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Bruce Wayne is certain of three things:
- The latest crime outbreak can be attributed to the Riddler’s recent Arkham escape; the pattern of vandalized billboards and cryptic graffiti across the Diamond District bears Edward Nygma’s unmistakable signature of intellectual superiority masquerading as criminal genius;
- Damian did poorly on an English essay and is trying to hide it from him; his youngest has been avoiding eye contact during their evening briefings and made three separate excuses to skip their usual post-patrol analysis, behavior that only occurs when academic failure intersects with wounded pride;
- He is being followed by a goose. Closely.
He adjusts his cufflinks as he exits the Wayne Enterprises building, peripheral vision tracking the black-necked, white-chinned form that has maintained a distance of exactly fifteen feet behind him for the past four blocks. The Canadian goose exhibits none of the random movement patterns typical of Gotham’s urban wildlife. Instead, it demonstrated what can only be described as tactical awareness, positioning itself behind newspaper stands and fire hydrants as though it his done this type of surveillance before.
The goose honks once, a sound that somehow manages to convey both accusation and impatience. The aggressive undertone is unmistakably Canadian waterfowl, a species known for hostility that borders on sociopathy.
Bruce does not break stride. He will not be intimidated by waterfowl, regardless of apparent proficiency in covert operations or its evolutionary predisposition toward violence.
The goose honks again, more insistently this time, and Bruce notices several pedestrians giving both him and his unusual tail a wide berth. The woman who runs the corner deli crosses the street entirely, clutching her purse and muttering what sounds suspiciously like a prayer.
Smart woman.
Canadian geese are notorious for their complete lack of fear and their willingness to assault anything they perceive as a threat, including full-grown humans.
Professional paranoia demands he catalog the potential threats; biological weapon, meta-human shapeshifter, or elaborate psychological warfare courtesy of one of his more creative enemies. The Penguin comes to mind, though even Oswald Cobblepot’s ornithological obsessions typically favor more sophisticated avian specimens.
Bruce turns the corner toward the parking garage, and the goose follows suit.
Bruce makes his way further into the garage and notes that the goose’s webbed feet make surprisingly little sound against the asphalt floor. Either the bird possesses supernatural stealth capabilities, or Canadian geese are simply more unsettling than he previously thought.
Bruce approaches his car, keys already in hand, when the goose finally breaks protocol.
It positions itself directly between Bruce and the driver’s side door.
They regard each other in silence. The goose’s black eyes reflect the overhead lights with an intelligence that seems distinctly non-avian.
”Move,” Bruce says quietly.
The goose honks once, sharp and dismissive. It spreads its wings, an impressive span that effectively blocks access to the vehicle and settles into what can only be described as a combat stance.
Bruce calculates angles of approach. The garage’s security cameras will record whatever happens next, which limits his options considerably. Attacking a goose, even in self-defense, would generate the kind of media attention that Wayne Enterprises’ PR department would struggle to spin.
The goose tilts its head, as if it finds Bruce amusing.
Bruce pulls out his phone and calls Alfred. “I need you to research the behavior pattern of geese. Specifically their territorial responses and any recorded instances of sustained stalking behavior.”
”I see, sir. Should I also prepare the medical bay for potential injuries?”
”That won’t be necessary.”
The goose honks again, and Bruce swears the sound carries a note of mockery.
”Maybe some antiseptic and bandages,” he amends, watching as the goose’s eyes begin to shift from black to an ominous shade of deep red.
The red tinge in the goose’s eyes intensifies, and Bruce realizes with growing unease that this is not standard aggression. The bird shifts its stance, becoming more predatory, and when it opens its beak again, the sound that emerges is layered with something that makes his teeth ache.
”Sir?” Alfred’s voice crackles through the phone. “Is everything quite all right?”
”Define ‘all right,’” Bruce mutters as the goose takes a deliberate step forward.
The goose tilts its head again, and Bruce catches a glimpse of something impossible: a thin band of red light around what would be the bird’s middle finger, if geese had fingers.
”Alfred, I need you to pull up any Justice League files on Red Lantern Corps acvitivy. Cross-reference with recent dimensional anomalies and animal possession cases.”
”Red Lantern Corps, sir? In Gotham?”
”Apparently.”
The goose honks once more, and this time the sound carries what Bruce can only describe as immense frustration. The kind of universe-deep irritation that suggests the bird is personally offended by Bruce’s existence, or more specifically, by his failure to be somewhere else.
Or with someone else.
Bruce takes a careful step backward as red energy leaks from the corner of the goose’s beak. “Alfred, check for any reports of missing Green Lanterns. If the Red Lanterns are recruiting Earth fauna, there might be a territorial dispute.”
“Right away, sir. Should I also alert the Cave’s defense systems?”
The goose’s head snaps up at the mention of alerts and its eyes flare bright crimson. The temperature in teh garage spikes noticeably.
”Negative. This feels… Targeted. Personal.”
The goose spreads its wings, red energy crackling between its feathers, and Bruce realizes with sinking certainty what whatever force turned this goose into a Red Lantern, it wants something from him, specifically.
The red energy intensifies, and Bruce catalogs the implications. Red Lantern constructs are powered by rage, typically manifesting as plasma-based weapons or crude bludgeoning instruments. A goose wielding such power presents unique challenges: high mobility, unpredictable attack patterns, and an apparent immunity to conventional intimidation tactics.
The goose takes another step forward, and Bruce notices something else: the bird’s movements aren’t random. There’s a deliberate quality to its positioning, as if it’s trying to herd him in a specific direction rather than simply attack.
”Alfred, I need you to run a probability analysis. What are the odds that a Red Lantern would target Bruce Wayne rather than Batman?”
”Calculating, sir. Given your public profile versus your nighttime activities… remarkably low. Unless the entity has access to classified intelligence regarding your dual identity.”
The goose honks again, and Bruce becomes certain that it’s not just anger. There’s something else layered beneath the rage. Frustration, yes, but also what sounds disturbingly like… disappointment?
”Sir, I’m reading elevated electromagnetic signatures from your location. The energy pattern is consistent with Red Lantern ring activity, but there’s an additional component I don’t recognize.”
Bruce watches as the goose begins to pace in a tight circle around him, wings still spread, red energy trailing behind it. It reminds him oddly of a sheepdog corralling livestock.
”Additional component?”
”The quantum signature suggests the ring’s power source is being influenced by an external force. Something that appears to be… directing its rage toward a specific outcome.”
”The goose stops directly in front of Bruce and fixes him with a stare that somehow manages to convey both fury and expectation.
”What kind of outcome?”
”I’m afraid the data is inconclusive, sir.”
The goose honks with renewed vigor, and Bruce swears he can detect a note of impatience in the sound.
A brilliant green light floods the garage as a figure drops in through the ceiling, leaving a perfectly circular hole in its wake. Hal Jordan lands, his uniform gleaming, and immediately takes in the scene with the kind of exasperation that suggests this is not his first unusual Wednesday.
“There you are,” Hal says, pointing directly at the goose. “Do you have any idea how many noise complaints the Corps has received about you? Oa’s communication center is flooded with reports of ‘aggressive honking across seventeen sectors. The Guardians are considering it a diplomatic incident.”
The goose turns to face Hal, and Bruce notices something remarkable: the red energy emanating from the bird intensifies, but shifts in quality. Where before it seemed focused and predatory, now it carries what can only be described as vindicated fury.
”Jordan,” Bruce says carefully. “I assume you have an explanation for why a Red Lantern goose has been stalking me across downtown Gotham?”
”Oh you mean beside the fact that you’re apparently the most emotionally constpitated man in the multiverse and the universe has decided to do something about it?” Hal crosses his arms. “Yeah. It’s complicated.”
The goose honks yet again, sharp and accusatory, and both men flinch at the sound.
”How complicated?” Bruce asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know.
”Well turns out cosmic forces have zero patience for people who’d rather brood on rooftops than deal with their feelings,” Hal says, gesturing broadly at the increasingly agitated waterfowl “And apparently they’ve decided to outsource the problem to Earth’s most unhinged bird species.”
The goose spreads its wings wider, red energy crackling like lightning, and fixes both men with a stare that suggests this conversation is taking far too long for its liking.
”What are you saying?” Bruce asks, using the tone he reserves for particularly absurd villain monologues.
”I’m saying you’re being followed by a soulmate goose,” Hal answers, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
Bruce stares at him for a long moment. “A… soulmate goose.”
”Yep.”
”That enforces romantic connections through rage.”
”That’s the one.”
”And you think this is… normal?”
Hal laughs, a sharp sound that echoes off the concrete walls. “Really? That’s where you draw the weird line? Not at demonic possession, resurrection from the dead, any of the other shit we see in a day? Cosmic matchmaking geese are too much?”
”It’s not…” Bruce starts, then stops as the goose honks with what sounds distinctly like agreement.
”Dude, you live in a cave with a teenager who was raised by assassins, your best friend is an alien who shoots lasers from his eyes, and your nighttime activities include dressing up as a bat to go punch clowns.” Hal’s ring flares brighter as he gestures emphatically. “But sure. Let’s get hung up on the goose. Be glad it wasn’t a Star Sapphire goose, Bruce. Then we’ll really talk weird.”
The goose takes a step toward Bruce, red energy pulsing with each movement, and he can’t help but notice that its glare has shifted from generic fury to something more personal. More pointed.
”This is insane,” he mutters.
”You know what’s insane?” Hal shots back. “The fact that the universe looked at the two of us and decided the only way to get us in the same room was to arm a goose with a power ring fueled by pure rage. Do you know how bad at communication you have to be for that to be the optimal solution?”
Bruce goes very still. “The two of us?”
”Yeah, the two of…” Hal stops mid-gesture, his expression shifting from exasperation to something approaching panic. “Oh. Oh shit.”
”Jordan.”
”I mean, theoretically the two of us. Hypothetically. In a completely abstract sense that doesn’t necessarily…”
”Hal.
The goose honks with what sounds like impatience, and red energy leaks more aggressively from its beak.
”What exactly are you saying?” Bruce asks, using that tone of voice that usually precedes either violence or a very uncomfortable conversation.
Hal looks between Bruce and the increasingly agitated bird, then runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. So. Funny story. Remember how I said this was complicated?”
”Jordan.”
”Right. So apparently, and I want to stress that i had no input on this decision, apparently we’re…” Hal gestures vaguely between them. “You know. Linked. Destinied. Soulmate-adjacent.”
Bruce stares at him. “What?”
”And the goose is here because we’ve been ignoring it for… I don’t know. However long the powers that be consider appropriate before they send out the goose.”
”What?” Bruce repeats, adding more emphasis this time.
Hal takes a deep breath and adopts the kind of patient, explanatory tone usually reserved for teaching small children about stranger danger. “Okay, Bruce. You know how sometimes the universe has… opinions about things?”
”No.”
”Right. Well it does. And apparently one of those opinions are that you and I are supposed to be together. Romantically. As in dating. As in whatever force out there that governs reality thinks we’d make a cute couple.”
Bruce doesn’t change his expression, but something dangerous flares up inside him. “Continue.”
”So when two people are, you know, destined for each other, but they’re too emotionally repressed or whatever the universe sometimes sends a little… encouragement.”
The goose honks, and Hal gestures toward it like he’s presenting evidence in court.
”That’s the encouragement?” Bruce asked.
”That’s the encouragement. Specifically it’s called a Goose of Enforcement. They’re supposed to be annoying but harmless. You know, honking at you until you call your soulmate, maybe stealing your lunch until you go on a date. I heard a story about one that learned how to use a knife once.”
The goose vomits a small stream of red plasma that burns a hole through the floor.
“However,” Hal continues, shifting to look at the goose. “Ours seems to have gotten recruited by the Red Lantern Corps which… Is not standard protocol.”
”Our goose,” Bruce says slowly. “Got a power ring.”
”Fueled by rage at our romantic incompetence, yes.”
“And if we ignore it?”
”Well, Red Lanterns get stronger the angrier they get,” Hal says thoughtfully. “And geese are already basically feathered engines of pure hostility. So I’m thinking it escalates until our goose is powerful enough to level city blocks in the name of love.”
The goose honks once, sharp and affirming.
”Plus,” Hal adds with the kind of grim certainty that comes from experience with cosmic bureaucracy, “if we keep ignoring it they’ll send the Star Sapphire goose.”
Bruce goes very still at that. “The what?”
”Jesus, Bruce, do you not pay attention at all when I talk at meetings? Star Sapphire Corps? Love powered? Think of all the rage this one has, but focused into obsessive romantic devotion instead of violence.” Hal gestures at their current tormentor. “This guy wants us to get together. The Star Sapphire goose will want us to get together. Forever. In the most suffocating, possessive way possible.”
The Red Lantern goose honks in agreement, nodding as if saying ‘trust me, you don’t want to meet my cousin.’
”Two geese,” Bruce says slowly.
”Two geese. Both with power rings. Following us around the known universe until we start dating or die in the crossfire.”
Bruce considers this. He’s face down threats before, but usually they didn’t involve his personal life becoming a matter of interdimensional incident reports. “The League is going to have questions.”
”Oh, definitely. Barry’s going to be insufferable about it.”
”Assuming we survive the next five minutes.”
The goose takes a step forward, red energy crackling more intensely around its form. Its eyes have gone completely crimson now, and Bruce realizes they’re rapidly approaching the point of no return.
”so,” Hal says, his ring glowing brighter as he prepares for what appears to be an inevitable confrontation with the universe’s most dangerous matchmaker. “Do you wanna like… I don’t know. Catch a movie later? Netflix and chill?”
Bruce stares at him. “Are you asking me out while we’re being threatened by a Red Lantern goose?”
”I’m asking you out to prevent being murdered by a Red Lantern goose. There’s a difference.”
“Fine,” Bruce caves. “But we’re not watching Top Gun.”
“Sure,” Hal agrees. “Whatever. So…” he turns to stare at the goose. “Happy now? We’re going on a date. Does that make you go away or are we stuck with the babysitter from hell for awhile?”
The goose tilts its head, considering the question with the gravity of a judge considering a sentence. The red energy is fading, but the bird remains firmly planted between Bruce and his car.
”I think,” Bruce says carefully. “It wants proof of commitment.”
”What kind of proof?”
”How should I know? You’re the one who apparently has experience with this.”
Hal turns to address the goose directly. “Look. We agreed to the date. We’re going to actually go on the date. What more do you want from us?”
The goose honks once, sharp and expectant, then pointedly looks between them.
”I think,” Bruce says with growing dread. “It wants us to actually schedule something. Right now.”
”Of course it does,” Hal sighs. “Friday night work for you?”
”Late meeting. Thursday?”
”Test flight. And who the hell goes out on a Thursday? Saturday?”
”I have a…” Bruce starts, then stops. “I’ll reschedule it.”
The gooses’ red glow dims further, but it still doesn’t move.
”So… seven?” Hal asks.
”Seven,” Bruce agrees.
The goose honks its approval, and the red energy fades to almost nothing. Finally, finally it steps away from the car door.
“Alfred is going to have so many questions,” Bruce mutters as he finally unlocks it.