Tommy could feel the hair on the back of his neck prickle at the sound of the voice. It wasn’t one he was familiar with, nor did he necessarily see him from the start. Yes, the movement and the concealment were very similar to Batman’s. It was somewhat irksome that he wasn’t able to arrive first and in turn, be the observer, but at the moment, he was going to have to take his chances.

He turned around, facing Slade. Casually, he slipped both hands into the pockets of his beige trench coat, as he was silent for another moment, observing. “Odysseus.” His voice was low, coming out in somewhat of a breathless hiss. It had no particularly recognizable structure or tone. Instead, it was a decrepitly empty voice. His entire being was timeless. Dr. Thomas Elliot, the miracle worker. He was capable of turning back time with a scalpel. Sculpting the human body created justified feelings for those who received the surgery, but he saved the best of his work for himself. Just as easily as he’d crafted his face, he was capable of doing so with his voice as well.


Elliot gave a nod to the man, taking a step closer. His icy blue eyes focused in on the unfamiliar helm the man was wearing. Why was he hiding his face? The problems with masks were they always left the options of anonymous identity. There was the chance that he did indeed know this person and that all of this was a trap. At the thought of this, he felt a familiar tingling sensation in his fingers. No. Not now. Not now.

“You mentioned business,” he finally began. “So I am assuming we’re here to execute some sort of productive exchange.”