On a beach of Davao city, a filipino boy played with his soccer ball, sand-crusted feet struggling to keep up with the ball's bounce. Adroitly dodging seashells and discarded wrappers on the sand, the boy smiled in victory as his pace began to match the ball's. The boy soon gained enough courage to try to imitate one of his many soccer idols.

"Isa."

Bounce.

"Dalawa."

Bounce. Bounce.

"Tatlo."

Bounce. Bounce. B-

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The boy looked at the sea. And no more.

"-is an outrage!'

"Utter disregard and-"

"You may own this company, Bruce, but the board has a right to-"

"Unlimited energy and you buried it-"

Bruce Wayne merely arched an eyebrow and browsed through his phone, looking for all the world, a bored hotshot businessman texting his latest squeeze. In fact, if the board member next to him had merely leaned over a little instead of being doubled up in impotent rage, he would have seen an incomprehensible message stream between Bruce Wayne and Vicki Vale. To anyone else's eyes, the messages would appear to be some new form of teen text slang with random hashtags and numbers inserted. However, to the eyes of the Dark Knight, it was the future.

VICKI VALE: #94n1ndl3t$44n6#

BRUCE WAYNE: %dnslFe23pxmd%

VICKI VALE:...

VICKI VALE:...

VICKI VALE:...

VICKI VALE: #3nfi3ls#

Bruce furrowed his brow and immediately pulled up shipping manifests and newly issued driver's licenses within the last 18 months.

A message popped up. Lucius Fox.

LUCIUS FOX: Mr. Wayne, I believe we had a board meeting to finish.

Bruce threw Fox a sardonic look, who only returned the look in kind with a coy smile.

BRUCE WAYNE: Then you shouldn't have introduced me to "Ms. Vale"

"We were having a conversation. Remember, Mr. Wayne? We are the trustees of your family's company. We serve at the pleasure of Wayne Enterprises. Not Wayne. Do we have your attention?"

At last, Bruce Wayne spared a word. "Mr. Daggett, do I have yours?"

"What?" Daggett's smug smirk slipped a little.

"A conversation takes two. I haven't spoken in twenty minutes. You have. Then again, it's been awhile since a second person has been necessary to serve your own pleasures, conversational or otherwise."

Lucius struggled not to smirk. Daggett frowned and absentmindedly toyed with his platinum Rolex as if to remind himself of his substantial wealth in the annoyingly placid and handsome face of his frustration. "Mr. Wayne, we need to discuss why you felt the need to bury the greatest product that Wayne Enterprises has ever produced. Energy for not just the city but the entire east coast. Not to mention covering up the hard work of your scientists who certainly deserve their shot at the Nobel Prize."

Daggett stopped once he saw Bruce once again absorbed by his phone. "Are you list-"

"Do you know how the Nobel Prize was created, Mr. Daggett?"

Daggett waved his hand dismissively. "Alfred Nobel. Inventor of dynamite. Can we please stay-"

"Yes, the inventor of dynamite. And his invention was intended to help miners. Instead, it was used as a way to obliterate lives in countless conflicts and build his reputation as 'the Merchant of Death'. The guilt led him to establish the most famous peace and science prize in the world at the turn of the century."

"And your point is?" Daggett rolled his eyes.

Bruce's eyes betrayed a hint of the creature inside him. "I would prefer to not have to top him with the Wayne Prize."

The boardroom was silent, his words sinking in. Daggett spoke slowly, "Are you saying the reactor is unstable?"

Wayne looked across the table at every member's face, tasting the familiar fear and horror. "Dr. Leonid Pavel recently published a paper stating the possibility of a reactor much like ours being converted to an atomic bomb of untold destruction. Beyond any detonation the Earth has ever had. He speculates that a fusion reactor detonation would shift tectonic plates and reactivate dormant volcanoes across the globe."

One board member shouted. "Shut it down!"

"You built this?!"

"Where was the government approval?"

Daggett held his hand up and quieted only a quarter of the board, most of whom were his yes-men. The rest continued to point their fingers and shout at Bruce. Bruce merely nodded and stood up to address them. The entire room fell silent. Though Bruce leaned heavily on a cane, it was his sheer presence that seemed to hold them all in thrall.

"The simple answer is this reactor is one of the most dangerous objects on Earth. It is a manmade star generator, in essence. However, this is not the place or the age for simplicity. We need increasingly complex and powerful tools to keep up with our increasingly complex and powerful society."

"Escalation?" Douglas Fredericks, a staunch Wayne family supporter, spoke up.

Bruce pursed his lips. "In a sense. The world is running on fumes. For energy, we burn the dead, bought from the corrupt. We barter human rights for profit margins. We sell the building blocks of people to the highest bidder. This is the world we live in. But not for long."

Fredericks and supporters like him sat up a little straighter.

"This energy project is the first step toward a better world. Especially considering that Tony Stark has very nearly beaten us to the punch with his arc reactor."

Daggett regained his footing. "'He has beaten us to the punch because you sat on the biggest innovation our company has ever had."

"No, he hasn't. He's still part of the old world. Tony Stark is a brilliant engineer, but a poor futurist. He still thinks that the future is in private capital and Archimedean principles. He has a lever and is still looking for a place to put it. He won't find it. The old world has no such place."

The room was captivated. Even the guards outside leaned back against the door to hear more clearly. The dumb playboy just called Tony Stark outdated.

"Wayne Enterprises has to look beyond."

Bruce paused as though for dramatic effect. However, Lucius could clearly see that he paused to hold back another declaration: Batman has to look beyond.

"Starting today, I am submitting my new vision for Wayne Enterprises. Lucius, if you will?"

The boardroom darkened as a projector hummed. All eyes were on the screen. It read in big, friendly, bright green letters: "Oracle".

The Gotham City Stock Exchange was abuzz as traders zipped past each other, brutally colliding at times only to bounce into their destinations. Flynn Hoat was one such trader, flouncing into a plastic chair.

"I know the exchange's been crazy but this is a whole new level."

"Blame Bruce Wayne. He's the one who declared himself super-Jesus." The woman next to Flynn said before shouting once again into her cell phone.

A passing trader stopped and commented, "Hey, say what you will about the guy, it's admirable."

"God complexes are admirable?" Flynn was surprised. This particular trader was never big on altruism.

"They are if you're rich and powerful enough to rival God."

Flynn exclaimed. "Some of us still go to church."

The passing trader leaned over Flynn's monitor, straightening his green tie in the dim reflection. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Fuck off, Nygma."

Though Alfred Pennyworth's faith had lapsed in the years following the death of his father and the things he had done in innumerable foreign jungles, he still believed in something. It wasn't defined as much by ancient text as it was in his youth. Alfred believed in the concrete clockwork of the world. Empires rose and fell, one after another. It used to be that Alfred felt the city work like an elaborate system of gears and sprockets, moving Gotham's hour of reckoning closer and closer to midnight. That was until his ward had returned.

"Alfred, I need a fresh set of eyes on this and—Alfred, what is this?" Bruce looked puzzled at the plate to his side.

"Well, I thought your nightly meal of rice and fish was a little...lacking, so I decided to expand your palate." Alfred smiled proudly.

"Thank you Alfred, but it's a little hard to take in anything as rich as this after eight months in the Himalayas."

Alfred frowned. "Macaroni and cheese was your favorite food as a child."

"Do I look like a child, Alfred?" Bruce smirked.

"You did enjoy playing dress-up as a child as much you do now," Alfred said dryly. "What was it you needed me to look at?"

Bruce's fingers danced over the keyboard. "What do you make of this?"

Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses, surprising Bruce. "It would appear that someone in Gotham enjoys fresh Atlantic cod."

Another tap on the keyboard. "And this?"

"Why on earth would someone need to import quartz from Australia?" Alfred felt a little dread.

Bruce said nothing, showing one more file.

"Driver's licenses?"

Bruce leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "200 of them. All clean records. No connections of any kind. Ordinary."

Alfred cleared his throat, briefly caught off guard. He could tell that it was Batman who spoke as his voice had dropped in register and roughened. "I'm afraid I have no idea on this."

Batman looked at Alfred, who almost stepped back. Batman then sighed and kneaded his temples. "I don't either. I've been checking FBI, CIA, NSA, ARGUS, SHIELD. Nothing on the radar other than the usual."

"So does 'Ms. Vale' have a problem?" Alfred said, a trace of hope in his voice.

Batman closed his eyes, thinking. "No. Oracle is perfect. She's seeing it, but I can't."

"Master Wayne, can't Oracle offer anything more than a few vague hints? Is this system really necessary? It seems rather...inconvenient for the cost..." Alfred said carefully, gauging Batman's mood.

"It has to be. Oracle is gagged from telling me anything more than the beginning of the thread. Any more..." Batman shook his head slowly. "Alfred, I destroyed the sonar project for good reason. I am not spying on every citizen in Gotham."

After a pause, Alfred spoke bluntly, "Oracle is though."

"Oracle data-mines internet, cams, and government databases," Batman said dismissively. "No value judgments. Just threat assessment."

"...Bruce, I had doubts over the sonar project to begin with. Spying on all of Gotham? On decent men and women that you claim to have faith in? I went along with it because you promised that it would only be used in an emergency," Alfred said tightly.

"And it was. Joker needed to be stopped."

Alfred stood between Batman and the bank of computer screens. "And now? Now you're keeping an eye on every man, woman, and child on Earth! How is this different?"

"If the average citizen really wanted to be private, they wouldn't actively record every pet, food, and genitalia they encountered." Batman snapped.

Hackles raised, Alfred shot back, "And so that gives you the right? Batman?"

Batman and Alfred glared at one another, never breaking eye contact.

"I don't personally see any of the information. It's a black box. Oracle takes in the information, finds a pattern, and reports to me in a limited way. Oracle doesn't inform me anything about ordinary citizens or even the run of the mill criminal. She informs me about anything...big." Batman said darkly.

"This isn't Rome and you are not the magister populi. Joker is safely secured in the padded walls of Arkham, sir. A man like him is rare." Alfred said tightly.

Batman stayed silent.

"Isn't he?"

"A man like him is rare..." Batman said softly. "But not the only one of his kind."

Arkham Asylum always creeped out the orderly. Having lived in Gotham all his life, he'd seen some real nutjobs in his life but he was standing four feet from someone that genuinely terrified the man. The Joker giggled as he deftly shuffled a pack of cards. "Harvey, Harvey, Harvey Dent. "

The lunatic had been murmuring a dead man's name for months now.

"I only did, maybe..." The Joker pursed his lips in a comic way. "Ten percent. Oh, all that leg work. All those bullets. That was you."

The Joker's face split into his infamous Glasgow smile, which bereft of make up, only displayed how deep and jagged the cuts went. "How much do you think the Batman will need?"

A coin laid in the Joker's hand.

Stark Tower was rarely ever silent as the eponymous resident Stark could attest.

"Pepper, why are there still dirty construction workers coming through my elevator?" Tony said, nursing a scotch. The stream of said dirty workers barely spared a glance at the billionaire as they set to their labor on the dented floor. A massive television lit Stark's frame, casting his shadow in sharp relief against the sun outside the panoramic windows of his highest tower floor.

Pepper Potts shook her head, ginger bangs swaying as they framed the lines of her slender neck. "Because there's a hole in my floor the shape of a norse god. Oh, and your newest suit left scorch marks all over the ceiling too."

Tony smirked. "Your floor?"

"Name on the lease...that's a promise you're going to keep," Pepper said pointedly.

For a moment, Tony was speechless. The couple looked at each other, momentarily off balance over what was said and gauging the other's response.

Thump!

A worker smiled nervously at the couple as he awkwardly lifted the bag of concrete mix off the ground and over his shoulder.

Pepper coughed. "Uh, so the lunch with Wayne."

Tony stared at her face for a moment and recovered. "Yeah, I doubt he has a fusion reactor."

"The scientific community disagrees."

"The scientific community didn't invent this little beauty." Tony tapped his chest piece. The circle of light shone a little brighter with each tap.

"It did invent this though." Pepper lifted the scotch out of his hand and downed it in one gulp. Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Happy's going over the new security protocols today. It's scheduled for four hours."

"Gotcha."

Pepper kissed him softly. "Give him a chance."

As Pepper walked away, giving a little extra sway in her hips, Tony stared the elevator door for a long while. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir. I have recorded this moment for later."

"No—well, thank you. But bring up everything on Bruce Wayne."

JARVIS paused before displaying all known information on Wayne. "His life is public record. I believe there is a weekly two page spread on him in Perez Hilton."

"What he shows is public record." Tony's eyes darted across the projected holograms, searching for a pattern. He'd met Bruce Wayne before. They were both in their early teens. A young, drunken Tony hadn't realized it before at the charity event, but there was a look in Bruce Wayne's eyes when they made eye contact across the busy room. It was only after a dark day in a foreign desert when Tony Stark saw his reflection in the water he'd drown in...that he'd recognize it.