Tim swallowed slowly as he entered Belle Reve. What was originally simply a high tech prison for criminals ARGUS had apprehended became their headquarters after budget cuts forced them out of their lovely old base.
Belle Reve was empty, drafty, and all around dreary. Guards were stationed around every corner, armed to the teeth, ready to stop any criminal in their tracks. And technically, vigilantism was a crime.
“Morning, officers,” Tim tried to his best to keep his wits about him as he strolled by soldiers hefting heavy weapons around.
“You made it,” Amanda Waller’s curt voice cut through the background noise.
“You’re running quite the prison,” Tim mentioned.
“Follow me,” Waller ordered, spinning back around to come from whence she came.
“So you are really going to help me rescue Tam?” Tim smiled.
“No. I lied and manipulated your friend for my personal gain,” Waller said, pointedly. Tim opened his mouth to reply but was cut short. “I wouldn’t put it past me,” she admitted.
“How?” he asked, entering a disguised elevator with her, “How are we going to fish Tam out of that… that place?”
“Carefully.”
Tim rolled his eyes.
“I mean it,” Waller said, the elevator slowing, “One thing goes wrong and she stays in there. Worse, you get stuck with her. Or it goes completely crazy and the Phantom Zone leaks into our world.”
“That can happen?” Tim gasped.
“It hasn’t been proven impossible,” Waller stated, “Therefore it is.”
“Impossible? Or possible?” he asked.
“Possible,” Waller said, “The whole innocent before proven guilty, but relating to possibility.”
“Lovely.”
The elevator came to a stop, the doors slid open, and a bright room was revealed to Tim. A large archway stood alone in the middle of the room. Four scientists worked furiously on computers surrounding the archway.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Timothy Drake,” Waller introduced him, “He’s the boy we’re sending in.”
The scientists glanced up from their work temporarily, then ducked back down to continue. All but one.
“Timothy Drake?” a woman with fair skin and messy brown hair smiled, “As in Bruce Wayne’s ward?”
“Yep,” he nodded, “That one.”
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” the woman said, “You’re a bright kid.”
Tim grimaced, not caring too much for the label ‘kid’.
“Why would you waste all that potential by risking your life in the Phantom Zone?” the woman inquired.
“There’s someone in there,” Tim explained, “They need help to escape.”
“Oh,” the woman said, “I thought this mission was purely to learn more and more about the Phantom Zone?”
Tim looked at Waller, confused.
“You didn’t think I was sending you in there without any other motive, did you?” Waller raised an eyebrow.
“What information do you need me to collect?” Tim sighed.
Waller handed him two small devices that would loop around his ears, “One will act as a sort of shield for you, keeping the Phantom Energy from entering your body. The other will send out constant pulses, spreading as far as they can.”
“Mapping the Phantom Zone,” he said.
“Waller, we’re ready to go,” an African-American man said, looking over Tim.
“Thank you, Dr. Holt,” Waller said, “Tim, you’re up.”
“I’m counting on you guys to not let me die in there,” Tim said to the scientists.
“Timothy, these are some of the most decorated scientists around,” Waller said, “Michael Holt. Hannah Polovich. Heinrich Wagner. Matvei Sokolov.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s impossible for this to go wrong,” Tim reminded Waller of her own words.
“You are correct,” she nodded, “But there is a high probability that this goes well.”
Tim put on the earpieces, and nodded to Dr. Holt. Dr. Holt punched in a command. Then, the scientists, as well as Amanda Waller, stepped into the elevator. A clear separator came down, closing off the elevator.
The room was flooded with Phantom Energy, all culminating inside the archway. Tim took a deep breath, and stepped through the archway.
- - -
Batman stared down Slade Wilson, smiling.
“I finally have you,” Batman said.
“You can take off the mask, Bruce,” Slade said, “I know it’s you.”
“Slade, I need to know everything about the Riddler. Who he is. What he wants. Why he hired you.”
“This is rich,” Slade smiled, “You coming to me.”
“I don’t have many other options,” Batman sighed, “Please, Slade. You’ve taken Oswald from me. You broke into my home and fought my boys. Why can’t you just give me something?”
“If I do this for you, you need to do something for me,” Slade said.
“Everything comes at a cost,” Batman sighed.
“Riddler, he uses your emotions to control you,” Slade explained, “For me, he drew me in at a good moment. I discovered I had a- a daughter.”
“You? A family man?” Batman mused.
“I was riding high,” Slade said, “When Riddler’s offer came along, I jumped at it. A fat stack of cash just for taking out small time gangs and messing with the Batman. Then I learned he had no money to give me. But he had something else. He had taken my daughter. Threatened to kill her if I didn’t continue helping. I fled, not sure what to do. I realize now that was the wrong move. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve just kept working for him. Now, I’m stuck in here while he has my daughter’s life in his hands.”
“You want me to save your daughter,” Batman assumed, “Fine. Give me everything you know on the Riddler.”
“Edward Nashton. Born to Arthur and Emilia Nashton. At the age of three, he was tearing through all sorts of literature. But the books he read bored him. He could predict the ending.”
“How do you know all this?” Batman interrupted.
“He gave me a whole monologue,” Slade sighed, “Edward moved onto puzzles. Projects where they gave you the end, but you had to find your way there. Then riddles. And he became obsessed with these mysteries, these puzzles, these riddles. He wanted a bigger challenge to his brain. He took on different tasks. Got into trouble. He could vandalize a school bathroom, and leave just the right amount of evidence to frame someone else. Eventually, even these thrills faded. So he killed someone. No one special. Just someone random. To see if he could get away with it. The adrenaline rush was spectacular. He even slaughtered his parents and successfully had somebody else sent off to prison.”
“This man has some issues,” Batman grumbled.
“Don’t we all? Look, he’s got some loose screws up here, yet he still manages to run a tight ship. After killing his parents, he had no reason to stay home. He changed his last name to something more fitting and headed to your sweet city.”
“So what’s his move in Gotham? What does he want?” Batman asked.
“He wants to complete the ultimate task. Kill the Batman. The biggest mystery out there is not who you are under the mask. It’s what would Gotham do without you?”
“They’d manage,” Batman promised.
“Perhaps,” Slade admitted, “Or perhaps they’d crumble, allowing Edward to rule. Allowing him to finally take credit for everything he’s done. Get the recognition he thinks he deserves. Edward Nygma is done hiding in the shadows, Mister Wayne. And you should be worried.”
Batman stood up for a moment.
“I’ll give you the rest of my information when you bring my daughter back safe and sound,” Slade assured.
“No,” Batman said.
“No?”
Batman sighed. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. But if Riddler was truly as dangerous as Slade said- and if he was ready to strike- he had to.
“I’m not going to save your daughter on my own,” Batman said.
Slade’s eyes widened.
“You’re coming with me,” Batman said.
“As in, back to Gotham? Out of this cell?”
“Back to Gotham,” Batman nodded, “Out of this cell.”
Batman could not believe he said those words. This was the man who killed Oswald Cobblepot. And he was about to try to get him released from prison.
- - -
Dick Grayson leaned back in the plush armchair, sipping a green tea, and conversing with Damian. “So, what do you do around here, Damian?”
“Father refuses to give me a job,” Damian said, disgruntled, “I try to help, but he does not let me go and fight.”
“You’re what, ten?” Dick laughed it off.
“Fourteen!” Damian shot back.
“You sure don’t look it,” Dick said, recoiling. It was true. Damian was a short little boy, with wiry arms. Regardless, he was agile and could pack a punch.
“I can fight good. I have beaten Father.”
Dick raised an eyebrow, “Impressive.”
Bruce had surely been going easy. Or had been worn down. Or something. Surely.
“So why does he not let me be Batman?” Damian pouted.
“Damian, Bruce is Batman. That’s that. There is no other Batman. Except Tim… once,” Dick said.
“What about when he dies?” Damian asked.
“Little morbid for a teenager,” Dick mused, “Although I suppose most teens these days are obsessed with being edgy.”
Damian was confused as to what being edgy was.
“You’re a perfect example of an edgy teen,” Dick supposed, “A kid with something to prove with parental troubles and knowledge on how to kill a human person. Oh my.”
“You never answered question,” Damian pointed out.
“When Bruce dies, yeah, I guess someone might take up the mantle,” Dick admitted, “Or maybe Bruce will retire before he dies. Maybe Gotham won’t need a Batman.”
Damian seriously doubted that.
“Say, Damian, why don’t we go out tonight?” Dick suggested, “In Gotham. Maybe stop a mugging. Or two. A carjacking. Nothing major. No tackling Riddler. More learning the ropes. What do you say?”
Damian looked at Dick and offered a sly smile.
Dick walked over to the front door and grabbed a dark hoodie.
“Why do you not wear a Robin suit?” Damian questioned.
“I haven’t been Robin in years,” Dick explained, “I go- or I went by Nightwing recently. Now even that title seems wrong.”
“Why wrong?”
“I went off around the globe as a secret agents. I used guns, Damian. Do you know what your father thinks of guns?”
Damian nodded.
“Now, I just don’t know if I’m worthy to be Nightwing again,” Dick sighed.
Damian peered at him curiously, “You were the first Robin, correct?”
“Right.”
“I think you are worthy, then,” Damian shrugged.
“Thanks, Damian,” Dick smiled, “That’s really nice, actually.”
“Before we go we find a suit of my own,” Damian said, moving past the kindness.
“I don’t know if Bruce has any suits in your size,” Dick said, “You’re a small kid.”
“We find something,” Damian said.
So the brothers descended into the Batcave using the elevator that Damian had only recently learned about.
“This is everything. Your father’s suits, my old suit, Tim’s old suits,” Dick began, then turned to see Jason’s suit on a pedestal.
“The suit of Jason,” Damian muttered.
Jason’s suit was strictly red and black, with only a few hints of yellow. It was bulkier than the other Robin suits, more armored. There were several scuffs and scrapes along the chest. A spatter of blood along the neckline. The cape singed.
“The suit of Jason,” Dick nodded.
He glanced away. The memory still stung, but less now. Jason was alive. Doing god knew what, but he was alive.
“Father has many suits,” Damian observed.
Not many, per se, but more than necessary. He had his original on a stand. Not for nostalgia. For a reminder of what he came from. A reminder that even without the fancy gadgets, Batman could still rise above.
Then there was another prototype. All black, no hole for the mouth, and scarily long ears. It was also quite stiff, with thick armor, not allowing for much mobility.
Next was a still jet-black suit, but with more flexibility around joints, and along the back. The mouth had opened up so Batman could be heard when he spoke. Those times used to be far and in between. It used to be that if Batman said something to you, you were already finished. This was the suit Bruce had used when Dick was his partner.
Beside that suit was a newer one. It lightened up on the all black by using dark shades of gray along the body, while keeping black boots, gauntlets, symbol, and cowl. The symbol also now had a yellow circle around it. Bruce made sure to layer plenty of armor underneath, giving criminals a target that would never be pierced.
He had used that suit for a while. When Jason died, he didn’t have the willpower to work on a new one. Instead, he just failed to maintain it, allowing it to tank several devastating hits. It was done in in multiple places. The cowl had a sizable dent in it, there were tears across the torso.
When Tim was Robin, he combined his intelligence with Lucius to create a new suit, the suit Bruce currently used. Gray once again, but with more fluid combat armor. Flexibility without compromising protection. Plus, they implemented white lenses in the cowl to cover his eyes and provide detective vision. Bruce had wanted his eyes to glow red, but Tim and Lucius opted for white. The ears were also shortened after Lucius compressed the tech inside.
“He’s got a knack for making this stuff,” Dick said. He shifted his feet. “No. That’s a lie. Lucius and Tim have a knack for making this stuff. Tim single-handedly reinvented Bruce’s grappling gun. There used to be a whole process of hooking the cable to his suit and manually retracting it. Now, it reels itself back. The kid’s a genius.”
Damian perused the Robin suits. Dick’s bright and colorful Robin suit. A gleaming red torso with defined green legs. A suit that Bruce would recognize as someone to not utterly destroy. Tim’s more recent suit was present, the same reds and greens of Dick’s suit.
“Mine might fit you,” Dick said, “I was a small kid. Just not quite as small as you.”
Damian scowled.
“I take it back. My old suit would definitely be too big for you. Maybe Tim can make you one when he gets back.”
“What about patrol tonight?” Damian asked.
“Throw on any old thing. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
Belle Reve was empty, drafty, and all around dreary. Guards were stationed around every corner, armed to the teeth, ready to stop any criminal in their tracks. And technically, vigilantism was a crime.
“Morning, officers,” Tim tried to his best to keep his wits about him as he strolled by soldiers hefting heavy weapons around.
“You made it,” Amanda Waller’s curt voice cut through the background noise.
“You’re running quite the prison,” Tim mentioned.
“Follow me,” Waller ordered, spinning back around to come from whence she came.
“So you are really going to help me rescue Tam?” Tim smiled.
“No. I lied and manipulated your friend for my personal gain,” Waller said, pointedly. Tim opened his mouth to reply but was cut short. “I wouldn’t put it past me,” she admitted.
“How?” he asked, entering a disguised elevator with her, “How are we going to fish Tam out of that… that place?”
“Carefully.”
Tim rolled his eyes.
“I mean it,” Waller said, the elevator slowing, “One thing goes wrong and she stays in there. Worse, you get stuck with her. Or it goes completely crazy and the Phantom Zone leaks into our world.”
“That can happen?” Tim gasped.
“It hasn’t been proven impossible,” Waller stated, “Therefore it is.”
“Impossible? Or possible?” he asked.
“Possible,” Waller said, “The whole innocent before proven guilty, but relating to possibility.”
“Lovely.”
The elevator came to a stop, the doors slid open, and a bright room was revealed to Tim. A large archway stood alone in the middle of the room. Four scientists worked furiously on computers surrounding the archway.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Timothy Drake,” Waller introduced him, “He’s the boy we’re sending in.”
The scientists glanced up from their work temporarily, then ducked back down to continue. All but one.
“Timothy Drake?” a woman with fair skin and messy brown hair smiled, “As in Bruce Wayne’s ward?”
“Yep,” he nodded, “That one.”
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” the woman said, “You’re a bright kid.”
Tim grimaced, not caring too much for the label ‘kid’.
“Why would you waste all that potential by risking your life in the Phantom Zone?” the woman inquired.
“There’s someone in there,” Tim explained, “They need help to escape.”
“Oh,” the woman said, “I thought this mission was purely to learn more and more about the Phantom Zone?”
Tim looked at Waller, confused.
“You didn’t think I was sending you in there without any other motive, did you?” Waller raised an eyebrow.
“What information do you need me to collect?” Tim sighed.
Waller handed him two small devices that would loop around his ears, “One will act as a sort of shield for you, keeping the Phantom Energy from entering your body. The other will send out constant pulses, spreading as far as they can.”
“Mapping the Phantom Zone,” he said.
“Waller, we’re ready to go,” an African-American man said, looking over Tim.
“Thank you, Dr. Holt,” Waller said, “Tim, you’re up.”
“I’m counting on you guys to not let me die in there,” Tim said to the scientists.
“Timothy, these are some of the most decorated scientists around,” Waller said, “Michael Holt. Hannah Polovich. Heinrich Wagner. Matvei Sokolov.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s impossible for this to go wrong,” Tim reminded Waller of her own words.
“You are correct,” she nodded, “But there is a high probability that this goes well.”
Tim put on the earpieces, and nodded to Dr. Holt. Dr. Holt punched in a command. Then, the scientists, as well as Amanda Waller, stepped into the elevator. A clear separator came down, closing off the elevator.
The room was flooded with Phantom Energy, all culminating inside the archway. Tim took a deep breath, and stepped through the archway.
- - -
Batman stared down Slade Wilson, smiling.
“I finally have you,” Batman said.
“You can take off the mask, Bruce,” Slade said, “I know it’s you.”
“Slade, I need to know everything about the Riddler. Who he is. What he wants. Why he hired you.”
“This is rich,” Slade smiled, “You coming to me.”
“I don’t have many other options,” Batman sighed, “Please, Slade. You’ve taken Oswald from me. You broke into my home and fought my boys. Why can’t you just give me something?”
“If I do this for you, you need to do something for me,” Slade said.
“Everything comes at a cost,” Batman sighed.
“Riddler, he uses your emotions to control you,” Slade explained, “For me, he drew me in at a good moment. I discovered I had a- a daughter.”
“You? A family man?” Batman mused.
“I was riding high,” Slade said, “When Riddler’s offer came along, I jumped at it. A fat stack of cash just for taking out small time gangs and messing with the Batman. Then I learned he had no money to give me. But he had something else. He had taken my daughter. Threatened to kill her if I didn’t continue helping. I fled, not sure what to do. I realize now that was the wrong move. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve just kept working for him. Now, I’m stuck in here while he has my daughter’s life in his hands.”
“You want me to save your daughter,” Batman assumed, “Fine. Give me everything you know on the Riddler.”
“Edward Nashton. Born to Arthur and Emilia Nashton. At the age of three, he was tearing through all sorts of literature. But the books he read bored him. He could predict the ending.”
“How do you know all this?” Batman interrupted.
“He gave me a whole monologue,” Slade sighed, “Edward moved onto puzzles. Projects where they gave you the end, but you had to find your way there. Then riddles. And he became obsessed with these mysteries, these puzzles, these riddles. He wanted a bigger challenge to his brain. He took on different tasks. Got into trouble. He could vandalize a school bathroom, and leave just the right amount of evidence to frame someone else. Eventually, even these thrills faded. So he killed someone. No one special. Just someone random. To see if he could get away with it. The adrenaline rush was spectacular. He even slaughtered his parents and successfully had somebody else sent off to prison.”
“This man has some issues,” Batman grumbled.
“Don’t we all? Look, he’s got some loose screws up here, yet he still manages to run a tight ship. After killing his parents, he had no reason to stay home. He changed his last name to something more fitting and headed to your sweet city.”
“So what’s his move in Gotham? What does he want?” Batman asked.
“He wants to complete the ultimate task. Kill the Batman. The biggest mystery out there is not who you are under the mask. It’s what would Gotham do without you?”
“They’d manage,” Batman promised.
“Perhaps,” Slade admitted, “Or perhaps they’d crumble, allowing Edward to rule. Allowing him to finally take credit for everything he’s done. Get the recognition he thinks he deserves. Edward Nygma is done hiding in the shadows, Mister Wayne. And you should be worried.”
Batman stood up for a moment.
“I’ll give you the rest of my information when you bring my daughter back safe and sound,” Slade assured.
“No,” Batman said.
“No?”
Batman sighed. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. But if Riddler was truly as dangerous as Slade said- and if he was ready to strike- he had to.
“I’m not going to save your daughter on my own,” Batman said.
Slade’s eyes widened.
“You’re coming with me,” Batman said.
“As in, back to Gotham? Out of this cell?”
“Back to Gotham,” Batman nodded, “Out of this cell.”
Batman could not believe he said those words. This was the man who killed Oswald Cobblepot. And he was about to try to get him released from prison.
- - -
Dick Grayson leaned back in the plush armchair, sipping a green tea, and conversing with Damian. “So, what do you do around here, Damian?”
“Father refuses to give me a job,” Damian said, disgruntled, “I try to help, but he does not let me go and fight.”
“You’re what, ten?” Dick laughed it off.
“Fourteen!” Damian shot back.
“You sure don’t look it,” Dick said, recoiling. It was true. Damian was a short little boy, with wiry arms. Regardless, he was agile and could pack a punch.
“I can fight good. I have beaten Father.”
Dick raised an eyebrow, “Impressive.”
Bruce had surely been going easy. Or had been worn down. Or something. Surely.
“So why does he not let me be Batman?” Damian pouted.
“Damian, Bruce is Batman. That’s that. There is no other Batman. Except Tim… once,” Dick said.
“What about when he dies?” Damian asked.
“Little morbid for a teenager,” Dick mused, “Although I suppose most teens these days are obsessed with being edgy.”
Damian was confused as to what being edgy was.
“You’re a perfect example of an edgy teen,” Dick supposed, “A kid with something to prove with parental troubles and knowledge on how to kill a human person. Oh my.”
“You never answered question,” Damian pointed out.
“When Bruce dies, yeah, I guess someone might take up the mantle,” Dick admitted, “Or maybe Bruce will retire before he dies. Maybe Gotham won’t need a Batman.”
Damian seriously doubted that.
“Say, Damian, why don’t we go out tonight?” Dick suggested, “In Gotham. Maybe stop a mugging. Or two. A carjacking. Nothing major. No tackling Riddler. More learning the ropes. What do you say?”
Damian looked at Dick and offered a sly smile.
Dick walked over to the front door and grabbed a dark hoodie.
“Why do you not wear a Robin suit?” Damian questioned.
“I haven’t been Robin in years,” Dick explained, “I go- or I went by Nightwing recently. Now even that title seems wrong.”
“Why wrong?”
“I went off around the globe as a secret agents. I used guns, Damian. Do you know what your father thinks of guns?”
Damian nodded.
“Now, I just don’t know if I’m worthy to be Nightwing again,” Dick sighed.
Damian peered at him curiously, “You were the first Robin, correct?”
“Right.”
“I think you are worthy, then,” Damian shrugged.
“Thanks, Damian,” Dick smiled, “That’s really nice, actually.”
“Before we go we find a suit of my own,” Damian said, moving past the kindness.
“I don’t know if Bruce has any suits in your size,” Dick said, “You’re a small kid.”
“We find something,” Damian said.
So the brothers descended into the Batcave using the elevator that Damian had only recently learned about.
“This is everything. Your father’s suits, my old suit, Tim’s old suits,” Dick began, then turned to see Jason’s suit on a pedestal.
“The suit of Jason,” Damian muttered.
Jason’s suit was strictly red and black, with only a few hints of yellow. It was bulkier than the other Robin suits, more armored. There were several scuffs and scrapes along the chest. A spatter of blood along the neckline. The cape singed.
“The suit of Jason,” Dick nodded.
He glanced away. The memory still stung, but less now. Jason was alive. Doing god knew what, but he was alive.
“Father has many suits,” Damian observed.
Not many, per se, but more than necessary. He had his original on a stand. Not for nostalgia. For a reminder of what he came from. A reminder that even without the fancy gadgets, Batman could still rise above.
Then there was another prototype. All black, no hole for the mouth, and scarily long ears. It was also quite stiff, with thick armor, not allowing for much mobility.
Next was a still jet-black suit, but with more flexibility around joints, and along the back. The mouth had opened up so Batman could be heard when he spoke. Those times used to be far and in between. It used to be that if Batman said something to you, you were already finished. This was the suit Bruce had used when Dick was his partner.
Beside that suit was a newer one. It lightened up on the all black by using dark shades of gray along the body, while keeping black boots, gauntlets, symbol, and cowl. The symbol also now had a yellow circle around it. Bruce made sure to layer plenty of armor underneath, giving criminals a target that would never be pierced.
He had used that suit for a while. When Jason died, he didn’t have the willpower to work on a new one. Instead, he just failed to maintain it, allowing it to tank several devastating hits. It was done in in multiple places. The cowl had a sizable dent in it, there were tears across the torso.
When Tim was Robin, he combined his intelligence with Lucius to create a new suit, the suit Bruce currently used. Gray once again, but with more fluid combat armor. Flexibility without compromising protection. Plus, they implemented white lenses in the cowl to cover his eyes and provide detective vision. Bruce had wanted his eyes to glow red, but Tim and Lucius opted for white. The ears were also shortened after Lucius compressed the tech inside.
“He’s got a knack for making this stuff,” Dick said. He shifted his feet. “No. That’s a lie. Lucius and Tim have a knack for making this stuff. Tim single-handedly reinvented Bruce’s grappling gun. There used to be a whole process of hooking the cable to his suit and manually retracting it. Now, it reels itself back. The kid’s a genius.”
Damian perused the Robin suits. Dick’s bright and colorful Robin suit. A gleaming red torso with defined green legs. A suit that Bruce would recognize as someone to not utterly destroy. Tim’s more recent suit was present, the same reds and greens of Dick’s suit.
“Mine might fit you,” Dick said, “I was a small kid. Just not quite as small as you.”
Damian scowled.
“I take it back. My old suit would definitely be too big for you. Maybe Tim can make you one when he gets back.”
“What about patrol tonight?” Damian asked.
“Throw on any old thing. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
Sorry if the conversations bored you 
Now go catch up with the other corners of the Eternal Universe.
Green Arrow: Eternal by @Eeveechu151
Superman: Eternal by @Generation Sect
Now go catch up with the other corners of the Eternal Universe.
Green Arrow: Eternal by @Eeveechu151
Superman: Eternal by @Generation Sect
