Then Be Batman [DC SI]

[Nugar]

Quick note: This story does include some Gamer style elements. Outside of the first two chapters, posted here, they are minimal. They also have an in universe source. This is not a LitRPG.

The Gamer elements are an in universe thing provided by Batman's biggest fan as a way of allowing a regular guy the ability to sort of fill a set of bat-themed boots, because what other cheat lets you get great at everything? Of course, I think most people know that, whatever powers you might have, you can't really be as paranoid, as prepared, as GOOD as Batman. But sometimes, you gotta try.

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Always Be Yourself, Unless You Can Be Batman.

Then Be Batman.

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Observe.

Ethan Neilson: petty mugger. An occasional drug user, he feels pride in not falling into the cycle of abuse and debt that is common. Ethan works as a forklift operator at a warehouse that supplies chain convenience stores, but supplements his income with opportunistic mugging, breaking and entering, and petty theft. Currently armed with a stolen H&I snubnose .32 revolver in >average< condition.

I turned my attention to the other man.

Stewart McNally: auto mechanic. Coming home late, having stopped for drinks at a bar after work. Currently moderately intoxicated. Not married or in a relationship.

I dropped the skill. If I'd continued observing, I could have gotten more and more details, but the scene was pretty straightforward.

Mister McNally was headed home, only to be ordered at gunpoint into a side alley between two four storey apartment buildings. The mugging was more on impulse than anything really planned, as Neilson had noticed they were the only two on the street.

Unfortunately for Neilson, and fortunately for McNally, I had been sitting on the roof of a building up the street when it went down, and had quickly roofhopped to one of the buildings making the alley.

With a soft fwoosh of air past my stiffened cape, I landed quietly, though not soundlessly, behind the would-be mugger.

+50 Falling XP. +50 Landing XP. +50 Move Silently XP.

He whirled, but even with my sort of paltry Combat skill level, it was perfectly simple to grab his gun in one gauntleted hand, keeping it pointed away from anything vulnerable, and to grab the side of his neck in my other.

Strength is actually my worst body stat, but he was like a squirming child in my grip. A hard pinch to the nerve junction in his neck made him gasp and go weak, and my recently gained combat perk, Weapon Breaker, guided me in to squeeze the old revolver in just the right way so that with a crisp snap, the pawl and retaining pin broke, popping the cylinder out to the side, where more pressure warped the hinge to make it doubly useless. It would take more money than the gun was worth to fix it, now.

The gun fell from nerveless fingers and clattered to the alley pavement.

+150 Combat XP.

I ignored McNally as I zip-cuffed the mugger. The mechanic had been caught in the middle of fishing out his wallet, and kind of awkwardly stood there holding it while the events unfurled.

Once the mugger was properly trussed up, I lightly kicked the back of his knees and sat him roughly on the ground at the entrance to the alleyway. I glanced back at the almost victim. I hadn't finished the lenses yet, so he was actually able to meet my eyes, though I doubt he could see them clearly.

"You should call the cops to come get him," I growled in my best voice.

"Wha- Who are you?" he spluttered.

I fired my grapple gun up over the edge of the building, then retracted the line until I felt the hook catch.

"I'm Batman."

Then I reeled in at maximum speed, yanking myself into the night. Except I was a body length off the ground when I felt whatever I had hooked, probably an air conditioner, give way, and I dropped four feet with a grunted curse before the grapple hooked something else, probably the lip of the building, and I actually went up the side of the building.

+360 60 Batman XP.

Fuck!


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It was pretty late at night, and I was patrolling a mix of slums, and the slightly higher end commercial districts that border the slums. So far, it's been fairly quiet, crime wise. I broke into an apartment where I heard a violent domestic argument, dislocated the shoulder of and punched a guy unconscious, and gave the woman a card with the address of a women's shelter I've been supporting. I've also stopped one other mugging, though it was less direct, as the mugger gave up and scampered as soon as he realized he and his victim weren't alone on the street. Cowardly, but smart.

Lastly, I called the cops on, and then scared the shit out of, three guys breaking into an unoccupied apartment through the window. That was pretty fun. I killed the lights, targeted them one by one, and gave them a few bruises while keeping them too disoriented to figure out what was going on. Then I used a couple of glow sticks to let them see me, and ended up chasing them back outside. They got away before the cops got there, no real surprise there, because I didn't bother catching and tying them up.

No real point with petty, nonviolent crime, given the current state of Gotham.

No, this is my first night out. It's more about being seen a few times, and trying to get the hang of this 'Batman' shit.

Seriously, grapple guns, how the fuck do other Batmans always manage to hook something solid.

Oh, anyway. Hi. I'm Batman.

The worst Batman in the multiverse.

I was originally just a rando from a baseline, non-superhero world. One where DC Comics and Marvel Comics and Image Comics and various manga and all sorts of other entertainment media existed. You've heard of the 'isekai' concept, I'm sure. That's basically what happened.

In this world, a young Bruce Wayne, having finished his bachelors in Business at the age of 21, as well as various training trips around the world, fucking died.

Plane crash over the Atlantic. No way to Batman his way out of it.

But it was because of higher being interference. A personage as important as Batman isn't supposed to die from random bullshit. So another higher power interfered. I don't have the whole story, but apparently there was some sort of compromise agreement. Bruce Wayne stays dead, but gets revived with the mind of some shmuck. The rando asshole, me, has none of the qualities that would make a Batman, but I was allowed to have some meta knowledge.

Meta knowledge isn't enough to make a Batman out of a random asshole.

I was aware of the shit sandwich from the instant I was served. I would make a terrible Batman. Like, 50s TV show Batman is at an unattainable height for me. Given that Gotham, and also the world, and sometimes the universe itself needs Batman to play his part in saving it, I was not particularly happy about being set up to fail.

Obviously, I was still gonna try, because you don't turn down a 'get out of death free' card, but still.

Fortunately, I DID have some meta knowledge, and Batman has his fans. I screamed for help.

I got answered. We brainstormed the problem. And so I got a chance. The only thing I could think of that could turn a loser into an omnidisciplinary expert in literally everyfuckingthing.

If you have the patience to GRIND.


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"Bat Mite, how do other Batmans do it?" I asked, sitting on the roof of another building two blocks away, rubbing my shoulder. It had been wrenched a bit when I suddenly dropped and caught.

A tiny little man dressed in his own grey and black batman outfit popped into being on the roof beside me. Bat Mite is a fifth dimensional, generally multiversal being, and one of Batman's biggest fans. Kind of like Mister Mxyzptlk is for Superman, except not an asshole. Mxyzptlk seems to create problems for Superman for entertainment, and also probably to teach him flexibility, since Mxy is one of the few things Superman can't physically fight. Bat Mite did occasionally cause problems for Batman, but it was more in a 'I just want to see him win!' sort of way. The little dude is alright.

"The bat-grapple?" he asked.

"Yeah, you saw it slip, right? I can aim it with precision, but even concrete breaks sometimes. I aimed over the top of the building because that building was made of brick, and that low wall around the edge probably has low lateral strength."

Thank you, Construction skill. Need to get you back up to a better level.

Bat Mite scratched his chin thoughtfully, which was interesting to see. His avatar does look kinda cartoony.

"Hmm, I never noticed anything particularly unusual about it. The other Batfamily members all learned to do it, too. You may just not have enough skill in it." He looked around at all the rows of low buildings. "Also, they do tend to use it more around skyscrapers than townhouses and apartment blocks."

I nodded thoughtfully.

Bat Mite continued. "I'll see if I can work up a perk for it. Probably something either in the Gadget Use skill, or in the Batman stat. You're at a fifteen for Gadget Use, and you get a perk at 20, so that might be the fastest. Bu-ut, you're at a twelve for your Batman stat, and you've finally been getting experience for it again now that you're going out on patrol. It's only three points away instead of five, but I still bet you'll hit 20 in Gadget use before you get fifteen in Batman."

"Stats are more powerful than skills, but slower to level," I agreed. "Hey, unlike a lot of other gadgeteer heroes I've read about, Batman's stuff never fails him unless it's damaged by an enemy. Think there could be a perk where Bat-gadgets always work as intended, unless attacked? There's got to be some reason they always have 'bat' icons and 'bat' names."

He nodded. "Oh, definitely. That's a good one. But that's too powerful for a 5x stat perk."

Stats got perks every five levels, but generally speaking, the perks I got for multiples of five in my stats were less powerful than the ones at multiples of ten. Skills only got perks every 20 levels.

"But that's probably a bit too powerful for a perk for a single skill like Gadget Use, too. I think you'd need to combine some skills and relevel to get a perk like that. And then, level 10 would be the earliest you could get it."

An exception to the rule that skills got perks every 20 levels was if you leveled a bunch of related skills up to 20, then combined them, which was an option that popped up sometimes. I'd done it twice so far, with a bunch of martial arts skills and some other things like tactics, strategy, and logistics combining to form the Combat skill. I did it again with things like carpentry, bricklaying, welding, and other stuff combining to make the Construction skill. The new skill started at zero, which sucked. However, it got perks every five levels, like stats, and the skill was much more powerful than the previous ones, even in combination, because levels in it leveled up everything that could have gone into it, not just the skills that actually did.

So while I've only managed to get my Combat skill back up to a nine, that's a nine in everything that could be considered Combat. From exotic martial arts only known by a single user, to army leadership and tactics, to technical weapons. I could aim and fire a mad scientists bespoke space laser as well as I could use pressure point strikes as well as I could beat someone's ass with a yo-yo. Also I already got a perk from it, the Weapon Breaker perk that I used on that gun. For a 5x perk that's a pretty good one.

A nine wasn't great, but it wasn't bad. A 5 was 'amateur but knows how to do it', a 10 was 'basic professional', a 15 was 'skilled, probably the best in the area', a 20 was 'world class', and a 25 was 'basic human peak'. However, given that this is a superhero universe, it's not that difficult for someone to elevate themselves above basic human. Your average mad scientist villain was probably in the 30s for whatever weird gadget they based their persona around.

It still sucked to go from a 20 in several martial arts to a 0, even if the long term gains were worth it. I instinctually tucked my thumb into my fist on my first punch against a punching bag. I'd have broken it if I hadn't flailed and just kind of patted the bag.

So if I did want to combine my skills, I was looking at the time to level up several to at least 20. Inventor and Engineer were already over 20, but in addition to Gadget User, I probably also needed things like the other related hard sciences. Physics, Chemistry, Programming, maybe more, who were mostly in their teens. Then I'd be literally incompetent at using my gear until I had trained the skill back up.

It was going to be a hard choice when I got those opportunities in the future.

"You're also forgetting that you can upgrade the grapple," Bat Mite reminded me. "The launcher is good, but your grapple hook is kind of basic. Add some servos and some joints so that instead of just passively hooking, it actually grabs its target."

Hmm. Yeah. That's a good idea, actually.

"Maybe a van der Waals pad, too. Get some grip on slicker surfaces," I mused.

"You need to level up your chemistry and physics more for those, but I approve."

I pulled out a small plastic bottle of water from a belt pouch and quickly drained it before collapsing the bottle and putting it back. Roof hopping is thirsty work.

Honestly, I had my doubts about this whole 'patrol' thing. This is my first night out. The first active Batman things I've done since I've been in this world.

And generally speaking, vigilante justice is kinda hokey. I've probably spent somewhere around 25 million of the Wayne fortune preparing for this.

It's not like that's all I've done. I've made arrangements to support some more charities and organizations dedicated to getting people back on their feet, to the tune of probably twice what I've spent on gear and training.

But the problem with Gotham, at least, the big, actually largely fixable problem with the city, this early in the timeline, is the combination of police corruption and organized crime. Really, it's just straight up organized crime. The cops just happen to both be criminals and organized, and largely on the take from other gangs.

Actual mafia crime families dominate the city while smaller, weaker, street level gangs cause most of the direct misery. The fucking Falcones don't sell drugs on the street, they just import it, then sell to a host of large and small groups. Gotham's minority percentage, at least by the standards of 'minority' I'm used to, meaning black or foreign, is fairly low, so even a lot of the street gangs are like, Irish or something.

I know the Irish are foreign and have experienced quite a bit of discrimination. For that matter, so have the Italians. But from my future perspective, where skin color matters way more than literally any other factor, it's kind of weird. But that's the 90s for you.

1997, in fact.

I am a stranger in a strange land.

Anyway. What Gotham needs is external oversight, pulling out and imprisoning the corrupt justice and political figures, then major police reforms, then a massive anti-organized crime crackdown.

I'm working on it.

…I'm starting to work on it.

I'm planning to work on it. Like, actual planning. I am in the planning stage.

Gotham, thanks to its position over some sort of fucked up hellmouth/sleeping eldritch monster, is a pretty fucked up place. It literally needs a central figure to impede and frustrate the organized crime so they have less resources to counter when the corrupt justice department members get arrested and the police department gets cleaned out.

And that figure needs a reputation. An aura of fear and uncertainty.

To get to even the first boss, I have to grind and level up.

Which, unfortunately, means punching some muggers.

However, this isn't an MMO. Muggers don't spawn on every street, or respawn in a few minutes. The four actual crimes I've stopped tonight isn't actually that bad a result for me.

Mostly, I'm familiarizing myself with the area. Solid grapple points. Good places to hide. Places to park the Batcycle mark 1, which is literally just a fairly aggressive chopper style bike with armored saddlebags.

It was cheap, topping out at less than 20 grand with runflat tires and some security features. I'm not actually a big fan of chopper style bikes, but you have to admit, there's a certain iconic style to it, especially when you're in a Batman outfit. It's temporary anyway.

It's about four in the morning when I call it a night, park the motorcycle in a large moving van I've set up as a forward base, and take a fairly nondescript car back to the Manor.


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xxxxxxxxx Chapter Two


The Batcave is functional now. Still needs a good bit of work, but functional. I did most of the work myself, with Alfred's help. That's how my various construction related skills got high enough that I took the opportunity to merge them.

I don't want to do any more mission critical work until I've got my new combined skill back up into the teens, so Bat-infrastructure is currently on hold.

Let me tell you, having to do all the work of making a secret base yourself is a tremendous pain in the ass.

"Good morning, Master Bruce," Alfred greeted me as I exited the car in the underground but not-secret garage. "Welcome home. I trust it has been a productive night?"

"I directly stopped a mugging, an apartment robbery, and a domestic violence incident. I also indirectly stopped another mugging," I reported as I made my way into the Manor, with Alfred following me. "I almost got levels in Batman and Combat, I did get a level in Pick Them Off, and I actually got two levels in both Climbing and Parkour. There were also various XP gains across most of my stealth skills. The only real problem I ran into was an incident where I used the grapple to ascend a building, and the first thing I hooked gave way and I slipped back down." I shook my head. "Right in front of a mugging victim. Embarrassing. I actually got penalized in the XP for it."

"Mortifying, I'm sure," Alfred replied sardonically. "I suppose more training is in order? Or perhaps a redesign?"

"Both, obviously."

You might be wondering why Alfred knows about the Gamer system.

One, you can't keep secrets from Alfred. I told him everything.

Yes, even that his ward died and I replaced him. Even that I'm not an alternate universe Bruce Wayne and am actually a random nobody and a shitty fake imitation.

The guy deserved to know.

But-

Some things he didn't hear.

Some things he heard differently. It actually took a bit to figure out what the fuck he was talking about when we tried to discuss it after he met me in the hospital, post plane crash.

The situation is under some sort of bane, or geas, or memetic modifier, clearly imposed on us by the higher order being or beings that set this up.

I conceptually AM Batman here. And Batman has the secret identity, Bruce Wayne.

When I told everything to him, what Alfred heard is that, during my near death experience, I was taken and shown bits and pieces of the multiverse.

I also gave him the impression that seeing the heights that I, Batman/Bruce Wayne could reach, actually scared me, given I was just starting out. That I was intimidated. That I saw the others' mistakes, and desperately wanted to avoid them. That I saw the others' successes, and wondered how I could ever pull them off.

And when I got help from some patrons in the form of the Gamer system, that I was ashamed that, unlike the 'other, normal' Batman from alternate universes, I needed powers.

I'm not fucking ashamed. Jesus fucking Christ on a stick, I'm not a real Batman. I need all the help I can get. When Bat Mite answered my panicked call for help, it was like the Heavens opened up and God gave me a reassuring hug.

But, I sort of am Batman. And who is Batman without his butler, father figure, Alfred Pennyworth? So no matter what I tell the guy, he accepts me as his Bruce. Alfred seems more pleased that I, Bruce Wayne, love and trust him enough to share these personal secrets with him.

It's fucked up. I don't like it. Alfred deserves better than me.

Then again, most people deserve better than me.

But I'm doing my best.


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Instead of going immediately to sleep, I instead hit the gym.

The very large, very expensive, rush built gym on the other side of the Wayne Manor gardens. It had all the usual high end gymnasium stuff. Weight machines, treadmills, uneven bars, a pommel horse, and the like, but also other, more exotic stuff.

It had a diving pool thirty meters deep. It had configurable climbing walls. It had a huge empty space set up with configurable structures to mimic buildings and alleys.

Once the regular contractors were gone, I added a shooting range. There were grapple targets in the roof. Tightropes and slacklines. Punching bags and realistic weighted mannequins and those Wing-Chung wooden dummies.

It also had an Alfred.

Alfred had guns.

I got shot a lot.

Since I'm a Gamer, not only do I gain XP for dodging bullets, I also level up resistances.

I am literally making myself immune to big bullets by getting shot a lot by little bullets.

But there's more to it than just doing a swinging, climbing, parkour routine while Alfred fires half powder load .45s at me while I try to dodge.

I also quietly sing, or hum, or just think, a mental workout music routine that stretches from the Rocky theme to Batmetal. This part kind of rules, I'm not going to lie.

Mental note, I need to set some more time for music practice later.

Today was a good day, though. I take only eight hits and succeed at all my swings and jumps. I end up capping the day off by literally falling five storeys with no assistance, using nothing but my skills to mitigate damage by hitting and rolling to redirect the force.

The force still breaks one of my hips at the bend, sending the jagged end of my femur so high up my side it nearly exits at my waist. It's not the only bone that breaks, and that doesn't even mention the torn ligaments, tendons, and bruising.

+220 Falling XP +400 Landing XP. +420 Endurance XP. +530 Grit XP.

I'm in fucking agony. But I'm not out of HP, and I've got a perk, 'That's Where Blood Belongs' that negates internal bleeding damage. So I'm not at any risk of dying from that.

Instead, I groan and, with Alfred's help, drag my broken ass over to a non-staining plastic cot, +100 Grit XP, and turn myself off for eight straight hours.

+500 Training (Body) XP.

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Batman is known for a lot of different things, but a core concept is that of preparation.

Training.

I had a Gamer system now. It didn't give me magic. I couldn't make instant dungeons. In fact, it didn't even have general character levels, only stats and skills. It was, generally speaking, fairly low powered compared to the kinds of things I've read about.

But the single most powerful thing the system gave me was the ability to train.

I had three types of training, corresponding to the three skill groups based on the three stat groups. I could train my body, my mind, and my soul.

Training a specific stat could level up the stat. Training a specific skill could level up the skill.

But I could also do a kind of generalized training, and it didn't level up.

Instead, it stored the generated XP.

Which I could then spend to level up my skills. What's more, I could spend that XP for a boost AT ANY TIME, even in the middle of combat. And the skill increase was instant.

In fact, I currently have more than fifteen thousand points of body related XP stored away.

Why then, do I have a fairly shitty Combat skill of only 9?

Because gamers know that it's easier to level a skill up when its low. Bank your boosts for later, unless it's something easy and linear all the way through.

And also, if Bane shows up and starts kicking my ass, or I'm tied up by the League of Shadows, or I'm in a raging river and I need to swim better than a fish, I need as many points banked as possible to save my ass.

Uh, don't ask how many Mind and Spirit points I have, though. Look, I'm trying to invent Batman's arsenal as fast as possible, and that means I need my technical skills as high as possible, as fast as possible.

So I have been spending more time training mind skills than my body. But efficiency is an important thing to consider, and there's another consideration that means I like to sign off each day doing horribly masochistic things like deliberately falling farther and farther, or getting shot by Alfred.

I heal like a video game character.

So long as I get at least eight hours of continuous sleep, I'm fully healed when I wake up.

So every day, before I go to sleep, I mangle the absolute shit out of myself in the name of training.

And fortunately, I get stat XP while doing general training as well. Two stats, Endurance and Grit, cover everything from how long I can run, to poison resistance, to magical attacks hitting me in the soul.

They're some of my best stats. Actually, Grit IS my best stat, at 29, which is edging into 'ascended human' territory. Not quite true superhuman, but the way that tough, named DC humans generally don't die to mook level attacks. Endurance is my third best stat, right behind Dexterity.

My best guess is that the average mainline Batman, the ones experienced enough to have several sidekicks and be on the Justice League, has most of his stats at 50 plus.

I've got a ways to go. I'm focusing early efforts on Endurance and Grit because I need to survive to get there.

My actual progression rate is weird. Like, the formula for how much XP I need per level maps closest to a cubic rate, but I haven't figured out the actual equation yet. Each new level fails to map to my expectations. Level one is 1000 XP. Level two is 1100 XP. Level 10 is 7000 XP. Level 11 is 7400 XP. Level 25 is 25000 XP. Grit level 29 was 34750 XP.

Level 25 being peak human maps to the idea that shit gets a lot harder to level after that. Also, getting XP seems to have the same rate up to 25, then starts getting harder after that. Like, the actual amount of XP I get is the same for a given activity, but the easier stuff no longer gives XP. I used to get 50 XP for every minute I held my breath. Now I still get 50 XP for every minute, but only after I've held my breath for 15 minutes, first. Given the recovery time between breath holding sessions, it's no longer a time optimal way of leveling Endurance. A pity. It was actually the first stat I managed to get to 25.

The weird thing is, getting shot gives more Grit XP than it does Endurance XP, even after the slowdown. Might be a willpower thing.


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Author's note:

This is not a Gamer fic.

Yes, I'm using elements from the Gamer. Indeed, they're part of the concept of the story. But they're not central to the story. This isn't a fic about numbers. Numbers going up do not make my head go brrrrrrr, no offense to those who do enjoy that. In fact, other that the initial chapters, which are there to establish the concept of 'this is how a nobody can pretend to be Batman', actual numbers won't show up much. I'm not going to include '200xp gained!' every time Batman does something. It's intrusive and annoying. It's a background thing. I probably won't even bother posting a character sheet. I have one, but it's subject to constant revision as the story requires.

Because, again, this is not a Gamer fic. This is not a game, not an RPG. This is a story. The Gamer elements are there to serve the story, not dominate it.

What this is, is a story about Batman.

Out of all the aliens and metas and mutants and magical beings in DC comics, Batman is the least human.

Weird, right?

But one of the things I've always appreciated about the character is that they actually do acknowledge that. The guy is grim. Brooding. Paranoid. Constantly preparing. Superman has a crush. Superman goes on dates. Superman flies out to his parent's house for pie. Batman has insane passionate flings with villainesses that are hot enough to overcome his discipline. The rest of the time, he's preparing. Training. Grinding.

The only really human aspect of Batman, throughout most incarnations, is the Batfamily. And that's beautiful, I think. It's interesting. It's a good story. That this, if you forgive the term, BATSHIT INSANE man still has the compassion to gather those who need him, and enough need for human contact to value them.

I am not Batman. I think most people understand that they are not, and never really could be, Batman. I don't think I've ever even seen a Batman SI before. He's just not human.

And that's what this story is about. A human trying to be Batman. The MC isn't really me so much as he is a generic everyman SI with a few me aspects thrown in for flavor, like adding a bit of parsley on top of your instant ramen. He's a fan of DC comics and animation but hasn't seen or read everything. He doesn't have an encyclopedia like knowledge of the setting, but he's not ignorant of it either. This isn't metaknowledge the fic, but taking steps to head off certain disasters, or going for obvious powerups is the kind of thing I just about expect from reading DC fics, so it's less about exploiting the setting and more about not irritating the reader because 'of course he'd do this, why isn't he doing this'.

So the Gamer aspects are there to give the MC a fighting chance. They have a clear, artificial source. But most of the story is, really, about a guy who's not actually insane, and the troubles he has trying to fill a pair of bat-themed boots. A mix of comedy, action, and drama.

I hope you enjoy.

PS: I am writing again. I had stopped my patreon about a year ago, because I got a new job and didn't have much time for writing. Things went well for a while. New insurance helped me pay for my meds, things looked good.

Then I got sicker. And sicker. And lost the new job.

I am now unemployed and on medicaid. I'm broke. I'm also pretty sick, and it doesn't look good for getting better. This is probably the downward spiral.

So I can't promise a rigid schedule. But I AM writing as much as I can. There's new chapters of both Then Be Batman and Ice Pie on my patreon.

https://www.patreon.com/Nugar

Some other new stories and new materials are also incoming. Your support is appreciated!

 

[Nugar]

A lot of speculation, and I'm super happy that people care enough to speculate. Like, stoked. Thanks for everyone who has commented and is reading, and thanks to those who signed up for my patreon. I was able to afford to go to Little Rock today to a specialist. Seriously, thanks.

Now, some of the speculation I don't want to talk about, because it's the kind of thing that comes up in the story. But here's an infodump about technobabble.

This is just information about the state of technology in the version of DC Earth I'm using here. This is not a chapter and may be safely ignored by anyone not interested in a huge infodump about comic book technology. Anything truly important will be discussed in the story proper.




This world, which I'm still not sure of the universe number, but I'm just calling DC Earth XXX, is currently in the year 1997. Twenty six years behind the date of my death in what I consider Prime Earth.

So, clearly, there's some things they haven't developed yet. They have the internet, but large scale social media isn't really a thing. We're in the Geocities age, which here is called Webnode. A free, small scale, personal site host that gets expensive fast if you get much traffic.

Cell phones exist. Remarkably, the era of the large bag-phone came and went quickly here, and we're currently in the brickphone era. A Finnish company called Valifone currently dominates with a nearly indestructible brick. I have several, with service provided by USTalk. They can text, badly, with the old 10key pattern, have good signal in Gotham, and indeed most cities, but are kind of a crapshoot in the country. Notably, they have great battery life.

Because, while this is in the past relative to the tech I'm used to, this is a comic book world. Mad science has mostly made one offs that never get developed, but there are some pretty noteworthy things that have been developed that change certain baselines.

Batteries, for instance. The reason bag-phones were able to drop to brick phones so fast was that efficient battery technology already exists. Instead of lithium, the most common battery metal is rubidium. Same column, much larger atomic mass. Also, the local periodic table goes up to, I shit you not, 681, with a lot of gaps.

Rubidium-antimony-wellium (a surprisingly stable, and relatively plentiful, element #141, used in tiny quantities in the catalyst) batteries enjoy a frankly absurd energy density of 965 watt-hours per kilogram. The best commercial batteries I know of on Prime Earth don't quite hit 300 watt-hours per kilogram. Powering my bat-gadgets, even the relative energy hog of the bat-grapple, is easy, even with a tiny, lightweight battery.

Rubidium is rarer than lithium, but wellium is extracted from sea water at a ratio of about 5.6 micromoles to ten kilograms of water. Not a great rate, but cheap, because it sticks to electrically charged tin cathodes. Now, desalination plants and salt plants pass their brine over tin grids and enjoy the bonus money. Most of the cost of the production comes when separating the wellium from the oxides and salts that also end up encrusting the tin grid.

However, more so than the unusual element, the reason the rubidium batteries enjoy such a bonkers energy density is their construction. And that gets into the one big, mad science technology that is the primary driver of background tech advancements in this world. A technology you've seen in DC comics mostly in the hands of villains, which has been the key to startling advancements in materials technology.

Cold tech.

Freeze guns.

Primarily used by Captain Cold, and Mr. Freeze, their achievements weren't inventing the basic technology, it was in the improvement and miniaturization of it, so that it became viable as man portable weapons.

Waynetech's freeze machine weighs more than two tons and uses about a kilowatt every seventeen minutes.

First, let me explain some background. On Prime Earth, most of our industrial structural materials fall into two broad categories, each with a notable subcategory.

Polymers are the relatively new kid on the block. Primarily carbon based molecule chains in all sorts of configurations. Plastic is the big one everyone knows, but there are others. However, we discovered that if you lay in some sort of strong fiber, like spun glass fibers, and then fix them in place with plastic, you get an even stronger material. Later, we came up with an even stronger fiber, carbon fiber. But as advanced as carbon fiber is, it really only has tensile strength. To add rigidity, you have to embed it in a polymer resin.

Metals are the classic material. Metals have all sorts of properties, so you pick the one you want, and make stuff out of it. Then, the dominant subcategory, alloys. You mix two or more elements, adding and subtracting properties, and sometimes getting wildly new characteristics.

However, it should be noted, pretty much all Prime Earth alloys are mainly made of one given metal. In steel, or other iron alloys, iron makes up the vast majority of the mass of the alloy. Only a few percent of things like vanadium, or molybdenum, or chromium, or all three, or more, are added to the alloy. And the reason for that is, if you add too much of another element, they just don't blend right. You get chunks of one, surrounded by the other.

It turns out that this is a failure of our processes, not the concept. So companies have been putting a lot of research into methods to more evenly blend metals. Instead of 96, 2, 1, 1, they're trying 30, 30, 30, 5, 5, or 20, 20, 20, 20, 20, or all sorts of combinations. These new ratios are called High Entropy Alloys, because they must be mixed very, very carefully, or you get stew instead of jello.

That being said, a lot of effort is being put into developing them, because just the ones we've found so far indicate that they could have some absolutely amazing properties. Memory materials, super strong alloys, semiconductors, superconductors, and more. Alloys that are both incredibly hard, and thus wear resistant and low friction, with high flexibility. Imagine a sheet of metal foil you can flop and fold and wrap around things, but takes a diamond to scratch. This is Prime Earth tech.

Superhero Earth tech takes that and goes even further. And they're way, way more advanced at it than us, thanks to the invention of the freeze chamber back in the 40s.

This is actually something Waynetech kind of specializes in. Oh, we do other stuff, but many of our industrial products and nearly all of our military products are based on this.

Take a quantity of pure element. In this case, because it's our best seller, we'll say lithium. Put it in a vacuum chamber. Now, vaporize that shit. Get it hot enough to boil. Lithium doesn't seem to care how you do it, and has a low boiling point, so we just use a conventional electric furnace. What you want is monoatomic lithium gas.

Now, do the same thing in another chamber, with a different element. In this case, beryllium. And again, with titanium. And lastly, vanadium.

Now, you've got four sources of monoatomic gaseous metal. Very, very, very hot metal gas. If you just mix the gases, you can actually get some useful products, but mostly you get stew again, because they cool off at different temperatures. No, what you need is for them to all be the same temperature before they touch each other.

So each gas, a little at a time, is passed through a freeze chamber, and reduced to absolute zero.

Except… it's a weird absolute zero. There's zero atomic movement, but there's a memory of what the temperature SHOULD be. Frankly, I don't understand it. It violates all the rules of physics as I know them. But what I have been able to understand, is that it's specifically because this is a universe where the Speed Force exists. It's applying molecular deceleration via the principles the Flash uses to run up to, and beyond, the speed of light itself. Part of how it works is why Captain Cold can freeze someone solid with his cold gun, but when they unthaw, they're alive. Speed-memory. The energy is there, just not expressed.

So these single, floating metal atoms are suddenly turned from hyperactive ping-pong balls to pure dead weight. They fall to the bottom of the deposition chamber.

Where they are joined, at specific ratios and in specific orders, by the atoms of other elements, like a sand painting. Instead of fighting the issues of atomic attraction via covalent or ionic bonding, which is what complicates conventional High Entropy Alloy formation, the atoms are just physically mixed in a thorough way.

And there are other things that can change the outcome, too. Instead of just a mixed pile of loose atoms, it might be a mixed pile of loose atoms, falling on, in, and around a framework. A titanium mesh, to add rigidity to a flexible alloy, or silica wafers, to make new kinds of semiconductor chips.

Finally, the freeze process is reversed- slowly. All that heat is still there. But it can be prevented from being expressed, allowing the mass of atomic sand to get warm enough to form bonds and truly alloy, while the actual heat is drawn off through conventional cooling methods.

Given the elements involved, the alloy is commonly called LibertyV. It's sort of expensive per kilogram, but it's got the same density as aluminum and is noticeably stronger than titanium in all categories, meaning that for a given strength target, you can get some serious weight savings. The most common use for it is for crankshafts, camshafts, and piston rods in conventional engines, and turbines for jet engines.

Only the most insanely over budgeted black projects use it for things like the frame or skin of an airplane, given that the cost per ounce is just over that of silver. However, this world's Blackbird equivalent fleet is still flying, lacking many of the maintenance issues that killed it in Prime Earth.

And the thing is? LibertyV, and indeed any of our other alloys, can be made even better with APSC, Aligned Polymer Strand Coats, generally just called coats. Another, not quite mad science, but certainly advanced science, technology.

Basically, various kinds of short polymer strands are created. That implies that they're carbon based, but some of them are actually inorganic. These short polymer strands are then applied to a given material the way powder coat paint is. The material is given a charge, which attracts free floating polymer strands. Then, precisely calibrated energy fields, sort of like proto-forcefield stuff, are applied, forcing the strands into perfect alignment.

Imagine you've got a naked rat. Then you dump a shitload of fur over it. The fur sticks to the rat, then bunches up literally as dense and tight as it can go, with each hair tightly pressed in on all sides by more hair. Then you realize that, instead of an ugly rat, you've got a cute chinchilla.

What you do from there depends on what you want. Sometimes, you want the hairs to only be bonded at the root. With the right polymers, you get a surface that traps and absorbs EMF radiation. Not all of it, or, at least, no one type can absorb the full spectrum, but radar absorbent coats are easy. And there's one that absorbs the entire spectrum visible to ordinary humans, resulting in a black so black Anish Kapoor would blow a load in his pants.

That particular one has resulted in some pretty good solar panel improvements, too.

You also might want to bond the tips, as well as the roots, resulting in some interesting flexibility options. Or maybe you bond the whole length. What Waynetech has really been getting into here lately, now that computer modeling is getting better, is targeted area bonding. We're developing the ability to reinforce some areas while keeping flexibility in others, and adding abrasion resistance here and there. It's exciting stuff.

So what I'm saying is, DC Earth XXX might be a few years away from LED monitor screens, but we've got some frankly astonishing material tech.

Take one of the big scifi technology goals: carbon monofilament. It's supposed to be super strong for its diameter, and super thin, so in addition to making crazy strong fiber and cloth, you can also use it to cut through just about everything, right?

Well, we don't quite have that. Like, we can make carbon monofilaments, that's actually what some of the APSC coats are, but they're millimeter lengths at best, not like, meters. No, Waynetech's strongest long fibers aren't based on carbon.

They're iron.

Not even steel. They are specifically long chains of iron atoms triple bonded to each other, called Single Iron Crystal chains. Of course, these chains are just stupidly reactive, and dissolve in just about any sort of medium, so you have to keep them in an inert gas chamber, or ideally, vacuum. Then they coat them, starting with an exotic bismuth compound, then moving on to layers of carbon polymers (more of that APSC process!), which are run through a catalyst which fuses the tips as well as the roots of the chains.

What you end up with is a microscopic fiber that, proportionally, has the kind of tensile strength Skitter manages to get out of Darwin's bark spider silk. Superhero world spider web, rather than the really good but noticeably less strength shown by Prime Earth arachnids.

Then it has to be spun into threads and turned into rope or cloth. I'm using it for the line for the Batgrapples and as the primary material my costume is made of, because it's very flexible but also really hard to cut.

So it's good vs knives, and will stop actual penetration really well, but doesn't do squat versus impact. Unfortunately, I don't have any sort of good reactive impact plates yet, so I'm using a mix of coated LibertyV plates, and some layers of another, harder and stiffer material that doesn't have a catchy name yet. IDP3020 has a lot of potential, because it's harder than sapphire and has good tensile strength, but absolutely bonkers flexural strength and impact toughness.

Unfortunately, it's got a pretty big weakness in that its fracture toughness is absolute dogshit.

Basically, this is the prince rupert's drop of metal alloys. There's an internal mesh made of, guess what, Single Iron Crystal chains. Then a really good, iridium dominant high entropy alloy is formed around it. It's dense and heavy, but stronger than LibertyV. The interesting bit is that, where the incredible hardness and toughness of the primary body of a prince rupert's drop comes from the fact that the outside layer of glass has formed into a tight crystal that wants to collapse inward, but can't, and is thus already pre-stressed against outside forces, IDP3020 has the reinforcement happen around the exotic bismuth compound that keeps the SIC chains from dissolving. Imagine coating a bridge's struts in diamond, then filling in the gaps with titanium.

It's absolutely super strong. But, unfortunately, just like a prince rupert's drop, once you actually compromise that internal crystal, it all goes to shit. The whole internal crystal structure just fucking shatters from one end to another. That's not quite as much of a violent ending of existence as a prince rupert's drop breaking, because it's still surrounded by a pretty strong alloy, but it goes from being able to take a moderate punch from Superman to being about as strong as an equivalent volume of aluminum, and while still being super heavy.

What that means in manufacturing terms is that it must be created and cast as a single piece. You can't cut it with a laser or machine it to fit tolerances. Drilling holes in it is right out. All of that compromises the internal crystal. And it's basically impossible to get really tight tolerances out of a cast in place material without being able to adjust it later. The best we can do is just make it with holes, knobs, and lips so we can make other material parts grab onto it and hold it in place.

If we can figure out the tolerances, or a way of machining it to form, it's gonna make some bitching power armor.

Speaking of power armor, you need a way to make it move. And that's going pretty well, as evidenced by my batwing-glider-cape.

Some of those alloys are memory materials, changing shape with various methods ranging from electricity to external magnetic fields to heat. And some of those coatings can also influence shape. And one set Waynetech has access to could potentially be used as a myomer muscle strand.

Two separate coatings. Put one on a sheet of material, and hook it up to electricity. Put another on another sheet of material, align it properly, and hook it up to the ground. Run electricity through it, and they try to slide against each other, with force based on total surface contact and voltage.

Combine that, with stretchy, folded fabric and memory materials that stiffen into shape, and a thick but not excessively large cape can thin out and expand into an aerodynamic shape much larger than what you think it would be.

My cape isn't even secret tech. It's literally based on technology which is already available for civilian thrill seekers. A combination of wing suits and extremely lightweight hang gliders, made for people who want to climb up to the top of a mountain and throw themselves off, but don't want to carry a big heavy bag of poles and fabric. It's the same shit Kiteman will end up using later.

The only unconventional bit of my batcape is a strip down the middle of my back and a corresponding bit down the center of the cape, which when electricity is applied, magnetizes and attaches itself from my neck to my ass, so the glider is balanced, rather than all my weight hanging from the front edge.

It is by far my favorite piece of bat-gadgetry. I'm putting a lot of resources into making it even better. I want true flight. I want WINGS.

Come on, I'm a superhero in a superhero world and I can't even fly under my own power? That's bullshit. But I'll fix it. Got some stuff in process.

Another interesting technology this world has is really good tire grip surface material. I hate to admit it, but this is a Lexcorp developed thing. Using the concepts of APSCs, and being able to essentially coat surfaces in polymer fur, they developed a tire that's basically made of wrapped layers of shag carpeting. A woven material that holds what are basically standing ranks of fuzzy feathers.

This isn't based on van der Waals forces, like the fuzzy pads on gecko feet. No, this is far cruder, but still highly effective. The fuzz of the feathers locks them together with their neighbors, just like real feathers, while still allowing it to flex and deform. But the grip surface comes from the feather spines themselves, which are far thicker, and look like they were made by someone using a bundle of lightning bolts as a straight edge. Just jagged as hell and edgy as a 90s antihero.

The tires are based on the principle of siping. This is a thing done to high end tires, especially racing tires and tires made for wet or icy conditions. There are a lot of road conditions that lower the surface to surface friction of tires. When you can't rely on sheer friction, you start looking for finger holds. That's where tire tread comes in, providing edges to hook onto surface, and creating channels for lose material like pebbles and water. But you can take it even farther, by cutting thin lines into the surface of the tire. Unlike the tread, this doesn't remove material to form a gap.

Instead, as the tire flexes on contact with the road, little chunks of material can flex and separate slightly from their neighbors, forming thousands of shallow, fine edged lips which grab at the road like fingernails. What that dastardly bald asshole made is a tire surface with super-siping. Each 'feather' spine, packed in next to each other but able to flex slightly different from its neighbor, provides its own tiny little fingernail grabbing at every surface imperfection.

Somehow, it even somewhat counteracts the main drawbacks of siping. Siped tires have the best traction for mud, water, and snow, but generally feel squirmy on hot dry road. The hot chunks of surface flex more, and the additional traction is counteracted by the additional movement of the tire material. Also, they wear down faster. Lexcorp's tires don't noticeably squirm under the forces of normal driving speed, so the tires can be used year round. And while they don't last as long as normal tires, it's not a huge difference.

Heck, knowing Lex, he solved the wear issue entirely, but wanted them to wear out. Lexcorp is big on planned obsolescence. He's just that kind of asshole.

The technology is great, though, as expected of Lex. Although Waynetech can't sell it without a lawsuit, I've actually incorporated it into my costume. Not just my gloves and boots, but also patches on my arms and legs to make climbing easier.

Oh, one last really noteworthy thing I think I should mention. I talked about how good rubidium batteries are, but there's actually a startup company working on an even better battery.

Some sort of weird bullshit technology called Multi-Stage Batteries.

Your common battery is a package of potential energy bound up in a paused chemical reaction. Take a basic car battery. It's a plastic box full of lead plates. The plates are submerged in sulfuric acid. The details are more complex, all sorts of manufacturing tricks to increase surface area and suchlike, but that's basically it. It's made that way, you don't even need to charge it when you make it. Fresh, clean lead plates dipped in sulfuric acid, and it's ready to discharge electricity.

When electricity is allowed to flow, the sulfuric acid reacts with the plates, forming lead sulfate. The acid in the water is largely depleted, leaving mostly just water. If you then charge it with electricity, the sulfur leaves the lead plates, and the water becomes strong sulfuric acid again. Simple and repeatable, though there's lifespan loss due to inefficiencies and changes. It's basically like a jenga tower of potential. Take blocks down, get electricity. Add electricity, stack blocks back up.

Multi-Stage Batteries, aka MSBs, are like if you bought several jenga towers made of different materials and stacked them all on top of each other. Unfortunately, that's pretty unstable, so you have to build a scaffold around it, and you have to only play one set at a time, from the top down, but it's a way of packing a LOT more potential energy into a given footprint.

What they've got so far goes like this:

Starting with a fully charged battery, current is allowed to flow.

The first stage is catalyst based, already a bonkers concept, and it's the electrolyte itself that reduces, providing free electrons to the anode. This releases XENON GAS from the complicated soup that is the electrolyte.

Seriously, there's a whole category of chemistry that uses what I generally considered inert gas, the noble gases. As organic chemistry is any chemistry that includes carbon, and inorganic is chemistry without carbon, there's a third category here, called royal chemistry, which involves noble gases. Some of those super high weight elements are capable of bizarre stuff. The idea is, it's the royals that boss around the mere noble.

The xenon gas is drawn off and captured. This stage is pretty good, and just by itself releases about 800 watt-hours per kilogram. Not quite as good as a rubidium battery, but good.

Then, the reduction stops. To resume it, the cathode and anode plates have to be removed from the electrolyte soup. Then a whole new cathode and anode made of a different material is inserted, and the electrons allowed to flow again. This stage is okay. Better than a lithium ion battery, but not great by local standards. Only about 550ish watt-hours.

Then, you do it again! New cathode and anodes, coupled with a set of neutral, non-catalyst plates which serve to remove one of the oxidation products from the soup on discharge, or provide it on recharge. This stage is fairly pathetic, only about a hundred and seventy watt-hours.

But it sets up for another stage! A whole new set of anodes and cathodes, and nearly 700 more goddamn watt-hours!

And there's one more stage! Technically, it's got the most energy of all of them, but in order to release it, an external energy field has to be supplied, which cuts the total produced power to about 600ish watt-hours again.

That's nearly 2800 fucking watt-hours out of a kilogram of battery! That's nuts. Absolutely batshit impossible mad science.

Here's why nobody, not even Lexcorp, has attempted to buy them out yet.

That's just the kilogram of starting battery. Adding in the weight of all the different cathodes, anodes, catalysts, neutral plates, gas capture, energy field, switching infrastructure, and the secondary rubidium battery needed as a buffer to keep electrical flow consistent between stages and also to run the field emitter, the total energy density plummets to between 900 and 1000 watt hours per kilogram, or about as good as a rubidium battery.

At a thousand times the cost. And there's size limits. All that stuff takes up space. The absolute smallest they've managed to get one down to is the size of a car engine.

And nobody in their right goddamn mind would put this battery in a car. That is a LOT of potential energy packed into a package with a lot of moving parts.

Ever seen a battery do a thermal runaway? Ever see a battery short?

Ever see a cellphone explode?

Now scale that up, up, and away!

Naw. Everyone's watching that startup with interest, but they're gonna have to solve some major goddamn problems before I'm gonna touch them with a thousand foot pole while surrounded by professional firefighters armed with absolutely shitloads of purple K.

They've made a stack of jenga towers of potential energy, but the bottom blocks are made of mad science, and it just gets worse the farther you go up. Like piling up C4, TNT, and chlorine triflouride and slowly pulling the potential energy out of it.

Just five kinds of nope.

The weird energy field alone probably causes cancer in most people, except for the one in a million it'll activate the meta gene in.

When it all goes bad, I'm letting Superman handle that shit.


xxx


Now, let's talk about some technical differences. Both universes have computers. Both universes have GUIs. But there's some pretty major differences.

DC Earth doesn't have a Microsoft. The closest thing they have is Lexcorp, which makes its own suite of comprehensive office productivity software, ranging from image editing, typing, slideshows, spreadsheets, and databases.

The most popular operating system is so popular that it's effectively universal. STAR Labs, which is sort of a non-governmental DARPA, made the first dedicated operating system. Typical of research focused stuff, it used a command line interface and was chunky and unfriendly. It seemed kind of similar to early UNIX. A copy machine company, Luminate, came up with the idea of the GUI, but never managed to make an example.

However, a Finnish mad scientist, (reportedly extremely extroverted and rather huggy, that's how you know he was insane for a Finn), sat down and made what was essentially Linux/Finux. It ran natively on the system, as opposed to the early windows applications, which ran on top of DOS. It was revolutionary at the time, as he had independently thought of the same graphical user interface idea. It was called VOROS: Visuaalinen Operaattori Rajapinta Operating System. Or, as a literal translation, GUI OS but in Finnish.

Although he originally tried to monetize it, the company he partnered with fucked him over and essentially stole his work, and attempted to bury him in lawyers. Angry, he released it open source, and it was so much better than everything else that pretty much everyone adopted it immediately and began producing their own versions, especially after he went to jail for bombing the company headquarters and killing everyone involved, including the lawyers. He's actually due to get out sometime in the late twenty teens.

So now, when people ask you what operating system you prefer, they mean what flavor of VOROS do you use. LEXEYE has the largest market share globally, but CAYUS from Kordtech is seen as the thinking man's operating system. Waynetech actually has its own, but while it's available for purchase, we don't really try to sell it to the public, it's just our own in house build. All of the versions use essentially the same drivers and hardware, so the public doesn't HAVE to use the same thing and there's room for competition, but only WTOS pcs can connect to the company intranet.

You know, supposedly. It's not hard to spoof. But the in house builds have all of the right settings and group policies and everything by default. And no secret spyware. LEXEYE has gotten caught secretly reporting data back to Lexcorp a few times, on top of all the metrics it publically reports. It was a big scandal the first time it happened. Boosted CAYUS users by a good margin. But given the open source licensing deals, there's not much money in making operating systems, so Kordtech is still considerably smaller than Waynetech.

Computer hardware wise, there's some pretty big differences, too.

One, yes, it's surprisingly common in this world for PC keyboards to not have labeled keys. One of the public (widely known, but somewhat over credited) fathers of modern computing wore all the letters off his keyboard. Various things happened, with documentaries and magazine articles and such, and it became a trend to have unlabeled keyboards. It was seen as elite, 'I don't need to look to know what key I'm hitting' sort of thing among the dedicated computer user set. So you can actually buy them without letters now. It's a declaration of your 'leet skillz'.

Two, pc architecture is a good bit different. At this point in time on Prime Earth, the Pentium MMX series, including both the Pentium 1 MMX and the brand new Pentium 2 MMX, was king of personal computing CPUs and had a clock speed of around 200-266 MHz, with a 16kb L1 cache and a 512kb L2 cache. Common RAM amounts were 32 or 64mb, though you could go up to about 128mb if you had the money, and they usually had somewhere in the order of 5-10gb of storage.

Here, they've gone for less memory, but faster clock speed. The kind of thing I see advertised on TV or in magazines have clock speeds around 2.5 to 3.2 GHz, but L1 caches of like, 4kb, and L2s of about 64kb. Speaking of L2, it's actually a removable, upgradable chip with its own socket on the motherboard. RAM, likewise, is lower than Prime, with 8-16mb being common. Total data storage, though, is even better, with 12-15gb HDDs being common, and a lot of research is being put into speeding up HDD access speeds, because page file use is basically continuous.

Essentially, the PCs here have gone for a tiny, weak engine with high RPMs, rather than the slower but stronger style of Prime. Although actual user experience is roughly the same, it certainly makes for some wildly different programming. Thank Bat Mite I have a Gamer system to help me learn, or I'd probably give up on the idea of relearning any sort of programming.


xxx


What can I, with my Prime Earth knowledge, do for this universe?

First, a few bonafides.

I was not an engineer, or a scientist. I didn't have a PhD. I have, at various points in my life, been an auto mechanic, a diesel and hydraulic mechanic, an HVAC technician, a chemical technician, a web designer, a PC technician, a Network admin, a painting and drywall installer, and a sign painter. Professionally. I've also done various things associated with those things, like carpentry, welding, database, and other stuff. I majored in biology and minored in chemistry in college. I went back to college for a nursing degree, but didn't finish it. I've had a lot of hobbies, mostly art and writing based, like leatherworking, blacksmithing, painting, and sculpting. I love art, though I don't actually have any talent for it. And, frankly, I'm just a huge goddamn nerd. I love wikipedia and youtube. How stuff is made was one of my favorite shows, and I watched various youtube channels that talked about how stuff is made and new advancements in technology as well. I watched everything from videos making art projects to videos explaining the rise and fall of small scale superchargers for RC engines. So while I'm not an engineer, or much of a programmer, I've got a pretty good handle on a lot of subjects.

Fortunately, as Bruce Wayne, I don't have to know the precise details of the programming for quadcopter drones. I have an entire research division that takes orders from me.

So here's what ideas I've given Lucius Fox to work on so far.

Drones, as mentioned. Quadcopter style, that is, not conventional plane Predator style. They've got remote controlled conventional aircraft already. These things are gonna be godsend for surveillance. Also I'm going to make a big one and use it for most local transportation. With the crazy energy densities of rubidium batteries, the range is going to be pretty good for these. And with the super strong, super lightweight LibertyV alloy, I'm actually pretty excited for this.

Amazon style warehouse robots, and those neat little switching conveyor belts.

Amazon style automatic box makers.

Amazon.

Smartphones, with app stores and accessories.

Wifi was just invented, but we're going to expand it and make it better, with things like Bluetooth and more wireless tech in general.

Induction charging, for the electronics.

Axial flux electric motors. Conventional electric motors are radial flux motors. Mostly, you make them stronger by making them longer. They're the best solution if you want really high RPMs. Axial flux motors are a fairly new concept, used by NASA, and are game changers for hybrid cars. They use a radically different wiring scheme, and as a result are very flat, instead of long, and don't really need to be much wider than regular motors. Since they're so flat, they can be as much as 90% lighter than an equivalent conventional motor, and nearly the same in space saving. They're great for hybrid cars, because the flat motor can just be inserted between the combustion engine and the transmission without the need for a radical design. They're also the right size and shape to be fitted as hub motors, built directly into the wheels of a vehicle, rather than a central location. Also, their design makes them easy to run liquid cooling through, which vastly improves their lifespan and performance.

They do have a pretty major drawback, though, so they're not a straight upgrade, just nearly one. Due to their construction, and since they have so much of their windings at the edge of their circumference, centrifugal forces are a serious limiter, meaning, as mentioned, they have to have lower max RPMs or they'll fling themselves to pieces.

At least, on Prime Earth.

Here, we have bonkers meta alloys with tensile strengths vastly higher than anything Prime Earth has come up with. IDP3020 might not work, despite its strength, because you can't really machine it, but just using LibertyV will probably double the potential RPMs of any given design, and there's almost certainly a better choice somewhere in our catalogue of options. Also, some of those alloys are approaching superconductor levels of conductivity. The Batdrone is gonna be amazing.

Both the triangle and the oblong wankel engine layouts, which never got invented in this universe for some reason. I don't expect much out of them, but maybe the super meta alloys available can solve some of the issues with wankel engines. Liquidpiston's oblong design is super compact, and they're marketing it as a potential compact generator engine. With the right meta alloys and some development, it might be light enough to serve as a generator for the Batdrone, resulting in a hybrid design that can be refueled for larger range.

GPS exists, but we want to get in on the whole Google Earth/streetview real time mapping, where possible. I absolutely want to get as much worldwide surveillance as possible. Not because I intend to be some sort of Justice Lord tyrant, but because I want the earliest warning possible for the next alien invasion, demonic rift, or sun extinguishing event.

I've instructed R&D to put some fairly serious effort into designing an advanced temporary shelter, like a tent on steroids. We're trying to keep it cheap, so minimal use of metamaterials, but we do want it to work really well, so we're using advanced manufacturing principles. The idea is a compact pallet sort of base, which pops up into a three room rigid tent. The roof will channel and collect rainwater, which will be stored in the base to weight it down. The base will have water storage, batteries, and a small amount of sewage storage. The tent will come with lights, a small stove, and a toilet. It will also include mylar blankets and inflatable mattresses. Ideally, I want to add a radio/TV, a first aid kit, solar panels, and a charger for personal electronics, as well as a really good pump and water filter. It'd also be nice to include a few days rations and a little bit of water, always in it. The idea is for it to be light enough to be carried by two people, and of a size that they can be stacked in a truck cargo container without wasting space.

What I want is for, the next time some area is devastated by whatever, these tents get immediately distributed for the refugees. Set it in place, pop it up, and anyone not injured is good for at least a day or two. During that time, workers can fill up its storage with water, which it should be able to filter on its own. Rations can be distributed, and a separate set of sewer lines can be connected to all the tents in the area and ran to a truck, portable treatment plant, or existing sewer system. A radio/TV inside can provide entertainment, news, and instructions. As electronics progress, we can swap those out for a laptop/tablet infotainment system.

War is coming. I want to be ready.

I also told Lucius about quite a few website concepts. Google, Google Drive, Slack, Github, Salesforce, Myspace/Facebook, Twitter, Vine, Youtube, Ebay, Amazon, and Etsy.

One of my previous careers was working as a network admin for a city, so I'm also intimately familiar with emergency dispatch and database software, as well as financial management and city planning. This is how I'm going to get root access to Gotham's government everything, including the police force. Waynetech is going to be making a full combined suite of city management software, including fire and police. It'll be user friendly and fairly secure, and it'll save Gotham tens of millions of dollars anally. And I'll have access to all of it, without even needing a secret back door, because Waynetech will be their administrator support.

Honestly, it's the kind of thing I'd give away, but there's no need. We won't charge what the market will bear, but we'll still turn a solid profit. I'll consider the project a rousing success if we can get Metropolis to buy it instead of whatever shit Lex makes.

We also talked about AI, but making AI is so much easier in this universe that frankly I'm wary of getting involved with it. You start off making ChatGPT, an AI meant to steal creative jobs and make people miserable, and you end up with like, Amazo, and it tries to blow up the world.

Lexcorp surged past Waynetech's valuation in five years of Lex taking over. That was about four years ago. He's currently among the top ten richest men in the world, and only going higher. Really, the only reason he's not number one is that there's ancient monsters with ridiculous hidden, distributed fortunes, like Ras and Vandal, as well as some Middle Eastern oil/mineral/trade oligarchs. But he'll get there, because he's smart, and, frankly, that's just kinda his thing.

Waynetech, on the other hand, is only valued at about 31 billion right now. Not chump change, but a pretty long way from Lexcorp's 194 billion official valuation.

But if I can steal a march on him, get Google going, get Amazon going, get Facebook and Paypal and Apple all going before he realizes I'm a threat…

Well, I'll never overtake him. Not really. I figure he's gonna spend around 10 billion a year trying to kill Superman, and various other villainous projects. Whereas I'm going to have to do the equivalent of fixing Gotham's potholes with gold and ground up 100 dollar bills, and that's not even including the charity the rest of the country, and the world, needs. Plus paying for the Justice League, trying to get a space defense set up, setting up the emergency preparedness bunkers, food, supplies, shelters, and everything else the world's probably gonna need the next time some asshole titan covers the world in a hurricane… Plus, I don't have the ruthlessness to squeeze every dollar out of a business. My workers will be well paid, with benefits. My terms of service won't be exquisitely crafted to fuck the consumer. My products won't be made to fail the second the warranty runs out. I won't fuck the creators on my youtube knockoff, or force a billion ads down everyone's throat.

No, I don't think I'll ever beat Lex. He'll make competing products to everything I make, and he'll promote them aggressively. I'll get a solid audience of people who appreciate better, cheaper products that don't nickel and dime you for every app or surprise you with a thousand hidden fees, but I've got no illusions that Lex won't find plenty of customers.

Frankly, I just have moral objections to being a hyper-billionaire. I don't need that much fucking money. I don't like the idea of taking that much of my workers' efforts for myself. I certainly haven't fucking EARNED this money.

On Prime Earth, it'd never work out this way. But this is DC. I need that money. Lex isn't going to spend billions of dollars stockpiling emergency shelters, food, water, and medicine all over the country, and eventually the world, for when there's a huge disaster. Lex isn't going to pay for the Justice League's infrastructure and salaries. Lex isn't going to set up hospitals and clinics and homeless shelters and soup kitchens. Lex is gonna spend his money trying to kill Superman.

If I'm lucky, I can maybe convince the guy to use the results of trying to kill Superman in a useful manner. Superweapons to fight aliens and demons and shit are actually good things to have. I'd really like to get him to work with me for defense satellites and moonbases and a defense fleet, actually. The guy does want humanity to be safe, he just also wants humanity, and him specifically, to be ascendant.

But it's Lex. You can't trust the asshole. So I'd better be prepared to go it alone. And that means I need a shitload of money.

 

[Nugar]

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I woke up exactly eight hours later.

Filthy, and starving.

This is routine by now. Alfred has left a mug of warm English breakfast tea, a banana, and a pair of crisp, sweet apples. The banana is gone immediately while I start the daily basic exercise.

You can probably guess what it is. One hundred pushups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats. Then I finish off the tea, grab the apples, and do a 10km run around the estate while I eat them.

In actual training respects, it's terrible. Bodyweight workouts plateau, and that much activity on a normal human body, every day, doesn't give enough time for the body to heal. But this is a Charles atlas type world, and I'm a Gamer. It's only good for a few hundred XP split among Might, Endurance, and Body training, with a kind of hilarious bonus of 10 Grit XP.

That's actually pretty good for a workout that only takes me 40 minutes. It's consistent, and that's why I keep doing it. I can get higher XP per minute rates in burst training, like my shooting gallery routine, but then I have to have some sort of setup or recovery period, like the eight hours of sleep I needed to heal.

I don't actually sweat anymore, which is nice, but I'm still pretty grody by the time I make it to the mansion for a shit, shower, and shave.

There's no 'Grooming' skill, despite what classic tabletop Cyberpunk may have told you. Instead, it falls under 'Disguise'. I'm disguising myself as a well-groomed person. I'm actually pretty good at it.

Alfred has breakfast ready for me when I finally hit the dining room at 3:20 in the afternoon.


xxxxxxxxx


"Breakfast, Master Bruce," Alfred announces, bringing in plates on a literal silver tray.

It's a full English breakfast with a quirk. Sausage, back bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, blood pudding, and, the quirk, spiced Mexican black beans on fried bread. One of my perks, a Might perk called 'It's Mostly Diet' actually approves of this massive load of protein and fat. My healing is magical, but it ain't free. The perk gives me a continual running sense of what my body needs in terms of nutrients and fuel.

I got him to switch to black beans because they're my favorite, and navy beans are my second most disliked. Seriously, I only prefer them to kidney beans, which I loathe. Black beans and butterbeans or lima beans are where it's at. Also, if you've never had it, though, back bacon is amazing. Like a little pork chop instead of a crispy meat cinder.

As I tucked into the food, Alfred brought out a folder. "And, as requested, a full write-up on all of the known and likely attendees for the charity gala. We have replies from four of the people on your 'Yellow List', with two more likely to gatecrash."

"Mrs. Brathwaite didn't give us any trouble, did she?" I asked while cutting up a bit of blood pudding. Really, it's like a spongy sausage kind of thing rather than what I consider pudding, but oh well.

"No, she was positively delighted to have so much control. Her husband's fortunes have waned a bit in recent years, and she only threw four Significant Events so far this year. With our bankroll, and a bit of investing advice, she'll be a solid ally in the future. She's already promised VIP status for any of her soirees, and she assures me she'll have you invited to every event of real importance, and as many of the others as she can."

I shook my head. "I'd literally rather be shot at than go to a single one of these hoity toity… eh." I had to cut myself off. Generally, my merged memories of Bruce Wayne make it easy for me to keep in character, but my lingering low class contempt for the rich nearly had me say 'circle-jerk' to Alfred's face.

The old butler smiled sardonically. He knew my opinion of ostentatious displays of wealth, but he also knew I knew they were necessary at times.

I took a sip of tea and sighed. "So how much is this costing, compared to the actual amount donated?"

He shook his head. "Well, we won't have official numbers from the guest donations for a while, of course. Most donations will be done at the gala next Friday. In terms of what you've decided to spend on the actual needy, it certainly could be worse, but it's not good. Madam Brathwaite has spent just over fifty three percent more on the event."

I did not choke. I don't think I can choke anymore. I'm also too refined and composed (now) to do anything so crass as a spit-take.

Instead, I carefully sat my fork and knife down.

I hesitated.

Then I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

"We're spending ten million dollars on new shelters and free clinics."

"An accurate sum, Master Bruce," he agreed.

"She's spent more than five million dollars on this shindig."

"Also accurate, Master Bruce."

I groaned. Five million dollars. Five fucking million dollars, all to add Rolexes and diamond rings to the hands of the circle jerk.

"As Sir has informed me, in addition to your time experiencing the professional lives of your alternate selves, you spent considerable time in the head of your younger selves, enduring poverty and privation as you traveled and trained. Five million is indeed a considerable sum for a single event, but not outrageous, not at the economic level you now enjoy. Also, this is your introduction to the high society of Gotham. Mrs. Brathwaite understands that. It simply must be beyond extravagant."

I sighed again and resumed eating. "Yes, I agreed with you to give her an unlimited budget. I was just caught up in old modes of thinking. I was prepared for a million. I'd have flinched at two. I was not expecting five."

"Much of the budget was spent on the location. We bought out the entire Gotham Royal, with guests offered a complimentary room with invite. The entertainment was also a significant portion, with traveling theater, circus, and musical groups from around the world entertaining throughout the evening and night. Themed dinner courses and gift bags are also included. It adds up quickly."

Alfred was right. This was my big Gotham debut as Bruce Wayne. As Batman I can work quietly, learning and building a sturdy foundation with which to change Gotham. But if I want to be able to bribe, I mean, generously donate to, politicians and administrators and other influential Gothamites, I need to be seen. I need to have a presence.

So the story, at least for the public, is that troubled young Bruce Wayne took time to find himself. Colleges overseas, traveling, Zen masters and mountain climbing. Sherpas and yurts and backpacking across Europe.

Now I'm an adult, and ready to take over the family business, with a focus on Gotham. So this gala is themed with various places I've supposedly been, some true, some not. We've got Chinese acrobats, Indian dance theater, fire eaters and piano solos and an entire orchestra. The gift bags include exotic knickknacks, fine chocolates, scarves, and gift certificates to spas in other countries.

I'm giving tens of thousands of dollars of useless shit to rich people who don't need it, won't appreciate it, and could buy it themselves if they wanted it.

Being wealthy is weird.

"There's only one issue you must address before next week," Alfred continued.

"Oh?"

"You need a date."

I frowned. "I thought Mrs. Brathwaite was setting me up with some socialite through a web of favors."

"The young miss Osana Orlov is, unfortunately, out of town. Apparently, she and her new boyfriend decided to go skiing in Switzerland. The backup choice, one Karen Holt, nee Baard, is currently married. A quiet elopement which flew quite under the radar. It will be a minor scandal once everyone has time to focus on it. I recommend dropping a bon mot about it at the gala. And the backup to the backup, Michelle Yavin, simply declined."

"Are you telling me there aren't any more single vapid socialites of the right age in the region?" I asked incredulously.

Alfred gave me a look. "It's not so simple, Master Bruce. While there are quite a few young ladies who would superficially fit the description, most are involved with some social, business, or in far too many cases, crime factions. To take one on a date would be, at best, an opportunity for a group to extort influence from you, and at worse, a declaration of alliance."

Ah.

"No, I'm afraid you're going to need to find a suitably attractive young lady not currently involved in Gotham high society. Even mid-society would be risking it."

Huh. Alright.

I finished my meal, and while Alfred cleared the plates, I picked up the daily papers, which he'd also delivered with the folder.

The Gotham Times was as schizoid as the rest of the city. A mix of insightful, dedicated reporting, and sheer fucking trash. I skimmed it, since nothing big had happened. Sadly, Vickie Vale was not yet a writer for the paper, and instead was currently finishing up her journalism degree.

It was weird being so early in the Batman timeline.

The other paper I read daily was the Metropolis Daily Planet. One, it was generally a good idea to keep an eye on Lex Luthor, whose company, Lexcorp, had surpassed Waynetech's market cap last year. Two, Clark Kent and Lois Lane were noted members of the staff. I read their articles every time.

Superman has been active for two years already. One year longer than I've been in this universe.

I want to know more about the guy. Superman is always either Earth's greatest champion, or, occasionally, it's worst fucking villain. I really, really, really sympathize with the general paranoia Batman has.

It's really easy to look at his obsessive-compulsive plans to deal with Superman, Wonder Woman, and other heroes and think, 'Wow, that's just silly.' Because they're heroes, and generally, when they do seem to have turned into villains, it's just some other villain's plot, or a misunderstanding, or something stupid.

But I'm dealing with the multiverse, here. Injustice is a thing that happened in one of the universes. Actually, given how infinity works, it happened an infinite number of times, just a smaller infinite than the infinity of worlds where Superman is always a hero. So, as shitty as it is, I have to prepare contingency plans.

I have a chunk of green kryptonite, sourced from Smallville. I've also lead-lined the Batcave and portions of the rest of the estate.

Also, I need to meet the guy. But I feel like I should establish myself as Batman first. A meeting of peers, rather than the superhero and some doofus in a cape. So until then, I'll just quietly keep an eye on him.

With the papers done, I speedread the documents in the folder. Actually, I speed-read everything. I have a perk for it. So far, it's been one of the most advantageous perks I've gotten, because, while I can't instantly absorb a book and get a skill point for it like some Gamer systems, I do get XP while I read.

A really comprehensive and long 'How To' book can carry me from level 0 to level five, and only take about thirty minutes to read. High skill level books for professionals are also valuable, but I usually only get one or two levels from them, and then only if my skill level is less than 15. There's only so much you can learn without practice, even with a Gamer system.

But I digress. Thanks to Alfred's diligence, and the former intelligence agent knows how to put together a dossier, I'm now prepared for meeting the bigwigs at the gala.

Except for a date.

Shit.

I Gendo posed for a bit, considering the problem, my thoughts chasing each other like rats on a wheel.

Fortunately, Alfred interrupted me.

"Ah, Master Bruce. I've just been informed that the workers have finished the stone path to the cottage and are wrapping up. If you've the time, the foreman requests you take a look and sign off on the task."

I perked up. "That sounds excellent, Alfred. Will you come, too?"

He considered it, then nodded. "I suppose I will."

x
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x

AN: Got sick, had some bad days this past week. Sorry for the delay. Chapter four was also almost twice the size of this one. I always seem to bobble a bit with length when I first start a story. There's advanced chapters of this, Ice Pie, and some other brand new stuff on my Patreon. As mentioned, health issues mean I can't promise a rigid schedule. But I AM writing as much as I can. Your support means everything!

https://www.patreon.com/Nugar

 

[Nugar]

As promised, this is the revision and expansion of chapter four. This also includes what had been posted as chapter five on my patreon, so this does have quite a bit of new material.

xxxxxxxxx Chapter 4


The best thing about becoming Batman before he became Batman is that I'm not expected to suddenly juggle the forest of spinning plates he does with Gotham, the League, and the rest of the world and universe.

The worst thing about it was that none of the infrastructure is set up yet.

Well, no, actually, the worst thing about it was explaining to Alfred that it's vital to the fate of the world and universe that I put on a fur suit and run around punching criminals by night.

But mostly the setup.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a builder, a maker, a fixer. I like doing that kind of thing. But Bruce Wayne actually started out as a regular vigilante before he put on the batsuit, and he built his armory up over time, whereas I am going into this with full awareness of the scale I'll need to operate at. The scale of the duty in front of me is sort of overwhelming.

Also, I want to be smart about it, so I'm trying to do proper foundational work now, to be better prepared for later. What that meant for me for close to a year now was doing a lot of construction.

Well, and Alfred as well, but mostly me.

But I didn't want to just immediately start working on the Batcave when I got started. When I first got the Gamer system, the skills started at the level of both mine and the original Bruce Wayne's skills and stats combined.

Now, this is pre-Batman Bruce Wayne, so while he had some skills that were startlingly high in places, and a pretty broad selection of skills, he was a long way from Batgod. But while I used to be just a normal guy, I've had a long and varied life, with a lot of different hobbies and skills. I've worked as a painter, drywall hanger, carpenter, HVAC, and welder professionally, and I've done things like carpet, tile, roofing, plumbing, and electrical work as either home/family projects, or as part of other careers. Like, say, when I worked as a sysadmin for a city and police department, which occasionally involved running conduit, wires, and on no less than three occasions, sump plumbing, because we kept getting flooded.

So my combined starting construction related skills were actually pretty good. Nearly everything but stonework and cement was between a 5 and a 10. But I still didn't want to do amateur work on the Batcave, so I needed to grind my skills up into the teens.

I did that by building a cottage in the woods of the Wayne manor.

It's a nice place, built to disguise one of the alternate entrances to the Batcave.

Welded steel construction with stone cladding, with lead lining everything. I used it as a way of getting rid of a lot of the limestone dross I made when digging out the cave system. I even ended up mixing up moss and mud into a slurry and spraying over the roof, so in a year or so it'd look like something Studio Ghibli designed.

As a nod towards the potential future Poison Ivy, I included a lot of native plants in the design. As well as roses. I like roses.

But I did end up hitting my self-imposed goal of a fifteen before I finished it, and, for efficiency's sake, I started focusing on the Batcave with professional quality work. Given the scale at which I was working, my skills quickly got into the twenties while I did that. Actually, some of them got well into the twenties before I considered it done enough that I could afford to lower my skills for a while. As I mentioned, I was able to consolidate the group of related skills into a single 'Construction' skill, which is far more powerful.

The Construction skill started at zero, but a single 'How To' book got it up to level five and a perk, which is nice. I haven't had the time to level it up since.

Sure, it'd be a good idea to grind the lower levels of the new Construction skill by finishing the cottage, but it's really not efficient to do all the tedious shit myself. I hired contractors to finish some of the still needed work, like cabinetry, and the bathrooms.

No one likes doing bathrooms. That shit is tedious, finicky, and annoying. All the goddamn little ceramic tiles.

Alfred was reporting that the team hired to put in the stone patio and the walkway from the parking lot and garage to the cottage was finally complete.


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Alfred and I walked along the new stone pathway through the carefully tended but naturalistic forest. We nodded politely at a number of workers, who were largely removing tools and trash. It was getting close to the end of a working day, and I could tell they were looking forward to being done with the job.

Once we got to the cottage, we saw the truck and trailer that had carried in the nicer, much more finely cut stone used for the garden patio. A man with a pressure washer was cleaning up the stone, and several young men were tamping sod around the edges.

"It looks good," I announced cheerfully. "It'll be a nice little guest house for people who need privacy." My privacy, mainly.

"I'm sure it will be very picturesque. Though I still disagree with allowing moss to grow on the roof. You can have a cottage look cozy and natural without actually being overgrown," Alfred replied.

"The core of the 'cottagecore' movement is becoming one with nature. How can you be one with nature without moss on your roof?"

"A conundrum for the ages, I'm sure."

The foreman stepped out, but didn't move to join us, instead letting us wander around at our own pace.

I had no complaints with their work. With this, the cottage was officially finished and ready to move into, though it still needed furniture and gardening to truly be finished.

Really, there was no need to rush the place. While I'm sure it'd be handy once we regularly had guests, and especially useful when I started adopting sidekicks, I made it to grind skill XP.

Still, the project had been soothing. A way to just immerse myself into the act of creating, always one of my favorite things to do, and slowly adapt to my new situation.

Really, building the cottage had been way more satisfying than going out last night. While yes, I had helped a few people, I lack the monomaniacal drive for vengeance most Batmen had. It doesn't make me feel better to punch a poor guy breaking into an apartment.

Though I confess to quite liking the bit where I dislocated the arm of the abuser. It's not that I don't have a core of rage in me, it just doesn't come out the same way as Bruce Wayne's crazy.

Hmm. That actually raises a good point. I should check in and see if that woman went to the shelter.

There's still time today, it's only a little after 4 P.M., and most shelter work gets done in the evenings, preparing people for the night. Time to wrap this up.


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The car I took across town was a 'sleeper'. A high midrange vehicle that had been taken apart and converted to an unassuming but heavily armored high performance machine.

Although in other DC universes it can be pretty different, in this one, Waynetech is basically the equivalent of Prime Earth's Northrup Grumman, or Lockheed, just not as intensely focused on aircraft. Waynetech is just a subsidiary of the larger Wayne Enterprises, but it accounts for about 90% of the total value. And then, most of Waynetech's 30-some odd billion dollars of value is from its portfolio of advanced materials, which it sells to basically everyone, and military gear ranging from personal tools to tanks and APCs to aircraft, bombs, and missiles.

There is, actually, an entire, if somewhat small, armored car division. We made the President's limo, for instance. I've got a couple of bat-vehicle projects ongoing, but for secrecy, I'm doing the final design stuff myself, which means it's taking a while.

Sadly, despite my urge to just sit down and fully prepare an arsenal before I go out and start Batmanning, I know that if I waited until I'm fully prepared, I'd never go.

Alfred got left behind. I know the guy is my butler and my driver and everything else I need for him to be, but right now most of his duties have been more along the lines of intelligence gathering and administration, when he's not making me breakfast and shooting me.


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I took the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge south into Gotham. It deposited me onto Gotham's north island, and I quickly found my way to a place on the edge of East End. This was the Gotham Helping Hands Center, which ran a bit more than three-quarters of all the people shelters in the area.

It was a dismal, run down, 18 storey building that looked like it had been made of depression, furnished in hopelessness, and painted in nicotine stains.

It was so Gotham it shit tragic backstories.

I mean that literally. Helping Hands ran homeless shelters and women's' shelters. Most of the building was actually dedicated to a mix of group barracks style rooms and family suites, not that there was anything sweet about these accommodations.

That being said, while the organization certainly had some people who had the compassion and mercy drained out of them long ago, it also had both old battleaxe and young idealistic social warriors. It was very much an example of adversity as a grindstone. Some people got ground away. Some people just got sharpened.

They were also getting millions in Wayne money, and about to get even more.

Miranda Anderson was the director of Helping Hands. She was seventy three years old, one hundred and twenty nine pounds, and had permanent worry wrinkles. She had been a heavy smoker for about four decades, but had quit cold turkey and not touched tobacco since. Her left hip pained her, and a combination of arthritis and carpal tunnel had turned her hands into nearly ineffectual claws. Some people have resting bitch face. She had active bitch face. Everything she saw seemed to disappoint her.

She was carved from fucking wood.

Unbent. Unbroken. Undaunted.

For all she could make you feel about an inch tall with a look, she could calm a crying baby, sooth a frightened child, and reassure a scared young mother. Any evil out there that wanted to harm her charges had to get through her first, and so far, not much had.

She'd been accused of murder no less than seven times, all abusive people who totally deserved it, but in every case always had dozens of alibis ranging from the people she worked with and helped, to the guy that sold newspapers at a stand near her apartment building with whom she'd shared maybe a hundred words over the course of her lifetime. Every single one of them would swear they'd been glued to her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, forever.

God she was cool.

I wanted to be her when I grew up.

Also, I'd looked into the murders, and I was pretty sure she hadn't actually done any of them, but had presented herself as a serious suspect to protect the people who had actually done it. For all that a lot of her alibis were clearly fake, there was always at least one that was unquestionably legit. Not that I think she wasn't mentally capable of murder, but she's had hand trouble for a long time. I don't think she could actually wield a gun.

"Oh lovely Miss Annnderson," I crooned at her when I spotted her at the end of the hall.

She had been conversing with two of her minions, a young woman and a man in his thirties. Both had clipboards and pens and were taking down notes. Mrs. Anderson, who was a divorcee with one grown child, gave me a glare.

The glare bounced off.

If I was my ordinary self, I'd think she hated me. Heck, I'd just about think that, anyway, but between the near magical Observe skill and my other people reading skills, I could tell she liked me.

A little. Deep inside.

She'd been exposed to entirely too many good looking flirts over the years to find my act noteworthy, but the shrewd old battleaxe had apparently been keeping an eye on my efforts to improve Gotham in the past year, and at some point had been convinced of my sincerity.

I could have dumped five times the money I'd already spent into charity, and she'd sneer like an aristocrat if she thought it was just a performative piece like most charity. However, when I'd actually sat down with her and discussed budgeting and planning, setting up long term improvements and trusts that would generate yearly income rather than just money to be spent today, she'd been reluctantly impressed.

"Bruce. How lovely to see you," she said in a tone that made it sound like she was imagining strangling me to death with my own intestines. "To what do I owe the favor of your visit."

The two minions glanced at me. I could see the whites in their eyes.

"Just checking in on my investments. I want to make sure my money is being spent for the good of Gotham, not lining some fatcat director's pockets," I said in my best stuffy CEO voice.

Minion one paled so much she looked albino. Minion two looked like he wanted to faint.

Mrs. Anderson all but growled. "Cut the shit, boy. The women's shelter on Bois d' Arc in Burnside just had a kitchen fire a few hours ago. They put it out fast, but not before it smoked up the place and ruined a lot of appliances. Now I've got twelve young women and eighteen children getting hungry, with no place to sleep tonight. Everywhere else is full. What do you want."

"I want a date to a charity gala that's coming up. It's raising money for a number of things, your organization included, disguised as my big debut into Gotham high society now that I'm of age. I had some of the usual type girls in queue but they all fell through, so now I need a replacement, and I can't think of a better date than you. It'd give you the chance to sneer at rich people and have them give you money for the privilege," I explained.

"No."

She glanced at Minion one, a not entirely unattractive young woman, who paled even further and shook her head frantically. If she lost any more blood, she was going to look like a cave fish.

With that failure, Mrs. Anderson turned her attention to Minion number two.

The guy glanced at me.

Hmm. You know…

The man, who was probably about a decade older than me, bolted, followed by Minion one.

Mrs. Anderson frowned a little bit harder, then gave me a shrug, like 'What can you do?'.

I didn't bother trying to convince her to go with me, as cool as that would be. Watching her aggressively lower middle class sensibilities go head to head with the kind of people who spend ten grand on a bottle of wine would cheer me up immensely, but one does not challenge Mrs. Anderson's decisions so lightly.

"The Burnside shelter?" she prompted.

"Yeah, I'll handle it," I replied, and left.


xxxxxxxxx


On the way out, I stopped by the actual offices, and put in a request for a list of everyone currently in a shelter, names included, and a separate, higher priority list for everyone who had come to a shelter that day, whether they had been turned away or given a slot. It'd be a way for me to see if that woman from last night took my advice.

I hadn't realized that the shelters were so close to being full, but it did make sense. One of the existing places was being renovated, and the others had to pick up the slack. But also, there's always a bunch of people who have fallen off the 'poverty' tier.

Poor is struggle. Choosing between food and rent. Working three jobs. Perpetual exhaustion.

But below that is homeless. When you're homeless, you're just meat.


xxxxxxxxx


Burnside is on the mainland across from Gotham's chinatown. One of the earliest 'outside' districts to get absorbed by the growing city, in fact. It's not very far away, but it took me more than half an hour to get there simply because of the combination of Gotham's old, twisty roads, and evening traffic fleeing the city.

And that was honestly pretty good time.

As an aside, I have to mentally thank Bat Mite again for the Gamer system. I, personally, have a shitty sense of direction. In the days before GPS, I owned a stack of maps, and printed out specific guides each time I went somewhere new. I fell in love with my first GPS, because suddenly I had freedom. The ability to drive somewhere new without anxiety is underappreciated, I think.

The Gamer system, though, doesn't connect me to any sort of advanced artificial intelligence or conceptual knowledgebase. Instead, it literally just taps into a sort of multi-universal gestalt of the knowledge of all the other Batmans out there. And no one knows Gotham like Batman. I've never personally been to this place, and my Batman skill isn't very high, but I drove there like it was the thousandth time.

Only having Bat-knowledge does have a limitation, though. It can never give me any sort of ability, skill, knowledge, or schematic unless there's a Batman out there that knows it.

That's not much of a drawback. Fucking Batman, at least one of them, somewhere, knows damned near everything. And while he's never been one of the top tier mad machine inventors out there, he's taken apart and studied a lot of their stuff, so theoretically, if I can get my skills high enough, I'll have access to even Golden Age ridiculousness. Admittedly, we're talking like, engineering and science skills at 50+, so I'm not holding my breath.


xxxxxxxxx


I arrived to a scene of mild chaos.

The shelter was operating out of an old small apartment building, much like their headquarters, though this building was only three storeys tall, built before population pressure made buildings taller and taller the closer you got to Gotham. Burnside was a reasonably decent neighborhood, solidly middle class, and the shelter had seen some effort put into it when it had been commissioned. The inside had been gutted, and the layout had been designed for efficiency.

The bottom floor was utility and community. A rec room, daycare, kitchen, laundry, offices, and storage. The second floor was barracks style bedrooms, with bunk beds and lockers and two big community bathrooms. The third floor was divided up into individual rooms for families. Small, and without their own bathrooms, but private enough you could have a breakdown in peace without everyone hovering over your shoulder.

It'd be a pretty decent shelter if it wasn't so small, but, as I said, Burnside is a middle class neighborhood, and there was a lot of resistance to having a shelter in the area at all. Only by framing it as a shelter for abused women and children had it managed to get allowed at all.

Homeless people, especially men, are a threat, a nuisance, and highly undesirable. 'Abused' people, especially women and children, are given a bit more leeway.

When I got there, a milling crowd of women and teenage boys, sprinkled with younger children, were hauling soot covered furniture and appliances out onto the sidewalk. Curtains and towels had been piled up here and there, stinking of smoke and in some cases dripping with grimy water.

The children had that mix of anxious uncertainty coupled with nervous energy you often see after a disaster. The adults just looked tired and sad.

I parked the car a ways back and got out to meet them.

Charlotte Rusen was the site manager. She was a white woman in her early thirties, with limp brown hair and a little bit of pudge, but I could see how she'd ended up chosen for her role, as she was the most energetic of the lot, calling out encouragement to the others as the ones who weren't carrying out stuff wielded mops, brooms, and buckets of soapy water as they tried to clean up the mess.

Now, my impulse was to just wade in and start helping. But…

I'm embarrassed to say this, but this suit is expensive. I'm not in Armani or anything, it's just normal slacks and a shirt, but it's still expensive, custom tailored stuff. I didn't know I was going to end up needing to do manual labor tonight, so I dressed inappropriately. Sure, I could buy a thousand of these suits and not notice, but it just seems wasteful.

So instead, I just asked for her attention.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Rusen?" I called as she power walked by me without so much as a glance.

"Yes?" she snapped, then literally stopped and patted her face. "I'm sorry, I'm very busy. Yes, can I help you? Mr…?" She trailed off questioningly.

There was no sign of recognition in her face. I liked her already. Only the hard core society page followers would recognize me on sight at this point, because I hadn't really gone public. That was quite literally what the upcoming gala was for.

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne," I replied. "And I'm here to help. Mrs. Anderson sent me." I gave her a reassuring smile.

"Wayne? Of the rich Waynes?" one of the others, a black woman with a puffy bun, exclaimed.

"Mrs. Anderson sent you?" Charlotte gasped, focusing on the most important part. "Wonderful! I'm not sure what you can do, but anything will help."

"First, please tell me what happened."


xxxxxxxxx


Apparently, there actually had been a gas leak. Several weeks ago, they'd moved one of the stoves to clean behind it, and the old gas line had cracked. One of the women's boyfriends had fixed it for free, but all he'd done was cut out the crack and put in a splice. It had worked fine at the time. But earlier that day, when they were cooking lunch, there had been a sudden burst of gas flame that engulfed that stove and part of a counter.

Fortunately, none of the women were hurt. Some hair was singed, but that was it.

Unfortunately, the flame had set several bags of sundries on fire, and startled one of the cooks so bad that a hot pot of frying oil had been spilled. Which then also caught on fire from the flame on the stove. And spread the fire along the floor and to other counters and cabinets.

The good thing was, it hadn't taken more than about five minutes for the women to get to the fire extinguishers and put out the flames, and turn the gas off at the master valve, before the fire department had even arrived. The whole situation showed excellent first responder training, and I praised them enthusiastically.

Still, a pot of flaming oil spreading across a kitchen can do a lot of damage in a hurry. The cabinets were scorched and blackened. The stoves were both burnt black, as were two refrigerators. And everything downstairs had been covered in smoke, soot, and fire extinguisher powder. The upper floors weren't completely spared, either. Nothing had been really damaged, but the stench of smoke and the stains of soot meant the whole building needed to be cleaned from top to bottom, and everyone had to clean their personal belongings.

"And all the other shelters are full up!" Mrs. Rusen all but cried. "I can't put them on the streets, but we're washing sheets as fast as we can, and there's no way it'll be clean by tonight. Who knows what kind of carcinogens and stuff they'll be breathing in if they sleep in there tonight!"

I doubt it'd be a serious health hazard to do it for one night, personally, but it'd be pretty unpleasant. And there was no way I, a billionaire, was going to tell these poor people to just suck it up.

Instead, I just gave her a gentle smile.

"Well, it sounds like there's a simple solution to your need for lodgings. I'll put everyone in a hotel for a week. And I'll pay to fix the shelter, too."

She gasped.

Actually, there were gasps and murmurs from most of the women. Except the black one, who'd commented on the family wealth. She looked more skeptical.

"You might not know this, but I've recently come home from studying abroad, to take up my role as head of the family," I explained, partially directing the explanation at the black woman. "The Wayne family has always been a major supporter of charity in Gotham, and I intend to expand that. We've actually got a big charity gala coming up next week to raise money to support the shelters, among other things."

"You're a billionaire, why do you need other people to give money?" This came not from the black woman, but from one of the teenage boys. "Can't you just pay for it all yourself?"

Mrs. Rusen gasped in horror. She knew that pissing off rich people was a terrible way of getting donations.

"It's called donation matching," I explained calmly. "Whatever other people donate, I match. So they can pat themselves on the back just a little bit harder because it seems like they donated twice as much as they are actually paying for. Then afterwards, I can just donate even more. But this way, I get other rich people to donate as well."

"Huh."

I don't think the young man actually expected a real reply.

"I'll be happy to explain the plans I have for improving everyone's lives later on, if you're interested. For the moment, let me make some calls. I won't be putting you in the Gotham Royal, but I promise it won't be some roach motel that also charges by the hour. Excuse me."

I walked back to my car. First, I called Alfred and explained the situation, and asked him to find a company that did disaster cleanup. Then I grabbed a phone book and started looking for a nice mid-range hotel. Ideally, I wanted to put them all in the same hotel, somewhere close.

Not surprisingly, fitting thirty people was a little difficult, even if they really only needed twelve rooms, because I also wanted them for a solid week. Also, Burnside was a residential neighborhood, so there weren't really any hotels to speak of.

Still, it wasn't hard to find suitable arrangements. I found two hotels, just a block away from each other. It was far enough away they needed transportation, though, so I called Mrs. Anderson.

"What do you mean, you don't have any group transportation options? How do you carry large groups of people to things like job fairs and doctor visits and such?"

"MISTER Wayne, we are poor. We've just had to send them on the city buses, or call a taxi," she said testily. "Or just tell them to find their own transportation."

"I bet that costs more than the running costs of owning a van," I muttered. "Okay. I'll handle it."

Ah, the classic 'It's expensive to be poor' catch 22 as so eloquently stated by Sir Terry Pratchet.

Fine.

So I called a local vehicle dealership Wayne Enterprises has a deal with. It's close to the end of the day, but I promised a nice bonus if they could source and deliver two large passenger vans in an hour or less. They had to be wheelchair friendly, as well. No one needed that right now, but I was obviously going to donate the vehicles to the shelter network.

While they were only able to source one of the actual dedicated transportation vans in that time, they did have a selection of large normal vans, and offered to let us use one of those as a loaner until the passenger transport came in. We'd have to make two trips, but that's no big hardship.

It's nice to be rich. People try to help you out.

Once that was settled, I went back to talk to the women.

"Okay, I've got things settled," I announced as the women and children gathered around. "I've got two hotels that know we're coming. I'm prepaying for a week, since I think that'll be enough time to get this shelter fixed up, but I can extend it if we need to. I know meals will be an issue, since you've been using this kitchen, so room service is included. It's not unlimited, so don't go nuts, but you'll all have fifty dollars per day, per person. Let Mrs. Rusen know if it's not enough for some reason, and she can call me. Or if I'm around, just say something."

There was a round of general cheering and excitement, mostly from the children. Most of the women just looked grateful.

"Now, I'm in the process of spending a lot of money to upgrade Gotham's shelters, and even add more. Thanks to your quick thinking of stopping the fire, you've saved me from having to pay to build one more. I think that deserves a reward. So I'll discuss things with Mrs. Rusen, but at minimum, every family will get a thousand dollars, with a bit more going to everyone who actually fought the fire."

There were real cheers at that.

"I'm working to find a cleanup company that can come scrub the place out. You've already done some of the work for them, and I'll see you paid for that. However, part of the contract with the cleaning company will be for them to work with you. Anyone who wants to make some extra money can help and learn from the cleaners. This won't be minimum wage work, either, but mainly, I want you to see the tools and techniques they use, and if you're interested, hire you to work at other shelters. Too many of Gotham's shelters are run down and dirty. Years of not being able to afford maintenance and supplies has taken its toll, and we're going to turn that around. This offer will be open to others as well, men included. If you know someone who needs a job, especially anyone who already knows how to do maintenance, give them a call."

They generally murmured and glanced among each other, clearly thinking about who they might know.

"Now, you've all had a rough day, so you can stop working on the place. When the vans get here, everyone can go to the hotels and have a bath and a meal. Tomorrow, and I want to be clear, this is voluntary, we'll get started fixing this place back up."

"What about whoever watches the children? Someone's going to have to," the black woman asked.

"That's helping out just as much as anyone pushing a mop, of course they get paid," I replied. "And I know full well it's going to take more than one person to watch this many kids."

"What about us boys?" one of the teenage boys cried, though there were two teenage girls, too. "Can we work?"

"State law says you have to be sixteen," I told him. "And it depends on how many adults there end up being. But even if you can't do things here, if you help watch the younger children, I'll count it the same."

This also proved generally popular.

My speech was largely over, though I did have to answer a few more questions about where they were staying and how should anyone else who wanted to work reach out to us.

It genuinely did not take long for employees of the vehicle dealership to show up with the vans. I got their names and numbers before giving them one of mine, promising them a generous tip, and to call me if their tip didn't get to them for some reason.

I couldn't give it to them then, as I didn't have that much cash on hand. An oversight. There's no reason I can't afford to carry several thousand dollars in cash on me, even tens of thousands, I just didn't think to do so. A hazard of being poor, plus being used to a largely cashless society.

They left in another vehicle that had followed them over, and we turned to the task of getting everyone into the hotels.

There actually was enough room to carry everyone in one trip, so long as I took the overflow in my car, but then there would have been no room for luggage.

I did have to drive over to the hotels myself. They were willing to hold the rooms for a few hours just on my say so, but the managers were a little skeptical of someone saying 'I'm Bruce Wayne, I need a bunch of rooms and I'll pay you later.' Understandable.

A black card convinced them. I don't think I've ever really seen someone's eyes bug out in surprise before.

Which is weird. My man, it's just a credit card. A rare one, with literally no stated limit, but it's just a credit card. I'm rich, yeah, but calm down. I'm not a celebrity. I don't deserve fawning over.

I made arrangements for everyone's clothes to be washed, set up the appropriate tips, and promised to see them all the next day.

I couldn't stop smiling on the way back to the estate. Now that was a day's work that improved some lives. Not running around punching people while dressed in my furry convention best.


xxxxxxxxx

AN: Chapter six, which will be the new chapter five, is out on my patreon in an incomplete form. I'm going to be expanding it, also for tone and flow reasons, before I post. That'll be a bit, I'm already a week behind on Ice Pie, so expect a new chapter of that before you see anything else Batman.

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

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[Nugar]

Running around Gotham rooftops in the middle of the night while dressed as a giant bat sounds a lot cooler than it is.

Actually, it fucking sucks.

It's hot. Grit and Endurance mean I'm even more resistant to heat now than I was growing up in Louisiana without air conditioning, but it's still unpleasant. It was early June and the temps were climbing, and the breeze was going towards the ocean.

Mostly, though, I just can't get over how ridiculous this is.

I'm dressed as a giant goddamn bat. I'm a billionaire running around trying to personally stop crime. I'm not even being loud and visible, which does more to stop crime than sneaking about trying to catch people in the act. There's a reason cop cars are easily identifiable when they do patrols.

It's stupid. It's just so goddamn stupid.

I know I need to do it. I'm obligated to do it.

Doesn't mean I don't hate every moment of it.

Anyway. I'd actually originally intended to wait a bit before I went back out. I need to redesign my grapple harpoon. I also need to design some solid anchor points I can quietly install on rooftop edges.

But I'm out here for one very good reason.

Kaye Austin, the woman whose husband was abusing her the night before?

She never went to a shelter.

Now, there's potentially plenty of perfectly understandable reasons for that.

Her husband got his arm dislocated and an enforced power nap last night. He almost certainly ended up going to the doctor. She might have thought he wouldn't be a threat for a while. Or maybe she was just bunkering down, and kicked him out of the apartment. Or maybe she had family to go to.

Or maybe she didn't trust the intentions of the giant guy in the black bat suit who broke into her home and punched her husband.

All perfectly understandable reasons to not go to a women's shelter.

Worse reasons include things like, forgiving her husband, or being too scared of retaliation to leave him.

I intervened once, and now I've gotta go check on her. I stepped in to stop her from getting the shit beat out of her by her husband, and now it's my responsibility to keep checking in on her. Sort of like that old saying that, once you save a life, you're responsible for that life.

Please don't be dead.

Please don't be dead.

That's all I could think about as I made my way through Gotham that night.

There's lots of reasons to not go to a shelter.

Just don't be dead.


xxxxxxxxx


Fuck.

She's dead.

God. Damn. It.

I should have put that abusive fuck in a body cast. I should have escorted her to the shelter.

I should have, I should have.

But instead, I was staring in the apartment window at the dead woman on the floor of her kitchen.

All of my civilian mindset was saying things like, if I break in, I could potentially contaminate the scene. I should just call the cops. It was obviously the husband, even Gotham PD isn't likely to fuck that up.

But that's not taking responsibility. And what if it wasn't the husband? There's plenty of other murderers in Gotham. I'm in the shoes of the guy who should have been the world's greatest detective. I'm not a civilian. I'm a vigilante.

Time to vigil.

There weren't any bars over the windows on this building, and while there were locks, I've got a flat tool purpose made to jimmy open windows. Also, while I'm a big man, my agility is high, and I slipped in without making a mess, closing the window behind me.

I had my Observe skill going the entire time.

Observe is based on the common ability in litrpgs, tied to the conceptual gestalt of Batman detective abilities across the multiverse. I actually have it going pretty much continuously, though I generally don't bother giving it actual attention unless I need it.

I needed it here.

Kaye Austin had been dead for one hour and seventeen minutes, killed by nine stab wounds to her neck and upper chest . She'd been killed by a kitchen knife, which was still sticking into her aorta. The knife had a long, slender, eight inch blade, made for deboning meat, but was low quality, stamped stainless steel with a metal grip.

By Observing it very closely, I was able to detect the fingerprints on the handle, as well as the fact that the man's hand had slipped down and been cut on the blade when one of the stabs had met sudden resistance in a rib.

Observe is nearly magical. It's not instant, but as my highest rated skill, currently at a 33, it can do things you'd need a lab to do otherwise.

Those were Ennis Austin's fingerprints. That was Ennis Austin's blood.

Ennis Austin had killed his wife by stabbing her repeatedly with a kitchen knife in his off hand after I had dislocated his right shoulder a day ago.

I checked out the rest of the apartment.

Fresh empty beer cans overflowed from a trash can near the couch. There was an empty pain pill bottle on one of the kitchen counters with today's date on it. The bedroom was a mess, but more in the way an angry person would just throw stuff around, not someone looking to steal things.

Bloody clothing was in the hamper. Looks like Ennis had the presence of mind to change clothes and wipe himself off, but not actually wash himself more than just using the sink and putting a towel around his hand. Then he'd left.

Mrs. Austin had promised to call the police last night and turn her husband in for battery. I don't know if she actually did that.

Dammit. I don't actually have easy access to Gotham's police database. For one thing, I don't think there IS much of a database at this point in time. I'm pretty sure most of it is actual paper files in cabinets. Without a man on the inside, like a commissioner, I'd need to actually physically check the files myself, which isn't viable.

But that's just firming up the details.

Roughly what happened was, Ennis went to the doctor and had his shoulder reset. They gave him a few pain pills. He came home, ate them all in one go, and chased them with alcohol. That kept him quiet most of the day, which was probably a relief to Kaye, who might have had a decent day with her husband so quiet.

Him being injured, but also in a narcotic and booze slumber, probably influenced her decision to put off dealing with her abusive relationship another day.

But then he woke up.

And he was out of pain medication. I bet he accused her of somehow hiring me to come beat his ass, or maybe she was cheating on him with me, or something. Maybe he was just angry he'd gotten a taste of his own medicine.

So he killed her and stumbled into the night with a cut up hand.

Gotham was a dense city, so they didn't own a vehicle. But he WAS bleeding, and a good cut on your fingers can soak through a towel in a hurry. There were blood spots all over the apartment, many of which he'd stepped in and tracked further.

It had actually been kind of a chore to avoid stepping in them and contaminating the place myself.

Hmm.

Observe.

The blood trail left the apartment. It grew fainter and fainter, but, like I said, once a skill or stat got past human peak at 25, it just got into comic book levels of 'no real person could possibly be able to do that'.

It was somewhat slow going, as I had to study the ground very carefully as I walked, but I tracked that blood trail down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, and onto the sidewalks.

And then it stopped.

Because of course it did.

I had been hoping the murdering asshole had decided to walk to a friend, or head to a bar, or something. But nope, he got into a vehicle of some sort, probably a cab.

I didn't have access to phone records any more than I did police records, and while I suppose it's possible super high levels of Observe might be able to track a vehicle, I didn't have access to that.

Damn it.

Damn it damn it dammit.

Not that the guy was likely to get away with this. The near helpless cops from the 60s Batman show could have figured out that this guy was the murderer.

In pre-CSI days, the case would be handed to a detective. The detective would talk to the neighbors, find out the guy had a history of beating his old lady, disappeared from his home on the date of the murder, and had cuts on his off hand. The hardest part would literally be finding the guy now that he left.

Once found, he'd be arrested, brought to trial, and, not being particularly powerful, wealthy, or popular, would have been swiftly convicted by a jury of his peers and sentenced to whatever was typical for murder at the time. One of those cases where the justice system would work properly.

The only reason I was involved at all was that I was the catalyst that caused him to murder his wife.

I felt sick to my heart.

If I found this guy, I was going to fuck him up.

I am too emotionally invested in this. I cannot allow myself to be the one to find this fuck. Batman is only worthy as a hero when he does what the police CANNOT DO.

Not as a rich fucker taking out his mental issues on the poor and insane.

It took me several minutes on a rooftop to get myself under control. When I finally took one last deep breath and withdrew from self-imposed meditation, I realized I didn't even remember getting up there. I must have used the bat-grapple.

Properly, I mean.

Something to think about later.

I glided down to an alley and found a pay phone in the lobby of the apartment building, then did a little bit of voice disguise when I called the cops.

"911, what is your emergency?" asked a man on the other end.

"Hey, uh, I got a… Well, you see, there's this woman, Faye, and her husband, Ennis. Uh, Austin. Last name Austin…" I rambled.

"Sir, is there an emergency?" the man asked, somewhat testily.

Poor form on his part. People often ramble in an emergency. Part of being able to handle emergency calls is in guiding them, not getting mad at them.

"Yeah, there's a goddamn emergency!" I snapped back. "She's dead! Ennis finally killed her!"

There was silence on the other end. Then rapid-fire typing. "Sir, I need an address."

I gave him the address, then kept talking, even talking over him when he tried to ask my name. "Look, Ennis has been beating her off and on since as long as I've known 'em. Something happened last night, another fight. They was quiet today, but then there was a bunch more shouting. Thought about calling the cops, but they never do anything, and the yelling finally stopped. But I saw Ennis leave a while ago, dripping blood from his hand. I tried knocking on the door, but Kaye never answered. Didn't want to do anything at first, but I got worried, and I climbed the fire escape and looked in the window, and she's dead on the floor with a knife sticking in her. You guys need to send some cops out here, and maybe arrest that fucker Ennis, too."

"Sir, I need your-"

"Maybe he was going to the hospital?" I hinted. "I dunno. But next time maybe do something when people are beating their old ladies? Before they kill 'em?"

"Sir-"

I hung up and vacated the premises.


xxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxx


When Bat Mite, along with help from the totemic spirit of the Bat, created the Gamer system I now had, he asked me to swear an oath as part of the process.

Not just an oath, but an Oath. A full magically binding promise. A bane, a taboo. A thing that simultaneously limited and empowered the swearer.

Batman does not kill.

If I was to be Batman, Bat Mite wanted me to swear to not kill.

And I so swore.

Because, you know, one of the things I've always kind of appreciated about the character is that self-awareness of his own mental illness. Though the Doylist explanation is, of course, that the character was meant for children, and also had to deal with the comics code authority and censorship and all that, I'm fucking HERE in the goddamn story now so it's the Watsonian explanation I have to deal with on a daily basis.

Bruce Wayne is a man aware of his own potential for evil. And everyone else's. His paranoia of others turning evil is trumped only by his paranoia of himself doing the same, which has caused a tremendous amount of pain and suffering for himself and others. Bruce Wayne is not a healthy man. He refuses to kill, even people that so clearly, obviously need to be killed, because he's sure that it's not so much of a slippery slope as an actual precipice with no bottom in sight.

One step and he'll turn into a fascist tyrant.

So Batman doesn't kill. Doesn't compromise his morality. He's not Owlman, he's fucking Rorschach. Black and white never mix, no compromise, not even in the face of Armageddon.

That's not me.

Well, that's not who I was. I was just some guy.

And I suspect that's why I was chosen.

When Batman died, at least two factions of the higher order beings who fuck with this set of multiverses fought over what to do.

And I am the COMPROMISE. Sure, that's a nice vote of confidence, that the forces of good think there's at least a decent chance I won't fuck it up. But that's a hell, no, a Hell of a blow towards my self-image as a basically decent person.

Some serious fucking Evil thinks there's a pretty good chance I'll either just fail to do my new job, or fuck it all up, or worst, go bad.

I don't want to be Evil.

Like Batman, I'm a fairly introspective person. I'm pretty sure I am aware of my own capacity for evil. Everyone has intrusive thoughts. But part of me has always wondered: Just how much Evil could I do before I got stopped? And then, because I'm that kind of thinker, a guy who wrote stories as opposed to just reading them… I'm pretty sure I have a better idea of the horrors I could do than the average person.

Most murders are done in the heat of the moment. Serial killers and the like are hard to catch, because they don't follow established rules, but also relatively easy to catch, because they're usually insane and make illogical choices. There's this saying that there's no such thing as a perfect crime, but there totally is. Shit goes unsolved all the time. There are serial killers who have never been caught. Fortunately, as someone who wasn't actually insane, who didn't wrestle with those demons, it's easy for me to make the choice to not do evil things. Also, as a relatively powerless person, I also didn't have to wrestle with temptations, either. Power corrupts. I didn't have any power. I was squeaky clean from corruption.

But.

But but but.

Here I'm rich. I'm powerful. It's like a Mary Sue fantasy come true, except it-

SCARES THE EVER LOVING FUCK OUT OF ME.

I'm a bit lazy. Not in the sense that I want to lay around and not do anything, but that I don't like doing things that are difficult. And suddenly I have money? A whole lot of spending money? Yeah, I needed to grind my construction stat, but the reason I built that cottage was because I've always wanted to build a cozy little cottage. I couldn't justify self-indulgences like, say, flying out to scuba dive and fish at some remote tropical island, or finally getting to eat ortolan bunting with my napkin over my head to hide my sin from God. But building something I could use later? That's not really being lazy, I tell myself. That's a secret tool which will help us later.

That's a lie. I built that fucking thing because I'm overwhelmed and I needed the relief. I built that thing because, while there is a tiny little artificer in the workshop of my heart screaming 'MAKE SOMETHING MOTHERFUCKER' at me while hammering on an anvil, that little guy looks around at the completely alien physics of this universe with quite a bit of trepidation. Yeah, it's exciting. But it's also weird and alien and intimidating. Carpentry at least makes fucking sense. Stonecutting is a new thing to learn, but also works under a ruleset I'm familiar with. It's an acceptable 'newness'.

So, right away, I'm afraid I'll be too lazy to be Batman. His ridiculous drive and discipline is the most inhuman part of him, after all. Even Superman goes home to eat dinner with his parents sometimes.

And, obviously, I'm afraid I'll fuck up. The classic thing about comic books was that the hero always wins eventually, right? But that actually hasn't been a thing in a long time. I grew up in the gritty, edgy 90s, where it was cool to see the heroes lose and die. And there are so god damned many bad or evil worlds in this multiverse. But there's worlds that are made to go evil, and then there's the worlds where they just struggle and suffer.

I hated the Young Justice TV series. It was good, and it was engaging. But between all the invasions, and the world being split along age lines, and the attempts to turn off the sun, and all the other shit they were often only able to reverse after the fact… That was not a very happy setting. It makes me hyper aware that my decisions can potentially get a LOT of people killed.

But you know what I hated the most? The thing I most revile about all of the DC continuities?

Injustice.

Fucking Injustice. Now, admittedly, Superman killed the Joker. There's a lot of potential reasons that can be a bad thing, especially for someone as weak to magic as Clark. Have it be the result of the horrible curse-focus of Gotham's evil on the Joker, jumping to the man that kills him. And I really appreciated the Injustice what if/elseworld where Batman snapped the Joker's neck. While it's kind of ridiculous that they really did put Bruce in jail after that, given he's a hero and the Joker literally tried to nuke a US City, fine. Maybe it was them just giving in to Bruce's demands for punishment.

Also, that gave me the idea that might really be the way to safely kill the Joker. Kill him, and accept the punishment. Publicly. I talked about it with Bat Mite, and while he won't confirm it, he did say I'm on the right track.

Anyway. Injustice. I'm okay with Superman going fascist, especially as a result of some sort of curse.

But I hated, just hated that some of the other heroes went with him. Especially Diana. Doylist, I suppose it's acceptable as a story. But the story is suddenly far more real now that I'm in the goddamn story. And so I hate it.

I hate seeing paragons brought low, especially ones as noble as Superman and Wonder Woman. Let Superman pastiches become evil. Omniman, The Homelander, et cetera. Or use corruption effects, like curses.

But even those corruptive effects bother me now.

I have a new nightmare.

The Bat Who Laughs.

Marvel has universal and multi-universal scale atrocities happen all the time. But while I've always considered Marvel to have a higher average quality than DC, DC has higher highs.

And lower lows.

And I also fucking hated The Bat Who Laughs.

It happened 'here', for sufficiently large values of here. It's why I'm in this fucking mess.

I freely admit to not understanding all of it. Frankly, even as a 'comic book multiverse', it's too big for one normal human mind to handle. Even the multiuniversal, higher dimensional being Bat Mite quietly confessed he didn't understand everything that happened, either.

But as an Outsider who has his own level of insight into it, I'm exempt from some of The Rulez about what Bat Mite can and cannot do with lower beings. So, keeping in mind that I have both an imperfect memory and imperfect understanding, and Bat Mite also has imperfect understanding, most of the current situation I find myself in is Barbatos's fault.

He's dead. Or defeated, at least. What is not truly alive cannot be killed, with strange eons et fucking cetera. But my existence here is the result of efforts by the Hyper Adapter, a localized part of the larger multiversal evil Barbatos, to subvert the Batman concept.

Not ideal!

But it's been defeated! Barbatos is not the evil vaguely eldritch horror slumbering under Gotham! It's also not the bat that scared this young Bruce and set him along the path to becoming Batman! The Hyper Adapter/Barbatos can time travel, though, and in some universes went back in time and ATE the horror under Gotham, and also the totem spirit of the bat, becoming those things, and retroactively becoming the focus of Doctor Gotham and the Court of Owls. But Barbatos was defeated, and never got a chance to do that shit here.

So I've got that going for me, which is nice.

But I'm still here. Someone who shouldn't be Batman, but is.

And in my own rambling way, what I'm getting at is, I'm here because I also have a great capacity for Evil. Both, or either, innately but also if I get corrupted.

It's so tempting, right?

Find Jack Napier. Is he going to be the one that becomes the Joker here, or is it going to be one of the others? Why take chances, right? Kill his ass.

Him and so, so many more. My personal highest level of contempt for comic book heroes' unwillingness to kill has always been with Victor Zsasz. He's not a themed criminal, he's literally just a serial killer. Come the fuck on, people! He doesn't get the revolving door treatment like Joker, but he still keeps getting out.

And while I'm at it, why not start dealing with some of the international villains? Queen Bee? Count Vertigo? Doylistically, DC comics has been shy about looking too hard at the shit China gets up to, leading to a happy Watsonian result in them being significantly more palatable here than on Prime Earth, but they still have Socialist Red Guardsman.

I'm pretty sure Merry Olde England has the Caligula Club and its shenanigans going on. Here in America, we've got General Eiling, Cadmus fuckery, and all the other secret agency evils. Oh, and all the fucking alien empires and villains. Just here in Gotham I've got the fucking Court of Owls to deal with, as well as the mafia.

The problem with my situation is that I am aware of the scale of the task ahead of me.

And right now, I've even failed to stop a simple abuser from killing his wife.

It's too much. It's just too god damned much to take on. It keeps coming back to me, over and over.

Strike first, strike hard.

DO NOT LET THEM SEE YOU COMING.

DO NOT LET THEM ESCALATE.

…

…

…

I don't want to be that guy.

I don't want to be the guy running a fascist police state, even a mild one. The only part I really liked about Nolan's Dark Knight movies was the eventual destruction of the massive privacy invading cell phone echolocation thing.

But I could totally be that guy.

The guy that said 'Fuck it, everybody finds out now.'

The guy that woke up one day and chose violence.

I've got a lot of rage in me. A lot of hate.

I swore an Oath to not kill people, only monsters, only the truly, unquestionably irredeemable, and even then only if they're an active threat.

But I can put them in body casts. I can revoke their spine privileges. I can trap their regenerativly immortal asses in a personal hell of being constantly dissolved.

I've got too much shit to fight for even Bat Mite to figure out a way of completely constraining my actions morally without setting up guaranteed failure.

I could have put that abusive asshole in the hospital for real. I could have, through sheer force of personality, dragged Faye to the shelter. Walked her through pressing charges. Set her up with a hotel room.

Poor Faye. The woman who'd been ground down so thoroughly that the only thing she knew anymore was how to endure. How to get through one more day, so she could get through one more day, so she could get through one more day.

And now she's ran out of days.

All it would have taken on my part would be to step in and be her everything. To take away her choices as thoroughly as her abusive husband ever did. And I don't want to be that guy, either. I've got too much shit to do to take the time it would take to rebuild someone.

But if I had, she'd still be alive.

Now all I can do is see that her husband gets his due. But I can't even do that, at least not personally. Gotham PD is just gonna have to do it's goddamn job.

I am not vengeance, and I don't want to fucking BE vengeance. I just want to help people.

But if I see Ennis Austin…

…

…

…


"Hey," Bat Mite prompts from beside me. "Sorry you're going through that. For what it's worth, every Bat-Man has had failures, even at the height of their career. And while I'm here if you want to talk about it later, I would like to point out that there's a fire starting over there," he said, pointing.

Shit!

It was only two blocks away in this residential neighborhood, and the orange glow of flames on the dark brick that made most of the buildings in the area was getting brighter.

I leapt to my feet and started roof hopping, giving Bat Mite a quick thanks as I did so.

And damn, was that fire growing fast. Flame had already burst a second floor window-

Wait.

No it didn't.

Observe told me that the window had been broken by a crowbar. And that the fire was also on the third floor. And the fourth. And the first, and the fifth. And…

Ah! This was arson. Someone had poured gasoline down a badly rusted, barely hanging on heater pipe running up an internal wall. The accelerant had dribbled out along the way, and been lit after it had time to spread. A few windows had been broken to give it plenty of air.

There the bastard is. I pulled out a compact camcorder I carried around, which had an excellent lens and zoom, and recorded a well-built man hurrying out a side door, carrying a crowbar. The man, who popped up as Earnest Olivine, Arsonist in Observe, got into a waiting sedan.

I got the plates on the sedan, and an okay partial side view of the driver, from above, on film.

James Carlevaro, Slumlord.

Thanks, Observe.

So at least I'd get to put the kibosh on their little insurance scam…

Screams interrupted me. Screams from inside the apartment building.

Are you fucking kidding me? They're burning the building with people still living in it? God damned evil pieces of-

I jumped off the roof and glided down, leaving the camera behind.

It's Gotham, I should have known.

I don't have the fancy lenses built into my mask yet, since the various vision modes are still in development, so I kept some goggles in a belt pouch. They didn't do anything but protect my eyes, but that's actually pretty useful, so I slipped them on as I kicked in the door and ran into the burning building. Also, unlike the usual Batman, who never covers his mouth, I had prepared a menpo style face mask that clipped to my belt. It covered everything my cowl and mask didn't, and, in addition to having a gas mask style filter, had a port where I could connect an air bottle. Since a lot of my gadgets were still in development, I actually had several tiny, eight minute air bottles in my belt pouches. There was room.

I didn't need the canned air yet, fortunately. I'll give this to the arsonist and the slumlord, not all of the building was occupied, and they did start the fire on the side with no people. Ten families lived in the building, across four of the floors. It was very much a slum, and I could see why the guy had decided to burn it.

That didn't make it any less of a murder attempt, though.

Especially in the middle of the goddamn night.

There weren't even any real fire alarms, or hoses, or fire extinguishers. The sum total of fire prevention was that each floor's hallway had a single house grade smoke alarm, which were obligingly beeping.

I banged on doors and yelled 'FIRE! GET OUT NOW!' as I sprinted through the halls. Once I hit every floor and every door on the way up, I started from the top and started kicking in doors, starting closest to the fire. I'd noticed an internal address chart in the lobby, which had a name beside apartment numbers, but I checked the ones that were supposed to be empty, too. I didn't want to miss a squatter or vagrant who'd set up in one of the empty rooms.

Door jams splintered under my boots and I Observed everything, looking for anything alive. Other than the sound of a cat scrabbling down the fire escape, the top floor was clear. Given the state of the building's actual roof, I could see why. The top was a write off even before it was set on fire.

The fourth floor had one guy living on it. As a guy who didn't wear pajamas, I felt for him. It sucks to be expected to get up and go outside in your boxers. He didn't really need my help, though.

It was the third floor where I ran into problems. It had two families, one older couple, one younger with a single child. The young couple had themselves sorted. The old couple didn't answer the door.

They had also installed extra locks. Like eight of the damned things. It took several long moments of flying kicks before the door disintegrated around me as I blew into the room.

Where the old guy shot me, because of course he did.

"There's a fire, dumbass!" I yelled, snatching the pistol away from him and chucking it across the apartment.

"I've called the police!" he yelled back. "You won't get away with robbing me this time!"

Observe told me he was lying, not that it mattered. He was also trying to put himself between me and the closed bedroom, which I could hear barking coming from, so I kicked it open. Immediately, an elderly mini schnauzer attacked my legs while an old woman shrieked.

I had three more floors to cover, so I might have been somewhat brusque as I grabbed her and slung her over one shoulder. She was less than helpfully screaming things ranging from RAPE to MURDER, with lots of begging for help from her husband.

For his part, her husband tried to brain me with a lamp, but got pulled short because the power cord was still plugged in, and he lost grip on it when I just grabbed his wifebeater shirt and dragged him out of the apartment. Fortunately, their little dog kept pace, nipping at my calves the whole time.

I had to carry them both all the way down the stairs and out into the street, where they continued to yell some frankly fairly rude things about me, despite the increasing smoke and small stream of other people going the same way. It was a relief to dump them outside and go back into the burning building.

Like, yes, I am dressed as a giant bat, I get that. It's not actually helpful here, if it is anywhere. But there is, in fact, a fire.

The second floor had largely sorted itself out, except for one guy who was trying to coax his pet cat into letting him pick it up so he could carry it out. He had a pet carrier, and between my cat proof gloves and incredible reflexes and agility, I got that sorted.

The first floor had more problems. Two separate apartments, both with elderly. One had a lone woman in a wheelchair, and she was both weak and trying to pack her stuff, mostly meds, but also toiletries and such. Three people from other apartments were trying to help her. Really, it was nice to see, and I understood the concern, because she had a lot of medicines and was worried about going without them while she was homeless.

But there WAS a fire.

The second apartment had an insensate old man, possibly with dementia, or just extremely weak. His wife was doing her best, but she was unable to handle it all herself, and unlike the old woman in the wheelchair, didn't have any friendly neighbors helping her out.

It took a bit to get everyone out.

During which time, the yelling old guy from the top had attempted to reenter the building twice, been stopped by his neighbors both times, and then proceeded to collapse with a heart attack. I started CPR on him.

If you've ever done CPR, you know that, during chest compression, the ribs often break, and that's even on young people.

It sounded like I was massaging a glowstick as I pressed on the old guy's chest over and over and over again.

It wouldn't beat on its own, so I had to keep doing it myself. Compressions, breath, compressions, breath, over and over. Just over and over.

The fire department got there and started fighting the blaze. One offered to take over on the old guy, well, actually, he just tried to take over, but I had it, and he needed to see to the others, at least until more firefighters or paramedics arrived.

So I kept doing CPR.

Cops showed up. In between breaths, I told them I had seen Earnest Olivine come out of the burning building with a crowbar, and get into a car being driven by James Carlevaro, the building owner. That I had video footage of them fleeing the arson.

I even used the word arson, and I talked loudly. Observe wasn't something that would hold up in court, but between video evidence of them leaving the burning building, and the suggestion effect I used on both the police and the residents, the two arsonist attempted murderers were going to have a bad time.

And still I did CPR. I did CPR with skill a veteran paramedic nurse would envy.

And that heart.

Would.

Not.

Fucking.

Beat.

It wasn't until the actual goddamn ambulance got there, well after the fire and police, that I allowed myself to step back and let the medics take over, hauling the poor old guy away in the van with a medic still doing CPR. His wife had passed out.

The people all murmured and occasionally cried out in shock when I zipped up the side of the building, then glided back down with the camcorder. It's shitty little LCD screen was primitive, but it indicated my claim of having seen the building owner and his thug was accurate.

A police captain on scene- and wasn't it a surprise that a captain had shown up, not just a lieutenant or sergeant- announced that that was good enough for him, and for some of his men to go pick the criminals up.

Of course, then he started asking questions about ME.

Who was I, why was I videotaping on top of buildings, why was I dressed in a funny costume, why why why.

"Because I'm Batman, and I fucking have to do this shit, I guess," was probably not the answer he expected or wanted.

But I had a bat-grapple and I could just disappear into the night to avoid awkward questions, or dealing with my problems.

That part is great, not going to lie. I see why all the other Batmen do this every time someone turns around.


xxxxxxxxx


AN: A one week delay. Not bad for having two strokes. Things are a lot better now. I've regained most of my head/face sensation and some in my arm and hand. Still having some serious issues with my hand and stomach, but given how much has already improved, there's good chances for things to keep improving.

In fact, the biggest issue now is that, at some point a couple weeks ago, the local DHS office lost some of my paperwork, and my renewal of medicaid and foodstamps, which has to be done every three months, didn't go through. I found out when they sent me a letter saying there was a problem. The letter turned out to be wrong. The problem wasn't a problem. But while talking to them, they found an actual problem. So technically, right now, I don't have medicaid, or food stamps. It's being worked out, but it'll be over a week before I find out how much of a problem it's going to be on the longer term. Money is kinda tight, I was expecting to be able to get some groceries this weekend. Frustrating.

And, unfortunately, my frustrations have leaked into my status updates, and a bit into my writing. Had someone drop their patreon support because my writing is 'bitter and cynical' now. I thought Ice Pie was nicely upbeat, actually, but I admit, SIBruce isn't enjoying being Batman. Now, it's important to show the problems, but I agree. Fanfiction is an escape, plenty of people are having a rough time right now. And also, it's bad for ME to dwell on the gloom.

So. Here you go. This chapter is literally the darkness before the dawn. Things get a lot better in the next chapter, which IS out on patreon, or I can send it to you manually if you want. Although your support is always appreciated, I'm not locking anything behind a paywall. I'm just not posting it publicly until I have the next chapter written.

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

You can also support me on Ko-Fi.

https://ko-fi.com/nugar

 

[Nugar]

When the women and children showed up, I had been there for hours. They found me using a pole handled scraper to remove acoustic from the ceiling on the bottom floor. Acoustic is the pebbly stuff they spray on internal ceilings as texture and to stop echoes. It's cheap and easy to apply, but also sort of soaks up smoke and grime and water.

What else was I going to do?

I already stank of fire and smoke, even after I took off the bat costume. I had apparently gotten pretty scorched at some point when I was going through the burning building, and while my outfit was fire resistant, there had been damage to some of the 'placeholder' components. It was just the version one suit, after all, and not everything was made of super advanced materials yet.

I was kind of disheartened, so instead of taking a shower and going to sleep, I just grabbed one of my big box vans and hit a big box hardware store the moment it opened. I grabbed pallets of cleaners and tools and hit the women's shelter early.

Unfortunately, not even billions of dollars could hire a local cleanup crew on twelve hour's notice, at least not without really throwing my weight around, and I wasn't willing to do that. One would be available in another day, though.

Mostly, I just felt the need to do something. After the failures of the night before, tackling something I knew I could handle felt pretty good. I had all the bottom floor, and the hallways of the second floor, scraped before eight AM, and had most of the debris shoveled up before the women arrived.

"Bruce Wayne?! What are you doing here so early?" Mrs. Rusen exclaimed when they walked in.

"Coping."

I can't tell if I was gratified or embarrassed that every woman, every adult present, just kind of nodded in understanding and started helping out.

We got the less physical people to cleaning up stuff, and I grabbed the teenage boys and a few of the women and started hauling the appliances into the back of the big box truck.

Some enterprising Gothamites had stolen a couple of the appliances left out on the street from the day before, as well as all of the furniture I'd left out there. Both of the scorched stoves and refrigerators had gone missing, despite this being one of the nicer, safer neighborhoods.

Several people expressed shock and anger at people who would steal from a women's shelter, but I settled them down when I explained that I'd deliberately left that furniture outside so we didn't have to haul it off ourselves, that I was buying new stuff. Desperate people willing to steal sooty appliances were probably willing to clean them up and use them, or sell them to a pawn shop that would. And if they weren't willing to clean it up, having a stinky, grody stove was its own punishment. Not to mention the sofas and chairs.

The better appliances and the stuff made of wood had been moved back inside before I left for the night. Using some furniture moving gear, dollies and even a small electric pallet jack I'd brought, we got everything that needed cleaning loaded up in the big box van.

It was kinda funny. I'm not a leader of men. Or women, for that matter. But I ended up with my own sort of crew while I worked. All four of the teenage boys, one teenage girl who was clearly a bit of a tomboy and had refused to babysit, and the black woman who clearly didn't trust me.

Her name was Katrina Doyer, and she had two fading black eyes, a healing lip, and some missing teeth, in addition to various bruises here and there. I caught her hitching in pain more than once, but I had to back off and respect her insistence on being one of the furniture movers despite it all. She had a six year old son who was back at the hotel. She'd also taken the teenage tomboy under her wing, and was clearly watching over her.

Considering that the teenager, Fina Wilms, was seventeen, cute as hell, and had all the boys tripping over themselves to show off for her, I didn't blame her. She was probably also wary of any attention I might give her, because poor Fina had instantly developed a crush on me.

I was 6'6" and handsome, with a chiseled jaw and comic book hero body. I was also rich and fixing their problems. Several of the women lingered and made comments, actually.

It was sort of repulsive. I'd done alright in my first life, I'd been flirted with before, but never to that degree, and never with that kind of undercurrent of desperation. Mrs. Rusen was actually extremely helpful in that regard, showing the kind of insight you want in someone whose job is managing people.

Fina wanted to show off how tough and strong and adult and independent she was. So did all the boys. They got in each other's way beautifully.

Katrina was much more interesting.

"Forty seven percent," I told her.

"No," she replied in horror.

"Yep. And it took putting our own people in at almost every single level in almost every single Gotham based charity to get that far. Just over half of all the money, more than sixteen million dollars last year alone, disappears into a rat's nest of corruption and inefficiency," I explained. "Take Mayor Bernard. By himself, he is not legally corrupt. But he does play the political game, and there's any number of inefficiencies that result from that. That's normal, though. Every city has that sort of issue."

The box van I had driven over was big enough to park a car in and still open the door to get out of, and that was before it had been modified with expanding sides and roof. It barely fit down narrow streets, and was actually at the limit of what was legal before it had to have a wide load sign and a pair of chase cars. We managed to get every single piece of furniture from the first two floors into it.

"There's also the usual suspects of kickbacks, buddy-buddys, quid pro quo, and occasional actual embezzlement in department heads, finance, the city council, and the like. Most of which is either tiny amounts, or actually legal. Stupid people rob stores and go to jail, smart people rob everybody and get voted in for a new term, right? Where Gotham is noteworthy comes from a mix of low level and mid-level corruption you don't see in most cities."

I closed the rear doors to the van and started the process of raising the hydraulic ramp into its travel position.

"The way it's supposed to work is, if a simple clerk steals a hundred bucks, they get caught and fired. And if a supervisor steals a thousand bucks, they get caught, fired, and prosecuted. But in Gotham, for some strange reason-"

-the Court of Owls, the magical evil sleeping beneath it, Doctor Gotham, the actual mafia-

"-it just gets accepted. The clerk steals a hundred, gives his supervisor sixty of it, and keeps working. The supervisor pays for her groceries with a department credit card. The office boss may or may not care at all, because he's giving himself a ten grand bonus using budget adjustments. Anyone who objects gets fired, maybe even framed. Anyone who really tries rocking the boat gets a visit from a mafia leg breaker, because the mafia is often either involved, or just for hire. Everyone's in on it at some level, even if, for most of them, it's just turning a blind eye. That's why the cops don't even really go after the officials behind it all. The situation is fucked-"

STOP!

Hwaaa?!

Suddenly, Bat Mite was there, hanging in midair, grabbing my face with his little cartoon mitts.

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" he ordered.

I could see that the world around me was frozen. Katrina appeared to be still staring at me in horror, despite Bat Mite being between us. Close to the door of the building, several of the boys had been grab-assing, waiting on me to finish closing the cargo van, but were now frozen mid-motion. Even cars on the street had stopped.

"Can't…?" I asked vaguely.

"Okay, you can, but you shouldn't!" Bat Mite insisted again. "Look at her. Look at her!" he all but screamed. "You're not explaining the difficulties of your duty, you're just disillusioning someone who, despite everything, still had hope in her heart! You're taking your misery out on the people around you!"

I looked at Katrina. Not with Observe or anything like that, just with my ordinary eyes and the experience I had of being a cynic.

Shit.

He's right.

I think, for Katrina, the knowledge had killed one of her secret hopes: that if the right person had just woken up and started changing things, everything would get better. Mrs. Anderson had buckled down and just got meaner when she'd been truly disillusioned. Katrina…

Well, Katrina was like me. The true, original me. The one who'd been confronted by the shit of the world, and lost motivation.

Who went through the motions, but had lost the drive long ago, and just got worse from there on out.

The one who had died bitter and alone.

Being Batman hadn't changed that. Not really. Not fundamentally. A change of expression, not kind. Even without the health problems and the brain chemistry problems and the situation problems… well, the phrase 'learned helplessness' comes into it. Or maybe unhealthy coping mechanisms. Or maybe even other things I'm not able to self-diagnose.

I had to stop and turn away.

"Listen, man, when I said I was available to talk, I was serious, okay?" Bat Mite continued, floating behind me. "I kinda expected you to talk to me this morning, but you never slowed down."

I sighed. Didn't say anything.

"Look, I get it. I'm the biggest Batman fan in the multiverse, I know how he gets. The recrimination, throwing himself into the work, that kind of thing. And if it was just that, maybe I wouldn't say anything. I'm walking a fine line here, you know. Helping without dominating. There are Rules, after all."

Yeah. He'd explained some of it to me when we first met. It's like dealing with the Q. They police their own. Godlike powers, not actually much agency, because the alternative is worse.

A lot worse.

Bat Mite is going to a hell of a lot of effort on my behalf, and I can not allow myself to forget that. I have no idea what this is costing him. He won't allow me to know.

"But this… you can't involve the civilians. You can talk to your peers, your mentors, even your sidekicks about your problems and doubt. But not the regular people. Don't take it out on them, please," he continued. "Build her up! Inspire her, send her to school, put her in charge of a charity or get her to run for mayor or something, but don't break her down. It's not right. That's not who Batman should be."

I walked over to a stoop and sat on it. I still didn't say anything.

What was I to say?

He was right.

But at the same time, I didn't know how to handle it. What to do next, the motivation to move on, the grit to fix it. According to my character sheet, I've got all of those things… but it's… it's hard to describe. Extrinsic vs intrinsic.

The evil is in me.

This is why the bad things wanted me to be Batman. Not because of my rage, or my intrusive thoughts, or anything like that.

But my depression.

Batman is almost unbeatable-

-except by Batman.

Tears started forming in my eyes.

Goddamn it. Just… goddammit.

I've been given everything Bruce had and more, and I can't even get through my second goddamn night of actually being Batman before breaking down. Hell, I didn't even make it through my first night without fucking up so bad someone died because of it. Second night, too, come to think of it.

"Bruce Wayne usually spends a couple of years or more going out as a vigilante before he puts on the mask. People always die. No one can save everyone. And you… wait, what do you mean, second night, too?"

It took me a minute to figure out that I'd spoken that last bit out loud.

"The old guy? Heart attack? If I'd been more gentle with him, maybe, I don't know…" I trailed off.

"Bruce, that guy lived," Bat Mite said with mild but fond exasperation.

"Bullshit," I spat back. "I did CPR for like ten minutes. His heart was not beating."

He shook his head. "You performed CPR for twenty three minutes and nine seconds. And his heart beat for every one of those, because that's what CPR does, you silly hero."

Hah?

"You kept his blood flowing and oxygenated. The fire medic would have given up in five minutes. You kept him alive until the actual ambulance got there, and the paramedic gave him nitroglycerin, adrenaline, and amiodarone. He went into VF, and they used shocks to get it beating normally. Honestly, he shouldn't have given him the nitro, he should have given him- but I digress. He lived. So did his wife."

I gaped at the tiny, near omniscient being.

"Did you save him?" I asked.

"Only insomuch as I helped you be there in the first place," Bat Mite denied. "The Rules are the Rules, but your origin as an Outsider means I can fudge them a bit. But no, Bruce. You saved him. Seven people and a dog would have died in that fire, and the perpetrators would have succeeded in their insurance scam, if not for you." He paused. "Oh, yeah, you need to swing by there today. Chewy the mini-schnauzer got left behind when his owners were carried to the hospital, and none of the other residents noticed. He's got until tomorrow before he gets picked up by the pound."

"…Noted," I replied. The little dog had tried to savagely tear into my ankles and calves, but he was just protecting his family. Can't blame him for that.

"I assume you're going to set them up in an assisted living facility?" Bat Mite asked.

"Yeah, that had been the plan. Well, the old woman, since I thought the man died."

"Right. You'll need to keep the dog for about three weeks until you get Rosanna set up. Swing by the hospital this afternoon and offer to pay for their medical bills, and they'll keep her in the same room as Bill for 'observation' until then. That'll give you time."

My mind whirled. I needed to call Alfred, and have him see about finding the other people as well. I was already paying for hotel stays for these fire victims, I could afford a few more. I looked up, and Bat Mite was smiling at me.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"Saving people."

I sighed. "Bat Mite, I'm doing more for these people as Bruce Wayne than I am as Batman."

"Bruce Wayne didn't break into a burning building and save seven lives. And a dog. Bruce Wayne didn't record the arsonist and the guy paying him. Bruce Wayne can't save Gotham alone."

He paused.

"And neither can Batman. You have to be both, man. Even a lot of Batman variants forget that. You're the first I've really focused on that's swung too far towards the Bruce side of the equation, but I get where you're coming from."

I scrubbed at my eyes. "It's just so goddamn stupid. Why do I have to put on a furry fetishist suit to help people?"

"Well, really, you know why, but let's break it down. Batman did it so he would become a symbol of fear, but also of justice, to the criminals of Gotham. Then it snowballed from there, and you know perfectly good and well that without Batman, there's a very high chance the Earth will fall. Conquered or destroyed from without, and within. Both directly, and through the efforts of the heroes he helps, trains, supports, and saves. But, while ordinarily, there wouldn't actually be anything preventing you, specifically, from, say, putting on an owl themed suit, or power armor, or even a pretty pretty maid outfit like Maid-man, you made the deal with me, but also Bat. I can run your Gamer system, but I can't pay the bill. You need Bat, too, so you have to hold up your side of the deal."

Bat. The totemic spirit of bats as a group. Bat is not a powerful totem. There's less than 1500 different species worldwide, and they're neither majestic herbivores or powerful carnivores or clever omnivores. They're widely considered disgusting or diseased, and the only thing they have conceptual advantages over are caves, night, darkness, and moths.

Killer Moth has never, and will never, win any real victories over any of the Bat-family.

They're decently equipped for fear and vampire themes, but unfortunatly terribly, terribly weak. But for a superhero that goes out at night, that's not a bad combo. Ninjas, real ninjas, generally got murked by samurai in a straight fight, but ninjas don't fight fair. And Bat, well, liked Batman. Bats, the animal, didn't give much of a shit about him, since he neither ate bats, nor was eaten by bats, but the totem spirit got a big, big burst of belief and respect because of Batman. In the worlds where the totem wasn't eaten by the Hyper-adapter, it provided a lot of little bennies, mostly by shooing low level magics away from the notoriously magic-averse Batman.

I wasn't going to get the same benefit, but I got the Gamer system out of it, which is a pretty damned good trade.

"You're a mascot character, Batman," Bat Mite added. "Takes one to know one, right? Didn't you dress up as that stupid green boll weevil fursuit in college?"

"No, I broke up with the girl first, I know you know this," I disagreed. Long story, but I've done as much stupid shit while chasing skirt as many other men, so let's leave it at that.

"You mean she broke up with you."

"Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Don't you feel better now?" Bat Mite asked. "Yes, someone died on your watch, but it was not, and I repeat, not, your fault. Technically, a bunch of people died yesterday, and those weren't your fault either. You will always have failures. Not even the Justice Lords tyrannical police state could totally stop murder or accidental deaths. Yes, you've got a big job ahead of you, and I completely respect that it feels overwhelming. Batman, the iconic Batman, really is special. But you're not bad. You're not destined to be a failure. Actually, I think it's rather fascinating to see how much you're putting into the Bruce Wayne side of things. That's good! That's absolutely a good thing. I respect it, even. I've heard people say that Batman is the real person, and Bruce is the mask, and I agree with that, at least in relation to many of the Batmen across the multiverse, but it doesn't have to be that way."

He swooped over to sit beside me, and continued.

"That's the best part about this, you know? I don't mind helping you with the Gamer system. I don't mind at all. You're trying. And the change in approach is refreshing. Yes, you do have to go out as Bat-man, but it's totally okay to not do it every single night. You don't have to patrol like a beat cop, especially not if you're using that time to save people in other ways. Remember, Batman may be the real person, but even he often forgets that he put on the mask to save other people." Bat Mite gestured over at the shelter. "The average Batman would throw fifty grand at the place and turn away. But here you are, personally pushing a mop! Driving a truck! Bruce Wayne can be a hero, too!"

"The average Batman wouldn't be doing those things because he doesn't have time to do them, Bat Mite. Opportunity cost, dude," I countered.

"Pffsh, don't give me that," he denied emphatically. "As if making sure people have a place to sleep and food to eat isn't the actual point. As if there are better things to do. Sure, it takes a lot of training and daily work to be able to be Batman, but that doesn't apply to you! You've got the Gamer system! You HAVE the time. And even if you didn't, it's still one of the best things you can do. You are inspiring these people, you doofus! A single man can't save Gotham, much less the world, but you're not just one man! You're the tip of a spear made of Alfred and Lucius and Harold and, potentially, Katrina and Fina and all the other good people of Gotham and the world and the universe."

He was getting more and more animated, waving his arms and gesturing with his hands, and he even jumped up and started pacing back and forth on the street.

"You lead the way, Bruce! You make the breakthroughs that allow the ones behind you to follow! This is exactly what you're supposed to be doing! You're not failing! You've never failed until you've given up. But you were making a big, big mistake with Katrina. She's not as strong as she pretends to be, but that's only because she's broken! That piece of human trash that she was dating bruised more than just her flesh. But you don't try to stand on a broken leg! Let it heal, then you can rely on it! Damn it, Bruce! You can do this! Inspire, lead, and support, and you will win way more than a thousand victories!" he said, mangling a Sun Tzu quote I recognized a bit.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Katrina!" he snapped back. "Wait, don't do that. No. No, I'm not mad at you, Bruce. Not mad. I'm not even disappointed. You're doing a good job, especially for who you are. I'm coaching you, Bat-man. That's why coaches have time-outs, right? That's what this is. A time out. Guidance. A pep talk. You can absolutely do this, you just need to correct your stance, correct your posture, help change your approach. I'm behind you, Bruce. Believe in the me, who believes in you!"

How could I say no, in the face of that? Kamina's speech was weaksauce compared to the passion Bat Mite put into every word.

I nodded. I paused, and I nodded again, holding a finger up for him to give me a moment.

I glanced over at where Katrina was still frozen. I had to think a moment. I had to prepare to talk to her again.

I had time. I don't know if Bat Mite had accelerated me, or froze everyone else, or what, but what he gave me was time. Time for self-recrimination, true, but that would be wasteful, and spitting on his help. I had to step up. I had to be a hero.

I had to believe. I had to be Batman.

After a bit, I got up, stretched a bit, rubbed my eyes, and then nodded.

"Thanks, Bat Mite."

"Hey, no problem. Well, nothing I can't handle," he bragged a little. "Chin up, Bruce. You've got some good news coming this afternoon. Real good news. And, you know, I've got a surprise for you tonight. Something that might help you out a bit. Just keep doing what's right, and you'll make it. If you're ready to talk to Katrina again, just resume your former position."

I nodded and went back to the controls for the hydraulic ramp on the truck. I felt a little bit of pressure as Bat Mite invisibly adjusted my position.

He winked at me. "Remember, good news this afternoon, and a nice surprise tonight. I'm going to erase the last minute of Katrina's memory. Don't worry though, it'll all seem seamless to her. Now go out there and hero, hero."

It still took me a few moments to decide on what to say again, where to start over. And then-

"-every city has that sort of issue," I found myself saying. I stopped, because that had been weird.

Katrina was kind of staring at me with big brown eyes. When I didn't immediately resume talking, she kind of scoffed and said, "So you're telling me this is normal?" She gestured around her. "This?"

I shook my head as the hydraulics started whining, having reached the end of their travel. The ramp was up and the doors were blocked. I looked over as all of the teenagers of the crew came and added to my audience.

"No. It's not normal. Some aspects are normal, but, uh, you see…" I had to stop and shake my head again. "Sorry. Lost train of thought there for a moment. No, what I'm saying is, nothing is ever perfect. But Gotham… Gotham's biggest problem is that there are certain people, and groups of people, who sit in positions of power, and enforce a status quo that brings them money and keeps them in power. And they use their power and their money to punish anyone who tries to make it better. As a result, even the good people of Gotham have a kind of learned helplessness. They've given up."

I stepped away from the truck and gestured around.

"Most people aren't fighters. They're not leaders. And that's fine. It's enough for most people to just go about their lives, so long as they're decent. But you do need some leaders, and the actual leaders of Gotham have been systematically taken out. I don't mean killed, though certainly some have. I mean corruption, giving up, and just being worn down and marginalized. I mean, it's very difficult to start a grassroots campaign to root out corruption, when you have to work all day, every day, just to provide for your family. Being an activist takes time, and even with volunteers, who are increasingly rare because they have their own problems, it always takes some money. Usually a lot more than you'd think. But even with money, which I have, it takes time. And it takes people. More time and more manpower than any one man can provide."

"So what do we do? I mean…"

"Is it fixable?" I asked for her. "Absolutely. Not overnight, but it's fixable."

"But how?" one of the boys asked, though I don't think he really understood what he was asking, since he'd missed the first part of the conversation.

That was fine for my purposes, though.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing to fix it," I replied quietly, making my audience draw closer to hear me. "I'm looking for leaders. Yes, I'm going around and spending money on fixing shelters and feeding people and all kinds of charity stuff. But if that was all it took, Gotham would be one of the greatest cities in the world. No, the reason I'm out here, pushing mops and buying stoves, is I'm looking for the next leaders. The people at the bottom, who have had no choice but to acknowledge that everything is fucked."

There were gasps and a few giggles at my profanity.

"People who can't close their eyes and pretend that things are alright. People who are willing to set up and start putting in the work. Look, I'm rich. I'm fabulously rich. But I'm still just one man, and for that matter, there's a lot of things I, personally, can't do. Time, or skill, or whatever. No, I want to find the people who have the will, but not the time or money. People who don't have time, because they don't have money. Because, again, I've got money."

I got some nods. A few boys even looked excited. Katrina looked somber.

I pointed at her. "Katrina, you stepped up to fight the fire. You stepped up when trying to fix this mess. Will you be one of my leaders? I'm going to fight the bad guys from the top. I'm making allies and building cases and designing solutions, and I'm going to be paying for nearly all of it myself. But unless I have a place to stand, I can't topple the towers. I can't replace embezzlers and corrupt politicians unless I have someone to replace them with. Because otherwise it'll all degenerate into anarchy, and not only will nothing get done, it'll all get worse."

"Just… why hasn't anyone stepped up before now?" Katrina all but demanded, not answering my rhetorical question asking her if she would be a leader.

"People have," I replied. "People like Mrs. Anderson, the head of this charity. They're out there, fighting the good fight. Pushing back. But they've been in need of money, and help. Help we can provide."

"So what do I need to do?" she asked again.

I smiled. "Well, for now, I need you to drive the passenger van, and follow me out to my house so we can clean up this furniture. Once we've got the shelter back up again, we'll have some breathing room to make more plans. Short term, you should probably see a doctor. And a dentist."

"I don't have dentist mon- oh."

"Yeah. I've got it. We'll get you taken care of. And then figure out how to take care of others, right? I don't know what role you'll have. Maybe, you'll be a part of the cleanup crew I'm going to send to all the shelters. Maybe you'll end up running one. Maybe you'll teach. Maybe you'll run for mayor." I shrugged. "Really, it's up to you."

I turned to the teenagers.

"Really, it's all up to you," I repeated. "I can't fix everything by myself. What I can do is give you a choice. A chance. I'll make sure every one of you gets the education you need to be the person you want to be. And together, we'll clean up this city, whether it wants to be or not."

I tried not to see the fervor shining in a few sets of eyes. I had to not let my cynicism, my disillusionment with leaders infect these kids who still had some hope. I'd spent a big chunk of my life hoping to find a leader worth following, and been disappointed every time. This time, I would MAKE some leaders worth supporting.

My impostor syndrome, my pessimism wasn't going to save the world.

But maybe there really were things I could do that would.

"Great," I announced. "I'm inviting you out to my manor. We're gonna get this furniture cleaned up in a space where we can work. Being out here on the sidewalk is terribly inconvenient."

Wayne Manor had its own car wash. Separate but attached to the big underground garage where Thomas Wayne kept his fleet, it had the same floor space as a normal person's house. You could park six cars in it and have room to work. It wasn't automated in any way, but instead had pressure and steam washers. It was perfect for spreading out the furniture and appliances and washing them down, without being in the damned street.

I made arrangements for Mrs. Rusen to order food for everyone, as I didn't think I'd be back in time. Katrina was going to drive the loaner van, with the kids, and I'd drive the box truck. We headed for Wayne Manor.

As I drove, I considered my other looming problem.

I'd been considering asking Katrina to be my date for the upcoming gala, but the morning had convinced me not to.

Katrina did have a spark. She had some fire.

But Bat Mite was right; that fire was half extinguished. I had no doubt her mouth, her willingness to argue back, had gotten her a lot of pain throughout her life. She was quick to question, but she backed down fast when I replied to her. Part of that, I'm sure, was our relative power disparity.

The other part of that was that she was clearly still recovering from getting the shit beat out of her by her ex-boyfriend. She was quick to step up, to get me to focus on her, instead of the kids, especially Fina, but she subconsciously expected the worst.

Especially from a giant like me.

No, Katrina probably had the courage to accept my invitation. But she wouldn't be able to hold her own, not among the truly privileged. They'd regard her as a pity invite, a performance piece, because she would be. It'd torpedo her reputation among the elite, if she ever did run for mayor or something. I think, out of everyone I knew, only Mrs. Anderson had the kind of personality that would be able to hold her own at the gala.

Fuck.

I've heard that the nicer celebrities often have trouble dating outside people on a similar social level. I mean, shit, I'm a powerful man, physical, economically, socially, and personally. Although I still kind of hate social interactions, pulling on the batman multiversal gestalt with the Gamer system gave me all of the tools I needed to handle people, solo or in groups.

And thank Bat Mite for that! I'd never be able to do the social stuff without it!

But it does make me feel kinda awkward. None of these people are my peers. None of them are 'named characters', people I know from the setting. I hate using the term NPC for real people, but it does sort of fit. Katrina is not going to put on a domino mask and a cape and start punching muggers by the light of streetlamps.

On the other hand, let's turn it around and say I could find a 'named character'. Bruce has dated plenty over the years, and there's a great deal more besides. Vicki Vale would be a good bet. She's her own character, generally speaking even more so than Lois Lane.

There's two problems.

One, she's still in college, working on a journalism degree. Bruce graduated early, Vicki didn't. She's just straight up not available.

Two, she is a named character. I've never really 'shipped' her and Bruce. Was always a Catwoman fan. But that gets into the problem.

How the fuuuuuuuck am I supposed to interact with these people I know too much about? The only situation I can liken it to is if I were to suddenly meet a celebrity. I've never been much for celebrities. I don't follow celebrity gossip, and I've never really been a fan of a real person. I don't lust after pretty actresses or musicians. I recognize attractiveness, but that thing where some people find famous people super irresistible just because they're famous has completely missed me.

Actually, it hits me the opposite. 'Hi, I parasocially know many things about you. Can I be a part of your life?'

That makes me cringe hard. I mean, I have a hard enough time connecting with normal people, adding that kind of disconnect to an interaction means it's functionally impossible for me to handle.

And these 'canon' characters… it's much the same. I kind of dread actually meeting Superman. It's bad enough dealing with Alfred and Lucius and Allnut.

I like Catwoman, I like Selena Kyle.

As comic characters for Batman to interact with.

And now here I am, Batman. I haven't actually looked for Selena Kyle yet. What the FUCK am I supposed to do if I find her? She's an independent woman, she doesn't need some black costumed savior to swoop in. Nor does she need some parasocial fan who wants to interact just because he likes her.

And dating? Forget it. Back when I did fanfiction, the whole 'self-insert, date your favorite waifu' sort of thing… I didn't mind reading it, though it's a bit cringe. But I never wrote it, because I literally could not imagine doing it.

Now that's kinda biting me in the ass.

I care a lot about consent. Agency. I don't want to bring a pet. I don't want to Elon Musk it and just use wealth and coercion. And I also don't want to parasocial it with someone I 'know'.

God, it had been literal minutes after my last pep-talk, and I was already spiraling again. But dammit, I'm not gonna let this get me down. I'm gonna do the right thing. I'm going to ask for help.

"Bat Mite, what would Batman do for a date?" I asked.

"For the gala?" he verified.

"Yeah." I briefly explained my dilemma, from power disparity to the issues of meta knowledge.

"Oh that's easy," he replied with a relieved tone. "I was worried you were going to ask something hard. Your problem is that you're treating this like either an event with a guest, or an actual date. To any of the good Bruce Waynes, this would be a fairly straightforward transactional thing. If you just want sex, you hire a hooker. If you need someone for a higher class of interaction than just sex, you go for an escort. And if you take almost all of the actual sex out of the equation, you go for the next tier."

I glanced over at my mentor, and returned to driving.

"Bring a model, silly."

I just have to bring a model.

D'oh.

"Now, it's still functionally a transactional thing," he lectured me from his higher dimensional point of view. "But with models, you don't want to make them feel like a prostitute. You don't just hand over cash for the experience, you buy them jewelry and clothes. There's a nice gift bag for the gala, right? That and some diamonds and you're golden. Some will see that as a contract, and offer sex afterward, especially if you spend enough on them. Some will just want you to be their Sugar Daddy, and offer sex to keep you around. But fundamentally, they will understand that you're hiring them to be at a place and look pretty for other people. That's their job! They won't resent you for that."

Huh. Although there's a bit of disconnect in seeing Bat Mite, who's rather cartoony, talk authoritatively about prostitution, I can't say that it's bad advice. It makes a lot of sense, actually.

"Thanks, Bat Mite."

"It's what I'm here for, bud. Thanks for asking." He patted me on the shoulder and disappeared.

Hire a model. Of course, that's exactly what Bruce Wayne would do. A transactional exchange with no feelings on either side, payment for services, and exactly the right social appearance. Excellent. It's great to have that problem solved.

I don't know any models, but that's probably not a big deal. I'll talk to Alfred about it later.

For now, I had to ride herd on five teenagers and a woman at the manor. Clean up some furniture, maybe order a bunch of pizzas for lunch.

Oh, and go pick up a dog.


xxxxxxxxx


AN: As promised, this is where SIBruce starts really getting his head out of his ass. Bat Mite is best 5th dimensional being. Mister Mxyzptlk is an asshole. Chapter seven is up on my patreon, but the upcoming chapter eight is where he gives canon a big ol kick with the first of his efforts to derail one of Batman's rogues. It was originally supposed to be a part of seven, but it's running long.

Next up, though, I'm going back to Ice Pie for two weeks.

Personally, I'm doing better. Thanks a bunch to the people who signed up for patreon and donated money through ko-fi. I can definitely make it through the unexpected bills of this month now.

Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

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