In the realm of Man, bad news traveled at god-speed levels, which was perfectly fine for Ra's Al Ghul. It was what he was depending on. It wasn't so long ago that the leader of the world's largest and secretive killer organization had sent his winged messenger to infiltrate one of the capitalistic world's ever expanding and beloved industrial figureheads: Wayne Enterprises. Buried underground in the company's eastern compound was a secret not even the face of the company, Bruce Wayne, knew about. A secret that within one month, promised to destroy everything the man's forefathers, especially his father, Thomas, had built from the ground up. The Master sat back in his ancient arm chair, one hand holding up his prominent chin, the other holds a folded newspaper as he read the stocks of the big money soul guzzling companies. It was all going according to plan. While it was a pain to throw such a destructive wrench into his colleagues' designs, the old man knew it would work in the long run. That and he couldn't care less for the petty plans of the already rich and powerful.
In order for there to be balance in the world of Man, the head of the giant had to be decapitated and thanks to the evidence young Elijah found in the basement of Wayne Enterprises' eastern division, the giant was falling to its knees. The method of getting the evidence in the first place was a despicable one. One Ra's would have to speak to his colleagues in Gotham about in full detail. He was never one to opt for using his civilians in his plans. They were his people and without them, he would be a king with no kingdom to rule. Subjects were different than staff. A leader of a just world must never use his subjects to advance in their plans. Gotham would be receiving a very rude awakening soon enough. He turned to celebrity news. Mr. Wayne was in trouble. Allegations had arisen due to a certain sick child being delivered as evidence to the company's crimes. Wayne Enterprises was now in questioning for their ethics, what truly happened behind the scenes and whether or not young Bruce knew the under handed dealings of his people all along.
It was amusing. Poor Bruce. He truly was a straight and narrow young man, but Ra's couldn't stop the smirk spreading across his lips.
"A truly honorable, but arrogant young man." he chuckled. "Young people like him should be knocked down a peg or two."
He closed his newspaper and went to the window. It was only out of respect for the man he wished to be his son that he chose to destroy Bruce in such a genteel fashion. If the respect hadn't been there, Ra's would've simply destroyed everything Bruce held dear and thought nothing of it. As Batman Bruce was skilled. Perfectly one might say, but he was missing an edge. The final edge he claims he would never step across and that's where Ra's reigned supreme. Already thinking five steps ahead, the old master knew this was going to be a problem more so for Bruce than the Dark Knight. This was Bruce's company in jeopardy. Not Batman's.
"Al'malak." Ra's barely raised his voice. His shadow behind him morphed and twisted into a separate entity. Ice blue sockets opened and the distorted thing solidified and became a living, breathing creature with silver hair.
"I am here master." Eli bowed at the waist.
"I have decided to send you back to Gotham on a mission."
Eli's eye twitched.
"I want you to safeguard young Mr. Wayne in the upcoming days his company's to go on trial."
Annoyance could be heard through the boy's loud sigh. He wasn't trying to hide it.
"You of all people know my history with Wayne. Why me? Deathstroke is just as capable." Eli asked.
"And just as prideful. Deathstroke is powerful, but he would cause a disturbance where I need silence and vigilance. Mr. Wayne is about to come into dealings with vultures and out of mutual respect for him, I'm sending you to watch over him and report back to me and only me on his movements. I want to know exactly how calm he remains...while I destroy his father's legacy from within."
Ra's walked back to his desk and opened a drawer. Inside were papers and an envelope.
"I have already situated you at the Gotham Regency Hotel. You are to be expected." the old man handed his assassin the documents. "You'll be staying on the thirteenth floor, but take care. The thirteenth has been exclusively resigned for certain...associates of mine. You're to be expected, but not welcomed."
Eli took the papers with innocently hesitant eyes.
"I...I won't have to talk with him, will I?" he looked to his teacher. The old man's head tilted ever so slightly.
"Dear boy. I can't tell what the future brings." he simply stated.
"Which is one of your ways of saying 'yes'."
Knowing what he had to do, Eli bowed again and turned to leave the room.
"Why does the thought of speaking to him frighten you?" the question echoed around the chamber. Eli looked back to see his teacher's eyes glued to him.
"It doesn't. I said all I had to say when I burned down his building. I just don't feel like running into him again."
"I wouldn't want him to think I'm still thinking about him."
"Are you?"
A silent battle of the minds took place within the span of a few seconds. The slightest wrong answer could turn the tide of trust. The last thing Eli wanted was for his loyalty to be in question. Again.
"No more than you are. Sir." Eli chose his words carefully. An approving nod told him he chose wisely. Despite having to return to Gotham, Eli didn't complain as much as he could've. It was just a shadow assignment. He didn't have to talk to Bruce, or interact with him in any way. At least there was some good news. Ra's watched the boy's back disappear through his door. He wanted to go with him. Not for moral support. Simply, he wanted to know if what he felt about Eli and Bruce's relationship rang true. The thread of fate was still tied to them.
* * * *
Bruce stalked the hallways of his father's company. The floor might as well have shattered beneath him. Every step he took his mind reeled further and further in to anger and shame. How could Bruce had been so careless as to not check with his employees? His Board of Directors were already known to be shifty people who moved and skulked through the shadows behind Bruce's back. This sudden attack against the company shouldn't have came as a surprise.
It did nonetheless.
Wayne Enterprises was the figurehead for all newfound technologies, science, medical advancement and stood at the forefront for wanting to combat and solve all of the free world's leading problems. This was the company Thomas and Martha Wayne wanted to believe in. This was the company their son tried so desperately hard to create for his dead parents. Somewhere in that plan, Bruce failed. He failed to see the snakes circling around his throat and chose to act too late.
It had already been over a month since Bruce last saw Eli. Things had drastically changed between them. No longer was Eli the small dirtied orphan child who hung around the Waynes' gravestone. He wasn't the same boy who would curl into a ball on Bruce's chest and stare wide eyed at everything the adult did. Eli was a killer. He had been all along. Alfred and Dick tried warning their friend about the repercussions of befriending the enemy. Bruce didn't want to hear it. Something in him still didn't, but he had seen it. The change in the boy's eyes. He was sent to destroy all in his path and with emotionless success, Eli did. So why did he protect Bruce against Deathstroke? The more Bruce thought about it, the more vividly he saw Eli shoving him under the table on purpose. The scene had kept Bruce up most nights. Was there still a chance? How could there be, when his company's current plight was all Eli's fault? News of a victim surviving water poisoning thanks to Wayne Enterprises' eastern Tech Division had spread through the media like a virus. Bruce was now known as just another billionaire who made his money through the sacrifices of human lives. He was no different than the other rich pricks of Gotham.
Bruce Wayne was now associated with terms like "slave owner", "murderer", "capitalist" and all other sorts of friendly titles. Some people didn't believe it and chose to side with the past good deeds the company and its owner had done. So many chose the latter. Bruce was now being compared to scum like Ferris Boyle.
"Just another wolf in sheep's clothing."
"He's nothing like his father. Why if Thomas was still here, he'd never allow his son to run his company into the ground like this."
"Experimenting on people. We should've known Wayne's no different from all the other crooked billionaires out there. And don't get me started on his father. Who knows if the apple really fell far from the tree."
It was humiliating.
Bruce was use to people cackling behind his back. They talked about him when his parents died. They talked about him every time he hooked up with a brand new upper class princess. They whispered behind his back every anniversary of his parents' death. Bruce had heard it all, but being compared to Ferris Boyle, someone who put his love of wealth before and above the lives of a husband trying to cure his wife...that was a blow to his pride. As he stormed the halls of his father's company, his employees scattered to the side, hugging the walls as their boss passed. They were disgusted and afraid. If Bruce Wayne couldn't be trusted, then who could? If this is how he looked when he realized he was being used, then how could anyone get away with it in the future? He charged through the cherry wood doors separating his office from the rest of his building.
"Call in the board." he spoke into his intercom.
"Uh, Mr. Wayne...the board's not here today. They weren't expecting a meeting."
"I don't care. Call them and tell them to meet in my office."
Agitated, Bruce slammed down his glass of water and sat behind his desk. He wasn't even aware of the testing, let alone the human victims. Obviously he would've shut down any and all activity. Hell, even the entire building would've been demolished if Bruce knew anything. His eyes focused on his doors and never moved. An hour passed.
"Mr. Wayne, the board's here to see you." the intercom meekly said. The wooden doors slowly opened.
"Bruce. I wasn't aware that we were having a meeting today."
"Look, if this is about our last talk, well--"
"Stand there and shut up." Bruce's eyes dimmed. The anger in his eyes was enough to silence the room.
"What were you doing in the eastern plant?" was all he asked. The board members grew stiff. Their faces remained placid, until their leader, a tall blonde woman going by the name of Mrs. Elizabeth Dowry, stepped forward and came before Bruce's desk.
"We were doing our jobs as you hired us to do Bruce." she spoke smoothly.
"This mess hasn't stemmed from you just "doing your jobs". Reports of human testing through the water supply has come in my name and now my company's in trouble. How is it that my board didn't know anything about one of our employees poisoning and killing people?" Bruce raised his voice. Elizabeth Dowry never raised hers. She looked down at her "boss", calm and cool as ice. Brown eyes were suppose to be relaxing, charming and comforting. They signaled intelligence and wisdom, but Mrs. Dowry's eyes were everything else but. Her eyes were sharp and cold, calculating and ever searching and monitoring her prey. There was not one ounce of maternal instinct in them.
"Mr. Wayne, rather than asking how could we have known anything, the better question is: why didn't you know anything? You're suppose to be our leader. Our head of everything, yet it's fallen to us, your Board of Directors, to know every single thing that happens within this company. Yes we're suppose to be in the know of things, but you're suppose to be the one who has his eyes everywhere. Why were you the last to know anything? Who is truly running this company Bruce?" Mrs. Dowry's eyes clouded over with smugness and ego. She leaned in as she spoke, digging her perfectly manicured nails into the ironwork of Bruce's desk. Her perfume smelled expensive and overbearing and the longer Bruce breathed it in, the more control he felt he was losing over his own body.
"Here's what I see." the woman went on. "I see a youngish man who knows he's growing older and now has to be the leader everyone says he is, but he's not ready. This blemish on our company was due to an irresponsible lapse in judgement and organization. Face it Bruce, had you been paying closer attention, this fiasco would've never seen the light of day."
Her fellow board members murmured in agreement. What stung Bruce more was not his "trusty" board members having the audacity to stand up straight and try to lie in his face, but the grains of truth littered within Mrs. Dowry's words. Bruce was distracted. Through a letter written by the hand of the one who caused him to lose focus, his father had warned his son of the impending consequences he would suffer if Bruce allowed his mind to be consumed with daily thoughts of Eli. Even from the land of the dead, dad was right.
"Are you accusing me of wanting to let this atrocity happen?" Bruce took a stand.
"Of course not, but you have to admit there has been a current lax in your involvement. People are shifty Bruce. That's the same advice we gave your father, but like you much to a fault, he believed the best in others and often turned the other cheek when it came to admitting not everyone was as kind and honorable as him. As you can see...we were right."
"It sounds like you knew something about Adam Jaccobs. Why didn't you say anything sooner?"
The board fidgeted.
"We're just the shadows Bruce. The "financial ghosts of the company" if you will. It's not our place to constantly question the people you hire. Once your mind is made up and the jobs are filled, we assume you know what you're doing."
"Not that we haven't voiced our concerns in the past."
This was going nowhere. Everyone shifted the blame to someone else and now onto the favorite son, Bruce. As leader, the actions of Adam Jaccobs fell on his shoulders and now the city and victims were crying for answers and responsibility. With one stern look to her members, Mrs. Dowry resolved the matter with quick efficiency and a cold demeanor.
"We can still clean this up Bruce. I've already gathered a fresh face that can help us solve this little problem."
"You want me to hire someone new?"
"Not exactly. Rather, he'll be working damage control while we try to get this situation under wraps."
Tired of the lies, Bruce bade his board to leave his office. He was going to be replaced. It was obvious. He tapped his fingers across the polished iron and pine surface of his desk. He couldn't afford to lose his father's company. It would completely be the final death of Thomas Wayne and everything he stood for in life. His son would be a known failure and that was something Bruce was determined to avoid. The sky darkened outside his window. Batman had nothing to do with this and therefore he wasn't qualified to save anyone this time. This was the sins of the son coming back to destroy the father. The intercom rang again.
"Mr. Wayne, there's a young man here to see you. He says he's expected."
The replacement.
"Send him in." Bruce said gravely. He hated him the first moment their eyes locked. The man was younger by at least three years. He was well dressed, tall with flowing blonde hair and limpid hazelnut brown eyes. His smile stretched from one ear to another and his teeth shone like white diamonds. He strutted forward like a proud peacock with its tail high in the air. Overall, he looked like an ass.
"Ah, Bruce Wayne! It's such a pleasure to meet you. Mathew Richardson's the name and I've been sent by the heads to help you through this rather embarrassing situation." the younger man smiled broadly and spoke loudly. He held his hand out to be shook and found nothing was happening. Bruce sat behind his desk, staring deep and hard into the naïve eyes of the man who was sent to takeover and sit in his chair.
"Have a seat Mr. Richardson." was all Bruce said. He made a mental note to research this Matthew Richardson in full detail later. For now he kept his composure and did everything in his power to stop himself from hurling the insufferable man out the window.
* * * *
Arriving back in Gotham wasn't as emotional as Eli originally thought. His mind wasn't flooded with sweetened memories of better times. He didn't suffer from remembering all the places he visited, nor did his eyes water at the thought of seeing old friends. There was nothing to feel and no one to see as far as he was concerned. He walked into the foyer of the Gotham Regency Hotel and went straight for the front desk.
"Can I help you madam?" asked the pointy nosed receptionist. Eli didn't have the energy nor the patience to correct the fool. Instead he whisked out his master's papers and laid them neatly on the counter. The receptionist took the papers in hand. His eyes raced over the elegant handwriting. As soon as he was finished, his eyes widened and darted down to the teenager in utter surprise.
"Oh, please excuse me young master!" he kowtowed. "Of course we've been expecting you. I just didn't assume you'd arrive so quickly."
Eli's bags were taken quite forcefully from his hands as the ground floor staff scrambled to take special care of their important guest. Eli didn't have to raise a hand as door were held open for him. He didn't have the luxury of pressing the button for the elevator, for that was done for him too. He looked closely at all the floors the hotel offered. From the way his teacher spoke of the place, he was expecting the thirteenth floor to be closed off from all living knowledge, but as the doors opened, Eli was met with an extravagant hallway.
"What's so special about this floor?" he asked particularly no one.
"I beg your pardon young master?" the bellhop asked.
"It's nothing. Just take me to my room."
As he walked along the carpeted hall, Eli felt the familiar weight of eyes peering all around him. They were in the portraits. The moved from the self important busts.
Eli was even certain he saw a pair of black eyes flash through his reflection in the hall's mirrors. He was being watched. Ra's did mention the young assassin was not welcomed on the thirteenth floor, leaving Eli to wonder why. He had never been to the hotel before, nor met any of the people staying on the mysterious level, so why would be he watched?
"You'll be staying in Room 1301 young sir." the bellhop opened the door. The entire room was stark white. There was not one object of defying color to be found. Everything was cleaned...too clean for his liking. The windows were ancient and expensive looking and adorned with white drapes and linens. The floor shown with a type of glossy haze as if Eli was staring into a miasma in the desert. Everything from the ceiling to the floor below it gleamed too brightly and swirled into a pounding headache. The longer Eli looked around, the more he felt strangely trapped by something he couldn't see. He took slow breaths as he began to feel dizzy and the room slowly spun.
"Do you like your room young master?"
The question mixed in with the queasy sensation to vomit made Eli want to plunge his sword deep into the man's back.
"I hate it. Isn't there anything else available?"
Eli knew when someone was faking interest. He should. After the countless missions he had to suffer through flirting his way into powerful men's company, by this point he should've been a master at faking anything. His eyes turned to slits as he recognized the bellhop's fake attempt to read his expensive looking watch.
"I'm sorry young master. There are no other rooms opened on the thirteenth floor. This one was reserved just for you."
"Then get me something on another floor. I don't care where."
"Then you shouldn't care that it's here."
The bellhop placed Eli's bags down on the floor and closed the door with a gentle slam. Contrary to belief, white was Eli's favorite color. It was pure and honest. Nothing could hide within it. It was here he found something relatable with the hue, but the room was too much. Everything blended into a one massive void of nothingness. Clamoring to the wall, he searched for the light switch. With a grateful click he turned the lights out and allowed the glow from the windows to be his only means of sight. It took Eli little time to recover from the garish room as he sat in relative darkness. First things first, he had to find Bruce. He dug around in his clothes to find his phone.
"I've made it back to Gotham sir...yes, the thirteenth floor as you said..."
The conversation was kept brief.
"You are going to meet with the members of Wayne Enterprises' Board of Directors."
"Along with Mr. Wayne, I want you to also keep your eyes and ears opened around them my assassin. I shall be expecting frequent reports."
"Understood."
Eli hung up the phone and crawled over to his bag. Inside was nothing more than his cloak and several smaller blades. He kicked this bag to the other side of the room and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. All he had to do was watch Bruce. Nothing more. Despite hating his room and really wanting to spill the bellhop's guts, Eli had to make a promise to himself.
"No killing this time. Stealth is what matters here. No matter how annoying this stupid city is, I have to keep at my mission." he vowed. For a split second his mind went to Bruce's face. There weren't many instances between the two where they were close, but there were private moments no one got to see.
His face placid, Eli recalled the times he slept under his bed in fear of a normal life. Bruce would come and sleep beside him on the hard cold floor, not caring that his clothes were getting dusty. He remembered their first New Years together and the letter from Thomas Wayne. He remembered all the botched attempts the two would have whenever they tried to bond. He remembered the mistrust Bruce and the rest of his precious family had toward the young outsider.
"Like I said, nothing else matters." Eli gripped his hood tightly. He quietly opened the door and poked his head outside. The hallway remained empty, but he felt something was there. Whoever, or whatever it was, it was standing at the corners of the corridor and watching him intently. Hiding his face behind his faceless mask, Eli silently slipped out of his room and made his way back to the elevator. The lift came with a bright 'ding'. The small assassin stepped inside and turned around just in time to catch several pairs of eyes leering from the shadows as the doors closed.
* * * *
Matthew Richardson was, in his humble opinion, an honest and simple man. He had his standards, however high some people claim they were: he just wanted his food to be perfect every time, his drinks to be refreshing, bold and expensive like his women, and his clothes and lifestyle classy and exotic. Matthew loved money, fast and expensive cars, buxom women and pretty men. The last part was his dirty little secret, but it made little sense in hiding it. This was Gotham City after all. An oily smirk stretched across his face as he thought about his meeting with Bruce Wayne. Matthew had to admit, the man was as handsome in person as all the magazines claimed. Those gorgeous blue eyes. That glossy, healthy head of ebony hair. If Bruce wasn't so dammed arrogant, Matthew would've made a move on him. Alas, dating the handsome billionaire was nowhere in the plan. Along with his high greedy standards, there was something else Matthew wanted more than anything in the entire world. He pulled his car up to a classy building sporting a bright and cool blue neon glow. Flashing from the sign sprawled in elegant script was a neon martini glass spewing cold frost. Surrounding the rest of the building was crystal, cracked and shaped in the form of an iceberg exploding in and around the perimeter.
This place was only meant for the elite of the elite of Gotham. This was where the city's royalty came to rub elbows with the royalty of the criminal underworld. This was the Iceberg Lounge. Matthew parked his car, fixed his suit and tie and strutted into the building with an approved nod from the bouncers. One day soon (very soon if he had anything to say about it), this place would be his. For now, the Iceberg Lounge was being ran by a man who Matthew answered to. The same man who wanted to plant him deep in Wayne Enterprises.
"Well, well. My prodigal son returns. Had a good day did we?"
Matthew stripped off his coat and took a seat near the bar. With two beautiful women hanging from his side, a stout, pudgy and rather ugly man waltzed down the massive elegant staircase. His nose was too sharp to be real, yet it was. It was situated between two beady brown eyes that seemed to never rest. He walked as if one his legs were too short for the other, but owned his limp with the company of his ladies. A long cigarette stemmed from his small perky lips, while an umbrella hung from his right arm. This was the man who promised to give Matthew everything he ever wanted.
"Hello father. I had an excellent day today. You're now looking at the head of Wayne Enterprises' PR management and current spokesperson for the Gotham complex." Matthew beamed.
"Fuck all that son. Where does this leave you with the rest of the plan?" the little man pulled up behind the bar and poured his son a drink.
"Uh, well, now that I'm responsible for how the public sees Mr. Wayne, I can gain access to everything's he's been up to and does from now on. I can literally control his image, while working my way deep into his pockets. Fear not father dear. Everything's going according to plan."
The small man laughed as he slid his boy a glass.
"Excellent. I knew it was right of me to send you after Wayne. You're charming just like yer old man, cunning in all the right ways and not too bad to look at just like yer mum. Shit, I almost feel bad for little ol' Brucie boy. One minute he's king of the world, the next he's just another pariah sacrificing the lives of the same people he claims to save. Ha ha! You gotta fucking love that dramatic irony."
Matthew's smile waned a little as he sat and listened to his father's words.
He hadn't heard not one "thank you" in all his old man's boasting.
"Serves 'im and his entire family right. Fucking little brat goes around here acting like he owns the fucking city. Well, it's about damn time. After we're done with 'im, Gotham can finally go back to its rightful owners."
"You mean us?"
A sharp and disgusting look froze every ounce of blood in Matthew's veins. He knew he had no place in his father's designs. After screwing Wayne over, there would be no use for him in this so-called "new Gotham".
"Yes son. Us. Of course I meant us." the man awkwardly smiled. "There's just one more thing you have to overcome if you want to get a solid footing in this family."
"What father? I'll do anything."
A screen appeared between the countless glass bottles of liquor. Flashing onscreen were names and numbers, but importantly, the face of the Batman appeared.
"B..Batman?" Matthew stuttered.
"That's right. You see, the people who've been so nice as to ask for our services have quite the wrench in their machine. Namely, the Bat. Whenever Brucie boy's in danger, the Bat is never too far behind. As you've probably guessed, this is a major pain the arse. You can control Wayne, right? Then you also control the Bat. You can take care of this, yes?"
It never occurred to Matthew that he'd have to deal with the Batman. All he wanted was to takeover Wayne Enterprises. He never wanted to go head to head with its shadowy mascot.
"I...I can take care of it sir." he wearily smirked. A firm, deformed hand clapped him on his back. It was a lie. Handling Bruce Wayne was one thing. A pretty boy like him was going to be a simple task to play with and wrapping the company's board around his fingers was often a pass time Matthew did before breakfast...but dealing with the Batman...there was nothing he could do about that. He made some quick phone calls. All of them ended with assurances that Batman would be no problem.
"You do this right and you'll be the crowning achievement of our family." the little man blew his cigarette smoke into his son's face.
"I won't let you down sir."
"You better not. I'm riding a lot of fucking money on you. You fuck this up and there'll be more than just your pay check on the line. The last thing I need is another loser trying to sport the Cobblepot name."
* * * *
Stomaching the sickening presence of Matthew Richardson left a bad taste in Bruce's mouth and his fists trembling to hit the guy. There was no way in all the realms of reality Bruce was leaving his father's company in the hands of that moron. As he sat in the Batcave staring at the massive screen flashing with current news updates and police reports, he still couldn't believe his company was under fire. All the years he spent trying to live up to the image of his parents, all the pain he had to overcome to sit in the same chair as his father, pain he was still struggling with...all of it was threatened to be taken away.
"How the hell could I have allowed this to happen?" Bruce held is head in his hands. It was too late for regret. All Bruce had now were questions that needed answers. He typed in the name: Matthew Richardson. A long list of faces appeared onscreen. Men of different colors came and went, but not once did Bruce see the face of the man who stood before him earlier. There was one particular face that stood out among the throng. A stout and rather ugly face with beady eyes and a too long pointed nose.
"So that's how it is."
"How what is sir?" Alfred came and joined his master.
"The man who's suppose to be managing "damage control" for Wayne Enterprises is a fake. His name belongs to plenty of other men, but the man I saw today wasn't in the Gotham databanks. There was one that stood out."
Alfred looked at the screen and gasped. There was no way in the realm of sense that the board of Thomas Wayne's beloved company would hire a man like the one the computer was offering.
"You...you can't be serious?!" the butler looked back.
"That's what I'm thinking. How could the board not know who they hired to take care of my business...unless they know something I don't."
Bruce typed hard and pulled up more files on his eastern plant. The witness Eli uncovered was a native to that land and judging from his appearance, he wasn't a rich man. Then again it would be all too simple to impersonate a poor man. He went through the eastern division's entire workforce, their records, medical records, payment plans, contracts and construction blueprints. The current accusations of Wayne Enterprises poisoning a people's water supply came from an area where quite frankly, there shouldn't be any construction going around. Bruce dug deeper. The one in charge of signing any papers to "ok" the project that destroyed the community was nowhere to be found, so the majority of the blame fell on Adam Jaccobs. He was there to sign papers, talk to contractors and pay off the workers. Apparently, no one knew how he gained such authority.
"The man rose to power, yet not one member of the board knows what really happened?" Alfred asked. "So the responsibility's on him...but he's dead."
"Not only dead. Deathstroke was the one who killed him and before that, Eli was there on behalf of Ra's."
"The League of Assassins has something to do with this and placing the insufferable "Matthew Richardson" to replace me."
"What does this all mean sir? Is there any truth behind these allegations?"
"The proof has already been printed and shown. This was something long in the works. I could say it's been a plan in motion ever since Eli came into my life and now Wayne Enterprises...my father's company...has been compromised."
Long, hard and angry strides took Bruce from his computer to his Batsuit and back to his desk. He downloaded the necessary information and headed for the car.
"Where are you going sir? Should I call for Master Grayson to follow?"
"Tell him to meet me at the Iceberg Longue. It's time to pay an old friend a visit."
* * * *
Eli had never before been inside the main tower of the Wayne empire. Wayne Tower stood like a beacon of something far greater and richer than the rest of the city. The tower pulsed with power and bright lights, like it was trying to stand for something honest and pure. Eli scoffed.
"So, this is the legacy Bruce has bee trying so hard to protect. Granted it would be pretty expensive to rebuild should something happen." he said to himself. He did a quick and efficient recon around the building, flying around the perimeter to check for any openings. There weren't any. He tested for any touch sensitive areas by flicking small pebbles at the window panes. He noticed the guards standing at the front of the building looked down to a screen strapped to their arms every time he struck an area. Eli also noticed cameras belonging to the building situated across the way on the rooftops of its neighboring structures. Wayne Tower was perfectly protected from the outside. Eli grinned at thinking of how tight the security would be inside. Finding Bruce's office wasn't easy. It wasn't a room visible through normal means, making Eli wonder how he was going to find a way in.
He could've called his teacher and reported this small snag in his mission, but it would be a waste. There could be no excuses. He couldn't just walk into the building and ask for Bruce. He certainly couldn't go to Wayne Manor. Not when he knew the place was secured like some sort of fortress. Eli perched in a tree across the street from the building and kept his eyeless mask focused on the entrance.
"Great. How the hell am I suppose to watch someone I can't find?" he sulked. The answer came to him in the form of an important looking man talking loudly into his cellphone.
"No, I told you. Mr. Wayne isn't taking any visitors right now. I'm on my way to see him and I can assure you, he doesn't need to be distracted by some nosy ass reporter...Don't worry about this mess. I'll clean it up with your reputation still intact Mr. McQueen...Yes....Very well."
Such a loud and boisterous man. Eli had to use him.
An idea began formulating in his mind. He removed his mask and mused up his hair. It took him a minute to scrounge up some tears, but soon his eyes watered and his nose reddened. He looked like the orphan he was. Purposely falling from his perch and scraping his cloak, Eli hobbled over to the front of the building and fell to his knees, sobbing pathetically in front of the guards.
"Something wrong sweetie?" asked the receptionist. "Where are your parents?"
"My dad just walked in here. He...he left me behind and didn't care that I scraped my knee." Eli cried and sniffled. A crowd began forming around the noise.
"There he is!" Eli pointed to the man on the phone. "Daddy, why didn't you wait for me?"
The man turned pale as he noticed eyes glued on him.
'W...what? Daddy? I'm not your dad little girl." he panicked.
"Why do you keep saying that? Is it because you and mommy fight a lot? Please daddy, please let me come with you like you said!"
Dirty glances and whispers broke out and suddenly the man was scrambling to find a solution.
"Uh...listen..er...sweetheart. Maybe we can talk about this inside. You know, away from public eyes?"
The man offered Eli his hand and picked the sad child off the ground. And just like that, Eli had a way into Wayne Tower. He sniffled and wiped his nose every chance he got until he was safely in the building. Only when the crowd was well behind them did Eli wrench his hand away and cleared his face.
"Alright, who the hell are you?" the man slammed his office door shut.
He turned around to come face to face with an eyeless figure draped in all black,
"I heard you were to see Bruce Wayne this evening. If you'd be so kind, would you tell me where to find him?" the shadow cocked its hooded head to the side in mock innocence.
"Why the hell would I tell you anything? After the way you embarrassed me out there, I have every right to call the police on you."
An unsettling silence seeped into the room making the man nervous and suddenly not so high and mighty. The figure's cloak ruffled and a box appeared.
"Do you know where Mr. Wayne's office is?" it asked.
"Yes." the man said uncontrollably. His forced answer shocked even himself.
"Good. Place this on his desk."
The man walked forward, noticing his feet were working without his brain's say-so. He took the box in hand and looked to open it.
"Are...are you going to kill him?"
There was never an answer.
"Name." the figure stated.
"Excuse me?"
"I want your name."
"Oh, it's...uh...Richardson. Matthew Richardson."
Richardson flinched as the ghost glided past his shoulder and to a window. He was left stunned as a cyclone of ebony feathers engulfed the small disturbing looking creature. They gathered en masse and proceeded to crash through the window, sending shard of glass everywhere. Eli had completed the first part of his mission and now with a beacon to track Bruce in place, he was free to continue observing his one time friend from the shadows. He flew back to his tree and waited. Sure enough, the man known as Matthew Richardson raced out of the building and went straight to his car in a clear panic. He thrusted the vehicle into action. Eli followed from the sky. The car sped to a building radiating in blue frost and fake looking ice thrusting from its sides. The Iceberg Lounge it was called. Eli's new pawn ran inside. It was simple work dispatching the bouncers standing in front of the club. Cleaning his katana, Eli walked in and followed the sounds of voices.
"What do you mean there's a problem?!" an angry voice screeched.
"I went to back the office to get some work done, when this...this fucking kid came from nowhere and practically blackmailed me into getting inside. Next thing I know the kid's gone and I'm standing face to face with some sort of fucking ghost! I don't know what the hell it was, but it has interest in Wayne and wants me to give him something." Richardson ranted. Before entering the lounging area, Eli looked around for any perching spots away from the light and high enough to see and hear everything. He found one centered over the bar near the stage at the back of the room and crept along the walls until he was close enough to climb up without making a sound. From here he had a clear view of the entire room and could see the exit, the windows and a staircase leading to what must have been the owner's office. Something ruffled in the rafters near him. Someone else was watching. Eli wasn't here to get into a fight. He just had to stay focused on the tasks at hand and ignore his uninvited company. Let them do as they pleased...so long as it had nothing to do with Bruce.
* * * *
"I don't get it. Why the heck would your board send someone from here to replace you?" Robin followed his partner. "Don't they know who the Iceberg Lounge belongs to?"
"Not unless they don't know who Matthew Richardson really is. In that case, they'd be innocent of sending a fool to take care of damage control, but I wouldn't put anything past Elizabeth Dowry." Batman scaled the walls of the club.
"Who?"
"The woman who's the head of my board. I remember hearing her name from my mother. Apparently the woman wasn't well liked then. Nothing's changed. She's calculating and too smart to be ignorant of the men and women under her control. I know for a fact she's completely aware of who she hired and his true intentions."
The Dark Knight and Boy Wonder slid through the Iceberg Lounge's skylight carefully and quietly making their way across the rafters.
They situated themselves high above the middle of the lounging area where they could see everything. Panicking and whining with his arms flailing about was Mr. Richardson. Despite speaking to the owner of the Lounge and known criminal around Gotham, Richardson wasn't scared of the smaller and rounder man. In fact, he looked downright pathetic, as if expecting the little man to solve his problems like he'd seen the criminal do so before.
"Penguin? Your new co-worker knows Penguin? How the heck is that possible?" Robin whispered. Batman studied in silence. He made a mental profile of his new associate: the right side of his face, the left, the way his nose protruded from his head, the shape of his eyes, the downward curve of his mouth. He compared it to the Penguin's profile.
"Interesting..." he murmured.
Oswald Cobblepot, aka 'The Penguin', was well known in Gotham as being a ruthless, heart and soulless criminal and on the side, businessman.
His crimes were usually thwarted by Batman, but the small man never stayed down for long. If anything, Batman could accredit him for his determination when it came to the love of money and riches. Penguin would do his time in prison, escape and head underground where nary a soul would find him until months later. He was cunning, maybe more so than Elizabeth Dowry, intelligent and used his size to his advantage. Cobblepot was a squat man, but that never attributed to his speed and strength when it came time for him to kill a man. In that department, Oswald Cobblepot was an elegant and brutal murderer. His victims were systemically broken either mentally or physically apart according to their crimes and that would be on a good day. A bad day once consisted of a man having his kneecaps bashed in while a giant gaping hole oozed and bled from the center of his forehead. This was the same man who had help Wayne Enterprise's Board of Directors plant a spy to usurp Bruce's throne.
"What the fuck are you squabbling about?!" Penguin's face reddened in rage. "Your job's to get Wayne to hand over the company."
"You're to do as that Dowry broad told you and screw that little shit over till he's begging to be put out of our misery! Now you're babbling about kids and ghosts? What are you, fuckin' mental?"
"I didn't say I was giving up. I'm just telling you something weird involving Wayne's happening. Someone else is making a play on our target and I thought you should know." Richardson spurned back. This news caught Batman by surprise. Someone other than Penguin was hunting him. What did they want Richardson to give him? Who was it and more importantly, did they know anything about Bruce and Batman?
"Who'd have the balls to move into our turf?? Cobblepot spat out his cigarette. "This was a closed deal."
"Like I said, I don't know who, or what they are, but they wanted me to give Wayne this." Richardson pulled out a small box from his pocket.
Penguin ripped the gift open, not caring that a single black feather fluttered down to his feet.
"What...the actual fuck....is this suppose to be?" his voice turned low and savage. The club suddenly became too quiet.
"I don't know. I told you, some freak came and gave it to me. I didn't open it."
In an instant, Batman grew anxious and desperate. He had to get that feather.
"Hey, what are you---" Robin watched his partner make a move without him. Batman had jumped from the rafters and landed with a heavy crash onto the countertop over the bar. The sudden and terrifying entrance shocked Penguin and his men into action.
"Well, well boys. Lookit what we have here. It's the Bat." Penguin calmly took a seat. "I don't remember inviting you. What the hell do you want?"
The criminal watched as the vigilante's eyes quickly glance over to the feather. It didn't take him long to piece everything together.
"Oh ho, so this is what you want?" he plucked the feather from the floor. "Funny, I didn't peg you as a bird guy. This must be something really important if a wanker like you wants it."
"Just hand it over Cobblepot. No one needs to get hurt." Batman growled. Robin couldn't understand it at first. Why the heck was his partner getting riled up over a lousy bird feather? The answer didn't occur to him until he recognized the dark glossy sheen.
"Oh no." he moaned. "Here we freakin' go again."
"What's so special about a crappy feather Bats?" Penguin cackled. "Does it hide some kind of code?"
"Does it have some sort of invisible map to an amazing treasure? Why does Brucie-boy get to have it and I don't? What exactly is Mr. Wayne hiding?"
Watching Penguin tantalize and caress the feather in his disgusting deformed hands, Batman's nerves tingled and pulsed like a violent wave. He knew who sent it. He wanted to search for the boy as quickly as possible and find the means as to why the child sent it. Robin could see his partner's skin itch for action and rushed forward to stop the older man before desperation caused him to act stupidly. Again. Robin jumped from the rafters and joined his partner in the middle of the room.
"Oh great. Now we're letting kids into the party. Hasn't your mommy told you it's too late for little boys to be out?" Cobblepot flicked dust from his tailor made suit in the young hero's direction.
"At least I had a mother who cared. Can't say the same for the rest of my present company."
Robin knew he had slapped a nerve mentioning Penguin's parentage. If there was one thing Oswald Cobblepot cherished more than money and his territory, it was the memory of his beloved (albeit also greedy and extremely violent) family.
"You have a lot of balls little birdie. Mentionin' my mum like that right to my face...I should skin you while you watch." Penguin's attitude shifted from calm and indifferent to rage and spiteful. He squashed the feather under his foot.
"Kill em'." was all he said. Matthew Richardson ducked behind the bar as Penguin's thugs aimed their guns and opened fire. Bullets flashed and rained everywhere as Batman and Robin went for cover behind a table.
"Oh great. This is going well." Robin rolled his eyes. "What the heck do we do now?"
Batman could still see the crumpled feather fluttering across the polished floor. No matter what, he needed to get to it. Throwing a well aimed Batarang into one of the light fixtures, the Dark Knight enlarged the shadows and raced through them to reach his target. Once the feather was in his hands, he knew he had acquired the information he came for. He now knew who was trying to pull his strings behind the scenes and now that he knew Penguin was in on it, he could formulate a plan to keep both Bruce and Batman's identities safe.
"Robin, retreat!" the older man shouted. A well placed smoke bomb gave the duo time to leave through the same skylight they entered. It was only for a split second. Zipping back up to the roof, Batman could've sworn he saw something lurking in the shadows of the rafters. A black lump with something that resembled wings...and...a flash of blue...
Batman couldn't stop. By the time he wanted to look back, he was already on the roof and fleeing the scene.
"That was a disaster. Other than finding out who's Wayne Enterprise's spy, the rest was a freak show." Robin sighed once he was secured back in the Batmobile. Batman remained silent again.
"Not this again." the Boy Wonder grumbled under his breath. "Bruce, what happened back there? Why were you so desperate to get that feather? What does it mean anyway?"
"He's back in Gotham." Batman drove the rest of the way in relative silence.
"You mean Eli."
Silence.
"Great. It's not like we didn't have enough on our plates. Now we have to worry about you becoming obsessed with this kid again? What is it about him that keeps you running back to him every time he appears?"
Batman still didn't know the answer to that. It was more of a feeling. A feeling of his innards being tugged against his body as if a string were tied tightly around his heart and pulled in Eli's direction every time he was near. It was a connection both curious and disturbing. Finding out Penguin was behind the man meant to replace Bruce in his own father's company, realizing his Board of Directors were probably corrupt and instigating illegal business dealings around the world...it was all thanks to Eli calling attention to the goings on of Wayne Enterprises. The ball was in Bruce's court now. It was time he worked just as hard to prove he still had some control over his father's legacy.
"What do we do now?" the irritation in Robin's voice rang clear.
"We do nothing. Bruce Wayne has to solve this one on his own from now on. Now that Eli's back in Gotham and wanted Richardson to give this feather to me, he'll want to find me. He definitely can't find Bruce and Batman in the same room."
"But what about our patrols? Do we let them go too?"
It took Batman at least two city blocks to think of a logical response. Of course the city still needed its protectors, but Batman for once had to take a backseat.
"Looks like you'll be patrolling alone for the time being. It's what you've always wanted." he answered coolly. A wide grin couldn't stop breaking out across Robin's face. Finally he was going to get the chance to prove himself.
"I won't let you down Bruce. I promise." the young man smiled.
"Good. I'll need you to be my eyes and ears out here while I sort through this whole mess, but don't take any unnecessary risks if the situation doesn't call for it."
"I know Bruce. Don't worry. I'll be fine. After all, I had a great teacher."
Bruce worried nonetheless. He worried a lot. He wasn't going to be there to protect his ward should anything happen, but at the same time he knew he had to give Dick the benefit of the doubt. Maybe if he placed that much trust in Eli, they wouldn't be separated and fighting each other...but they weren't on opposite sides, who was to say Bruce would've ever found out about his company's corruption, or their ties to Gotham's criminal underworld? At least he has that much to thank Eli for. The Batmobile sped back to the cave all the while Batman thought about the dark mass he saw in the rafters. Was that really Eli? Was he truly back in Gotham, or was the League of Assassins playing an elaborate trick? Once the car parked, Batman took some time to be alone with his thoughts. He pulled out the feather and stared deep into it's now dirtied sheen. So far he'd collected several of the strange objects. Some the actual feathers of birds and two that belonged to the young assassin.
For whatever reason, Eli wanted Bruce to have these and for that reason alone, Bruce decided to keep them with him and not his counterpart. A close scan showed there was no sort of manmade tracking technology imbued within the plumage, but the idea never left. If this was Eli's way to keeping tabs on his former friend, then so be it. Bruce would go about his days as planned. He left the Batcave and went to his father's study. He took a seat behind his father's desk and began formulating what he'd have to do. No Batman. No doing anything unusual. Bruce Wayne under fire and was going to have to dig himself out of the grave his board buried him in. First things first, he went to his laptop and researched everything having to do with the eastern division's activities. There had been many orders dealing with construction made behind his back. The last project Bruce remembered giving an "ok" to was the building of a new regional hospital. That was over seven months ago. Like an idiot, he assumed the project was still in effect and had nothing to worry about or keep after. Construction for the hospital had stopped four months ago.
It was going to take a miracle to clean up this mess. Bruce had made promises, promises that did nothing more than boost his image as the responsible and moral driven son of Thomas Wayne. If his father were still here...Thomas would've never made such a rookie mistake in trusting others to finish a passion project. He would've made sure everything was done by the book and checked in personally. Then again, Thomas Wayne wasn't the Batman. Bruce couldn't be in two places at once. Gotham needed Batman, but the rest of the business world where his real life thrived was invested in Bruce Wayne being there with and for his company. He spent the rest of the night buried in cup after cup of black bitter coffee and research. By the time the sun dyed the early morning sky in soft hues of blue, pink and orange, Bruce realized he never went to sleep and spent the entire night trapped behind his desk. Starting today he was going to have to give in to Matthew Richardson's suggestions on how to keep face in the eyes of the public. As much as Bruce hated the man and the idea, he had no other choice. From on top of the fireplace an antique clock struck 7am. It was time for work.
* * * *
Public opinion often times felt like a terrible thing. The name of Wayne was tarnished thanks to the surviving son's latest mistake. Trust in Gotham's last remaining beacon of equality and honesty was shaken. Now protestors rioted outside of Wayne Tower's doors, screaming that their former shining hero Bruce Wayne was a lying hypocrite.
"Don't listen to them Bruce. You're just another thing in their long list of bullshit to complain about." Richardson rolled up his window as Alfred drove him and Bruce to the tower's parking lot.
"They have every reason to "complain". How else do you explain what's happening? To discover the people you've trusted to do the right thing when it comes to their futures...to see that it's all been a lie. You're telling me that you wouldn't feel betrayed?" Bruce eyed his companion.
"No offense, but Wayne Enterprises is a business."
"Like every other business, some sacrifices had to be made. Yeah I know some people got hurt, but it was never our intentions to hurt them. We needed data and without it, we would never know what works and what doesn't. Don't let people who've never in their pathetic lives run an operation as big as yours dictate to you the importance of running a Fortune 500 company Mr. Wayne. They're the ones not willing to make the real important decisions and instead chastise you for doing what's necessary to make everyone's lives a little better."
That wasn't an excuse. It couldn't be. There could never be an excuse for experimenting on people just to get data.
"Yeah, but poisoning a city's water supply. There can't be any excuses for that." Bruce made his final stand on the matter.
"For the last time, relax sir. I've got this." Richardson smirked. "Just do as I tell you and trust me, this thing'll blow over in no time. It's Gotham City! In less than 24 hours there'll be something else everyone's enraged at."
And just like that Bruce was placed in the background as his replacement made the arrangements for press releases, photo shoots to boosts the company's image and interviews pertaining to the recent rumors. Richardson handled it all. He coaxed Bruce into a televised interview where Bruce proclaimed he was not responsible for the selfish and endangering actions of his former employee. In fact, Richardson even went as far as to sugarcoat the entire issue as Adam Jaccobs' desperate and greedy need for more power and as his just desserts, he was killed in the process. Come the end of the work week, Wayne Enterprises' reputation had been mostly salvaged.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the board, I am proud to announce that this fiasco that's been plaguing us has finally seen some ending and rather positive results." Richardson happily proclaimed.
"What about the recent waves of civil unrest? There's still some who protest outside the building."
"Nothing to worry about. Those social justice warriors are just that in name only. They live to stir up trouble and haggle big businesses. Rest assured, we're in the clear."
Bruce didn't like it. He hated the way his people basically bribed and lied their way to freedom. They blamed it all on a dead man who wasn't there to speak for himself and for all he knew, the truth about his board's operations were buried right along with him.
"I propose a party. A celebration bringing people together." Richardson suggested.
"A party for what? It would be a strange time to have one when we're just getting in the clear."
"A fundraiser." Bruce interjected. "For all the families who've been effected by this crisis."
It was clear the board and Richardson weren't too fond of the idea.
"Sounds like a great idea." Mrs. Dowry resigned. "A fundraiser for the victims sounds like the perfect way to get the people's minds off of this, shall we say, rather embarrassing situation."
"I wasn't planning this to being a distraction." Bruce's eyes narrowed.
"It's just what we need Bruce. We can't afford to stop production just because of one setback. A party is one way of many to show Gotham that even the influential can spare their time for the "Average Joes". Whether or not this is a distraction doesn't matter."
The haughtiness in that woman's voice sent a violent flush of color to Bruce's temples. He still wasn't sure if the people his father hired to help run his business was to be trusted. From the way they all caved into the idea of a party and cared not that it could be classified as a distraction, trust was thin at best.
"Great. I'll prepare the whole thing. We'll have it right in the home of our benefactor. You don't mind, do you Bruce?"
"A fundraiser at Wayne Manor is just the right image to show the press we're not as heartless as they think. All the proceeds will go to the families like Bruce said and sooner than we know, the entire thing will be well behind us."
The meeting adjourned without Bruce's consent. He wasn't happy. Of all the times he didn't want to host a party at his house, this was it. He wanted to spend his time finding Eli and figuring out whether or not the feather was a way to track him. Richardson walked away, his cell phone pressed against his ear as he made numerous calls to his (no doubt criminal) friends. Once the room was cleared, Bruce took out the feather, brushing it lightly with his fingers.
A cold sharp wind swept across his back as if someone rushed passed him. Something was in the room. That sensation of desperation and angst came back. It were as if Bruce was a kid again, eagerly waiting for his parents to come home.
He clearly sensed someone beside him, but no matter how hard he looked into the shadows of his office, he didn't see anyone. The feather was the only answer. Somehow, someway, Eli was with him. For what reason, Bruce didn't know. A call came in for another business deal. Richardson's "good press tour" was bearing fruit all over. Wayne Enterprises was still the top contender to make money with. The day went on as usual. Bruce took and made calls. He had business lunches with potential partners. Made deals that would benefit Gotham's youth of tomorrow and even had the time to christen a brand new orphanage for the city's at risk children. More and more the name of Wayne was becoming synonymous with decent change again, but the betrayal was still there. Now most people weren't comparing him to Ferris Boyle, but their looks said differently. Bruce knew he was never going to be trusted the same ever again until he cleared his name.
* * * *
Wayne Manor buzzed with excitement and noise as the rich and influential flooded its halls, jewels and expensive watches glittering under the chandelier lights. They laughed as glasses of champagne were poured by Alfred and his hired staff. Their money and checks were deposited into a large crystal dish which sat in the center of the party room. This would be the third time Bruce felt uncomfortable in his own home. Truth be told, he never liked a whole lot of people inside his house. Not since his parents deaths. While he wasn't extremely happy with his crowd, Bruce walked and talked with his guests, smiling with the ladies and talking business with the men. At least twice he had to remind himself that it was all a fundraiser. All of this was to benefit the people who lost their lives and were poisoned by his company's negligence.
"Bruce! Nice party right?" Richardson came up and slapped Bruce on the shoulder pretty hard. "Quite a turn out, especially in the broad department if you know what I mean."
"I couldn't tell." Bruce nonchalantly removed the man's hand from his shoulder.
"Oh? Why, I didn't know you ran like that Brucie-boy."
"I gotta say, there's a whole lot of money funneling in tonight. Your charity event is really pulling in the numbers, but let's be honest here...no one knows what's going to happen. I've been paying attention to you Mr. Wayne. The last two functions you've had inside your house have had some, shall we say, unfortunate visitors? First that Freeze fella, then our beloved ex-District Attorney Harvey Dent...heard he lost his marbles after his engagement party. Now this is a joke Bruce, but it seems like people come here sane and leave wearing straight jackets. No offense." Richardson chuckled. It wasn't funny. Not when Bruce thought about it. The walls and halls were haunted with the spirits of screaming voices, broken hearts and blood. Harvey Dent could've been successful, but he walked into Wayne Manor and died. A monster had taken his place. Ferris Boyle had brought Mr. Freeze into his home, leading to over ten deaths. There wasn't enough money in the world to cover up the stains of blood Bruce still saw when he closed his eyes.
"So now the question is, how are you going to protect our money?" Richardson lowered his voice.
"The money that belongs to the people will be safely guarded within my own personal vault." Bruce shot daggers at his co-worker.
"Uh...okay. I was just asking."
Bruce walked away. It was strange having another party in the manor without Eli hiding somewhere. Despite knowing the mansion's had numerous occasions in the past without the boy, he still kept searching for a little body in white among a throng of adults. Any minute now, Bruce was expecting to turn around and find those gorgeous blue eyes staring up at him. He met plenty of eyes, but none of them the shade he was looking for.
The only genuine time he felt happy was when he saw Lieutenant Gordon standing near the front door taking the guest's coats.
"Sorry Bruce. I couldn't help it." Gordon sheepishly put down a woman's coat. "Great party as always."
"It's for a good cause." Bruce stood with his friend.
"Yeah, but so were the last ones. Sorry. I know that was a pot shot."
"No, you're right. This place has seen some rather strange and disturbing things. To be honest, I'm kind of worried of having another party here. Anywhere else would've been better."
"Well, at least you know where everything is." Gordon lit a cigar.
"With all that money pouring in, you sure you've got enough security to protect it all?"
"I should. I paid enough money for it." Bruce and Gordon laughed. More guests arrived as the eleven o'clock hour closed in. Judging from the clothes alone, Bruce should've known everyone, but there was a group of four well dressed men who walked in at the last minute that made the hairs on the back of Bruce's neck stand on edge. He stared hard. They looked well presentable, clean shaven and shoes shined. They weren't carrying anything bulky to signify they were carrying weapons. There was a metal detector located outside the doors, so the fact that they came in without any problems meant they weren't carrying anything dangerous. Still there was something about them Bruce quite couldn't place his finger on. His eyes met Dick's across the room. One signal told the young man there was something wrong with the group and Dick made sure to keep them in his sights for the rest of the night.
"Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention?" Bruce made an announcement. The party quieted down.
"You know, my father often wanted to reach out to the rest of the world and spread his wealth with those who needed it. Thomas Wayne was a man of medicine before anything else, even before being my father, and that meant he was responsible for a lot of people. A few weeks ago news came out that my company -- my father's company, has been committing atrocious acts to a neighboring Asian community who depended on Wayne Enterprises for fresh water and clean power sources."
The party fidgeted.
"Somewhere along the way the people who I trusted to do their jobs and make not only Gotham, but the rest of the world safer for everyone, became greedy and began committing secret experiments behind my back. Experiments that contaminated these people's water supply and have killed multiples, including women and children."
Bruce's eyes scanned the room.
Most of the guests looked uncomfortable at the news which was an expected emotion. What caught Bruce's attention the most were the group of well dressed men. They were still moving in a sea of paused bodies. Dick had disappeared, most likely to change into Robin. Chancing a nervous glance at Gordon, Bruce went on.
"Recently a survivor was brought forth, a young girl no older than five years old. She was being held in the basement of the company's Eastern tower, caged like some sort of animal while being fed contaminated water. This is not the kind of behavior I, nor my father would take lightly. While a body has come forth to take all the blame, unfortunately this "mastermind" is dead. As of right now an investigation is well underway to find the truth. Tonight we come together for those families and donate all that we can to at least try to soften the blow made to their lives. With this money, we can and will rebuild their livelihoods destroyed by my company's underhanded methods. Tonight--"
Someone coughed.
Another person coughed.
Then another.
Encircling the room was a thin vale of mist. The first thing Bruce thought about was the money. He pressed a button on his watch and tile square holding the crystal bowl of cash sank from sight. Again Wayne Manor was under attack. Bruce noticed several figures moving through the fog toward where the money use to be. When they couldn't find it, the figures stalled as if not knowing what to do.
"Freeze! Don't you move!" Gordon pulled out his gun and aimed for the strangers.
"Fuck this noise. We came here for the money and it's not here!"
"It was a shitty plan anyway."
"I said freeze!" Gordon coughed. Bruce caught up to the thieves. It was nothing more than a petty robbery done by virgin criminals at best. In a state of panic, the men made a break for the exit. Acting quickly, Bruce jumped in the way and tripped one of the intruders. A gun fell in front of them.
"What the hell..." Bruce gasped. Not only did the thieves try to infiltrate his house, but Bruce's security was also compromised. The rest of the men didn't get far as Robin swooped in and took care of them one by one. Slightly the party reverted back to calm as everyone witnessed the Boy Wonder and Lieutenant Gordon round up the criminals.
"Make sure to get the officer in charge of the metal detector. He's the one who allowed these men inside." Bruce pointed out. A woman screamed out on the foyer. One of the officers standing guard outside had came in, holding the female hostage.
"Let em' go!" he demanded.
"Are you crazy? This is a charity event. Haven't you any shame?" Richardson came forth to proclaim proudly. "The money you're looking to steal meant for people much more desperate than you scum."
"Shut it prick. You rich people don't give a shit about us desperate folk. You know what I want and you, Mr. Wayne, know where its at. Give us the money and I swear I won't blow this bitch up."
With a single hand, the fake officer ripped open his vest, revealing several sticks of dynamite strapped across his chest. A flood of fear swept the entire room.
"Take it easy. You don't have to do this." Bruce tried moving slowly toward the bomber.
"Shut it Wayne! Like I said, give us the money and this bitch doesn't get her pretty brains splattered all over the walls."
Batman couldn't solve this one. It was too late for him to appear anyway. Bruce cringed at how sloppy the operation was. Once the money wasn't there, the thieves had no idea what to do. On top of that they had recruited a mad bomber as a last resort. Whoever hired them had no idea how to commit a crime, let alone control a group of degenerates. Bruce couldn't give up the money. Not out of selfishness, but for those people. He had to rectify this blemish against his father's name.
"Let my crew go and give me the damn money. Tick-tock rich boy." the thief tightened his hand around his hostage's neck.
"Don't do it Mr. Wayne. You shouldn't have to negotiate with terrorists." Robin moved to attack. Throughout the whole ordeal, one of the thieves noticed something...
"Yo, how come the Bat's not here yet?"
Shit.
The only reason why anyone was hesitant was because they assumed the Batman wouldn't be too far behind, especially since he and Wayne shared a special connection. Fifteen minutes into the crime and there was no sign of the Dark Knight. Feeling rather cocky and powerful, the mad bomber aimed his gun at Bruce.
"So, the Bat's not comin'? That makes this super fucking easy." he smirked.
"I'm still here you know." Robin moved to be with his mentor.
"Who the fuck's afraid of the side-chick? If the Bat's not coming, then this party's about to get real messy real quick."
Time stopped. Robin's voice came gradually mixed in with Gordon's screams of protest.
Bruce looked to his shoulder.
His hearing must have went out because he didn't hear the moment the bullet was fired from the chamber and the shell hit the floor. Bruce never realized he had been shot.
"Bruce!" Gordon started to move.
"Mr. Wayne!" Robin flinched.
"That was just a warning. The longer you take with the money, the more holes I make in you."
The thieves were released in fear of Bruce's life. Batman still never made an appearance. The lights flickered. A frigid wind blasted through the front door, slamming it shut with a thunderous crash. The temperatures continued dropping until the entire house was enveloped in a raw frost.
"What the hell's happening? I thought Freeze was still locked away in Arkham." Gordon shivered.
Though the air froze into mist in front of everyone's mouths, ice never climbed the walls. This wasn't the work of Victor Freeze. The lightbulbs shattered along the hallways, engulfing any and everyone in darkness. The screams that followed the shadows were unnatural and sounded as if they belonged to a horde of demons and beasts. Whoever was standing in the foyer ran for the main hall and gathered around Bruce and Gordon. Even the would-be thieves began shaking in their places. The shadows paused at the doorway, leaving the main hall the only room with light and outside in utter obscurity. The chandelier above swayed slightly, tinkling the crystal ornaments like ominous ringings from a bell. Shadows stretched across the floor like spilled oil and from one of them, Robin noticed a pair of eyes. The creature could be seen in any and all reflective surfaces, breaking glass and crystal as it traveled. Its footprints could be seen faintly walking toward Bruce and the bomber. They stopped before the intruder.
"What the fuck's going on?! You idiots said Batman wasn't coming!" he yelled in sheer terror.
"How the fuck were we to know?!"
A tendril of shadow snaked its way up one of the thieves' legs and wrapped itself around his neck. Another tendril swept a man off his feet and dangled him in the air as if prey for a large animal. The other thief ran from the room and foolishly headed for the door. He was quickly engulfed by the shadows and never heard from again.
"Alright, we give up! I won't blow anyone up! Just don't hurt me!!!" the bomber dropped his hostage and fell to his knees. The hostage got back on her feet, brushed off her dress and calmly turned to her captor. With a sickening high pitched laughter, she stomped her heels into the man's throat. Her face...Bruce would never forget it. The woman's face contorted and stretched over her bones like her flesh was made of plastic, wearing a twisted smile that spanned from one eye to the other. She was a woman possessed. She looked down to her victim and giggled.
"Hurt you? I w a n t t o k i l l y o u...." her voice came in echoing whispers.
She opened her mouth and out shot a stream of darkness. It morphed into a hand that snatched the bomber off the floor and hung him in the air. Stemming from the dark hand came wisps of black smoke that took the form of a creature with massive wings. It towered over the crowd, its wings expanding across the wide room. The thing turned what most assumed as its head to Bruce. It scanned him. All Bruce could see was a cavernous hood covering a white face with hollowed eyes. The creature stared at Bruce for a moment longer and noticed the look of concern in the man's face. It then turned back to its prey.
"B...Batman! I...ack....I'm sorry! I won't...do it again!" the bomber struggled to find air through his mouth. The beast never agreed nor denied it was the Batman, but Bruce had a good idea as to who he was looking at. He was terrifying to behold, yet Bruce didn't want to turn away. He wanted to meet this monster head on without fear. The bomber was slowly lowered to the floor as the monster gave one last unearthly growl to its captive audience and vanished into the dark.
As soon as the coast was cleared, the crowd rushed through Wayne Manor's front doors. Gordon had called for backup while the three remaining criminals cowered at his feet.
"That was...that was strange wasn't it?" Gordon caught sight of his fellow GCPD officers.
"Yeah. I've never seen Batman looking like...well, that." Bruce shrugged.
"Yeah, he certainly looked different tonight. You uh...you really think that was him?"
Bruce could've easily said no, but would have no way explaining it. The wings. The same darkness that stole his parents in his dreams. He knew all too well those were some of the trademarks of Eli. Bruce wanted nothing more than to be alone and think.
"This is the last time we hold a party here." Dick joined him. "No offense Bruce, but I'm starting to think this place is cursed."
"It is."
* * * *
"What the hell was that tonight?! Is that what you call a plan Richardson? A botched attempt at a robbery?"
"Who'd have thought Wayne would hide the money? It was suppose to be out right for the taking." Richardson rolled his eyes.
"Of course Bruce was going to hide the money. It was for his "good cause". He would never allow anything to happen to it."
"Everything went off too quickly. Your men should've waited longer for a more appropriate chance rather than rushing ahead of schedule. Overall, this plan of yours Matthew, was utter shit." Mrs. Dowry sat at the head of the table.
"I'll do better next time. Now that I know Batman's on Wayne's payroll, I can work around it and time his appearances. He won't stop us I assure you."
One by one faceless masks appeared on the table.
"We will take your assurances Mr. Richardson, or should I say, Mr. Cobblepot?"
"Either one is fine."
"Whatever the name, remember why you're here and to what purpose you serve. You want Wayne's money and want Bruce out of the way. No matter what, keep him alive and should you pull another stunt in hiring a bomber as a part of your plans, then you can be the one to tell your father our deal is off. Do we have an understanding?"
Richardson's face grew a deep and embarrassing shade of hot pink.
"Yes." he nodded.
"Good. Your term at Wayne Tower isn't over as of now. Sleep tonight, for tomorrow the next steps shall be taken."