Green Gotham

The final burst of illusions faded, leaving a ringing silence heavy with awe. Zatara Zatanna, still in her shimmering stage outfit, stepped off the platform and approached the group. Her gait was light, almost weightless, her amethyst eyes gleaming with triumph and… something more. She stopped before them, tilting her head slightly, her gaze sliding over each one.

"Well, what did you think?" she asked, her voice velvety and slightly hoarse from the performance, yet brimming with confidence.

Harley Quinn exploded first, bouncing in place. "WAAAAH! That was UN-BE-LIEVABLE! How do you DO that?! Seriously, I wanna learn to juggle heads! Can I use mine? Or someone else's? Ooh, Pammy, can I borrow yours? Just for a bit! I'll be careful, promise!"

Kara Zor-El couldn't suppress a wide, genuine smile, despite lingering skepticism. "Impressive," she nodded. "Even I couldn't always tell what was illusion and what was… something else."

Pamela Isley, arms crossed, studied Zatanna with her usual cool, scientific curiosity. "Technically… remarkable," she admitted. "The complexity and detail of the sensations far exceed any hallucinogens I know."

Alex stood slightly apart, his face an unreadable mask. Not anger, not irritation—just deep, focused contemplation. His sharp, analytical gaze locked onto Zatanna, as if trying to unravel her not as a performer but as a complex algorithm or dangerous phenomenon. He said nothing.

Zatanna noticed his silent scrutiny. A flicker of unease crossed her eyes, and she waved a hand casually, as if brushing off potential criticism. "Come on, nothing supernatural—well, okay, supernatural, but just basic old-school illusion tricks. Smoke and mirrors, that's all."

Alex cut her off, his voice calm but laced with a steel edge that silenced even Harley for a moment. "Why?"

He stepped forward. "Why did you call us here, Zatara? Tickets delivered by that… rabbit. An exclusive show for four. This isn't hospitality. You had a purpose. What is it?"

Zatanna froze. Her playful smile shifted to something enigmatic, almost predatory. She crossed her arms, accentuating the curve of her hips in her tight costume, her voice dropping to an intimate, conspiratorial whisper. "Straight to the point. I like that. Fine, cards on the table. I need money. A lot of money."

Harley snorted. "Who doesn't? I'm always broke!"

Pamela and Kara exchanged a glance, wary of a catch. Alex merely raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. "'A lot' is vague. Specify."

Zatanna exhaled, as if stating the obvious. "Fifty billion. Dollars. Cash or equivalent. No delays."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the lingering illusions seemed to pause.

"FIFTY BILLION?!" Harley shrieked, her eyes ballooning to saucer size. She clutched her head theatrically, nearly toppling over. "You're nuts! That's a mountain of cash! Taller than a skyscraper! Heavier than Bane after a buffet!"

Pamela and Kara nodded in unison, their faces radiating pure, unfiltered shock. Even Alex, whose stoicism was legendary, tilted his head back slightly, as if struck by an invisible blow. He crossed his arms slowly, gathering his thoughts. "Why," he began, choosing his words with precision, voice icy, "do you think we have access to that kind of money? And more importantly, why would we ever agree to give it to you?"

Zatanna didn't flinch. She snapped her fingers, and a glossy Forbes magazine materialized in the air, flipping open to a spread titled: "Floravita Industries: The Green Empire. Valuation: $150+ Billion." A photo of Floravita's sleek complex and stylized logo gleamed beside it.

"That's why," she said simply, pointing at the figure. "Once I have the funds, I'll conduct… let's call it a diagnostic. An assessment of your innate magical potential. And if any of you are… gifted," her lips curved into a faint smile, "I'll train you. Personally."

Skepticism and indignation flashed across all four faces. Harley scoffed louder than before. "Oh, come on! A 'diagnostic' after we pay? Classic scam! Trying to fleece us like suckers? We weren't born yesterday, ya know!"

Kara frowned, her fists clenching instinctively. "Sounds… shady."

Pamela's arms tightened, her gaze turning glacial. "Highly questionable terms."

Alex rolled his eyes so expressively it could've gone viral. He sighed heavily, his voice dripping with lethal sarcasm. "Let's say Floravita is indeed valued at a hundred fifty billion. Allow me to clarify what that valuation entails:

- Unique biotechnology. Based on Pamela's irreplaceable abilities. Not just an asset—it's the foundation.

- Total control of Gotham. Economy, security, ecology—all tied to us. That's an ecosystem, not cash in a vault.

- High but projected revenue. Five to fifty billion a year—forecasts, not a stack of bills under a mattress. Money gets reinvested, grows the city.

- Significant assets. Real estate, patents, infrastructure. You can't liquidate them in five minutes without crashing everything.

- Transformation premium. For what we've done to this city. For hope. For clean air. That's inherently illiquid."

He paused, his cold, unrelenting stare piercing Zatanna. "That doesn't mean we have fifty billion lying under a bed to hand over just because you asked. And more crucially: do you think we're idiots? Your 'pay first, maybe get a positive result' scheme? So if none of us are 'gifted,' you just wave goodbye with our billions? And you still haven't said why you need this astronomical sum. For what? A new theater? A dress woven from pure ether?"

Zatanna squirmed slightly under his logic and sarcasm. Her confidence wavered. She raised her hands in a placating gesture, her tone shifting from theatrical to sincere. "Okay, okay! Clean slate, no tricks. Let's do the potential check right now. Free. As for the money…" she paused, gathering her thoughts, "it's not about the money itself. It's the energy tied to it. The emotions. The passion people pour into getting it, hoarding it, protecting it. The despair when they lose it."

Harley stopped making faces and leaned in, frowning. "Energy? Emotions? What, we're in a woo-woo shop now? Or a psychic's tent?"

"It's fuel," Zatanna continued, ignoring Harley, her voice gaining gravity. "Money, especially sums that massive, acts like a magnet for certain… energies. It's a kind of sacrifice, not to a deity but to… knowledge. Fueled by human emotions. Think: a burned-down shack—you shrug. A million-dollar Bugatti goes up in flames? That's a whole different intensity. That intensity… it feeds."

Alex's eyes narrowed, catching a key word. His voice dropped, dangerous. "You said 'sacrifice.' Sacrifice to what or whom?"

Zatanna took a deep breath, her gaze distant, looking through the theater walls. "Not gods in the usual sense. It's… payment for access. There's an Infosphere—a boundless repository of all that was, is, and will be. All knowledge, all secrets, all threads of fate. I need to ask it… one question. Just one. But the price of entry is steep. Fifty billion is just a conduit for the emotional energy concentrated in that sum."

Alex's arms tightened, his stare drilling into her. "What question? What question is worth fifty billion and a 'sacrificial' ritual?"

Zatanna shook her head, her amethyst eyes impenetrable, tinged with resolute pain. "That's… not your concern, Alex. Not at all. So?" She looked at each in turn. "We checking your potential? Or have you already decided I'm just a con artist with fancy effects?"

Alex sighed heavily, glancing at his team. Harley shrugged with a "why not?" grin. Pamela tilted her head, scientific curiosity wrestling with caution. Kara eyed Zatanna with clear intrigue, her super-senses silent—magic was beyond them. "Test first," Alex said firmly, his decision calculated. "We check. Then… we discuss the rest."

Zatanna nodded, her smile returning—not triumphant, but relieved? Anticipatory? She raised her hand, palm up. The air in the small hall hummed like a taut string. Candles in the candelabra snuffed out, but light didn't fade—it now emanated from Zatanna, her amethyst eyes glowing with unearthly intensity. The hypnotic background melody fell silent, replaced by a resonant hush filled with rising magical power. "Prepare," she whispered, her voice echoing with ancient incantations. "Truth is rarely comfortable."

Zatanna moved with a dancer's grace, her fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. On the floor, glowing magical circles formed—a pentagram ringed with runes, pulsing silver like a living heartbeat of reality. The air hummed low, thick with ozone and old parchment. As she prepared the ritual, her voice was steady but tinged with reverence, as if recounting an ancient saga by a primal fire. "Magic arose millions of years ago," she began, her amethyst eyes reflecting the runes' glow. "Not as a divine gift, but a… side effect of a cosmic catastrophe. When humanity's ancestors gained sentience, a rift tore through reality's fabric. Through it poured a new, alien energy—Arcana. It didn't just permeate the world—it fused into the DNA of some early humans, rewriting their code, birthing a new branch: Homo Magus. If Homo Sapiens is the pinnacle of rational evolution, Homo Magus is the evolution of creative will, granting direct, dangerous access to the universe's fundamental forces. Not control, but… collaboration. Or struggle."

Alex, arms crossed, listened intently, his mind latching onto a key concept. He interrupted, his voice calm but sparked with genuine, almost scientific curiosity, distinct from his usual pragmatic skepticism. "You mentioned the Infosphere, knowing past, present, and future. Doesn't that mean everything we do is predetermined? That our desire to change anything, even this conversation, is just playing out a scripted role? That free will is an illusion for self-comfort?"

Zatanna flinched so sharply that a silver thread of energy from her finger to a rune snapped with a faint twang, like a breaking string. A heavy silence fell, broken only by the pentagram's low hum. Harley froze, no longer fidgeting. Kara tensed, instinctively shifting to a steadier stance. Pamela's eyes narrowed, catching Zatanna's reaction. The question hadn't just touched a philosophical nerve—it struck something deeply personal, almost taboo, the core of magical belief.

Zatanna took a deep breath, steadying herself, her fingers resuming their work to repair the broken thread. When she spoke, her voice carried weary wisdom and a shadow of doubt. "You… hit the mark precisely, Alex. Your logic's flawless, and many fatalist mages would agree. But… not quite. Picture the Infosphere not as a book with finished chapters, but a… vast lake." She waved, and a shimmering image of a watery expanse appeared above the pentagram. "The observed past is water already in the lake. Its shape can't be changed. The present is drops falling now. The Infosphere knows them perfectly as they hit. The past can't be altered, even if you could reach it. But the future…" The lake's image rippled, countless waves spreading and crossing. "The future is ripples from every possible drop that could fall. The Infosphere sees all probabilities, all paths. The bigger the event, the stronger the waves, the clearer its likely trace. But which drop falls, which ripple becomes real… that's unwritten." She paused, her gaze pensive, almost sorrowful. "Though… some Eastern magical schools believe the Infosphere sees the one true future but hides it, deeming it deadly to mortal minds. Like gazing at God's face."

She sharply dispelled the lake image and completed the final, intricate rune—a DNA spiral entwined with lightning. The pentagram flared brighter, its pulsing intensifying, ready for the ritual. "It's done," Zatanna announced, her voice regaining confidence, though Alex's question lingered in the air. "Step in one at a time. Stand in the center. The circle will react if you carry Arcana's spark… or something able to hold it."

Pamela went first, stepping into the pentagram with the dignity of a scientist entering an unknown shrine. Her red hair swayed faintly, as if stirred by an unseen breeze from the circle. She stood, focused. A second… two… The pentagram remained cold silver, unchanged—no flashes, no color shifts, no energy threads reaching for her. Pamela opened her eyes, a flicker of curiosity tinged with mild disdain for the "unscientific" method. She stepped out silently, her slight shrug saying, "Biology is the only true magic."

Kara was next, entering with Power Girl's battlefield resolve. Her white suit gleamed against the silver glow. She stood firm, expecting… what? A surge of power? Recognition of her Kryptonian nature? But the pentagram stayed silent, inert. Her golden biofield sparked no response. Kara frowned, lips thinning. "Well… saves time," she muttered to Zatanna. "I'll manage without." She stepped out, shaking her shoulders as if shedding invisible magical dust.

Harley, bouncing with impatience, vaulted into the pentagram with a yell. "My turn! My magical destiny!" The moment her feet hit the center, the pentagram erupted in light—not silver, but blinding gold, like molten sunlight. The glow didn't just fill the circle—it shot upward in a pillar, nearly knocking Zatanna off her feet. Harley squealed in shock and delight, jumping but held by the light, enveloped like a cocoon. Within the gold, chaotic flashes of crimson and emerald sparked—raw, untamed emotion. "I'LL BE HERMIONE GRANGER! BUT WITH A BAT AND GUNS!" she shrieked, laughing, trying to catch the light's sparks.

Everyone smiled, tension easing. Even Pamela, usually reserved, snorted, covering her mouth. Kara rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. Zatanna, recovering from the initial shock, stared at Harley not just with interest but with awe, her eyebrows nearly vanishing into her hairline. "Such… pure, potent chaos," she whispered, almost to herself. "A rare gift… and a rarer headache for a teacher."

Alex was last. He stepped in slowly, deliberately, like Pamela, his face an impassive mask of analytical calm. He stood in the center, closing his eyes briefly, perhaps trying to feel what Harley did or testing his "second" for perception. Everyone held their breath. Seconds dragged. The pentagram… stayed cold silver. No flash, no flicker, no hint of response—just steady, pulsing runes around his feet. Harley, beside him, frowned, her glee giving way to brief, genuine worry for "daddy Alex." Zatanna watched with an unreadable gaze, tinged with disappointment.

Alex stepped out, emotionless, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His mind raced: *No innate Homo Magus gene? The analyst's chill gave way to calculation. Fifty billion—an astronomical sum. But a trained, loyal mage—especially a wild card like Harley—is a chance to understand magic from within, not be its pawn. Long-term, the cost is justified. A supreme investment in Floravita's safety and power in this new, mad magical world.* He snapped his head up, locking eyes with Zatanna, his voice level, businesslike, but steely. "You said the money itself isn't key—it's the emotions tied to it, the passion, desire, fear. So, access to cold crypto wallets would work? I can provide keys to funds equaling your sum. But I'll need time to… arrange the transfer. An operation this big requires caution. Does it have to be immediate, or will our deal hold when the funds are ready? It's a digital record, but behind every satoshi is years of human greed, market panic, blind faith in growth, despair in crashes, traders' thrill. Concentrated, global emotional energy in its most modern, liquid form. Equal to your 'sacrifice'?"

Zatanna's eyes lit up—not just with satisfaction but with raw, almost greedy triumph. She extended a hand, forgetting magical decorum, her fingers trembling with anticipation. "Yes!" she exhaled, her voice pitching half a tone higher. "That's… perfect! The purest modern sacrifice to Moloch! The energy will be colossal. And I have time. When you're ready, let me know. The ritual to access the Infosphere takes preparation and can't be done instantly."

Harley, wasting no time, threw herself at Alex, hugging him so tightly his ribs creaked. "You're the best! The smartest! The most generous!" she squealed, bouncing. "Now I'll really be the Queen of Magic! First, I'll learn to make bats that bash bad guys on their own!"

Zatanna clapped sharply, the sound like a gunshot, snapping attention back. Her gaze grew serious, though her amethyst eyes still danced with the glow of her goal within reach. "Perfect," she said, her voice regaining its magical depth. "The deal is sealed."

She turned to Harley, her expression softening, though tinged with the dread of a teacher facing a volatile student. "And you, my wild golden storm," Zatanna smiled—a smile of someone willingly sitting on a powder keg. "Prep your neurons. Lessons start now. Forget Hermione or queens. We begin with not burning your eyebrows off trying to light a candle with your mind. It's harder than cracking skulls with a bat."

Harley beamed brighter, if that was possible. Alex, finally prying off the clingy Harley, had secured access to magic for her—a weapon of unpredictable power—and a tangential link to the Infosphere's secrets. But the cost was astronomical, and Zatanna's motives remained murky.