"Hey, Alfred, did Bruce say when he was going to be home?" Dick Grayson asked, plopping onto the rich leather of the media room sofa.
Alfred paused in the act of collecting Dick's empty mug.
"Master Bruce said he would be home well over an hour ago," he replied. "However, if he chooses to go gallivanting about the town at all hours of the night, probably chasing some lunatic dressed like a cat or a penguin or a scarecrow, who am I to stop him?"
Dick looked mildly surprised.
"I thought the Penguin was in Blackgate," he remarked. "And we just took the Scarecrow to Arkham last week."
"Pardon me," Alfred said, miffed. "I'm sure Master Bruce must just be Christmas shopping."
"Or clubbing," Dick said slyly. "He certainly had enough women following him when he left."
"He's got an image to keep up," Alfred said.
"Why can't I have an image to keep up?"
"Because, sir," Alfred replied dryly, "you have a father instead. Er… may I ask, what exactly are you watching?"
"Oh, this? It's a new trivia show. 'Guess and Go Gotham.'"
Alfred grimaced.
"The alliteration is atrocious, sir," he said.
"Yeah, the name is pretty cheesy. You have to guess the answer to the puzzle within five minutes, while running on a treadmill. This is the first round, so it's a verbal puzzle. Kind of like Jeopardy. It's actually pretty fun to watch."
Alfred shook his head.
"If you say so, sir."
Dick ignored Alfred's comment.
"Oh, hey! It's that guy!" he said. Grabbing the remote, he turned the volume up. "You'll like this, Alfred. He's really sharp. They call him the Genius of Gotham."
"Hmmm," Alfred said noncommittally.
On the television, a young, handsome blond ascended the central podium, smiling and nodding to the in-studio audience as the jazzy theme song played loudly. Just behind him stood three huge screens, all displaying the Guess and Go logo and rolling confetti animation. The audience cheered loudly. The other two contestants, a shy, middle-aged woman in a factory uniform and an older man wearing thick glasses and an argyle sweater, filed in after the "genius" to mild applause. Each of the contestants took their place on a standard treadmill behind a flashing blue-and-gold podium.
"He certainly is the favorite," Alfred commented.
As the music climaxed, the show host walked out, sporting a Colgate commercial smile and flanked by two stunningly beautiful assistants.
"Are you ready to GO?" he asked the audience. "Tonight with us we have Laura Williams, coming straight from the Gothamcorp Steel Production Plant; Jeffrey Mills, biology teacher at Gotham High School; and, the man who needs no introduction… Ted Torrance!"
The audience erupted into cheers and applause.
"Well, are we ready? Here's round one, Worthy Wording! There will be four lines of blank spaces, which will slowly fill with letters as the clock ticks. You only have five minutes, and the spaces will not fill completely at the end of this time! The first person to solve the puzzle hits the STOP button, the bell rings, they yell out the answer, and you will get… one thousand dollars! Are there any questions? No? Well, hang on to your hats, ladies and gents, because here… we… GO!"
Immediately, all three treadmills started rolling, and the contestants began jogging. Behind them, the screens flashed wildly and cut to a series of empty spaces. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ?
"That's not four lines," Alfred frowned.
Dick shook his head.
"Yeah, I don't know… this isn't the usual format."
The host seemed bewildered as well.
"Well, folks, we seem to be having a little technical error here, but… uh…"
The letters had begun to fill in slowly; the screens now read
W _ _ _ _ A _ _ _ _ N _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ E _ _ ?
"Um, we'll be right back after this quick commercial break!" the host tried again. He stared at the camera, smile fixed in place. Off-screen, a voice yelled,
"They won't turn off, sir! Someone's been monkeying with the equipment!"
Murmurs of bewilderment and unease began rippling through the audience; the contestants kept running on their treadmills, sweat rolling down their faces.
W_ _ I _ A R _ _ _ _ N _ I _ _ _ _ R _ _ _ _ _ _ E _ _?
"Everything's going to be all right, folks, this is just a minor technical glitch!" the host shouted, although he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as much as them. "Just sit tight, we'll have this fixed in no time!"
W _ _ I_ A R _ V _ N _ I K _ A _ R _ T I _ _ _ E _ K?
Ted Torrance suddenly broke into a smile and hit the button. A loud, nasally buzzing filled the room, and the treadmills stopped, much to the contestants' relief.
"I've got it!" the blond trivia star yelled. "I know this one! 'Why is a raven like a writing desk?'"
There was a moment of breathless silence. Then, without warning, the treadmills started again. The factory worker shrieked, but started running again.
"What? Isn't that right answer?" Ted Torrance demanded.
The show host seemed to be having a hard time keeping his composure.
"Well, sir… I don't know," he admitted.
The audience was quickly growing louder and more agitated.
"I want out of here!" a woman in the second row shouted, standing up. There was a chorus of agreement from the other audience members.
"Well… hang on here, folks," the host said, trying to pacify the audience. "Here we go into the grand countdown! Just fifteen seconds left!"
"Fifteen seconds till what?" a stout man in the back shouted. "We want out of here!"
"What could happen?" the show host shouted back. "It's just a show!"
"You don't know Gotham!" the stout man protested. "Come on, let us out of here!"
Just then, the buzzer rang out a second time. The treadmills stopped, the screens went black, and nearly all the lights in the studio turned off, transforming the set into a room of darkness eerily backlit by the glowing podiums. There was a collective gasp from the audience, and the enterprising host thought he saw his chance.
"There, see?" he said, with a nervous chuckle. "It was just an electrical short-out."
At that moment, a cloud of thick, choking gas poured out of the central podium. Ted Torrance, the Genius of Gotham, began coughing and gasping, then whimpering, pleading, shrieking, screaming. The audience erupted in chaos as a heavy blanket of fog filled the studio.
"No, please! Pleeeease!" the host screamed, falling to his knees. "You don't understand! It's not like that!"
Ted Torrance stumbled over him, still screaming bloody murder and swatting an invisible swarm of bees; an audience member rushed past the camera, screeching about zombies, and the camera suddenly went dark.
"Oh, dear," Alfred said, shaking his head. "Master Bruce isn't going to like this at all. Where can he be? Master Dick?"
But Dick Grayson was gone.