This chapter came along at a speed that shocked even me. I am grateful to the Lord for the help he has given me in making this work, and I'll see you all next time.

Pagliacci-11.

Chapter 6

"So, that's how it is," Dana said after Terry had explained his situation as best he could.

"Yeah." Terry replied, "There's a lot that Mr. Wayne asks of me, but the reason I'm so distant is to protect both my employer and you from—admitted acts vengeance on behalf of his corporate competitors. I was amazed just how much they don't attack Mr. Wayne but attack his staff. They see them as a form of lifeblood, in which I kinda' fall given my proximity to him, you know?"

"So, all our nights in high school, all your evasions, they were—"

"Making a living legitimately. You know I'd gotten off the streets, and Mr. Wayne is the reason for that. He took me in, in a sense. He gave me purpose and has given me training on how best to navigate the corporate world. I had to make my sacrifices at first. But it wasn't until you laid it on the line before Doug that I had to contemplate just what I wanted to do.

I'd made so much progress with my work that I didn't want to throw it away, but work offers no true comfort. Sure, it gives me some cool material things, but it can't hold a candle to you. Do you think my job genuinely cares if I want some downtime? Not really. I had to fight for this arrangement, and I want you to be by my side, Dana. I only hope it's not too late for that."

Dana thought long and hard on this, and she asked, "So, what does this entail for me? What does being by your side, what does that mean to you?"

Terry sighed before answering. He had to cover a lot in terms of what all of this meant, and half of him wished he had thought more of this speech through. But being Batman had its perks when learning how to improvise. He said, "What does it mean to me? It means that you're my top priority. I'll have work; I'll always have work. But I won't always have you; that's the difference. I'd much rather care for something, try to rectify it, than watch my chance at happiness vanish before my eyes. But I must ask you, what do you want from this relationship?

I'm willing to make sacrifices as necessary, but you must also realize it's a give-and-take situation. I can only be as effective a boyfriend as possible if there's genuine communication here. I can't go on come hither stares, oddball looks, you need to be open with me about how you're feeling. Otherwise, this won't work. Equally, as much as you're honest with me, you'll have reciprocation, and that's a break away from work to—enjoy being with you. Does that make sense?

I've been distant, I won't deny that, but I've had genuine reason to do so. And frankly, Dana, you are important to me, but I won't backpedal on my progress in life and at work to have a romantic life that's—all-consuming, let's put it that way. Equally, my work will not be the consuming force of my life, you will be a primary focus, but this can only work if we're open with each other."

Dana was silent as she looked at Terry after he'd finished his speech. She'd watched his body movement; she'd kept eye contact. He didn't telegraph that he was lying, and it was refreshing for her. That said, she could detect subtle mistruths in his statement, but she'd have preferred to not nit-pick at those fine details, not yet anyway.

She finally spoke, "What do I want from our relationship? Not what we had before. Your justified reasons aside, I don't like the phantom boyfriend. You did that a lot. Here one minute, gone the next; flippant excuses out the ass and half the time Max would cover for you, and it led me to some very uncomfortable scenarios. I want you here. I want you to be present, not an absentee. Is that clear enough for you?

I don't want to look up in a social situation and say, 'Oh, I don't know where Terry is.' The number of times I've had to do that in itself was degrading!"

Terry was quiet, but internally, he more than knew the angle that she was driving at. She had been more than observant about his freak absences, and he knew she was far more of a social butterfly than he was, and to be caught with her pants down in this fashion, he could tell had more than taken its toll. He was finally getting the honest Dana. But more than that, he was receiving an affirmation of many of the weaknesses of the Batman persona. In many ways, Dana's grievances had aligned with what he had thought several years ago. Batman's life, while amazing, at times fun, but still harrowing in its own way, was built for the solitary life.

In many ways, the lines had connected to the dots that had formed over the years. Bruce Wayne was the disguise, while Batman was the reality. The vigilante of old had no use for friends unless it was business or a connection in the upper tiers of society; that much was evident to him now. But for Terry, Batman was his mask, not the other way around. But now that Dana had told him all of what was truly on her mind, he knew what he had to do and was grateful for the chance that Bruce had given him.

Terry stood up, "You're right; it was degrading." He said, and he gently and slowly approached her, "And I'm sorry for that. You should have never had to go through that time and time again. But in doing what I was doing, I was striving for a better life for both of us. That was what I was aspiring for, but it's a feeble defense in the end, and I'm sorry."

Dana looked at him and replied, "I don't fault you for doing what you think was best to secure a future for us as you claim. But would it have killed you to let me in on a portion of it? I knew you worked for Mr. Wayne, but he seemed to consume so much of your time! I didn't think a lot of what you did was voluntary, and that's why I spent many nights asking myself, 'Why doesn't he tell the old man just to piss off?'"

"It wasn't as simple as all that." Terry replied, "It sounds simple, but it wasn't. There was a lot that my job for Mr. Wayne required. Because he genuinely wanted the best for me, he took me under his wing and gave me a personal touch of training that required dedication. Additionally, if I am to help coordinate events and dealings for his company and earn, I had to get used to things. I had to get used to the concept of long nights, fielding diplomats between our company and the other companies, learn how to sniff out insider trading, the whole nine yards.

In the end, though, I'm not complaining. It is an extremely advantageous experience and the likes of if I would have never had otherwise, you know? A man gives me the chance to trade up in the world through dedication and hard work that I see the reward from. Did you think I'd say no?"

"I understand, Terry. But do you think that all that success justified you keeping me in the dark for years?!" Dana exclaimed with a touch of anger.

Terry stood at attention and, after a moment, replied, "No, no, it didn't. But there was a reason I didn't tell you. Would you have considered it selfish if I chose to better my life over a few missed dates?"

Dana looked at him and, after contemplating his question a moment, replied, "I wouldn't have liked it, I admit. But at least I'd know what you were up to so I wouldn't have been too mad. Terry, I have nothing against you wanting to better your life, nothing. But knowing that truth would have been far better than thinking you were fucking Max on your downtime considering how much she covered for you on many other things."

"I know that didn't exactly help me. But perhaps if I gave some context, it would help you?"

Dana folded her arms, "About time. What was going on with you two?"

Terry sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Look, you know that Max had a fantastic aptitude for computer sciences when we were in high school. After enough time learning the ropes from Mr. Wayne, I asked him to consider Max for a position in his I.T. Division at WayneTech. I knew the potential she had, and much as I was given a leg up, I wanted her to have the same. She has talent, Dana; it'd be a shame to let it go to waste!"

Dana put her hands on her hips, "So, what? She schmoozed up to you to get a better position, you being her inside man and all?"

"It's not like that. You don't know Mr. Wayne as I do. If you don't have proper aptitude or mindset going into his work, he'd prefer to have nothing to do with you. Even if you show aptitude, you have to make yourself amenable to his vision of corporate. It's not a hard thing, but it takes work. What was Max doing? She was asking me for pointers. Not just for Mr. Wayne but navigating the hell that is the office. A cesspool of lushes, overly sexed perverts, and gossips. She wanted to know who to avoid, who to rub elbows with—the true shitshow of the executive buildings and mid-tier called 'office politics.' So that's what Max was doing; as Bruce showed me the ropes, I showed her how best to navigate where she worked.

Max, knowing my hours working with Mr. Wayne because she saw me every other day, would cover for me with you. Because for one, it saved me some awkward moments when the company came calling. Two, she was just looking out for a work buddy. It's what you do when you work on the same floor, okay? It's the good ole' boy system, something your father is quite well-practiced in."

Dana's expression softened, and she sat down, "Why didn't you two just tell me."

"Well, much as we didn't tell you, sometimes you didn't see fit to ask. It goes both ways."

Terry now sat down, and he sighed. After a moment, he replied, "I'm kinda glad we had this talk, you know?"

Dana looked at him, "We should have had this talk sooner, but okay."

"Better late than never, right?"

Dana put her head in her hands, and soon Terry could hear her begin to laugh, "Oh, good. She's laughing. I'm out of the woods." Terry thought.

"Why couldn't either of you had just said this before? We could have avoided this whole—misunderstanding?" Dana replied.

"In fairness, it was too awkward for either of us. Besides, we knew how high school was, so did you. We all knew if we had this row earlier, it would have been—unnecessarily amplified, that' how I'd term it. You know the engine that runs the high school, Dana, salacious rumor, and sex out the wazoo."

Dana chuckled, "I suppose you're right. So, what now?"

Terry replied, "First, I'm getting a new car. Second, going to invest in some stocks. Third, enjoy the night with you and see where it goes."

Dana thought a moment and said, "For the first time, it's not a bad plan. Alright, what do you want to do?"

"Dinner and a movie?"

Dana smiled, "Schway."

Later that night, Max received a call from her connection in the police forensics. She picked up and said, "Talk to me, Jenkins. What do you have?"

"I gotta be honest. Some top-shelf shit, that's what." Jenkins replied, "This ammunition from these goons and the explosives themselves, I've not seen their kind before."

"Start from the beginning; what are we looking at?" Max asked.

"Complete custom job on the weaponry. They're refurbished, got the old bones of old guns. But the ammo, the ammo box, and the barrel are all brand new internally. The ammo box of the heavy gunners was calibrated to be activated by an external heat source. Once exposed to the box, that heat source spread to the ammo and then to the barrel. The shielding used to amp the shots were already taking amplified shots and juicing them to the point of raw explosive rounds.

Ordinarily, these rounds would be used to melt down advanced polymers and metals, the type you'd see on armed service details in our more occupied countries. Amplified through the wall, however, and these things would shred even takes into Swiss cheese."

Max was very impressed, "So, molten core payloads already meant to deal with high-density armor. What happens when they passed through the wall?"

"It super-charged the core. Kinda' like giving it a massive boost, amplifying its speed as it shed the outer tertiary layer of the bullet, and when it connected to a cooler surface, it detonated on impact. It's like putting ice in your steaming hot coffee, the first crack you hear is the crack of the armor, and with enough amplification, the armor, no matter how strong, is shredded to hell."

"The explosive they used, what was that?" Max asked.

"It's a grade I've not seen before. The fragments are clear as crystal but are very hard. Our chemical breakdown has yet to yield results. This stuff is the epitome of homebrew, but what makes it tick? We're not sure. All we know is has a definite crystalline structure that the slightest exposure to electricity results in a spectacular sonic payload. One small crystal, the size of a standard pinkie nail, under our test is enough to generate the force of two old-fashioned cherry bombs. Whoever makes this stuff, they're definitely pyrotechnics. However, the problem we face is that we don't know what caused the accelerant in the fire to burn as hotly as it did.

My hunch is the same modification to the bullets in their core is the same medication to these bombs. However, we'd need to be sure, and the bullets have a genuinely different makeup to add the high-explosive element that the bullets possess when fired through their firewall."

Max reviewed the footage caught by both the Gotham news and the police recorders the night before as she listened, and she replied, "Alright, keep an eye out for this stuff. As far as custom explosive goes, there are only three major suppliers along the Eastern seaboard that I can pin for this kind of thing. Additionally, the making of these kinds of bullets in that they are so custom is a unique thing. Could you send me a few of the bullets that you have? I want to do a composition breakdown to see what they have in them, chemical or otherwise."

"Sure, I can do that. I'll drop it off tomorrow at the usual spot with the General."

"Thank you, Jenkins. I'll be there at lunch."

Max disconnected, and she looked carefully at the footage capture both by police bodycam, dashcam, and press. As she ran through the footage in slow motion, she saw the fingers of a couple of the Jokerz as they fired their weapons. To her surprise, there was a slight glow along the fingertips, some bright red like flames, the others a lesser blue. When these glowing instances occurred, the fingers were always upon the magazines of the guns. Max concluded that this was likely the access point to kick off the effect for the cores of the bullets.

She sent a message to Jenkins, "Got the Jokerz in the morgue?"

There was a momentary delay before the reply, "Yep, what's up?"

"Check their bodies for any kinds of implants to the hands along the fingers if you can."

"Will do so tomorrow. Warner and Bishop are out, so I won't have access to them until tomorrow morning at the earliest. What am I looking for?"

"Cybernetic implants linked to heating. If the build is what I think it is, there should be a neural-net connection somewhere in the nervous system. Brain stem or likely upper to mid-spine for the housing of the signal transmitter."

"Will check tomorrow."

Max disconnected, and she thought, "Those units are very unique if what I'm thinking is true. Military-grade at the very minimum. Unfortunately, that doesn't make it easy to narrow down." She stood up and stretched, "Ah, too much to worry about right now. Gonna' get some shut-eye. It's been a long day already, and I have to coordinate the Family tonight anyway."

Meanwhile, at the New Gotham library, Anastasia was reading silently in the designated quiet section of the library near windows on the second floor. The news was abuzz with all manner of details, from the factual to an extreme conspiracy regarding the Jokerz attack the night before. Ana had largely tuned this out, and as she read her book, she cast her glance now and again at the Gotham Police Headquarters. She watched with bated breath, wanting to see the secret weapon that Amita had at her disposal.

Amita had promised her that she would see her weapon if she watched closely enough from her view at the window. There was still time enough to catch a glimpse, but Ana was growing impatient. All afternoon she'd seen squad cars enter and leave from the police department, and Amit said that around four, she would see her agent if she'd had fast enough eyes. There were twenty-five minutes left in the window, but still, Ana had seen nothing.

She was growing agitated, "Amita, I'm not seeing anyone." She grumbled into her implant.

"If you haven't seen the agent by now, the job's being done extraordinarily well. If all goes as planned, you shouldn't see it. It will be hiding in plain sight."

"Wait, so you planted this guy as an infiltrator?" Ana asked.

"In a manner of speaking. It's the weakness of our adversary that this kind of thing is not always anticipated; leastways not from this angle."

"So, what's the goal?"

"We had some tech we can't reasonably do without leftover from our—neighbors. This is no more and no less than a salvage job. Thankfully, there are some easily accessed elements with this kind of thing. But given the press attention, we had to be more discreet.

Ana watched the main entrance, the driveway for the squad cars, and the chopper atop the roof. She saw nothing.

"Come on, Ami, this is getting boring!"

"You just missed him."

Ana looked closely and exclaimed, "How did I miss him?! I've been watching all afternoon!"

"And therein lies the beauty of it. I'd advise you to get home. Your father's had a rough day, and it'd be in your best interest to stay home for tonight."

Ana sighed and, getting up; she headed downtown to catch the bus for home. She was having a good time in her expanded role with Amita through the Beas as this month alone; she'd made more than double what she'd done last month through both her Shy business and numbers. In many ways, it was far safer than peddling a lot of the more standard drugs on the street, but there was always some risk.

Getting on the bus, she was grateful the commute home was quick. It wasn't the scummy experience her Grandfather had often recounted to her when he was a kid. Her ride in the city was almost immaculately clean and at times eerily quiet. Ever since the private entertainment nodes had come into full swing, the screaming of various kids had been silent; even the overworked businessman was sedate and semi-leisurely. In many ways, private entertainment had been a boon, and despite the corruption which had surrounded the family legacy, the Powers family had at least done this one thing right.

Ana got off, and she headed up to her father's mid-level apartment. It was nice in the main lobby. It wasn't nearly as ritzy as the upper levels beginning at floor forty-eight, but it had a unique sense of belonging as Ana walked through the warm cherry-wood halls. Her father was very much right in what he'd told her when she was very young, that one's efforts and connections were shown in the level of the city in which one lived. Gone were the ghettos of her Grandfather's age, the hobo camps themselves being something of what was considered the long-antiquated past.

In their place stood private company semi-orbital or continental work platforms. Since the corporate wars combined with the various alien presences over the years, the homeless were repurposed in the broadest sense, if it could be called that. Many of them were given mediocre housing and furnished a job by many corporations the world over. In many eyes, especially politicians, the homeless were the last unexploited frontier regarding fine-tuned manpower.

However, as Anastasia could see in Gotham, the homeless were slowly negated, even if they were a workforce. However, she knew additionally the secret truth of many of Gotham's finest: the most difficult and hard labor tasks had been delegated to industrial standard androids and lesser androids to avoid paying the wages required by human workers. It was convenient, Ana couldn't deny, and it's not that she couldn't see the logic. Why hire three people when you can custom program an android to do the workings of three people with no genuine fee except for occasional upkeep? It was the epitome, as grandpa would have said, 'Cost efficiency.'

Sighing, Ana entered her home after she'd scanned her hand. With the hiss of the door, Ana entered the living room to see something she thought she'd never thought she'd see, an android clad in black and gold uniform, a hallmark of the executive assistant classification. The android turned its head to face Ana and said, "Hello, Anastasia. My name is Edwin. I'm your father's assistant. Is there anything you'd like to eat?"

Ana was quite surprised at the android; it was very elegant looking, almost entirely human. Ana remembered when they were initial all-white android elements, far less personal than what stood before her. Ana approached, and she gently touched the skin of the android. To her amazement, the skin was warm to the touch, entirely realistic looking, and natural to the touch.

"How do you feel so real?" Ana exclaimed in quiet awe.

"My model, CC2033, is made with the technology of adaptive sheathing." The android replied with a smile, "It is designed to endure and adapt to all manner of weather extreme and working conditions. My skin is made of a specialized polymer to enable easier cleaning and access for maintenance."

Ana hung up her coat and, keeping her eye on Edwin, said, "What is your primary objective?"

"My objective is to help your father and yourself in any facets which you may need help in. I am well versed in all manner of subjects and can upload from the cloud as your needs require to diversify ability."

Ana sat down at the nearby table thinking, "Great. For all grandpa's warnings, Daddy went out and got a glorified babysitter. Fan-fucking-tastic."