When Jason was twelve, Clark brought his copy of 'Where's Waldo?' to the Wayne Manor. It was his attempt to bond with Bruce's family. In retrospect, he was terribly under-informed. Jason spouted the fanciest vocabulary Clark had ever heard about a children's book. Then he leaped away in under thirty seconds.

Dick passed by the corridor with two glasses of orange juice. "Where's Jason?"

"He's gone. I have no idea how to keep his attention." Clark said solemnly, drawing his eyes away from the open book.

"Why am I not surprised?" Dick handed Clark a glass, and sipped on the straw of the remaining one. "That's great news, actually. All the more for me."

"I don't understand." Clark groaned in disappointment. "This used to be my favorite book when I was a child."

"Can I see?" Dick sat down on the bench. He took a glimpse at the cover, then he made a face. "Ugh! Is that the one where you pick out the guy with the red stripes?"

"Waldo. He also wears round glasses and blue jeans." Clark pointed out defensively, feeling childishly offended by the teenager's disgust. "Here. This is my favorite page." He flipped to where Waldo was among hundreds of others wearing almost the exact same outfit.

Dick held the pages close and squinted, then he did the same holding it at an arm's length. "I can't see bloody anything."

"Really?" Clark pointed at the page. "He's right there. And Wilma's just a few inches to his right."

Dick gave him a dubious look. "Doesn't this give you a headache?"

Clark shook his head. Dejectedly he took the book from Dick. "You need glasses, kid. Ask your Dad to take you to an optometrist."


A decade later, Clark decided that he couldn't agree more with Dick and Jason.

He was standing in the middle of the rooftop garden of Gotham City Royal Hotel. It was midday, he hadn't had any alcohol, and he couldn't even make out which way was north. It wasn't even the crowded setting of charity dinners held in the evenings. Just a high-class lunch buffet held by WayneTech in celebration of Brucie's successful debut.

Clark Kent was there because he couldn't find Bruce Wayne for an interview the day before. Technically, Bruce was available, but Superman was busy. He flew all the way to California to save victims of a 7.0-magnitude earthquake. Now that he was there at the lunch buffet, he realized that he still couldn't find Bruce Wayne. Among the Gotham elites he was seeing-

A Brucie chatting animatedly with a lady in red. His hand was massaging her lower back as he quoted a cheesy line from 'Pride and Prejudice'.

Another Brucie stretched across a bench, fanning himself awkwardly with an A3-sized buffet menu.

Yet another Brucie with his arms wrapped around a skinny guy in a tux. They were doing an odd imitation of DiCaprio's pose in Titanic. Their upper bodies were leaning dangerously beyond the glass balustrade. Superman paid a little more attention to the pair for fear they'd lose their balance.

A harem of Brucies surrounding the Penguin, some draped on the sofa, others draped on the man. Clark averted his gaze immediately.

Bruce- Brucie playing magic tricks with a colorful ribbon and a tall hat. That Brucian smirk was misleading. Clark could see where the ribbon was sticking out of Brucie's silicone skin.

Armani. Armani. Armani. Hugo Boss. Armani. Armani...

All in all, no sign of Bruce. He sighed and felt his phone vibrate.

"10:00 - B"

Clark frowned and looked towards his ten o'clock direction. Again he saw the Brucie harem around the Penguin. The visual repetition made him sick. Then he squinted a bit, feeling the headache Dick mentioned, and saw what he missed. One of many Brucies winked at him with a glass of wine in his hand.

Clark couldn't refrain from groaning. "I need an interview or Perry's gonna kill me." He typed grudgingly. "And stop pouring your wine into Penguin's hat."


"How can you be so comfortable with this?" Clark asked in frustration as they found a table at the outdoor bar. Bruce was looking as nonchalant as he always was as his socialite alter ego. As if the hundred doppelgangers surrounding him was not in the least disturbing.

"I quite like being out of the spotlight." Bruce responded. He took a sip of his drink.

"This is the most bizarre thing I've seen since the glowing octopus army we fought two weeks ago."

"Is it bothering you, Clark?" Bruce crossed his legs and leaned back into his chair. He studied Clark's expression with slight amusement.

"It's… odd." Clark phrased it as best as he could. "You're a very… unique individual. Seeing you in this bizarre, almost mathematical repetition is… creepy. This is madness."

"I hope they don't take away from my uniqueness then." Bruce shrugged. "Just write something like Bruce Wayne enjoys his newfound anonymity in the gossip column. I entrust all the direct quotes to you, but do make them in character."

Clark jotted that down in his notebook, then he paused in his writing and looked up. Bruce usually played his Brucie part in full even in Clark's personal interviews. He liked making sure his interviews were consistent. For Bruce to skip that entirely...

"So you are bothered, after all." Clark said after a moment's contemplation. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. Clark shrugged. "Off the record, is there anything you would like to share with me? This isn't the most comforting situation for anyone. I shouldn't have taken your words at face value."

"No, you should." Bruce answered offhandedly. "But off the record... I'm a bit concerned with the experimentation that's going on behind laboratory walls."

"Experimentation?" Clark repeated emptily.

Bruce nodded, and Clark could tell that was all he was going to share. Then Bruce reverted back to his loud, pompous playboy mode. "Don't worry, Kent. I'll give the scoop to my own company. It'll get to you in no time."