Every coastline on Earth reported the same thing within hours of each other.
Mountains of trash had appeared on beaches and harbors overnight. Plastic waste blanketing entire ports, lost cargo containers, fishing nets, discarded machinery, war ships, nuclear submarines, decades of human pollution deposited back onto land with a precision that no natural process could explain.
The strangest part wasn't the scale.
It was the selectivity.
Only human-made waste had been returned, sorted by origin, delivered back to the exact coastlines of the countries responsible for producing it. Scientists from every major nation examined the phenomenon and reached the same conclusion from different directions.
They had no explanation.
***
In the Batcave Bruce sat in front of the main screen watching the satellite feeds update in real time, coastline after coastline buried under returned waste, governments issuing statements that amounted to organized confusion.
Alfred arrived with coffee and looked at the screens with the measured calm of a man who had stopped being surprised by what appeared on them.
"You seem troubled Master Bruce," Alfred said.
"The number of impossible incidents has increased exponentially in the last few months," Bruce said, accepting the coffee without looking away from the screen.
"First Superman. Then Central City starts producing metahumans almost weekly. Strange technology, unexplained phenomena, physics being violated on a regular basis." He zoomed in on a satellite image of a harbor buried under returned shipping containers.
"And now the entire ocean decides to send humanity its garbage back."
Alfred studied the images quietly.
Bruce pressed a key and the screens changed.
Ancient maps. Maritime records. Naval sighting reports going back centuries. Historical accounts dismissed as legend by every serious academic who had ever encountered them.
One word at the center of all of it.
Atlantis.
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Atlantis, Master Bruce."
"A year ago I would have closed the file immediately," Bruce said.
"Then Kryptonians landed in Metropolis. Then a man in a trench coat dragged a warship into another dimension." He looked at the word on the screen.
"Dismissing something because it sounds impossible has become an increasingly poor standard of evidence."
Alfred considered that for a moment. "And you believe Atlantis is responsible for this?"
Bruce zoomed out to show every affected coastline simultaneously, every country, every ocean, the same phenomenon repeated with identical precision across the entire planet.
"Someone with enough power to influence every ocean on Earth simultaneously sent humanity a message tonight," Bruce said. "I want to know who sent it and what they want."
The Batcomputer kept on processing, feeds updating, governments scrambling on every channel.
Because if this was a warning, Bruce had learned long ago that warnings preceded something worse.
"But Master Bruce," Alfred said carefully, "this is not a criminal from Gotham you can simply catch and lock in Arkham."
"Yes," Bruce said. "I'm aware Alfred."
He looked at the coastline feeds for a long moment.
"That's why I'm thinking of forming a team."
Alfred was quiet for a moment in the particular way he was quiet when he had something to say and was deciding how to say it.
"If you'll forgive me Master Bruce," Alfred said, "you have never exactly been fond of the collaborative approach. You have spent the better part of your career working very deliberately alone."
"I know my limits Alfred," Bruce said. "A criminal in Gotham, a corrupt institution, even an organized crime network, those are problems one person can solve with enough preparation and patience."
He looked at the word Atlantis still on the screen, then at the Superman file beside it, then at Daniel's photograph beside that. "This isn't that. Whatever is coming, whatever this is the beginning of, a single pair of hands won't be enough."
Alfred looked at the screens.
"And you believe the individuals you have been profiling would be willing," Alfred said.
"Willing is a starting point," Bruce said. "I'll work with what I have."
Alfred considered that for a moment.
"Yes," Bruce said.
The Superman file opened. Daniel's file beside it. The Flash. Wonder Woman. Four profiles on four screens.
He had to talk to all of them eventually.
***
On Amnesty Bay the night had settled over the coast, rocks wet and dark, ocean moving steady in the distance.
Daniel lay on the flat rocks, coat under him, looking up at nothing in particular.
He was waiting.
The water broke and Mera came up through it, red hair dark and heavy with seawater, green suit leaving very little to the imagination and doing so completely unapologetically.
She stepped onto the rocks and water ran down every curve of her before the ocean let her go entirely.
Daniel sat up slowly.
His eyes made exactly one full trip from her feet upward before settling on her face with the unhurried appreciation of a man who had been lying on rocks for twenty minutes and had decided it was entirely worth it.
"I was waiting for you," he said.
*****
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