Batman secured the weapons cache, mentally cataloging the arsenal. Military-grade hardware that had no business on civilian streets. The kind of firepower that could turn gang disputes into urban warfare. He'd seen too many bodies in Crime Alley, too many kids caught in crossfire, to let these weapons hit the streets.
Police units approached, their red and blue lights painting the rain in shifting patterns. The colors caught the edges of Batman's cape as he melted into shadow, watching Gordon's car pull up. The commissioner hadn't changed much in five years - same glasses, same mustache going grey at the edges, same way of carrying himself like a man who'd seen too much but hadn't lost hope.
"Hell of a mess." Gordon's voice carried across the rain as he approached, hands kept carefully visible at his sides. They'd learned these protocols the hard way, back when trust was new and fragile. Gordon still had the scar from that first misunderstanding - a batarang that had caught his shooting arm when he'd drawn too quickly. "Though I gotta admit, cleaner than your early work. Remember that thing with Zsasz? Three broken arms and a dislocated jaw."
Batman emerged from the shadows, cape heavy with rain. "He was carving up homeless kids. He deserved worse."
"Yeah, well, can't say I lost sleep over that one." Gordon surveyed the unconscious men, professional eye noting the precision of their injuries. No permanent damage, just enough pain to make them reconsider their career choices. His gaze lingered on Giovanni, still clutching his rosary even in unconsciousness. "Quite a change from those first months. You were raw then. Angry."
"Still am. Just learned to control it better."
"The city's noticed." Gordon lit a cigarette, cupping the flame against the rain. The smell of tobacco mixed with gunpowder and wet concrete - Gotham's perfume. "Though nowadays you've got competition in the fear department. Times are changing. First you, now Superman in Metropolis... makes people nervous. Especially after what happened with Cobblepot."
Batman's jaw tightened at the memory. The Penguin's first attempt to establish himself in Gotham had ended with three dead cops and a warehouse full of military-grade umbrella guns. "Cobblepot's in Blackgate. These weapons would have armed half the gangs in Gotham. Found shipping manifests in the office - same supplier arming Maroni's crew."
"Russian connection?"
"Knyazev. Moving everything through shell companies."
"Christ." Gordon exhaled smoke that mixed with the mist. "Falcone's really lost it. First Sionis muscling in on the drug trade, now this? Man's getting desperate."
"He's scared. They all are."
"Of Superman?"
"Of change." Batman moved slightly, keeping the warehouse's interior in his peripheral vision as Gordon's people began securing the scene. "Gotham's underworld operated one way for decades. Now there are people who can fly. Aliens. Cyborgs. The old power structures are breaking down."
"Speaking of which." Gordon tapped ash from his cigarette. "You see the show LuthorCorp put on? That Metallo character?"
"Been looking into it."
"Yeah, figured you would be." Gordon's voice carried years of familiarity with Batman's methods. "World's changing fast. Used to be our biggest problem was keeping mobsters from shooting each other. Now we've got aliens and cyborgs. Makes me miss the simple days - if you can call anything in Gotham simple. Even that business with the Joker seems almost quaint now."
Batman's posture shifted slightly at the mention of his first real nemesis. The clown was secure in Arkham now, but the scars he'd left on Gotham still ran deep. "Nothing simple about the Joker. Or Gotham."
"No, guess not." Gordon studied his friend - and after five years of shared battles, that's what they were. "City's changing though. These powered types showing up, technology advancing... sometimes I wonder if there's still room for old-school police work. Or vigilantes in bat suits."
"Gotham still needs us," Batman said quietly. "Maybe more than ever. Superman can't be everywhere. And some shadows need to be fought from within."
"Always will, I suppose." Gordon managed a tired smile. Rain dripped from his glasses as he watched his officers leading the unconscious men to waiting vans. "Though I wouldn't mind some super-help with the paperwork. Speaking of which..."
Gordon's radio crackled as dispatch cut through the rain: "All units responding to armed robbery at First National on Kane Street. Suspects armed and dangerous, shots fired. Officers requesting backup."
"Never ends in this city," Gordon sighed, turning to where Batman had been standing. The shadow was empty now - typical. "One of these days, you'll actually say good—"
The rest was lost in a thunderous roar as something massive and black erupted from between the warehouses. The Batmobile's armored hull gleamed wetly in the police lights, its matte black finish seeming to absorb more light than it reflected. Gordon couldn't help but smile - no matter how many times he saw it, the car never failed to impress.
The vehicle responded to Batman's remote signal with predatory grace, sliding to a stop beside him. This wasn't the crude prototype from his early days - the machine had evolved alongside its creator. Custom titanium-alloy plates covered the chassis like scales, overlapping in patterns that channeled both air flow and bullets away from vital components. The wheels were massive, reinforced with experimental polymers that could maintain traction even after taking anti-tank rounds.
Batman dropped into the driver's seat, the canopy sealing with a pneumatic hiss. The interior lit up with holographic displays, tactical data projecting across bulletproof glass. He engaged the starter sequence, and the modified jet turbine engine roared to life. The sound echoed off warehouse walls like mechanical thunder, red warning lights pulsing along the rear thruster assembly.
"Got to get me one of those," Gordon muttered, watching the car's rear thruster flare blue-white in the darkness. The Batmobile leapt forward with controlled violence, accelerating from zero to sixty in less time than it took to draw a breath.
Rain streamed off the canopy as Batman guided the car through Gotham's maze of back alleys. The city surrounded him like a dying thing, beautiful in its decay. Gothic spires pierced pollution-stained clouds while neon reflected off wet streets in patterns like spilled blood. Steam rose from manhole covers, carrying the breath of ancient tunnels below.
The Batmobile's tires gripped wet pavement with unnatural tenacity as he took a corner at speeds that would have sheared axles on a normal vehicle. The onboard computer tracked multiple pursuit routes, highlighting optimal paths through the city's cramped streets. Five years of nocturnal warfare had taught him every shortcut and blind alley in Gotham.
His mind drifted briefly to the prototype taking shape in the Cave. Where his current vehicle balanced speed and power, the new design was more tank than car - a brutal approach to urban warfare that incorporated everything he'd learned about fighting Gotham's evolving threats. Lower, wider, with sloped armor reminiscent of modern tanks. A machine built for a world where the enemies might have superhuman abilities.
The current car was still lethal in its own right. Automated systems tracked movement in the shadows as he accelerated down narrow streets. Weapon hardpoints remained concealed but ready - non-lethal options like tear gas launchers and sonic disruptors, alongside more aggressive measures for extreme situations. The rear thruster could double as a makeshift weapon, its plasma exhaust hot enough to melt steel.
Police bands crackled with updates as he approached Kane Street: "Suspects heading east in two vehicles—" "Officers in pursuit—" "Be advised, suspects are heavily armed—"
Batman pushed the throttle forward. The turbine's pitch climbed higher as the car surged ahead, thruster leaving a trail of superheated air. This was his city - not the Gotham of tourist brochures or financial reports, but the real Gotham. The city of shadows and secrets, of broken dreams and desperate hopes. He knew every alley, every rooftop, every hidden path where light never reached.
The Batmobile growled through another turn, suspension compensating for the uneven streets. Rain caught the glow from the thruster, creating a momentary rainbow in the car's wake. Even after hundreds of nights behind this wheel, he could appreciate the machine's deadly beauty - like a predator perfectly evolved for its environment.
His mind kept returning to the footage he'd reviewed before patrol. Luthor's press conference. The cybernetic soldier with his glowing green core. Superman's barely concealed reaction to the radiation. The game was evolving beyond street crime and mob wars. New players with powers that could reshape the world.
But Gotham's shadows would remain. They always did. And as long as they existed, the city would need its Dark Knight - and the black car that carried him through the night like a modern-day warhorse.
Hours later, the waterfall entrance parted smoothly as he approached the Cave. What had started as a natural cavern beneath Wayne Manor had grown into something else entirely - a fortress built from shadow and cutting-edge technology. Multiple levels carved from living rock housed his equipment, vehicles, and command center. The constant sound of water echoed through the space, mixing with the hum of servers and electronics.
The waterfall entrance parted smoothly as Bruce approached the Cave, water cascading around the Batmobile's armored hull. What had started as a natural cavern beneath Wayne Manor had grown into something else entirely - a fortress built from shadow and cutting-edge technology. Multiple levels carved from living rock housed his equipment, vehicles, and command center.
As the Batmobile settled onto its turntable, Bruce caught sight of the evidence cases lining the main platform. Five years of battles had filled them steadily - a playing card from his first Joker encounter, edges still charred from the explosion at Ace Chemicals. Cobblepot's custom umbrella gun, modified to fire armor-piercing rounds, seized during the Iceberg Lounge raid. Zsasz's blade with its tally marks still visible. The black wooden mask Sionis wore during his power play against Falcone. Crane's crude gas mask and a sealed vial of his fear toxin. Each item told a story of how Gotham's underworld had evolved in response to the Bat.
"I see you've managed to return without adding to our little collection tonight, sir." Alfred's voice carried from the upper level, dry as vintage wine. The butler descended the metal stairs with practiced efficiency, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. "Though given recent trends in Gotham's criminal element, I'm sure it's only a matter of time."
Bruce pulled off the cowl, running a hand through sweat-damp hair. At twenty-eight, his face carried the lean hardness of someone who'd burned away everything except purpose. A thin scar traced his jawline - a souvenir from his second year, when Zsasz had proven that even perfect technique couldn't stop every blade.
"The weapons cache will be going to GCPD evidence."
"How disappointingly mundane." Alfred set the coffee down beside the main computer. His sharp features were schooled into their usual careful neutrality, but Bruce caught the slight tension in his bearing. "Though I suppose we should be grateful it's just arms dealers tonight. That business with Sionis last month was quite enough excitement."
Bruce's lips twitched slightly as his gaze drifted to the black mask. "He's still in Blackgate's medical wing."
"Yes, along with half of his organization." Alfred's eyes moved to the newest addition - the charred playing card. "The Joker's been quiet since his capture."
"Too quiet." Bruce secured his suit in its armored case, the latest version incorporating enhanced ballistic weave and impact-resistant plates. Each upgrade marked another night where standard protection hadn't been quite enough. "Arkham says he's been watching the news obsessively. Particularly the Metropolis coverage."
"Wonderful. That's precisely what we need - that homicidal maniac drawing inspiration from current events." Alfred gestured to another case containing a sealed canister. "Though I suppose we should be grateful he hasn't started experimenting with chemical weapons like Dr. Crane."
"Crane's early compounds were crude." Bruce studied the evidence. "But his later formulations showed real pharmaceutical knowledge. The fear toxin could have killed hundreds if we hadn't stopped him at the university."
"Ah yes, the good doctor's 'research project.' Such a charming euphemism for mass terror." Alfred's sarcasm couldn't quite mask his concern. "I see you've been reviewing the LuthorCorp footage again."
Bruce settled into the command chair, still wearing the suit's base layer. The computer system he'd built rivaled military installations, multiple screens displaying different aspects of the investigation. "I took the liberty of compiling those shipping manifests you requested," Alfred continued. "Rather interesting connections to our ongoing investigations."
"The weapons cache tonight matches the pattern. Same region of origin."
"Afghanistan?" Alfred's eyebrow arched slightly. "The same area where Tony Stark vanished, as I recall."
Bruce nodded, fingers flying across keyboards as he began correlating data. Behind him, the trophy cases stood as silent witnesses to how quickly Gotham's criminals had evolved - from common thugs to something darker. The Joker's calculated madness. Sionis's ruthless power plays. Crane's twisted experiments. Each one pushing the boundaries of conventional crime into something more theatrical, more symbolic.
"Too many coincidences." Bruce brought up satellite imagery and shipping routes. "First Stark disappears investigating weapons shipments. Three months later, Stane shows up with experimental technology and mystery minerals from the same region."
"And now working with Lionel Luthor, of all people." Alfred studied the screens. "A rather unexpected partnership. Though I suppose compared to some of your recent adversaries, corporate conspiracies seem almost refreshingly straightforward."
"Nothing straightforward about this, Alfred." Bruce's eyes narrowed at the data before him. The game was changing again. Gotham's criminals had evolved from simple thugs to symbolic villains in response to Batman. Now something bigger was coming - something that went beyond masks and madness.
"Play the press conference footage again..."
The screens lit up with Luthor's grand reveal. Bruce's eyes narrowed as he studied the faces in the crowd. "Freeze it there. Look at the press reactions when Corbin opens his chest plate."
"Ah yes, the dramatic green glow." Alfred leaned closer. "Though I notice not everyone seems equally affected."
"Clark Kent." Bruce zoomed in on the Daily Planet reporter. Where other journalists reacted with amazement or fear, Kent showed signs of physical discomfort. "He's the only one who backs away. Micro-expressions suggest pain, not surprise."
"Perhaps he's simply sensitive to radiation?" Alfred suggested. "The mineral does have rather unique properties."
"Properties that shouldn't exist according to any known physics." Bruce brought up shipping manifests, geological surveys, classified military reports. "The radiation signature appeared three months ago in the Hindu Kush mountains. Right after a meteor shower that no observatory recorded."
"The same area where—"
"Where Stark went missing. And where Stane's people have been conducting classified operations." Bruce's fingers flew across keyboards, connecting data points. "LuthorCorp's shell companies started moving heavy equipment into the region within days."
"Rather quick response for a random discovery."
"Nothing random about it." Bruce pulled up more files - power grid anomalies, unusual equipment purchases, classified military contracts. "They were looking for something specific. The question is: what tipped them off?"
"And how did they know what to do with it once they found it?" Alfred studied the footage of Corbin. "The integration of mineral and cybernetics suggests extensive prior research."
"Research that should have taken years." Bruce isolated thermal scans of Metallo's systems. "This technology is too advanced. Even for Luthor and Stane combined."
"Perhaps they had help?" Alfred's eye caught a personnel file Bruce had minimized. "The reporter seems to interest you."
"Kent's been covering Superman since the beginning. Gets exclusive interviews no one else can get." Bruce brought up the Daily Planet archives. "But his reaction to the mineral... it's personal. Like he recognizes it."
"You suspect he knows something about its origin?"
"I suspect he knows more than he's writing." Bruce highlighted passages from Kent's articles. "Look at his Superman coverage - he focuses on the humanitarian aspects, downplays the power demonstrations. Almost like he's trying to make him seem more human."
"Admirable journalism, one might say."
"Or careful messaging." Bruce pulled up more files on Kent - background checks, travel records, credit card statements. All perfectly normal. Almost too perfect. "His paper trail before Metropolis is sparse. A few international freelance pieces, but nothing substantial."
"Unlike a certain billionaire's missing years?" Alfred's voice carried gentle irony. "Not everyone who travels has something to hide, sir."
"No. But everyone has something to hide." Bruce studied Kent's press photo. "And he was the only one in that room who showed physical distress from the mineral. The same mineral that affects Superman."
"An interesting correlation," Alfred noted carefully. "Though perhaps we should focus on more immediate concerns? Such as how Luthor and Stane acquired their new toy?"
Bruce nodded, switching screens to display shipping routes and military contracts. "The mineral shipments are being routed through a maze of shell companies. Final destination is always classified military installations."
"The same ones handling Mr. Stark's missing weapons, as I recall."
"The weapons are a cover." Bruce overlaid multiple data streams - power consumption, radiation readings, personnel movements. "They're building something bigger than Metallo. The cybernetic soldier is just a proof of concept."
"For what exactly?"
"That's what I need to find out." Bruce brought up satellite imagery of suspected research sites. "And why I need to know if Kent's connection to Superman goes deeper than bylines."
"Careful, sir." Alfred's voice carried genuine concern. "Investigating extraterrestrial materials and corporate conspiracies is one thing. But if you start pulling threads connected to Superman..."
"Knowledge is preparation, Alfred. Not necessarily intention." Bruce studied the screens, where Kent's photo sat alongside Metallo footage and shipping manifests. "But something bigger is coming. Luthor and Stane, Kent and Superman, Stark's disappearance and this mineral - it's all connected. I just need to figure out how."
"As you say, sir." Alfred gathered the empty coffee cup. "Though might I suggest some rest before you unravel the entire conspiracy? The Foundation meeting is in five hours, and even Bruce Wayne occasionally needs sleep."
"After I finish analyzing these radiation patterns."
"As you wish." Alfred's footsteps receded toward the upper levels. "Though do remember your father believed in being prepared, but he also believed in discretion, especially when dealing with beings who can hear through walls."
Bruce's jaw tightened slightly. "Point taken."
The Cave's darkness pressed around them, broken only by the screens' glow and the distant sound of water. Somewhere above, Gotham stirred in its restless sleep, while beneath it, its protector pieced together a puzzle whose scope grew larger with each new discovery.
—
At Tony's Malibu mansion, Tony swiped his hand over his desktop, bringing to life a virtual keyboard far more advanced than standard computers. After a few quick keystrokes, he glanced up at the ceiling. "JARVIS, you up?"
"For you sir, always," the AI responded smoothly.
Tony leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the two screens before him. One displayed the schematics of his first Iron Man suit, the other streaming data about the kryptonite sample they'd analyzed. His fingers moved automatically to the arc reactor in his chest, the new design's blue glow a reassuring presence.
"I want to open up a new project file," he said, grabbing a computer pen. "Index it as Mark II." With practiced precision, he dragged the schematics onto a holographic board.
"Shall I store the designs on the Stark Industries Central Database?" JARVIS inquired.
"Actually, I don't know who to trust right now." Tony stood, approaching the holographic board and enlarging the image. "Until further notice, why don't keep everything on my private server?"
"Working on a secret project, sir?"
Tony didn't respond, instead focusing on the Iron Man helmet display. Without hesitation, he began moving components to the trash can in the corner. "I don't want this winding up in the wrong hands."
He rotated the display, methodically rejecting elements from the design. His voice grew softer, almost contemplative. "Maybe in mine, it can actually do some good."
In his workshop, Tony hunched over the boot assembly, DUM-E hovering nearby like an eager puppy. "Stay," he instructed the robot as he positioned the welding torch. Every movement was precise, calculated. "Down at the toes. No- actually, you're no help at all. Just... don't move."
The familiar smell of hot metal filled the air as he worked, making adjustments based on his calculations. When he finished welding, Tony pushed a button, watching with satisfaction as the back of the boot opened smoothly.
Time for the first test. Tony suited up in the prototype pieces - boots on his feet, guards on his arms, control handles gripped firmly. The camera recorded everything as he positioned himself in the testing square.
"Okay, let's do this right." He settled into position, adjusting his stance. "Start mark, half-a-meter, and back and center."
The camera zoomed in as Tony rolled his shoulders. "DUM-E! Look alive. You're on standby for fire safety." He glanced at the camera. "YOU. Roll it."
"Activate hand controls." The systems hummed to life around him as he adjusted his grip. "We're gonna start off nice and easy. Ten percent thrust capacity." His heart raced slightly despite his confident tone. "And... three... two... one!"
The repulsors fired with unexpected force, sending Tony into an uncontrolled flip. He slammed into the ceiling before crashing back to the floor with a painful thud. Before he could even catch his breath, DUM-E enthusiastically doused him with the fire extinguisher.
Later, nursing his bruises at his desktop, Tony sipped tea while LuthorCorp's press conference replayed on a side screen. He studied Metallo's demonstration, watching how the kryptonite core pulsed with each display of strength. The silver components of the prototype Mark II scattered across his workbench caught the green glow from the screen.
"JARVIS, pull up everything we have on John Corbin. Military record, medical history, police reports - the works."
"Including the domestic disturbance calls, sir?"
"Everything." Tony's eyes narrowed as data filled the screens. "Multiple commendations for valor in Iraq, then comes home to a system that can't handle wounded warriors. PTSD untreated, marriage falls apart, loses access to his daughter..." He scrolled through police reports. "Arguments with his wife Sarah, neighbors reporting shouting matches. She tried to get him help..."
"The VA hospital records show multiple cancelled appointments," JARVIS noted. "Extended waiting periods for treatment. Until-"
"Until LuthorCorp picked him up," Tony finished. "And suddenly he's their star guinea pig." He pulled up medical data alongside the press conference footage. "Compare his bio-readings during this demonstration to my blood work from Afghanistan. Focus on cellular degradation patterns."
The holotable lit up with complex molecular diagrams. "The kryptonite radiation signature matches what we detected in your original reactor," JARVIS reported, "but at significantly higher concentrations. The psychological impact is particularly concerning."
"Yeah, they're feeding his anger, his need to prove himself." Tony stood, pacing as he thought. "Take a decorated soldier, add untreated PTSD, a broken family, then pump him full of alien radiation that affects brain chemistry? It's like they're trying to create a weapon."
"The emotional instability appears to be accelerating, sir. His speech patterns during the press conference show increased aggression, paranoid ideation-"
"Because the kryptonite isn't just powering his cybernetics - it's changing him." Tony returned to his desk, pulling up molecular models. "Look at these neural readings. The radiation's affecting his limbic system, amplifying emotional responses. They haven't just given him a new body - they're rewiring his brain."
He swiveled to face the half-assembled Mark II components. The silver armor gleamed under his workshop lights, still more potential than reality. "We need to modify our approach. This isn't just about building better armor anymore. We need a way to contain that radiation before it turns him into something he can't come back from."
"Perhaps a dampening field?" JARVIS suggested. "Though our understanding of kryptonite's properties is still limited."
"Start with what we know." Tony pulled up test data from his original reactor. "The mineral affects biological systems, disrupts normal cellular function. But it's not just radiation - there's an energy signature we still don't understand." His fingers flew across the holographic controls. "If we can develop a containment system that neutralizes the radiation without killing the host..."
"A considerable challenge, sir. The integration with his cybernetic systems complicates matters."
"Yeah, well, I work best under pressure."