After visiting the golf club, confirming he was alive, and sharing a round of golf, Bruce went to Applied Sciences, which was located in a massive warehouse of all places. To say the young man was confused was an understatement. As he entered, he discovered it was filled with crates, odd-shaped equipment hidden under dust covers, and lab equipment. Bruce was soon greeted by an older African American man with graying hair and mustache, Lucius Fox by name, who led him through the stacks to his desk. From there, he seated himself and pulled up data on his computer.
“Environmental applications, defense projects, consumer products…” He read off with a calm, knowledgeable tone. “All prototypes, none in production at any level whatsoever.”
“None?” Bruce asked, surprised.
Lucius paused and turned to him, with an inquiring gleam in his eye.
“What did they tell you this place was?”
“They didn’t tell me anything,” Bruce admitted.
With a deep sigh, Lucius stood up and walked toward a stone pillar. He proceeded to flip several switches, turning on the extensive lights.
“Earle told me exactly what it was when he sent me here…” He explained sourly. “… A dead end where I couldn’t cause any more trouble for the rest of the board.”
“You were on the board?” Bruce inquired, surprised.
“Yes, along with Jonathan Wycliffe and several others,” He confirmed with a nod. “Back when your father ran things.”
Bruce couldn’t help but be impressed as Mr. Fox led the young man through the warehouse.
“You knew my father?”
“Sure,” Lucius responded. “Helped him build his train. Beautiful project – routed right into Wayne Tower, along with the water and power utilities. Made Wayne Tower the unofficial heart of Gotham. ‘Course, Earle’s left it to rot.”
As they continued walking, they stopped next to a black case. Lucious pulled out a box, and opened it, revealing a bronze grappling gun and harness.
“Pneumatic. Magnetic grapple. Monofilament tested to 350 pounds.”
Bruce picked up the gun and tested the weight, surprised by how light and strong it was. He picked up the harness that went with it and examined the shoulder straps with a wide, hi-tech belt. Bruce shoved the back end of the gun into the belt buckle, and it clicked into place.
“Impressive.”
Lucius grinned and led the young man over to a tall crate, checked the paperwork, and opened it revealing an armor bodysuit that was covered with a clear silicone.
“Here it is. The nomex survival suit for advanced infantry. Kevlar bi-weave, reinforced joints.”
Bruce reached out and felt the fabric, letting it run through his fingers.
“Bullet-proof?” He asked.
“Anything but a straight shot,” Lucius confirmed.
“Tear-resistant?” Bruce asked.
Lucius grinned, seeing the young man already getting ideas of how he could use the armor for his own needs. He pulled out a pen and stabbed it against the suit, not even leaving a mark.
“This sucker’ll stop a knife,” He smirked.
‘Perfect,’ Bruce thought. Of course, he couldn’t imagine why something this complex wasn’t used by their country’s troops.
“Why didn’t they put it into production?” Bruce asked, curiously.
“The bean counters figured a soldier’s life wasn’t worth the 300 grand,” Lucius admitted. “What do you want with it, Mr. Wayne?”
“I want to borrow it,” Bruce told him. “For spelunking… you know, cave-diving.”
“You get a lot of gunfire down in those caves?” Lucius asked, skeptical.
To which Bruce smiled sheepishly over the question.
“Listen, I’d rather Mr. Earle didn’t know about me borrowing—”
“Mr. Wayne, the way I see it,” Lucius spoke, gesturing the warehouse’s contents. “All this stuff is yours, anyway.”
This caused Bruce to smile as all different kinds of thoughts began running through his head on what he could all of this equipment for. Now he most certainly had the tools needed to become the very symbol Gotham needed.
<>
Obtaining what he required from Lucius, Bruce returned to the caves with Alfred and the Equestrians. He was now using his father’s climbing gear to climb a nearby wall, where he pounded a bracket into the rock, securing a line of industrial lamps.
“Okay!” He called down to the older man. “Give it a try.”
Alfred threw a switch on a portable generator, and the lamps flickered on, dimly lighting the length of the wall. He soon peered at the damp, dingy surroundings.
“Oh, charming,” Alfred said sarcastically.
“Dear me!” Rarity gasped. “This is hardly a place of luxury.”
“What’d you expect?” Rainbow questioned. “A five-star suite at a hotel or something?”
“Ah’ve been in mah fair share of caves, and this certainly ain’t the worst ah’ve been in,” Applejack spoke up.
“Tell me about it,” Pinkie nodded in agreement. “What pony can ever forget that one trip down the scariest cave in all Equestria? Even have the pictures to prove it.”
“This cave reminds me of the one we stayed in with our sisters on that one camping trip,” Rainbow recollected.
Alfred then spotted the bats covering the entire ceiling.
“At least you’ll have company,” He added.
Bruce rappelled down the cave floor and glanced up toward the ceiling, where he spotted crumbling brickwork in one corner.
“Must be the lowest foundations of the Southeast wing,” Alfred remarked.
Following his gaze, they made their way toward an old elevator, connected to a rusty chain that climbed up an old shaft toward the darkness above. Bruce grabbed the chain and shook it, pleased to see it was still attached.
“During the civil war your great-grandfather was involved with the underground railroad,” He explained. “Secretly transporting freed slaves to the North. I suspect these caverns came in handy.”
“He sounds like quite the generous man,” Fluttershy spoke with admiration.
“From what I’ve read on your civil war, transporting freed slaves was a crime punishable by death,” Twilight informed. “So to risk his own life just to help make other people’s lives better is a truly wonderful quality. It seems like your family has been trying to make things better in Gotham for the longest time, Bruce.”
Bruce nodded, jumped down and went to put on the armor. He made his way to the small river and followed it until it disappeared under some rocks and stepped over it toward the waterfall, while Alfred pulled on a coat to fight against the cold and kept his distance. The young man reached the waterfall and grinned, calling back to the butler.
“Alfred, come up here!”
Alfred shook his head, staying where he was.
“I can see it very well from here, thank you sir,” He responded.
“I’ll check it out!” Spike called.
The teenage dragon flapped his wings and flew toward where Bruce stood by the waterfall. Looking out through the falls, he could actually see the lights of Gotham shining off in the distance.
“Now that’s a view!” Spike smiled.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Bruce nodded.
Grinning, Bruce turned back toward the waterfall and reached out, letting the water splash along the armor on his arm.
<>
Later…
Bruce fired up the paint sprayer and used it to spray a pair of bronze gauntlets black, also applying the same color to the armor. Once he was done, he and Alfred went over some plans for the next part of his outfit, which involved some of Alfred’s old contacts from his spy days.
“If we order the main part of this cowl from Singapore-“ Alfred said, pointing to a spot on a diagram.
“Via a shell corporation,” Bruce guessed.
“Indeed,” Alfred confirmed. “Then quite separately, place an order through a Chinese manufacturer for these-“
He pointed toward a different part of the diagram.
“Put it together ourselves,” Bruce concluded.
“Ah can probably help ya out with that,” Applejack suggested. “Ah’m pretty good at patchin’ things up.”
Precisely,” He agreed. “Of course, they’ll have to be large orders to avoid suspicion.”
“How large?” Bruce asked.
“Say, ten thousand,” Alfred shrugged.
“Geez Louise!” Pinkie gasped. “That’s a lot of spare parts. That’s how many cakes and cookies I could eat in the expanse of an hour.”
This caused everyone to face the pink party pony with confusion.
“Seriously?” Spike asked.
Bruce nodded, smiling slightly.
“Least we’ll have spares,” He remarked.
Soon, the Mane Six and Spike looked amongst each other, as the same thought raced through their heads.
“Hey, Bruce,” Twilight called.
The young man and the elder butler turned around to face the little ponies and teenage dragon.
“Yeah?” He answered.
“My friends and I have been talking lately and we’ve come to the same conclusion,” Twilight continued.
“What’s that?”
“If you’re going to fight the corruption in this city… we’re going to help you.”
This caused both Alfred and Bruce to dawn shocked expressions, but also slightly skeptical ones as well.
“Look guys, it’s been nice training and living with you all for the last year,” Bruce spoke honestly. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”
“So you’re saying we can’t handle ourselves?” Rainbow asked offended.
“With all due respect, Miss Dash, Master Bruce has a rather valid point,” Alfred spoke up. “I admit the stories of your previous ventures are remarkable, but none of you have experienced anything like Gotham City before.
“We’ve faced monsters, demons, cultists, and even mind-controlled fish,” Spike argued. “I’m sure we can handle ourselves.”
“I respect that, but I still don’t—” Bruce began.
“Do you know exactly who we are, Bruce?” Twilight asked. “We’re the Elements of Harmony for a reason. We were brought together through an ancient prophecy to restore order wherever we’re needed.”
“We ain’t goin’ nowhere till we find our enemies and stop ‘em from causing havoc,” Applejack added.
“So pardon us darling, but we can either work alongside you or we can do it ourselves,” Rarity finished. “Either way, this city needs ‘all’ the help it requires.”
The Mane Six and Spike stood side by side with one another, all with determined looks on their faces. Bruce and Alfred both faced each other with skepticism but smiles soon formed along their faces. Clearly they could admire the fierce determination the Equestrians showed.
“Well, if you’re going to help, you’ll need some disguises,” Bruce suggested.
“Don’t know exactly how you’re supposed to hide six talking ponies and a dragon,” Spike joked.
It was then an imaginary lightbulb went off in Twilight’s head, struck by an inspiring idea.
“Maybe we don’t have to,” She said. “We’ll use our usual forms when we’re out with Bruce because I doubt anyone will ever believe we actually exist. And when we need to travel into the city casually, we’ll continue to use our human forms.”
“Still, perhaps disguises won’t be such a bad idea,” Fluttershy pointed out.
To which Twilight merely smirked in response before conjuring her magic to envelop herself and her friends. When the magic cleared, each of them transformed into their respective Power Pony uniforms.
Bruce and Alfred both stared at them for the longest moment before Bruce nodded his head approvingly.
“Alright… let’s get to work.”
<>
That night, Jim Gordon, now in his late forties, wearing glasses, and a sergeant, sat in an unmarked police sedan that was parked outside a small liquor store. He watched as his overweight partner, Flass, bullied the owner until he handed over a wad of cash. Not the first time he’d ever seen something like this, still Gordon wished he could do something about the corruption taking over the police force. But he couldn’t… at least not alone, and especially not when his wife, Barbara, was pregnant with their second child.
Eating a candy bar, Flass squeezed himself into the driver’s seat and offered the cash to the older man.
“Don’t s’pose you want a taste?” He asked, receiving Gordon’s glare. “I keep offering ‘cause who knows? Maybe one day you’ll get wise.”
“Nothing wise in what you do,” Flass,” Gordon grumbled, looking away.
Flass didn’t look convinced as he pocketed the money.
“Yeah? Well, Jimbo, you don’t take your taste – makes us guys nervous you might decide to roll over—”
“I’m no rat, Flass,” Gordon snapped, irritated.
Realizing he was about to lose his temper, he released a heavy sigh and looked out the window again.
“In a town this bent, who’s there to rat to, anyway?”
Flass laughed, realizing Gordon was right, and then hit the gas, zooming them down the street.
‘I never should have transferred here,’ Gordon thought.
<>
Elsewhere, crouching on a rooftop not far from the police station, Bruce kept watch over the rooftop. Bruce now wore his armor and pulled a black fabric mask over his head and slowly made his way toward the station’s roof.
Arriving at the police station, Gordon stepped out of the car, slammed the door shut, and watched Flass drive away with a weary expression. Heading inside, Gordon entered his office, pulled off his coat, sat down behind his desk with his back toward the windows, and reached for his phone when suddenly… he noticed an old, worn book which read:
“PHYLUM PERACOPDA: THE TWILIGHT WORLD OF BATS”
“Where did this come from?” He wondered, staring at the book.
As he studied the book with confusion, the lights suddenly went out. He froze, sensing something pressed into his back, right between the shoulder blades.
‘Oh God, I’m being held up in my own office!’
“Don’t turn around,” A raspy voice growled behind him.
Bruce was crouched behind the older man’s chair, pressing a stapler (Which he swiped from the desk earlier) into his back instead of a gun. The whole time, the sergeant could only imagine what was going to happen to him on tonight.
“What do you want?” Gordon asked warily.
“I’ve been watching,” Bruce told him. “You’re a good cop. One of the few. What would it take to get Falcone?”
“Carmine Falcone?” Gordon frowned.
“He brings in shipments of drugs every week, nobody takes him down,” Bruce pointed out. “Why?”
“He’s paid up with the right people,” Gordon sighed. “He’s joined forces with Roman Sionis and they’ve essentially taken control of the criminal underworld.”
“What would it take to bring them down?” Bruce inquired.
“Leverage on Judge Faden,” Gordon answered. “And a D.A. brave enough to prosecute.”
Bruce knew whom they could trust in the D.A.’s office.
“Rachel Dawes,” He growled.
“Who are you?” Gordon asked.
The sergeant’s neck grew sore from not moving it so long. Yet Bruce ignored the question entirely, lowering the stapler as he silent moved back toward the windows.
“Watch for a sign,” Bruce instructed.
“You’re just one man,” Gordon pointed out.
“Now we’re two.”
“We?” Gordon repeated.
He finally turned around only to find himself completely alone. He jumped out of his chair, raced to the window, and looked out. He spotted a shadowy figure climbing the fire escape toward the roof. He ran through the bullpen, pulled out his gun, and headed for the stairwell, prompting two cops to follow him.
Bruce reached the roof, ran across it to the other side and paused at the edge, realizing the gap was too big to jump. He moved away, looking for another way down, when the door burst open and Gordon ran out, his gun raised.
“Freeze!”
Having no choice, and not wanting to be arrested, Bruce ran back and jumped the gap. He fell through the air and missed the top story of the nearby building by a good inch. Grunting to himself, he collided and grabbed the balcony below, only to have it swing loose, causing him to hit two more balconies that broke loose until he hit one that remained in place. Winded, he grunted and pulled himself over the railing, already imagining the bruises he’d have in the morning.
Gordon reached the edge of the roof and peered down, just in time to see the figure melt into the shadows as the two cops finally caught up.
“What the hell was that?” One of them asked.
“Some nut,” Gordon said.
As he pulled his gun away, however, deep down Gordon wasn’t sure what to truly think.
‘He had the drop on me, but he didn’t do anything except talk. Strange.’
<>
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Jonathan Wycliff worked late in his office. Partly because he had to approve several new patents from R&D, and partly to avoid his wife, Julia, who was on one of her anger sprees concerning both their daughter and her choice of a husband.
‘You pushed Katherine away,’ He thought, reaching the final page. ‘And you’re going to have to mend that fence yourself someday.’
Approving of what was in the report, he reached for his pen when the lights went out, plunging his office into darkness.
“What the-?”
John froze when he felt something pressed against his back, right between the shoulder blades, and he realized he wasn’t alone anymore. Dread spread across his mind wondering if he was going to be robbed, kidnapped, or worse killed in his own office.
“Who’s there?” He asked.
“A friend,” A raspy feminine voice growled. “What do you know about the drugs Falcone brings in each week?”
John frowned, then realized what the stranger meant.
“They’re mostly cocaine and a few other typical types sold on the streets,” He answered. “Why?”
“Your business runs a program to help teenagers and adults with the detoxing process,” The voice pointed out> “You’ve been fighting for years to have the police crackdown on the drug trade.”
“Yes, I have been,” He nodded in response. “But it is a losing battle. Not even the D.A. can help stop the spreading of the poison out there.
“Sgt. James Gordon and Rachel Dawes,” The voice whispered. “They can help.”
“How?” John asked. “Falcone takes out anyone who tries to stop him, and three people can’t take him on.”
“We are eight,” The voice said.
When the pressure suddenly disappeared, Philip turned from his seat only to meet a shocking surprise. For whoever got the drop on him, which wasn’t easy since he was a former marine serving as a sniper in Vietnam, had already vanished without setting off any alarms.
He rolled his eyes when he saw his stapler on the floor.
“Maybe I should start drinking less tea from now on.”
<>
Meanwhile…
The Mane Six and Spike sat on the rooftop a few yards away from Wycliffe Industries awaiting news. A flash of a rainbow caught their attention as none other than Rainbow Dash landed on the roof alongside them.
“What did you find out?” Twilight asked.
“He told me about what kinds of drugs are being pushed around here and Gotham,” Rainbow answered. “I’ve already told him who can help him.”
“I hope Mr. Wycliff can continue to make Gotham a better place,” Fluttershy spoke hopefully.
“Me too!” Pinkie nodded in agreement. “This city’s full of mean meanie-pants! What Gotham could really use is a great big party to bring everyone together, make living there better. There’ll be streamers, confetti, cakes—”
*BOOM!!!*
The girls and Spike jumped at the sudden loud bang and the impact of a bullet landing not even a few feet from them. Twilight quickly went over to check what had happened and used her magic to inspect the bullet.
“What they hay happened?!” Rarity yelped in fear.
“A sniper’s somewhere on one of these roofs,” Twilight answered. “Judging by the impact and trajectory, this bullet was fired at a really close range so they couldn’t have missed us. This was just a warning shot.”
“Then ah suggest we take the warning and get the hay outta here,” Applejack suggested nervously.
Twilight quickly used her magic to transport them all off the roof, taking the bullet as well so they could use it to figure out what happened. From a taller rooftop nearby, a smoking sniper rifle was aimed directly at the very spot where they had just been sitting. A man in a white owl mask kept one finger on the trigger, keeping watch in the now silent night.
<>
The next day, Earle was in his office conversing with two members of the board concerning Bruce Wayne’s return. How it would affect their plans for the company was anyone’s guess.
“Is he taking over?” One of them asked.
“Not yet,” Earle shook his head. “I checked the trust, and Bruce can’t assume control until his thirtieth birthday.”
He then pressed the intercom button.
“Jessica, where’s that coffee? He asked.
The man had made the request only a few minutes ago, and the fact his order ran late disturbed him immensely.
“But that’s in three months,” The other board member pointed out.
“We’ll have to move fast,” Earle shrugged, checking his watch.
“To do what?” The first board member asked.
“An IPO,” Earle explained. “There’s nothing in Bruce’s trust to stop us taking the company public… we’ll have an offering…”
“And Bruce will become just another board member,” The second board member concluded.
“Precisely,” Earle agreed. “We can’t have some clown prince running things.”
Wondering where his assistant was with the coffee, he pressed the intercom button again.
“Jessica?”
But again, no answer came. He stood up and went for the door. The moment he opened it, much to his shock, both his assistant and receptionist were gone.
‘What the hell?’
Determined to find his missing employees, Earle eventually reached the roof, where he found the two ladies with Bruce. The man was working with Jessica on a gold golf club, and his receptionist stood nearby with a driver and watched the lesson.
“Keep your elbows in,” Bruce advised.
Jessica swung and hit the ball, sending it flying toward Gotham river.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” Bruce continued. “Okay, this time—”
“Ladies!”
The women turned toward Earle, who was mildly annoyed at having his staff high-jacked behind his back.
“Sorry, Mr. Earle,” Jessica apologized, flushing. “Mr. Wayne insisted that all junior executives need to know how to play golf.”
“Junior Executive?” Earle repeated, frowning. “Who’s answering the phones?”
“This is Wayne Industries, Mr. Earle,” Bruce smiled confidently. “I’m sure they’ll call back.”
He then unwrapped himself from the woman and approached Earle.
“I thought a few promotions might be good karma for getting my new job,” He added a conspiratorial tone.
Earle gave the younger man a patient smile in response.
“Of course, you’re not actually starting just yet, Bruce,” He pointed out. “Not until your birthday.”
Bruce grinned, fully aware of this fact thanks to his own research.
“Three months’ time – I’m having a huge blowout and I expect everyone to be there.”
“With bells on,” Earle promised. “How are things down at Applied Sciences?”
“Great – there’s some cool stuff down there,” Bruce said cheerfully. “Although that Mr. Fox goes on a bit once you get him talking.”
Earle nodded, recalling the large number of arguments he’d had with the man until getting rid of him.
“Since you’re here, there is a business matter that I wanted to make you aware of.”
“Business, sure,” Bruce agreed.
“We’ve been thinking for some time about offering shares,” Earle explained. “I think the time is right.”
Bruce frowned, not sure if he was hearing this right.
“Offering shares?”
“It’s just a way of raising capital for growth… it’s important to me that the company be in great shape when you take over,” He added. “Consider it my legacy. Well, I guess I’d better go hire a new secretary and receptionist…”
‘Oh, I understand all right,’ Bruce thought, watching him go. ‘And I already have a plan in motion that will surprise you.’
He then turned back to the two ladies.
“Right, whose turn is it?”
<>
That night at Falcone’s club, Judge Faden left with a pretty girl around his arm.
“Night, Judge Faden,” The bouncer said.
Faden turned, giddy with the drink, and put a finger to his lips.
“Shh!”
The girl giggled, and he guided her into a waiting limo. A street person came over the rear windows of the car and knocked. Scowling, the driver got out.
“Get lost!”
He kicked the person away from the limo. Another homeless man was warming his hands by a fire when he saw the commotion. But this wasn’t just any homeless man. This one happened to wear a familiar coat given to him many years prior.
“Leave him alone!” He shouted. “Let him be!”
The driver ignored him, kicked the person away from the limo, got back in, and drove off. The street person watched it leave and turned away with a smile. Somewhere, Bruce glanced down at a tiny camera he was holding. On the screen, Faden and the girl were on full display.
‘I got what I need,’ Bruce thought. ‘I so don’t want to be Faden if his wife ever sees these.’
<>
The next day, Lucius was at his desk working when Bruce walked up.
“What’s it today?” He asked the younger man. “More ‘spelunking’?”
“Sper-lunking,” Bruce corrected. “And no, today it’s base-jumping.”
“Base-jumping?” Lucius repeated, eyebrows raised. “What… like parachuting?”
“Kind of,” Bruce answered vaguely. “You have any kind of lightweight fabrics…?”
Lucius thought for a moment, then smiled.
“Oh, yeah.”
In a different part of the department, Lucius opened a box, pulled out a sheet of black fabric, and laid it upon the table.
“Notice anything?” He asked.
Bruce examined it, shrugged, and put a glove on.
“Memory fabric, dual layer polymers with variable alignment molecules,” Lucius explained. “Flexible ordinarily, but put a current through it…”
He triggered some miniature generators within the glove and placed it on top of the fabric, which instantly popped into the rigid shape of a small one-man tent.
“The molecules align and become rigid.”
Bruce pushed on the tent, feeling its strength, fascinated.
‘This could come in handy.’
“What kind of shapes can you make?” He asked.
Lucius shrugged, releasing the tent, which instantly collapsed.
“It could be tailored to any structure based on a rigid skeleton.”
“Too expensive for the army?” Bruce asked, fingering the fabric.
“Guess they never thought about marketing to the billionaire base-jumping, spelunking market,” Lucius said, returning the fabric to the box.
Bruce sighed, not liking to keep secrets from the older man, especially a ‘good’ friend of his late father.
“Look, Mr. Fox, if you’re uncomfortable—” He began.
“Mr. Wayne, if you don’t tell me what you’re really doing,” Lucius spoke seriously. “Then when I get asked… I don’t have to lie. But don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce nodded.
He soon noticed some kind of vehicle with large tires, covered by a tarp.
“What’s that?” He asked.
“The Tumbler?” Lucius said, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, you wouldn’t be interested in that.”
And the younger man gave him an amused look.
Oh, wouldn’t he?
<>
Barely an hour later, the two men were seated inside the Tumbler, which was covered with sandy camouflage paint, stealth-angled paneling, and variable-angle flaps. Bruce drove on a test track, piloting it by using aircraft-like control sticks. Lucius was in the passenger seat, hanging on as the young man applied more speed to the vehicle, which was like a cross between aa Lamborghini Countach and a Humvee.
“She was built as a bridging vehicle!” Lucius shouted over the roar of the engine, pointing to a red button on the control unit.
“You hit that button—”
He yelped when Bruce reached for it.
“No, not now!”
And the young man stopped just like that.
“It boosts her into a ramp less jump! In combat, two of them jump a river towing cables, and then you run a bailey bridge across! Damn bridge never worked – but this baby works fine!”
Bruce inspected the cockpit: a forward-slung ‘gunner’s’ driving position between their legs, video screens, electronic controls, windows with heads-up display, and accelerated the Tumbler, so that it was tearing down the straightaway, and then skidded to a halt. Lucius jolted with the stop, and turned to the young man, looking a little green.
“What do you think?”
Bruce turned to him with a slight smile.
“Does it come in black?”
<>
Later in the bat cave, Bruce took a pair of cutters to the hi-tech harness and cut off the shoulder straps, leaving behind the belt with sliding attachments. Bruce lifted a gloved hand that had metal contacts on the fingertips and with his other hand, he picked up a fabric glove that had ribbons dangling from each finger. He thrust the gloved hand into the fabric glove and the ribbons shot out into rigid finger extensions like the skeleton of a bat’s wing, and he fanned the projections, testing it.
<>
Two days later, their first shipment of black graphite cowls arrived, and when Alfred tested one by hitting it with a baseball bat, it cracked in two; he picked the pieces off the table, frowning with a glance toward Bruce, who was watching.
“Problems with the graphite mixture, apparently,” He guessed. “The next ten thousands will be up to specifications.”
“At least they gave us a discount,” Bruce said thoughtfully.
“Quite,” Alfred agreed. “In the meantime, might I suggest, sir, that you try to avoid landing on your head?”
Bruce nodded with a chuckle and worked on fitting a microphone into the horn-shaped ‘ear’ for the cowl.
<>
Later, Bruce grinded metal at a lathe when Alfred approached with a thermos full of soup. By now, Bruce finished the grinding, blowing on his handiwork.
“Why the design, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked.
“A man, however strong, however skilled, is just flesh and blood,” Bruce explained, polishing the metal. “I need to be more than a man. I need to be a symbol.”
“And why the bat, Master Wayne?” Alfred inquired.
“Bats frightened me,” He reminded the older man with a slight smile. “And it’s time my enemies shared my dread.”
Bruce then tilted the crude bat-a-rang, which the light danced across the brushed steel, and he threw it whistling into the nearby brick, where it stuck. Inches away, Spike stood frozen stiff, his eyes widened, over how fast the bat-a-rang came. In his bag was a grocery bag, no doubt containing some crucial ‘supplies’ he meant to present before handing them to his friends.
“I’ll… come back later,” Spike declared, walking away.