewhere, patted down for concealed weapons and then weirdly left with absolutely all of them, secured to a table by cuffs that weren't even energized, and asked a bunch of stupid questions about co-conspirators and how I'd managed to get past security by people who frankly did a pretty terrible job of listening. Do you have any idea how many times I had to explain that I'd used a little bit of a localised quantum displacement field - no big deal or anything - before they finally agreed to go find a scientist to help them understand the kindergarten level tech I was talking about?

I knew it would be primitive here. That was the whole point. A few bits of flashy basic technology - no, not that kind of Flashy - and a few strategically intervened-in historical events, and I was supposed to be set. I had Skeets run the calculations and everything. But nope. Wasn't until the DEO showed up that things started going my way, because oh geez look: there's an alien bounty hunter with a magic gun that fires invisible space lasers, didn't the incredibly charming and tolerant guy we arrested already warn us about him?

Don't get me wrong, I love these folks. They listen to classical music all the time, every night on the vid broadcasts is like a cheesy old time motion picture marathon, and being here is like a non-stop Anachronaissance Fair with all the period costumes and the retro technology. The comms devices? You actually hold them in your hand, and people actually look away from the screens to have actual face-to-face conversations with people instead of just having a constant stream of news and status updates HUD flickering across their lenses all the time. The women? They show so much skin. I don't think I've seen a single full-body jumpsuit the entire time that I've been here. They have these things, they call them tights or something, and it makes it look like you have bare legs even though you don't. It's mind blowing. The sports? Oh god, the sports. They play football without augmentations here. Performance enhancing stims are actually banned, rather than being a mandatory part of competing with all the metas and offworlders from back in my day. They actually still play baseball. Can you believe that? It's still dull and tedious beyond measure, but they have open air stadiums and there's a thing called a chilli dog - it's all amazing.

The bureaucracy though? That's where it gets problematic. Between the bipartisan politics seeming to give everyone here in Washington some sort of ulterior agenda, the widespread geneism that they pretend is all some principled desire to protect everyone from the scary nasty metahumans, and the fact that all the seventy-three quadrillion different branches and agencies of government seem to have absolutely no desire to cooperate with each other? I rescind everything bad I ever said or thought about politics and politicians in my time. We all grumble about the Luthor Reforms, but at least my era's politicians know how to get the job done.

My politicians can't help me now, though. Things have been a little better for me the last few years, now that I've started cooperating with the DEO. I help them out on their cases, clue them in on the scraps of information I remember from history class and from working at the museum - okay, so it's mostly Skeets that does that - or any explanations for the unexplained that are common knowledge in my time, and they allow me to walk around the place without needing a constant Secret Service escort. They even pay me, though because I don't have this weird thing called a Social Security number, they mostly just get the DEO accountants to handle my finances for me - pay my rent, stock my cupboards, that sort of thing. They bought me this amazing little antique device thing, you put bread in it - which you can buy sliced, by the way - and it dehydrates and caramelises the sugars in the surface layers, and makes it into this crispy - and surprisingly aerodynamic, if you throw it right - food thing called toast. It's crazy. There's a machine for manually making waffles, too, and something that heats food using microwave-induced hydro-resonance. It's like being in the stone age, or being on a camping trip; every meal is a fun time.

They do keep telling me to jump though; from time to time, at least. I wouldn't mind getting bounced around the country consulting on cases if there were any zeta beams to get around with, but the best they've got is subsonic combustion jet planes, and there are so many inefficient protocols and procedures that I'd probably get there faster if I rented a horse.

Today is more of that same. Report to Washington. Find the John F Kennedy Building. The Attorney General wants to speak to you. Like I know who that is. Like I know what that is. Me? Everyone knows me. Everyone's heard of Booster Gold; and if they hadn't, they need to rethink what they're doing with their life, because not knowing who I am is depriving them of spectacular amounts of awesome. But why should I care about some, what, high-ranking military lawyer? His job doesn't exist in my time, what with the whole centralised world government thing, and the Kennedy Building is a holoplex entertainment centre. You'd have thought the DEO could find me better things to do - but apparently not. This guy must have pulled some real strings to arrange this meeting with me.

Guess he must be a fan.

[Maxwell Lord]

Department of Justice.

The words stared at him from the page, looming out of the seal that emblazoned the document folder in front of him. Justice. That was his mandate. That was his responsibility. He was the Attorney General of the United States, and it was his duty to see that justice was served: not just the letter of the law, but the spirit of it. Crime, narcotics, contraband, corruption. FBI, DEA, ATF, DEO. It didn't matter what division or department. It didn't matter what acronym. Everyone from himself downwards, right to the janitor scrubbing the floors at Blackgate or Iron Heights, they were all fighting for that same cause. Justice.

Of course, it didn't always work out that way. Too often, the quest for justice faded into the background, obscured by an adherence to the letter of the law. The courts, the Chief Justices, the President, Congress - their mandate was to ensure that the nation's laws were just laws, and that it's actions were just actions; but sometimes it went awry. Justice in the eyes of the law wasn't always the same as justice in the eyes of the people. The law allowed, tolerated, even advocated injustices against innocent and unfortunate people. A crime was a crime, no matter the reason. There was no plea of self defense for theft, or for substance abuse. No exoneration for the thief needing to steal to eat, the veteran driven to desperation by a nation that had abandoned him in a time of need, the woman driven to drugs to stave off the pain in her life and forced into unsavoury acts to feed a habit she could not escape from. No aid for the dying man driven to crime in order to pay for the painful privilege of staying alive. There was no justice for the races, genders, religions, sexualities, or genetic subspecies forced to simply accept the prejudices against them as an intrinsic and inescapable part of life. It was an unjust world, and through some sort of clerical error, the government had misnamed it's Department of Law.

He was not the only one who presided over a group that had misappropriated that word. The superheroes, with their Leagues and Societies: truth, justice, and the American way was what they claimed to stand for; the sound bite that the public had adored so much. A strange juxtaposition from the lips of an extraterrestrial whose identity on Earth was a closely guarded secret. But that word, justice, that part rang true - for some, at least. He'd read the reports from the DEO, from the CCPD and the other police forces that contended with these vigilante heroes day to day. They all seemed to understand Maxwell's dilemma: that justice and the law were not always the same, and that at times you had to sacrifice one to achieve the other. For the government, it was the law that triumphed. For the vigilantes, their bias swung the other way. Perhaps it really was impossible to achieve both. Perhaps there was no middle ground. Perhaps everything that found itself in the centre of the venn diagram was just lucky.

Perhaps there was a way to be sure.

A sound emerged from the intercom on his desk. Maxwell paused a few moments before peeling his eyes away from the seal of the Department of Justice, reaching for the button to trigger his reply. "Yes?" he prompted, his tone as neutral as he could make it.

"Mister Gold is here to see you."

Maxwell paused for a moment, a faint frown puzzling his brow before realisation dawned. "That's not his name, Wendy," he corrected with a small sigh, and a shake of his head that his secretary would never see. He shuffled the folder aside, hiding it beneath a stack of other paperwork. "Send him in."

He waited until he heard the door click, silently rearranging his desk as he waited for Booster Gold to enter, enough time passing for the door to close behind his visitor and a faint flicker of discomfort to settle in the air between them. It was an old habit: never seem too eager, never seem too prepared, never let anyone feel entirely comfortable. A nervous and defensive man often revealed more than one entirely at ease, often without even intending to or realising they had.

Finally he rose to his feet, offering a practised smile as he crossed the few paces between and offered Booster his hand. "Agent Carter," he offered, with a flicker of disarming warmth. "It's a pleasure."

[Booster Gold]

"The pleasure's all mine, General," I lied.

From the face that he made when I said that, I sorta got the impression that maybe I had the wrong end of the pipe on this, and that this person wasn't a General at all. He certainly didn't seem like the type, and while I wasn't exactly familiar with military uniforms and what-not from this far in the past, I was pretty sure this was just some bureaucrat in a suit. Not enough shiny stuff on his shoulders, and no medals. Generals always have medals.

So what, then? An adjective instead of a rank, like the Secretary General? An Attorney General instead of, what, an Attorney Specific? That seemed kind of dumb, but then so much of the 21st Century seemed to follow that template.

I decided to offer my most charming smile. Sure, so I usually reserved that for the ladies, but this was one of those situations when it seemed necessary. Smile at them enough, and charmingly enough, and all your wrongs get magically unwritten. Either that, or you get punched in the face. The former seemed more likely right now, though, and if I was wrong on that, well... the amount of grey in this guy's hair, and the fact that his hands felt kinda old and bony through my gloves made me figure that it probably wouldn't hurt too much if he did try and sock me one.

Plus, y'know. Forcefield.

"So," I said, trying to move things along to the point where the guy asked me for an autograph and let me leave. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Oh, good call on the sir. Everyone likes getting called that.

[Maxwell Lord]

It was the oddest thing: it was almost as if this man had no idea who he was. True, going unrecognised was hardly a new experience for Maxwell Lord. There were people in this country who wouldn't even recognise the Vice President on sight, let alone the Attorney General, and it wasn't as if his role usually gave him all that much media exposure. But this wasn't just a case of Agent Carter being unable to put a face to a name. This was a man who had walked into the headquarters of the Department of Justice, walked up to the office of it's most senior member, and had absolutely no idea of the political significance of the man he was talking to.

With anyone else, it might have seemed insulting, but from him? From Booster Gold? It was strangely charming. Refreshing. This wasn't a man who had no respect for authority: he merely had no knowledge of it. There was an innocence there, a naivety, someone not biased because of politics, someone not swayed by authority and bureaucratic trappings. True, the psychological profiles conducted on Michael Carter since his arrival in the 21st Century suggested a certain shallowness, a certain attraction to fame and celebrity that perhaps wasn't the noblest of objectives for a government operative or a "superhero" as the media had started calling them - but it was so very American. This was a man born from the same culture that revered reality television, who would dedicate their entire lives to obsessions over music and movie stars, whose eyes were glued to their television screens watching the latest singing contest, cooking contest, dancing contest, dating contest, all waiting to watch one person succeed while a dozen others failed around them. It was the same mentality that had given rise to the Greek myths, the gladiators, the folk heroes of Europe, the sports heroes of today. There was something reassuring, something heart-warming about the knowledge that no matter how much changed over the next four hundred years, humanity still clung to some of the same core values.

Tough luck, Gene Roddenberry, the Attorney General mused. Seems like you got it all wrong.

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" A warm chuckle escaped from Maxwell as he liberated his hand from Booster's. "Please, have a seat," he added, taking a few steps back into the office, and gesturing to one of the comfortable, well-padded chairs positioned opposite his desk. "Can I fix you a drink?"

[Booster Gold]

We're doing drinks now? Great. I'm going to be stuck here for an hour.

"Better not," I quipped, trying to avoid this guy's efforts to keep me here any longer than necessary in the politest way possible. Humour always seemed to be the best way to go in these sorts of situations. "I'm not entirely familiar with the laws of this era, but I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to drink and fly, and it's a long walk back to my hotel room."

At least this guy had comfy chairs though, I discovered as I sat down. The leather covers on the cushions proved a little problematic in the friction department as I tried to hitch my leg up across the other, so I ended up having to plant both feet on the carpet to stop me siding out. Probably better in the grand scheme of things. Don't want to go getting too comfy.

"And no," I admitted. Maybe I was trying to mildly disrespect the guy, so that he'd be discouraged from making me linger. Maybe I just wanted to assert my superiority in the conversation. Or maybe I was just feeling uncharacteristically honest for the day - I'd had Mexican food the night before, and I'd been feeling a little precarious since. "I have absolutely no idea what an Attorney General is. I don't think we have those in my time."

[Maxwell Lord]

"The future sounds better and better every day," Maxwell chuckled, using a pair of tongs to retrieve two ice cubes and drop them into his scotch. Maybe it was a little early in the day for that sort of thing, but with the amount of late nights and weekend hours he spent imprisoned in this office instead of spending his free time on his own terms, he was entitled to a stiff drink every now and again. Heck, it was the only way he survived through most of his meetings.

"I am," he began to explain as he setted back down behind his desk, "America's lawyer. I run the Justice Department, which in turn runs the FBI, the DEO, the DEA, ATF, the Marshall's Service, oversees all manner of justice and prosecution programs, coordinates with the District Attorneys on behalf of the federal government -"

He trailed off, waving a dismissive hand. "Think of me as the Secretary of Justice, if you like. Just don't ask me why that's not my official title. I'm not sure anyone in Washington really knows the answer to that, and we're all to embarrassed to ask."

[Booster Gold]

There were a lot of letters in there, but I caught the three that mattered. DEO.

"So, you're basically my boss?"

Every assumption and conclusion of the day so far came crashing around my ears. Why had no one warned me that I was going to meet someone actually important? Hell, why hadn't I bothered to ask Skeets to give me a background profile on this guy so that I could come in prepared? Why did I macarena on in like I always do, trying to wing it because I'm too smug to ever think I need to put the effort in? Damn it Booster, you're better than this - or at least, you're supposed to be.

I shifted a little in the chair, trying to look at least a tiny bit smarter. Was I wrong to have shown up in my suit, then? Should I have gone with a suit-suit, with a tie and those little cuff fastener things that I see people wearing around the DEO offices all the time? Was this some sort of formal thing, some kind of evauation? A reprimand?

I couldn't help seeming a little bit nervous.

"Am I in some kind of trouble, sir?"

The sir was probably a good call. Wasn't a man alive who didn't feel awesome getting called that by someone.

[Maxwell Lord]

"More like your boss's supervisor's boss," Maxwell countered, fully aware that the semantics were unnecessary; it was a force of habit, though. So many up-themselves Senators, Congressmen, and self-important bureaucrats sat themselves in the chair where Booster found himself that Maxwell simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to make the occupant squirm a little. "But that's beside the point."

He allowed himself a sip of his drink, prolonging Booster's discomfort just a little longer. A faint ring of moisture remained behind on the desk; he brushed it away with a hand quickly, before his secretary had the opportunity to complain at him for forgetting to use a coaster, again.

"You're not in trouble," he assured finally, though probably not with the kind of convincing assurance that Booster was probably hoping for. "On the contrary, Agent Carter, I would like to thank you, on behalf of the Department of Justice, for the assistance and cooperation you'd provided us with thus far. You have been an invaluable resource, and frankly I wish there were more members of the hero community who were willing to show your level of openness and good faith, instead of all this -"

He halted for a moment, trying to choose his words diplomatically.

"- accountability-dodging anonymity business. You aren't hidden behind a mask, or skulking in a secret base: you are a hero that the American people know, and that they know they can trust; and the American government feels about you the exact same way."

Maxwell pulled off his glasses, and carefully set them down on the desk in front of him.

"I need your help, Michael," he explained candidly, reaching for one of the other folders on his desk, sliding out the stack of photographs that were contained within. Stills from security cameras. Police sketches. Cell phone snapshots. Everything vague and grainy; nothing conclusive, but enough to make him concerned. One by one, he began to set them out in front of Booster. "All of these were taken in Gotham City over the last few weeks. We were wondering if you could help us identify who they were."

[Booster Gold]

Every time anyone called me Michael, it put me on edge. They'd been calling me Booster since my college football days: the only time anyone reverted to my real name was either when I was in trouble, or when a girl was getting a little bit too intimate and had decided our relationship was serious enough to move past the nicknames that everyone else got to used - that was usually my cue to high tail it out of there before she started taking about rings, and weddings, and babies and stuff.

I leaned forward, studying the photographs. "Well that's Green Arrow, he's -"

Oliver Queen, I almost said. First superhero of his generation to go fully public with his identity. Went and got himself elected mayor, too. Not that I'm a history expert or anything like that, but you can't exactly work at the Justice League Museum like I did without seeing an artist's rendering of the guy smirking at you from one of the display stands. Plus, one of his descendants worked at the museum too, and he was kind of a douche: wouldn't shut up talking about how great his ancestor was. I'd been predisposed to hate the guy, but in person Oliver was actually kinda okay when I met him in person. Nowhere near the man the history books said he was, but I figured he just probably hadn't got there yet: I'd travelled back to the beginning of this era so that I could get in on the ground floor, so it made sense that people were still starting out. He was definitely one of the less dismissive members of the Justice League, that was for sure. Not that I cared. I've been getting told to screw off my whole life - a few extra people to prove wrong isn't that big a deal for me.

"- usually in Star City," I recovered, almost seamlessly. No point spoiling the surprise on who was really under the hood. I'd watched enough time travel movies to know that was probably a bad thing to do. "That there is a Green Lantern, though it's a bit too blurry for me to know which one. There's a whole heap of them, intergalactic law enforcement or something - probably trailing some sort of alien fugitive from justice who figured Earth was a good place to lie low. This one's Supergirl, another Kryptonian - as if you couldn't already work that out from the blue, the cape, and the S - and that -" I squinted a little at the photo. "That looks like the Flash, but not quite. Suit's a little off, and the real Flash is taller; less scrawny. Must be some other speester, trying to cash in on the Flash's reputation."

I leant back, frowning at the not-actually-a-General. "You say these guys are all in Gotham?" I asked, more than a little curious.

[Maxwell Lord]

Carter knew more than he was letting on. Names. Insight. Something. It was an awkward and frustrating situation that belonged in the annals of science fiction, not daily life: Booster Gold knew more than he felt able to say; facts about the future that couldn't possibly be known yet, and that could have problematic ramifications if that knowledge caused events to unfold differently. It was a fine line between what counted as withholding information in the interests of not unravelling the spacetime continuum, and what counted as withholding information in the interests of obstructing justice. In an ideal world, Maxwell would rather not leave the decision over what to share in Agent Carter's hands: but that option was not available. Short of torture or blackmail, there was no real way to compel him to share the information that Maxwell desperately wanted to know. For now, he would simply have to trust Booster Gold's judgement, as mildly unsettling a prospect as that was.

Maxwell sat back in his seat, his fingers arching together. They hadn't had a name for this Green Lantern that Booster had mentioned, but nothing else had been new or surprising. Nothing had conflicted with Maxwell's own intel either, which reflected well on Booster's honesty, and his own methods.

"We have confirmation that the Flash is still operating in Central City," he revealed with a slow and subtle nod, "So your theory about a copycat matches ours. However, we also have reports of Green Arrow still operating in Star City as well, along with his usual associates. We're not entirely sure which one is the doppelgänger, and which one is the genuine article."

He watched as Carter considered that response, scrutinising the man from the future's features for any indication or clue. He definitely knew something, but between those sunglasses and Booster's poker face, there wasn't anything that he could glean.

His lips scrunched, suction applied to Maxwell's front teeth as he considered his next words. "Something is happening in Gotham City, Agent Carter. Perhaps this is as simple as vigilantes flocking to a city that is in dire need of their assistance; perhaps there's something more sinister at play that we just aren't aware of. Either way, the American people need us to get on top of this: if history has taught us anything, the criminal element of a city like Gotham is going to respond to this vigilante escalation with escalation of it's own. I dread to think what the next Joker will look like, with so many vigilantes there to oppose."

Maxwell drew a careful breath.

"The Director has recommended, and I agree, that the DEO be allowed an increased presence in Gotham. Considering the insight you are able to provide, I feel like you would be a valuable asset as part of that presence; and I wanted to inform you personally so that you understand the gravity of this assignment."

[Booster Gold]

Gravity? More like grave.

The Attorney General couldn't have known how reluctant I would be at the prospect of going back to Gotham; going home. Or maybe he had known; maybe that was why this new assignment was coming from someone I couldn't say no to. Or at least, someone they hoped I wouldn't say no to. It was kind of a weird arrangement, me and them. I might have been a US citizen since birth, but that birth was four hundred and change years away. Legally, I was basically an alien, except not. Same ambiguous boat as Superman, I guess: American our whole lives, but made wonky because of the circumstances under which we arrived. The fact that I knew things they wanted to know gave me all the negotiating capital - the last thing they wanted was me taking my knowledge of the future to the CIA, or ARGUS, or some other agency where they wouldn't directly benefit from it. So everything was a request. Everything was dressed up fancy, with a pretty little bow and a smile.

Sending me back to Gotham, though? That was almost enough to make me pack up my things and go try my luck in Canada. Hadn't been back there since college; not since playing quarterback got me out of that hell. Wasn't the city that was the problem, either. Sure, the weird gangs and the shady districts weren't that great, but it was the people. The person. The person. Michelle always asked if I was ever going to patch things up with our dad. I always said the same thing. Not yet. Maybe that was why I came here; the subconscious reason underneath it all. Four centuries into the past. Four centuries further from having to forgive that man.

Wouldn't have been the most heroic of things for me to do though. Fleeing to Canada seemed like a great option for pancakes, but not really the path to fame, and glory, and celebrity hero status. My father had already robbed me of the chance to hear my name chanted by sports crowds. He wouldn't take the acclaim I deserve from me again.

"If that's where I'm needed," I replied, trying my best to sound confident; trying to make it sound like a statement worthy of being quoted, "That's where I'll be."

[Maxwell Lord]

Maxwell offered an appreciative not, and a small smile. "Good man, Michael. I knew I could rely on you."

That sentiment lingered in the air for a moment before Maxwell made his excuses. Arrangements to be made. Instructions to be passed along to the Director. The DEO would arrange for Booster's accommodations, of course, all that was required of Booster was that he arrive when instructed at the relevant airport, and enjoy the short ride from DC to Jersey. He didn't seem like the sort of person who was particularly disposed to being dismissed; but he'd get used to it eventually. Subordinates needed to learn how to react once they'd overstayed their welcome.

As Booster left the room, Maxwell took a moment to settle his glasses back onto his face before he turned his attention in the direction of a seemingly vacant chair, tucked away in the office's far corner.

"Well, at last we know your stealth generator is able to bypass his tech," Maxwell mused aloud. A moment later, the air above the chair began to shimmer, and a familiar figure took it's place.

[Jason Garrick]

"Or maybe the operator is just completely oblivious to everything going on around him," Jay countered, a thoroughly unconvinced tone in his voice.

His eyes contemplated the door that Booster Gold had just departed through. The man from the future. The man with the tech that for questionable reasons, Jay's associates had not been permitted to get their hands on for study. A Presidential decree. No screwing with the timeline. No anachronistic technology. No unfair advantages. Except for the disruption to the timeline caused by him even being here in the first place, the causality-altering knowledge that he contributed to the DEO. It was a foolish double standard. They had the capacity to shape the future for the better, and they didn't take it. Didn't indulge it. Affecting destiny was too big a risk, and yet they risked it regardless without any of the potential rewards.

"Are you sure he's the right man for this?" he asked of the Attorney General, any of the respect that one might have expected towards someone in such a position completely absent from Jay's sombre and casual address. "You really think we can trust him to be part of this?"

[Maxwell Lord]

"Trust him?" Maxwell snorted out a dismissive laugh. "I don't trust him as far as my mother could throw him, god rest her."

He drew in a thoughtful breath, a faint frown forming as he contemplated their circumstances. "Booster Gold is the least subtle resource we have. He his loud, he is showy, and he is prone to showing up exactly where he is not wanted and getting himself and those around him in trouble. In short -" Maxwell shrugged. "- the perfect distraction. Booster Gold working with the DEO paints a target on his chest. It gives the vigilantes and would be heroes something to fixate on; something to keep them occupied while your associates take care of the problem with an appropriate level of discretion."

He hesitated, his expression adjusting, fixing Jay Garrick with a knowing look.

"And if he becomes a problem, well -"

A small smile crept onto his features.

"Don't act like you don't already have half a dozen contingencies already worked out."

[Booster Gold]

* * *

Travelling in costume wasn't the most subtle of things I could have done, but it was important. The people of Gotham needed to know I was arriving. The media needed to start creating a buzz about what that meant. The DEO is bringing in the big guns. Is the government finally taking the criminal infestation of Gotham seriously? If they didn't know I was here, they couldn't start clamouring for interviews, press conferences, public appearances. But it ran deeper than that. It was more important than that.

If people didn't even know I was here, how were they supposed to show up wanting autographs?

"I love the shirt!" I lied, with my most disarming smile. There was nothing wrong with it, I supposed; but my face and the fan club logo that went along with it was like sticking a flyer on a wall big enough for an entire billboard, and all the lumps and bumps beneath the fabric had my face all distorted and weird. Don't get me wrong, my face beneath a large pair of breasts was still my idea of a good time, but there was the good way, and the dear god are you even wearing a bra under that way? A quick glance pretty much confirmed that she wasn't - and also either that my smile was doing the trick, or she was finding it a little cold in here.

Hoodies, I decided. That was what I needed. Big, baggy, all-concealing hoodies.

I finally extracted myself from the crowd of adoring fans; if I hadn't already known I was in Gotham City, I could have guessed it from the calibre of lady that I was greeted by. New Jersey's finest. Part of me had hoped that it was an exaggerated stereotype, that the Gotham Shore show I'd taken to watching on my downtime was just some cruel and twisted satire; but no. At least I had my gloves on. Who knows what the crash I might have ended up infected with if I hadn't, shaking all those sweaty, greasy hands.

At least my contact from the DEO here wasn't difficult to find - seemed like the only person who actually owned a shower, and could afford to wear clothes that covered the majority of her body. I glanced down at the device they'd given me - they claimed it was a communications device, but it looked more like those digi-books you gave to small children, the one with the farm animal apps and all that jazz - and then back up at the face. Yup. The same chick. Redhead, too. I wondered if the DEO had clocked on to more of my likes and dislikes than I'd realised - was this their idea of greeting me with a fruit basket?

"You must be Agent Kane," I greeted, breaking out my emergency super-disarming smile that I reserved only for the most dire situations. "Based on what I've read about you, I'm a little disappointed that you didn't show up in a cape."

[Kate Kane]

In the throng of Gotham's public, Kate might as well have been wearing a cape, for all she blended in. The fake-tanned, contoured, highly coiffured archetype that Booster had encountered were the opposite of Agent Kane in almost every way. She was pale, almost unnaturally so, with dark circles under her eyes and a weariness in her expression that said she wasn't disappointed by the costumed man. He was exactly what she had been told to expect.

"That outfit doesn't play well with the crowds," Kate said, a verbal shrug. She wore a faded Gotham Rogues letterman jacket, dark jeans and a pair of black boots that actually looked as if they could have doubled up as part of her 'patrol' outfit.

Almost in spite of his efforts to dazzle her, Kane was smiling though there was no smile in her eyes. Holding back a sigh, she said, "What can I help you with?"

[Booster Gold]

Help me with? Was that some sort of really weirdly phrased pick-up line, or had no one bothered to inform Agent Kane of why she had been sent to meet me? The latter opened up all sorts of possibilities to screw around; under other circumstances I might have pretended that we'd been set up on a blind date, just to see how she'd react, but there was something about her that made me suspect that she'd probably respond to that with a swift kick to my balls, and I wasn't entirely confident that I could trigger my forcefield fast enough to keep my boys from being smacked up into my skull.

Plus there was that whole sexual harassment seminar that they'd made me go to - not because I'd done anything; but apparently the psychologist who'd evaluated me when I first arrived suggested it as a just in case measure. Just in case appropriate conduct in the 25th Century differs from the 21st was the official reasoning, but I knew. Just because I'm suave and charming, it obviously means that I'm a misogynist with no concept of boundaries. Sure, maybe I try my luck, but I'm not an idiot. If someone's got their forcefields up, I'm not gonna try and breach them - I'm not that insensitive and insatiable.

This Agent Kane? She didn't just have forcefields up, she had the whole base on DEFCON 1, and her SAM batteries aimed squarely at my face. No, that's not a euphemism for her norks. Surface-to-Air Missiles. Get your head out of the gutter.

Anyway.

I toned down the charm a little, since clearly it wasn't working; went for a little bit of professional respect instead. Held out a hand. "I've just been newly assigned to Gotham, so I guess you're here to show me around. Says 'Agent Carter' on all my records, but most people just call me Booster."

[Kate Kane]

Newly assigned to Gotham? That was... interesting.

Kate nodded down the street ahead and started walking, hands pushed into the pockets of her jacket. Her own assignment within the city was hardly new, but her relationship with the DEO was still in it's infancy. She understood what the department wanted from her and vice versa, but what they wanted in the long-term or from other people? Those were unknown variables. Kate hadn't asked for an explanation but she had her doubts about whether they'd be willing to tell, even if she had.

“Where have you come from, Carter?” she asked, unable to bring herself to join 'most people' in calling him Booster.

[Booster Gold]

Was this just some really weird variation of small talk, or did this woman genuinely not know who I was? Was this a test? Should I be offended? I couldn't help the frown that settled itself across my brow. Back in Washington, everything was so formal and official, proper procedures and all of that. Here? Apparently here, they sent an agent to collect their new star quarterback from the airport without her even knowing who the gravy he was. Sure, I was used to things being pretty crappy, and not being done the right way in Gotham City, but still.

"Transferred in from DC," I replied, trying to sound as casual as I could, doing my utmost to get a read on this woman as she walked. She had something about her, a sort of quiet toughness in the way she held herself. Military maybe; or a cop? Seemed like one of those people who felt she had to be twice as good to earn half as much credit in a world dominated by men, but it was a kick your ass kind of toughness, rather than the I'm gonna have you fired kind that businesswomen from this era had. It probably told me in the briefing packet that they'd given me to read on the plane, but to be honest I'd got as far as "Known aliases: Batwoman" and had been fighting the urge to make high pitched excitement noises.

"Before that, though, I'm from the 25th Century."

[Kate Kane]

Kate didn't miss a beat. “Right,” she said, matter-of-factly. The revelation that Booster was from the future should have landed with a little more oomph and would have done, with just about any other DEO agent. Hell, even Kane herself might have done more than blink, if Carter had dropped that one on her 18 months ago.

“This is your first time in Gotham?” she asked, not waiting for a reply. A little cog began to start spinning somewhere in her mind, wondering whether that meant that there was no Gotham in the 25th century or if the city just no longer warranted any attention. Kate shut down that thought process before it went any further.

“I don't know what they told you you're here to do, but Gotham isn't like any other city,” Kate went on, as they walked by shop windows and skirted around pavement-side cafes and food-carts. To the naked eye, the street looked about the same as any other big city avenue. The endless to-and-fro of people getting slowed by tourists ensnared by souvenir peddlers or the sight of soaring skyscrapers. The stop-and-start of jostling traffic. A sensory assault of smells and sights and ever present, the distant wail of sirens.

It looked normal, but that was only the surface. The illusion of normality was like pond scum, hiding deep dark waters beneath it.

Kate glanced at Carter, “How much do you know about the history here?”

[Booster Gold]

Technically it was, kinda? So sure, I had memories of having been here previously, but those memories wouldn't come to pass for another few hundred years. It was one of those weird time travel loop things, that I should probably have paid more attention to in high school, but never did.

"I was born here," I answered, with a shrug. Kinda satisfied Agent Kane's questions; kinda didn't. "A lot had changed by then -" Will have changed? Stupid grammar. Update your tenses to fit with time travel, damn it. "- but it's still the kind of place where you don't want to find yourself alone walking down a dark alley."

I let that sink in for a moment, following along as Kate led the way out of the airport. Was kinda glad that she knew her way - I sure as hell didn't, and all the signs around the place were low tech, no data points for my lenses to focus on and establish a nav path for me to follow. No markers on the ground for them to superimpose my route onto. Hell, there weren't even vacuum tubes, or hover scooters: everyone was hoofing it on foot. Most of the time the low-tech 21st Century was quaint and cute; but most of the time I was on my own, and I could just will myself into the air if I got tired of walking. This place though? It was like a dim and dismal prison, walls that had maybe been white once that had faded to that grim and grubby yellowish colour, carpets that looked like the same ugly fabrics they used to cover the seats on buses and public transit in this era, pockmarked and stained with stuff that I didn't even want to identify. And the people? It was like being part of a zombie horde, slowly and reluctantly trudging their way towards the pits of hell. Yeah, this was Gotham all right.

"I guess I don't know much of the details, but I know the basics. I know Gotham in this era has it's own little cadre of bat and bird vigilantes keeping the criminals on your toes. I know you've got your clown criminals, your run of the mill gangsters, and that Arkham is full to bursting with the costumed crazies that Gotham seems to breed." Present company excepted? Maybe? Maybe. "And I know that the GCPD is woefully understaffed, and underfunded. Same is true in this era as in mine: Gotham is a battlefield, but the rest of the nation doesn't get that if you're gonna wage a war against crime, you need to have enough soldiers to actually fight it."

Still wasn't sure if this Agent Kane was an ex-cop, an ex-soldier, or something else entirely, but she had that sort of vibe. Figured I couldn't go wrong spouting out that sort of rhetoric.