Master Bruce

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Oh my god they actually took a page out of @HenryJonesJr's book and really made Jameson a thinly veiled parody of Alex Jones.

Why the fuck do I own an Xbox and not a PS4?! I need this game now.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

ONE WEEK LATER

Gotham City, The Narrows
Unity Square
8:58 PM

"Holy shit, holy shit, he's after us! Floor it, man! Peel that sucker and spaz!"

The group of idiots ahead accelerate only slightly farther from my view as I swing low, hovering barely above street level to go in for the strike. I'd intended to hit them without alerting them of my presence, but there are seven of them packed into a single SUV with eyes trained in all directions. Should've taken out the tires first and dealt with the aftermath, but time was a factor. Truth is, they're a group that I've run into a couple of times in the past - with each member wearing some gaudy leather coat, a ski-mask, and a neon visor, they've taken some partial inspiration from the metahuman boom and began to call themselves "The Mutants". And typically, whenever they've surfaced to commit a string of evening robberies, they've all been coordinated just enough to be ready to deal with police interference. That's especially true after the stunt they just pulled tonight. Performing armed robberies at Gotham's Fifth and Third National Banks at the same time, convening in a third location, ditching their disguises and hoping to escape anyone's notice by switching out seperate getaway vehicles for one.

Where The Mutants made their ultimate mistake was in triggering the silent alarm at Third National, acquiring my immediate attention and leading me directly to them in the midst of the two factions meeting up. Of course, rather than be smart and surrender immediately, they tried to fire upon me with lower tier semi-automatics acquired from who-knows-where and piled into the aforementioned SUV. Been chasing them from the rooftops for the last five blocks.

"Alfred,", I call out, firing another line towards an overpass. "Won't be making that dinner-date after all. Give the usual excuse."

I can hear an exasperated sigh from the other end of the earpiece I'm wearing.

"Of course. I was a fool to even believe that you and the visiting Miss Hardy would hit it off to begin with. Just as I was a fool to believe that you'd actually take your doctor's advisement to heart and rest easy for the month."

"Well, that's on you at this point."

Unfortunately, until Lucius Fox can figure out just how my servers were hacked a week prior by an as of yet unidentified adolescent calling themselves Oracle, The Batcycle's been put on something of a temporary reprieve so that he can update the system's hardware and install a new array of digital countermeasures. As a result, Alfred's been forced to take me to a secure alley near Robinson Park every night and drop me off, maintaining only a two-way low frequency radio communication from within the city under the guise of performing errands for his employer. It's far from the most ideal set of circumstances, I'll admit, and the idea of investing in a car has been mentioned more often than I can recall. But we're pushing ahead to the best of our abilities with as minimal amount of the technological edge required.

And of course, my ribs are hurting like hell, despite being bandaged up. The waning concussion isn't doing me any favors, either. But I've got a supply of painkillers and other prescribed medications stashed in the belt, in the event that I need them.

Reminds me of the first few weeks I was doing this. Experience is often said to be the best teacher, but nothing can quite prepare you for operating in the unprecedented fashion as I do. In six months, I went from trading punches with made men of the mafia in a bulletproof vest and balaclava every night to chasing thugs who believe they're clever enough to pull off "the heist of the century" in an armored suit with a cape. It feels as though I'm still learning how to do this, even with countless criminals sitting behind a cell at Blackgate due to my direct intervention. Alfred guides me as best as he can, putting my training to good use, but I know I'm not nearly on the level that he was at his prime.

"Bruce, I'm currently watching the feed given out of your cowl. Might I suggest regaining the element of surprise with a frontal attack? If you're going to get yourself killed, at least do it with some measure of skill."

I grunt, somersaulting into the air and activating the para-glider function in the cape.

"Duly noted."

I need to get better. Devote some time to fine-tuning my skills, upgrading the armor, overseeing an expansion of the arsenal, and seeing just what more can be done with my days as Bruce Wayne. Which can be difficult, as Harvey and I spend a majority of my free time pouring through every legal tactic in the book to try and prevent a hostile takeover of Waynetech through an assumption of the role of CEO. Legally, I'm not entirely within my rights to just up and seize majority control of the shares, as the window already passed. The Five Families saw that vulnerability as a chance to descend like a pack of vultures. Now Carmine Falcone's right-hand, Sionis, is all-but-guaranteed to be taking the spot that I should have sought out months ago, were it not for my own damned lack of initiative and divided interests. I came back to Gotham to rid it of the mob's influence, not run a company. And now my enemies are turning that against me.

Speaking of the mob, that supposed heist of the century? It only resulted in less than five thousand in cash being taken. The Mutants made another mistake in robbing two banks that are mob controlled, meaning that the actual cash that's deposited isn't stored on location with the exception of a small sum stored in the vaults to avoid suspicion, the rest being throwaway counterfeit dollars. The actual money of their patrons is stored offshore, meaning that The Mutants essentially just stole what's considered dummy cash. Traceable by the mob, the police, and every interested party that wants retribution.

Which is why I'm making great pains to stop them now, while they're still in the clear. If these morons actually made it back to their hideout and split the earnings, each of them would be dead within the week. And there's been enough bloodshed on the streets, frankly, without some opportunistic fetishists of outdated fashion trends trying to make a name for themselves.

"Wait, what the fuck?! Where is he?! He was just there a second ago!", one of them shouts as I glide above. "This don't feel jimmy, spud! The Bat is aces. Top aces. He don't just peel and shiv like the cops."

"Okay, I'm sorry, but... what the hell are you even saying, man? Is that English?"

"SHUT UP AND DRIVE!"

By the time that they're convinced that they may have lost me, I descend downwards and into a calculated spiral. Pulling both ends of my cape to me, I barrel through the sky with the speed of a freight train and slam directly onto the hood of the vehicle, cracking the windshield and leaving a considerable dent where my knee is placed. Can't say that it didn't hurt, but the look on their faces is more than enough to make up for it.

"AAAAAAH!"

"SHIT! SHIT!"

"JESUS CHRIST! BERSERK HIM! BILLY HIM OFF!", the leader shouts. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST SHOOT HIM!"

I pull my fist back only to slam it into the windshield glass, taking advantage of the structural weakness provided by my landing's velocity impact, and reach inside. Seizing the wheel driver from the driver, who panics and leaves me to what I'm about to do while the others scramble for the weapons that they all dropped out of fright, I yank the wheel sideways and kick myself off of the hood, reactivating the paraglider just as the front-end wheels of the SUV rapidly twist to the right, sending the vehicle toppling over itself at it's current speed. It lands upside down with a sickening crash against the pavement, with all windows shattering upon hitting the street. Nothing that'll result in too serious of an injury, but it sure as hell brings them to an immediate stop.

Landing atop a nearby building, I turn and watch as they all unbuckle themselves and pile out, each overtaken with mild shock. Climbing through broken glass and clutching a weapon each, they weakly look up and begin muttering a plan of action for themselves. Switching The Utility Gun's grapple mode to smoke, I aim a direct shot and fire. They all look towards the building cloud with horror. Each of them readies their weapons and begin to fire - splattering the pavement and an empty shop window with bullets.

BRAKA-BRAKA-BRAKA-BRAKA-BRAKA!

It isn't until I've knocked the first three against the pavement that they begin to realize that I was only using the smoke to distract them. One actually faints, while the remaining three get to their feet and try to fend me off. Correction, two of them try. One immediately tosses his weapon aside and bolts for it as fast as he can.

"Son of a... Hey, Lang! Lang, get your ass back here! We need some fucking help here, man!"

"You really do."



Descending on them faster than they can expect, I catch one bullet in what is mercifully the most heavily armored part of the suit. It isn't enough to even phase me as the other three shots pass through my cape, and I lock eyes with the shooter. Bringing both heels of my boot down squarely on his face, I land and roll as he falls to the ground, knocked completely out cold. His partner tries to shoot while my back is turned, but a batarang that I'd already tossed out whenever I hit the other one snatches the weapon from his hands. I look over my shoulder at him and glare, prompting him to apologetically lift both hands in surrender.

"Alright. Alright. I'm cool. No need to---"

Seizing him by the front of his shirt, I bring him into a hard rising elbow and smash my head into his face. He drops like a bundle of bricks to my feet. Hearing police sirens in the distance and knowing that I'm in no mood to execute a repeat performance of last week's carnage, I toss a 'Bat-Signal' against the wreckage of their car and watch as it lights up the night's sky. Should lead the GCPD right to these clowns before they can regain consciousness, not to mention buy me a little time to catch the straggler. Lang, I believe, is what they referred to him as.

"Alfred, I need your help. Can't use Ace to comb through the GCPD database, for obvious reasons. But I'm willing to risk letting you do it to give me a potential lead."

"Certainly. And who shall I be searching for, should this individual be unfortunate enough to cross your immediate path?"

"First name unknown, last name of Lang. Could be an alias, but I'm doubtful. Probably has a list of priors. Unlike their other attempt, The Mutants' heist at Fifth National was performed without a single alarm triggered. And I'm betting that Lang is the reason why."

"And you're betting this based of what evidence, exactly?"

Switching The Utility Gun's primary function back to it's original state, I fire a grapple line towards a gargoyle overlooking the area.

"Seems the type. Non-violent, chosen to be the getaway driver. Didn't struggle when I pulled the wheel. Only an accomplished thief doesn't waste their efforts when faced with opposition. They typically try and avoid conflict."

"I see. Might I ask, lad, when were became the expert on criminal psychology?"

"When I had a teacher as stern as you."

"Ah, yes. I did drill you rather hard on that one, didn't I?"

Smirking at that, I ascend into the rooftops and leap over the gargoyle, gliding my way towards a nearby billboard. Latching myself onto it, I utilize my standard heat signature lenses to scan the streets ahead. Lang's made it to an alleyway near Park Row. Immediately, I feel myself begin to tense up. Park Row, now known as Crime Alley. Christened that after a single, yet gruesome mugging gone bad. I should know because I was there.

My fist bawls up tightly as I take a deep breath, fighting back an immediate surge of unpleasant memories. Doesn't matter what the place used to be, or what it means. It's the escape grounds of a fugitive from the law, right now. I have to push it all aside, if I'm to put an end to this. He doesn't think I noticed, but Lang scooped up a bag of the dummy cash before he left the scene. Which means I now have to confront him. He's a marked man if I leave him to the police.

"I've found a match, Bruce. Your Mr. Lang seems to fit the bill of a one Scott Edward Harris Lang, formerly stationed out of Palm Springs, Florida. You were correct in his assumption of priors, aswell as the offenses all being of the non-violent capacity. He was sentenced to three years at San Quentin State Prison in California, his home state, before being released on good behavior."

My mind refocuses on the situation at hand, hearing the information read aloud.

"Florida. California. Then why the hell is he in Gotham?"

"Supposedly, employment. After a string of failed jobs throughout the country, he was last working as a security guard for, get this. The central office for Waynetech Industries. He was terminated just last week."

Hearing that, my confusion over the suspect's plight only grows. If Lang were employed by Waynetech as security, he would've had direct access to a series of some of the most advanced technology in the tri-state area. Pulling off a heist there would've been considerably easier, not to mention that he could've done it solo and for a much heftier profit. Why join up with The Mutant Gang just to perform a bank robbery?

"If he was an employee of Waynetech, then I'm about to re-evaluate the terms of his termination."



"If I'm going to lead the company, I might aswell start from the bottom."

Gotham City, The Narrows
Park Row
9:10 PM

"No. Dammit. No, no, no, no..."

Scott Lang pulled the mask from his face as he jumped to reach a fire escape dangling just a few inches too high above his grasp. Frantically looking around the alleyway for some trash to build a makeshift booster platform, he began digging through the garbage and kneeled down to sort out the bigger items from the smaller ones. He could hear police sirens in the distance, and the now very-much-confirmed-to-be-real Batman was likely on his tail. The one thing that Lang had told himself in agreeing to do this stupid job was that he wouldn't go back to jail.

The plan seemed foolproof, and he liked the odds of success once everything was laid out for him by the robbery's organizing party. But there had always been something shifty about that dude, Scott thought to himself. Creepy little man who preferred to be called 'The Clock King', for whatever reason, timing each method of extraction down to the very second that it was supposed to be executed. And on his team's end, they had followed the instructions to the letter.

The other team hadn't been as lucky. They'd messed up and triggered a silent alarm, prompting some sort of skirmish that had made them late. Clock King wasn't happy, but had given them the word to proceed anyway. Part of Scott wondered if The Bat was on the mob's payroll, given how fast that he showed up once they all met to exchange vehicles and head to the rendezvous point. It was the only way to explain how they could've encountered the vigilante so soon after robbing a pair of banks under the thumb of The Five Families.

Producing a handful of garbage that wouldn't so much as lift a mouse as a full adult male, Lang tossed it aside in frustration.

"C'mon, you damn garbage! Work with me, here! I'm not asking for the world! Just, y'know, something to give me at least six inches of vertical!"

Growling to himself, Lang stood up and immediately went for the bag of cash. He'd have to keep going on foot. Which was crazy, given the coverage that this area was about to receive, but it was his only alternative. As Lang reached down at the bag, a small grappling hook embedded into it's handle and snatched it from his grasp. Lang spun around in a panic and found the person that he least wanted to see staring back at him from the other end of the alley.

"You! Don't move, you... Bat-person, you!"

Scrambling for any sort of weapon, Scott reached into his pocket and produced... a bananna.

Batman raised an eyebrow. Lang immediately threw it to the ground.

"See if you can catch me without slipping on that, huh? Huh, big guy?"

The Dark Knight looked down at the partially crushed fruit, then looked back at Lang.

Master thief didn't exactly entail a degree of high intelligence.

"Scott Lang. Why are you in Gotham?"

Lang's eyes widened.

"Holy crap, you knew my name. Are you psychic? Is that your mutant power?"

Batman stepped forward, agitated.

"Answer the question."

Lang tried to speak, but stopped. He knew that if he replied with another dumb joke, it would only guarantee that the vigilante's fist would separate part of his jaw from his skull. Sighing to himself, Lang dropped to his knees and stared to the ground.

"Ah, dammit. Just arrest me. I'm not getting outta this one."

Batman stared him down as he approached.

"You were working for Waynetech prior to this week. Security detail. You were terminated from that position despite not committing any theft or breaching your contract, despite your record. I want to know why."

Lang looked up at the vigilante, confused.

"Uh... I mean, wait. Why do you care?"

Batman looked off as the sirens grew closer.

"Call it a curiosity."

Lang furrowed his brow, but not enough for The Batman to catch on.

"Well... I guess if you must know, I got fired because I didn't like the ethics of the guy they want to put in charge. His secretary informed me that I was supposed to allow a couple of his guys through the main entrance, even though he doesn't run the place yet and they didn't have clearance. And I said no. Two days later, I got my pink slip."

Being a proponent of ethics is highly ironic coming from a man who just aided in a double robbery, but The Dark Knight kept that thought to himself. He looked Lang in the eyes, and sensed the fear. Not of him, but of what would happen if he were to go back to jail. Sweat was beading down his forehead, despite him making no effort to resist capture.

"Look, man. I know you don't wanna hear it, but I really tried my best to stay clear of all this. Even testified in court against the conspirators in the robbery that landed me in prison. But I got a daughter, now, and I couldn't just leave her and her mom without alimony all because my jackass self opposed some douchebag in an Italian suit."

Batman remained silent for a moment. Then took the bag of money, unzipped it, and let the cash fall into a crumpled mess against the pavement. Lang looked at it, shocked by the unexpected action.

"You stole counterfeit dollars, Mr. Lang. Nothing that would've set you up for the foreseeable future."

Scott's eyes closed, as he realized that he'd been an even bigger jackass than he previously realized.

"I guess I trusted the wrong group of people."

"Yes. But worse, you relented and placed yourself back into their cirlce."

Surprisingly, however, Batman's tone grew considerably less hostile.

"What's your daughter's name?"

"Uh... Cassie. Her name is Cassie, Bat... sir. Or Bat-dude. Whatever you want me to call you."

Reaching into the recesses of his belt, Lang expected a taser or some sort of metal projectile to be in the vigilante's hand to knock him down. Instead, he produced a business card. Hesitantly, Lang reached out as Batman handed it to him. Inspecting it, the name of the business read Earl's Body Shop.

"What do you know about cars, Lang?"

Scott stood up, immediately unsure of what this even was.

"I, uh. I know a little bit. Enough to get by."

Batman narrowed his eyes.

"Make no attempt to contact the people that organized this robbery. If the police find you before the night is over, tell them that you were coerced. Then tell them everything."

Turning around, to Scott's astonishment, The Caped Crusader remained standing for a moment.

"Do this, and I can put in a good word for you with Earl. He's a good man. Doesn't care about your priors as long as you put in the work. And you'll be guaranteed a living salary."

Scott's jaw dropped, looking again at the card.

"Are... are you serious? You're seriously doing for me?", Lang asked. "But, uh, why? What did I do to deserve this? I'm just a two-bit thief."

"Exactly. You didn't fire a single bullet throughout that entire incident. You didn't kill anyone. You simply made a bad choice when put into a desperate situation. What you did was wrong, but... I've been making plenty of mistakes myself, lately."

Lang raised an eyebrow, unaware of the leading news story of Gotham for the past few days about a masked vigilante who had brought down an open conflict against the GCPD in the midst of a series of spectators. The guilt of that incident still weighed on The Dark Knight's heart, and he didn't want to simply lash out again. Not against those who didn't likely deserve it.

"I don't know what to say.", Lang responded, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't even know how to begin to thank you for this. This changes... wow. This changes everything for me."

Glaring over his shoulder, Batman made it clear that this act of lenience wasn't without it's share of skepticism. Should Lang mess up again and return to his old ways, there wasn't a doubt in either man's mind that The Bat would be coming for him.

"Just don't do it again. The next time you have an impulse, think of Cassie. You're better off to her on the outside."

"I..."

Scott nodded, looking down at the business card a third time and memorizing the number. He allowed himself a small grin, realizing that this really was the second chance that he'd been waiting for.

"I will. Thank you, Mr. Bat-guy."

By the time Lang looked back up, Batman had disappeared.

The grin even wider on his face, Lang looked towards the sky and saw the vigilante's logo hovering against the clouds.

"Geez. That is so unbelievably cool."

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

I'm confused, where is 2 Ultimate 1 Universe?

@Retired

Well, if you just followed the link I gave Eddie...

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Thread is ruined, lads.

Everyone pack it up and move to the next one.

@Superboy

I'm sorry, I seem to have stumbled into the wrong thread. If anyone could point me towards Ultimate One Universe: Year One, that'd be swell!

@Eddie Brock

Sure thing. Follow this link and it should take you right to it.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Whaaat? Changed the name of the game, you say?

Pssh. That wasn't me.

_{Amazing things happen whenever you discover the 'Edit Topic' button.}

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Well, shit. I can't beat that.

Ultimate Two Universe it is.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Okie dokie, so, unless the event is something that fits in easily enough, I don't think I'll be participating in this one, then.

@Retired

Funny you should say that!

It actually is going to be fairly easy to fit in at everyone's leisure. Without giving much away, there'll be a component to it that allows for more player freedom as opposed to something with a full-on post-by-post control wielded between myself, Byrd, and Morden. We'll only be more or less handling the kick-off this time around, throwing something out there that'll affect anyone who wants to go all-in from the start. Or, if one wants to jump in after they finish whatever they're up to at the time, that's fine aswell.

As long as everyone who wants to take part get ins, do what we gotta do with whoever we want to do it with (and no, I don't mean that in the @Lord Wraith sense), and gets out before September 25th.

Also, am I the only one who finds it silly we're calling it year one and year two despite it being the same year? Talk about confusing marketing.

@Retired

I literally only chose the name because it sounds cool, and didn't feel as if just calling it Ultimate One Universe was feasible after so many iterations of the game had existed previously. If it's really going to be a hang-up in the future, though, I can just change it to UOU: Season Two or something. We are established enough of a game now to just do that.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

That date was over a day ago. It's why I'm bringing it up now.

@Retired

_{It's still Friday somewhere, dammit.}

But yeah, looking over the votes, there were fewer opposed to an MME happening before season's end than there were for moving it to Season 2, so I'm gonna go ahead and call it: the next MME will more or less be our season ender.

I say that since we still have a few weeks before the 25th of next month (over five, still), let's all just concretrate on getting what we want to get done in this season complete and out of the way over the next month, be it solo arcs or planned interactions. Because I don't see the next MME lasting any longer than two weeks, OOC time. If that.

That way, you can all choose to do a final solo post or two (or five, if you're Byrd or Henry) after the event if we all work cohesively and timely enough to get interactions in and contain the threat at a decent pace. A threat which is, again, not going to be nearly as daunting as fighting The Silver Surfer one-on-one.

In terms of an extension, I discussed it with my co-GMs and we all found there really to be no need for one. We have more time than it seems, still over a month's worth, and it'd be much better motivation for us all to stick to a hardlined end date than arbitrarily fudge it. So barring unforseen circumstances, September 25th will remain the date that Year One ends.

Sometime in the week after, likely October 1st, Year Two's OOC will launch with a three month gap ahead for the heroes. And that season will likely run until Feburary.

I think that covers about everything. We're in the home stretch, but not so far into it that we can't still get shit done.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Two months, nineteen posts, several photoshopped images, absolutely no idea where any of that was heading, and a ton of sleepless nights later, and I have... officially... completed my very first arc in the game.

With a little over a month left in the season.

And sure. I'll grant you that finishing one arc shouldn't have taken that long.

But I finally fucking finished it.

Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm gonna to go pass out.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Gotham City, Wayne Tower
The Cave
3:15 AM

"Bruce?! Bruce, are you alright?! My god..."

My entire body hurts like hell. Head's throbbing so hard and my ears are ringing so loudly that I can only barely hear Alfred's panicked words as I realize that I've just drifted back into consciousness. Sitting up, I discover that I've been slumped over the front of The Batcycle, and a trail of blood is seeping down the side of the steering column from where I had passed out. What exactly happened becomes clear fairly quickly - it was the concussion. The effects of that while also mixed with the internal trauma and blood loss finally caught up with me, and I lost consciousness somewhere in the midst of my attempt to escape from the GCPD.

The last thing that I can remember is outracing a helicopter spotlight as I tried to lead it away from the secret tunnel entrance that I use to disappear whenever I want to return here, but whenever I went to circle around and reach the entrance proper, I must've... fainted. Though the question I have now isn't so much how I didn't lose control of The Batcycle and crash. It's how did I manage to get here in the first place.

Was it another remote hacking? Did "Oracle" find their way back into the system and lead me here? Half dazed, I try to stand and slump back against the cycle. That theory is quickly abandoned, as it doesn't make much sense to begin with. Even if they knew my identity, that individual would never have found a way to lead me back to The Cave. It's walls are reinforced with a special plating that allows it's location to be untraceable by satellite, heat signature, or otherwise. Did Alfred somehow take some kind of remote control of the bike and get me here?

"Alfred..."

My voice is hoarse. Weak, as I'm barely able to make out a syllable. I reach out to him as he approaches and find my hand limping. My adrenaline could only push me so far after my particularly brutal encounter with Poison Ivy. Without even knowing it, I was spent and done long before the fight ever truly ended. Alfred immediately rushes to my side as I feel myself start to slip, throwing my arm around his shoulders. Sixty-two years old, over a lifetime of war behind him, and he's still stronger than I give him credit for.

"Easy, I've got you.", he reassures me, lightly slapping my face so that I don't pass out again. "You nearly took a dive back there, lad, and it looks as though you paid for it. I'm taking you to the hospital. No debating, no discussion. That was my rule for helping you, remember?"

I try and argue, but I don't have the strength to even do that. He reaches up and removes the cowl from my face, tossing it to floor as he helps me up the platform leading into the armory. By the way that he's looking at me, side-eyeing as he helps me limp ahead, I'm fairly certain that whatever he sees staring back isn't too pleasant.

"No offense intended, Bruce. But with the way you look, we'll have to take a sledgehammer to one of the Ferrari's in order to convince the doctors that you crashed at top speed. Those are the fastest cars that you've stored in the garage, if I do recall..."

He's talking about Bruce Wayne's collection of sports cars on the eleventh floor of the building. Each one of them are worth well over five hundred thousand in parts alone. It'd be enough to give even me pause if I weren't already bleeding to death all over my own floor. Eventually, I give him a cursory nod, allowing him to place me atop a firm enough surface to get my armor removed. Alfred's a decorated former agent of SHIELD and has seen his share of high-risk espionage scenarios. I trust him implicitly to be able to pull off making me look as though I suffered an automobile accident while drunk, rather than going head-to-head with a metahuman who managed to crush one of my ribs with her bare hands.

All I have to do is lay back and allow him to take charge. Hoping that, even if I do drift back into unconsciousness, I'll at least be alive enough to thank him.

"There we are. Now, if I can just find a suit of your's to tear to pieces..."

Before I can react to that, I feel myself slipping back into the dark...

Gotham City, Precinct 27
Captain Gordon's Office
3:30 AM

"I'm sorry, what do you mean that they lost him?!"



Agent Nashton stared his sheepish college down, clearly agitated to a point that was indescribable. Agents Arthur Brown and Peyton Riley looked at eachother, both at a loss for words. They had both worked with Nashton long enough to believe that the old adage of "don't shoot the messenger" wasn't going to apply, here, so each knew that the next words that they had to offer their superior were going to have to be chosen wisely. Brown started to speak up, but Riley nudged him in the side, hard. If there was going to be a de-escalation of this, she couldn't risk his idiotic mouth getting them both into hot water.

"We... that is to say, Captain Gordon's unit had been preparing to have The Batman blocked into a four way intersection ahead of his predicted trajectory. He was less than a block away and the chopper was already in pursuit, but he just... I don't know how else to say it, Nashton. He disappeared."

Nashton's left eye twitched as he stood, staring Agent Riley down.

"People do not just disappear. People actively on the run from the police do not generally find a way to miraculously de-materialize into mere particles, because unless our vigilante really is a metahuman entity, which would directly contradict every report that you've filed on the matter with me, what you're actually telling me is that The Batman escaped and absolutely no one on this pathetic excuse for a police force knows how he did it!"

Riley was silent. Perhaps even stone-faced, which was a far cry from her partner, who had visibly taken a step back. Physically, Agent Nashton wasn't very imposing, especially to an army grunt like Arthur Brown. But something about inciting his temper, whenever he rarely lost it, was enough of a stark contrast from his usually narcissistic personality to make Brown want to be anywhere but in the room. Nashton was not only cunning and a man who had proven himself to be unbelievably resourceful, but he was someone who could pull alot of strings. Given that clout, both agents knew that if they didn't follow his instructions to the letter, they could wind up back to where he had found them - at their life's natural end, void of a purpose, and respectively back to the bottle or the sweet release of a heroin needle.

"That is correct, sir."

"Imbeciles!"

Taking an emptied bottle of scotch, Nashton threw it against the wall and smashed it in a blind rage. Several of the officers outside could be heard stopping what they were doing, with all eyes clearly on the door currently closed to them. Edward breathed long and hard to himself, staring at the wall. Staring past the wall, trying to collect his thoughts. Even he knew that he did his worst possible work when influenced by emotion. What he dealt in was clear-cut, undeniable facts. That was how the game was played. That was how the riddles were solved. Calculated logic over all else.

Refusing to so much as turn to look at his informants, Nashton instead composed himself and began to walk towards the window overlooking the Gotham City skyline.

"And where's Gordon now?"

Brown rubbed the back of his head, left a little shaken. Not by Nashton's outburst, but by the fact that he was still trying to piece what had happened for himself and failing to come up with any tangible answers.

"On a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, on his way to the ER. The Bat nailed him, uh, pretty hard. There are alot of people in this unit that are heading to the same place, right about now. He took on practically every one of them and walked away like it was nothing."

Nashton sneered.

"It likely was nothing to someone of even relatively high skill, let alone one masked neanderthal. This unit isn't merely incapable of handling such a man, as I once thought. They're impossibly out-gunned and woefully lacking in any measure of sheer intelligence. The discipline to bring him down is simply not there, and worse, I was made a fool for ever believing this would end tonight."

"We've got remaining units culled from Captain Flass' department, searching the streets for any sign that he's hiding somewhere along the path that he used to dodge us, but..."

Nashton closed his eyes, bringing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose to give it a careful massage.

"A useless waste of effort. Call them off."

Riley raised an eyebrow.

"Sir?"

Slamming his hand against the wall, Nashton hatefully glared back at her.

"DID I NOT MAKE MYSELF CLEAR ENOUGH FOR YOU, AGENT?! CALL THEM OFF!"

Immediately producing her phone, Riley turned around and began to nervously dial the number that would get her in touch with the commanding officer that was conducting the search. Sighing to himself, as Brown took a step forward, Nashton pulled up Gordon's chair and sat back down, placing his hands together.

"Keeping them occupied like this. Fanned out like mice in a maze. This is exactly what he wants. He planned this to the letter. I don't know how, but he must have. It's the only way that he could have escaped. And you were too stupid to see it, Edward. This is no ordinary man to lock away and throw upon the mercy of the courts. This is Coast City, revisited. This is your academy years coming back to haunt you. The Gold Coast Ripper case all over again..."

Brown stared at Agent Nashton as his tone drifted into a quiet, contemplative whisper. He'd seen this before. When backed against a wall, it was like Nashton's brain went into overdrive in order to power him through the given scenario that caused him stress. It had never failed to work before, and he saw no reason that Nashton was going to come up on empty this time, either.

"Sir, if I may..."

"Quiet. Unlike you, I'm doing my due diligence to this department by thinking. So unless you have an update that involves The Batman in cuffs and being transported directly to me, I'd highly suggest that you get out."

Brown paused, then nodded and turned for the door. By the time that it had opened and shut, Nashton suddenly stumbled upon a realization. A look of inspiration came over his face, as he thought of The Batman's methods. In every previous instance that he had engaged with the Gotham City Police Department, the vigilante had been made to be the one to outrun them. While it would take a considerable amount of training, there were some who were capable of turning being on that end of the chase to their advantage, as long as that was where they remained. On the run, they were always going to succeed.

But if they were to be the ones to provide the incentive to lure The Batman out of hiding and have him go directly to them, it would be a much different scenario. Were he to walk directly into a trap that Nashton would organize and plan to the absolute letter himself, there would be no way out for the so-called Caped Crusader. And how do you bait a man who believes himself to be the paragon of law and order?

You give him a target.

Nashton's lips curled into a devious smile.

"Oh, Eddie. You've done it again."

Gotham City, Elliot Memorial Hospital
Room 539
6:45 AM

"Alfred, look. I think he's waking up."

Slowly, my eyes drift open to the sound of an EKG machine and the voice of Selina Kyle from my left. I can feel the sting of a needle jammed into my right arm, likely connected to an IV. Bandaging wrapped tightly around my waist and head. I reach up and try to feel for where exactly the wrapping around my skull begins and ends, and only find that a large percentage of my face is covered in the cotton of hospital adhesive patching that's meant to stay in place over open wounds that were recently stitched-up. Most of my body is numb, riddled with pain medication and steroids. By the time I can fully see, it hurts my head to look directly at any light source. Groaning, I place my hand to my head and rest it back onto the provided pillows. A wave of comfort greets me as I start to loosen up the tense nature of my natural body language.

Guess this all means I'm alive.

"Very good show, Master Bruce."

I look up, eyes half-open, to see Alfred sporting not only his chauffeur's uniform, but putting on that heavily practiced posh British accent. It's jarring at first, given that I haven't had to hear in days. But that's just how good of an actor Alfred really is. I practically don't recognize him as he stands over me, his posture straight and proper, placing a hand on the guard rail of my bed.

"We had thought to have nearly lost you, sir. Miss Kyle had even taken the liberty of bringing get well soon flowers. From the gift shop, I believe."

Selina immediately becomes insensed, placing her hands on her hips.

"Excuse you. I'll have you know that they came from Dorsia's, on 5th street. Had them picked out by a professional florist. Unlike Prettyboy Wayne, here, I'm not a cheapskate when it comes to visiting my sick friends."

Alfred nods, never once breaking character.

"My humblest apologies, Miss. I shan't make such an egregious error again."

Selina smirks as Alfred turns around.

"If you need me, sir, I shall be consulting your physician to inform him that you've awoken. Welcome back to the land of the living."

By the time the door to the room automatically slides shut, Selina grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder.

"Always liked that butler of your's. Contradictorily well-mannered and sassy. If you ever want to fire him, Bruce, be sure to give him my number."

I look over at Selina and weakly smile. It's... a surprise to see her here, quite honestly. Usually, I can barely get her to accompany me to any number of social engagements, let alone pin her down long enough to have one simple, normal conversation. She's a good friend when she wants to be, but that's just the problem. It always has to be on her terms. Apparently, me being gravely injured and brought to the point of near death is one of those terms.

"It's... good to see you. I didn't think... I had anyone."

Selina smiles back.

"Well, clearly you do. You just saw him leave the room, after all."

I shake my head.

"No, I meant..."

Pressing two fingers against my lips, she leans forward.

"Enough of that. I know what you meant, I was just busting your balls. I'd have come sooner if I knew you had a death wish. You really ought to leave the drunk driving to the professionals, you know?"

If only she knew the half of what really brought me here. Even as I lay in bed and remain unable to move freely, my mind is racing with memories of the last few hours. Harvey Dent's narrow escape. Deadshot's attempt on his life, and the fight that finally took him down. Meeting Jessica Jones, but under the control of Poison Ivy. Having to break her of that control. Taking on a good majority of an entire precinct of the GCPD. As far as my nights out go, this one is likely to be remembered for quite some time. It's given me alot to learn from, at least.

"I'll try and... keep that in mind.", I reply, starting to feel the pain creep back. "Thanks for coming, Selina. I mean that. We should make it more of a regular..."

I stop myself, realizing just how that sounds.

Not that I haven't considered it. Selina is an incredibly attractive woman, we share a few common interests, and she does know how to navigate Gotham's upper class society like no one else I've ever known. But she's also the daughter of the city's worst mobster, partially stuck-up in her ways, and a little too infatuated with a crowd that I have no interest in actually being around.

If we did decide to begin seeing eachother, it wouldn't last longer than a week before the both of us would find a squandered friendship left in the place of what's already proven to be a relatively good thing. We have a few things in common, but not that much. Especially when it comes to what I have to offer on my end in terms of baggage. I think she could do alot better than a crazed vigilante who moonlights as a professional trust fund kid.

"I mean, obviously, I need more of your consultation. This isn't a very good look for me."

Selina chuckles under her breath, looking towards the exit.

"Can't say that I wouldn't avoid looking at any mirrors if I were you. Now get some rest, idiot. Near death experiences don't suite you nearly as well as they do Harvey."

As she walks towards the door, a realization hits me.

Dent.

"Selina. About Harvey... is he? I mean, did he..."

She glances over her shoulder and gives a sarcastic eye-roll.

"Oh, your man crush is fine. Spoke to him an hour ago, actually. He's heading to the Rockies for the week, on account of the whole attempted assassination thing.", she explains. "The police caught a guy that they think might have helped The Bat do it, but he isn't talking. Of course."

I breathe a sigh of relief. In all the excitement, I hadn't even made sure that Harvey had made it to the plane. Lawton managed to fire off a single shot before I intervened, so the likelihood that he suffered another wound was higher than I'd ever considered.

"Speaking of that caped freak, you missed some real excitement while you were out wrecking your wheels..."

Picking up a newspaper sitting on one of the trays near the door, she tosses it toward me and manages to make it land squarely on my chest, causing me to react with a slight jump. They must've put me on more painkillers than I realized. Ordinarily, I would've caught that without so much as an effort.

"Here. Some light reading material while you enjoy the cocktail of tranquilizers and unpleasantness that awaits.", she adds. "While I'd love to stay and chat about... consultations, I've got to run. But I'll check on you later."

Taking the paper, I unfurl the cover as Selina exits the door. And of course, all that I see are pictures of the carnage left over from last night, along with a police sketch of what eyewitness accounts have convinced the public that I look like in the corner.

FIRE IN THE STREETS: Batman Attacks GCPD Captain, Injures Others In Escape

As Alfred makes his way back into the room, looking to make sure that Selina's heading for the elevator, I roll the newspaper back up and hand it to him, dissatisfied with the immediate reminder of the damage I inflicted.

"Please. I can't read this. Not now."

Taking it from me, he places it in a trash receptacle near the bed.

"Certainly. Though you should know, lad, you're probably going to have to remain out of action for a few days. You underwent some minor surgery to prevent internal hemorrhaging. And of course, there's the matter of the concussion."

I stare at the wall ahead, not really paying attention.

It worries me. All of this effort, all of the fights that I've been picking with the police lately. Pushing myself even harder than before, trying to fight back my own demons. I still hallucinated, still lost myself to the rage. Got plenty of people hurt in the process, all in the name of my supposed 'crusade' to make things easier on the people of Gotham. Yet all I have to show for it are headlines that make me out to be a monster, and the worst part is? Nothing about that headline is actually a lie.

I did openly attack them, this time. In the past, I've simply ran. Tried to stick to the shadows. I was trying to do the right thing in taking them on, covering Jones' escape so that she could get Zoe Lawton out of the area and into a safe space, but what if I choose poorly in the heat of the moment? What if I just made things worse? I wanted The Batman to scare criminals, but he's scaring everyone lately...

"Bruce? Are you alright?"

Sighing to myself, I lean back against the pillow.

"I don't know. Maybe. Not really. I just... I think I may have made a mistake."

Alfred raises an eyebrow.

"In what way, if I may ask?"

"All of this. The entire mission. What I've been willing to let myself become in order to achieve my goals. The lengths I've gone to, the people I've hurt.", I explain. "Had I not escalated things with Deadshot, there's a possibility that the GCPD could have taken him down, eventually. Maybe. It would've at least spared the people living in that neighborhood in The Narrows alot of horror. And that's all on me."

For a moment, Alfred's silent. I can't tell if he wishes to condemn that sort of talk, or encourage me to begin doubting myself. For as hard as it's been on me to carry out this war, I know that this hasn't been easy on him, either. He's had to make alot of sacrifices to get us both to this point. I feel like I owe him more than I could ever repay. And it's all because I couldn't let the past go.

"With all due respect, allow me to point out the obvious."

I look over at him, curiously.

"You prevented the death of not only your friend, but an innocent young girl. Had the police intervened, it's likely that neither would have lived through the night. And once more, you prevented that child's murder from being carried out by a woman under the spell of something beyond her control, whose conscience likely would have never allowed for forgiveness of herself."

Placing his hand on my shoulder, Alfred looks me directly in the eyes.

"Without being too generous, you saved three lives tonight by putting yourself in harm's way. That is never going to be how the papers sell it, but it is the simple fact. By acting in a way that you considered morally justified, you stood between their lives and an inevitable death. And against all odds, you spat in death's face."

Giving a shrug, he places his hands behind his back and looks off, preparing himself to resume the act of the faithful butler as the doctors approach the door to brief me on my condition.

"In my day, we'd call that a victory."

I smile to myself as he turns his back to me and greets the doctors.

Thank you, old friend.