Ah, good afternoon. Have you got any news for me?
The police still don't know who's responsible for the power failure last night. Commissioner Gordon said she'll call you when she has some information.
Well, it hasn't been that long – and Kobras are notoriously uncooperative when it comes to revealing information. And it's quite possible that none of them know who the saboteur was at all.
What makes you think so?
You might say that they take the 'need-to-know basis' concept to an extreme. They're very careful about how much information they give to their lower-ranking operatives, so that if one of them is captured and interrogated his confession won't do serious damage to the organization.
I understand that. What I meant was, how do you know they operate that way?
'Know your enemy.'
Of course. Speaking of that, do you think this was just Kobra's project, or…?
I don't know. But I'm going to err on the side of caution and assume that somebody hired them, and that whoever it was is not going to give up after one try. We were lucky this time: Kobra's sloppy work caught Batman's attention. But I can't depend on luck. I'm going to hire more security personnel, and I want you to see if we can improve our automatic systems. After all, you're highly qualified.
In getting past security systems, not designing them.
Exactly. And one other thing…I think it's about time to start up our other little operation as well.
I thought you were going to hold off on that for a while longer.
I've changed my mind. I think everyone's about as ready as they can be.
What about the JLU?
What about them?
They weren't too happy when you suggested it to them.
Well, that's why we're doing this ourselves. And I think that once they get used to the idea, they'll be glad for the extra help.
~***~
Belatedly, George Seerwell realizes that it wasn't a good idea to try and take a shortcut home.
He'd been advised to go around this neighborhood instead of through it. And for two years, he had done just that, walking the extra six blocks necessary to avoid passing though here on his commute between his apartment building and the nearest metro station. Tonight, though, he'd figured that hey, if he walked quickly he could make it in ten minutes. What could possibly happen to him in only ten minutes?
Now that there are five Jokerz shadowing him, he can imagine a lot of things that might happen in ten minutes. A lot of very unpleasant things.
Seerwell has been trying to stay calm, to keep from looking over his shoulder. The Jokerz are walking just a little faster than he is, catching up to him bit by bit. He's wondering whether he ought to run or not. If he keeps walking, they'll certainly overtake him. But he doesn't think he could outrun them, and if he tries to they will certainly do him harm. His stomach muscles are tight with anxiety, and despite the coolness of the evening air, he is sweating.
At this point they're only about meter behind him. Seerwell can hear whispering punctuated with occasional giggles and the jingling sound of little bells. The sensation caused by their close proximity to him is almost strong enough to push him over.
That's it, he decides. I'm going to run. It's the only chance I have of getting out alive. But just as he's about to sprint forward, a couple of the Jokerz step smoothly in front of him. He looks back and forth frantically, searching for an opening, but there isn't one – he's completely surrounded.
There are three boys and two girls in this group, all looking to be between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. Although they are each sporting a different outfit and a different pattern of colors on their grease-painted faces, they're all wearing the same unfriendly grin. One of the girls, the one with a starburst of blue hair and a black ensemble composed of leather, lace, fishnets and metal studs, has either filed her teeth or been Spliced with the genes of some nasty carnivore – either way, her pearly-whites are unnaturally pointy, and made all the more unsettling by the angles of the jack-o'-lantern design painted on her face in blue and white. Seerwell grips the handle of his briefcase so hard that the knuckles of his left hand start to hurt.
"Good evening, sir," says one of the two standing in front of him, his voice like a razor hidden in a candied apple. He's very tall and thin, with long red hair and a 'sad clown' face, complete with a big blue teardrop under his left eye. His friends laugh uproariously as he favors Seerwell with an exaggerated courtly bow. His purple coat and blue-and-red striped trousers fit him as well as a rich businessman's custom-made suit.
"It's certainly a nice night, isn't it?" the one standing next to him remarks in a surprisingly deep, rumbling voice. This guy is obviously the muscle of the group – judging from the look of his arms, left completely visible by his sleeveless shirt, he could lift a block of cement as easily as a piece of paper. The stark skull design painted on his face is made no less intimidating by the red foam clown nose in the center of it, or the tiny green bowler hat he is wearing.
"I…umm. Y-yes, it c-certainly is," Seerwell stutters. He clenches his teeth together, to keep them from chattering. He jumps as one of the girls goes into a giggling fit. The little bells on her fool's hat jingle madly. She looks almost cute, with her black-and-white tank top and skirt, her face painted in the generic circus-clown fashion and her little white kid gloves edged with lace. But there's a menacing note in her high-pitched giggles.
"Summer's so nice, don't you think?" the red-haired Joker says. "Warm weather, no school…"
"What's so special about that?" The grating voice comes from the last Joker, whose hair and clothes are a riot of fluorescent colors. The black-and-white checkerboard pattern on his face is twisted up by his sneer. "We never go to school anyway." His buddies roar with laughter, a lot more than the joke is worth.
Then the red-haired one – he must be the leader – gets a serious look on his face and makes a swift motion with his hand. The laughter is abruptly cut off. Seerwell is transfixed by his accusatory gaze, like a deer in headlights. "Why aren't you laughing?" the redhead growls, jabbing his finger into Seerwell's chest.
"Maybe," says a new voice from the shadows of an adjacent alley, "Because it isn't funny?"
Seerwell and the Jokerz turn their heads to look at the speaker, who calmly steps out of the shadows and into the better illumination provided by the streetlights. It's odd that they didn't notice her before – it's not like she blends in. She's of medium height, with a flaring mane of white hair (or maybe it's a headdress) framing her oval face. Her face is painted, like those of the Jokerz, but in the style of a kabuki mask. Her torso and appendages are protected by what looks like light Japanese armor painted in crimson red lacquer. Seerwell can see a pair of pointy, canine ears in her white mane. She carries what looks like a bamboo staff, as long as she is tall. Her stance, back straight and feet slightly apart, is somehow both casual and alert. A strange person, to say the least, but even stranger than the rest of her are her solid green eyes, which betray no emotion.
The Jokerz stare at her in bewilderment for a couple of seconds, until the big one breaks the silence. "What are you supposed to be?"
The woman's lips draw back to reveal her gleaming teeth in a grin that is more threatening than anything even the Jokerz can manage. "Trouble," she says, by way of reply. And then all hell breaks loose.
Seerwell doesn't see most of it, because he's covering his eyes in abject terror. But he does hear the sounds – angry yelling, painful yelps and the unmistakable sound of that bamboo staff thudding into flesh. Although the fight doesn't last more than two minutes, in his frightened mind it seems to last for years. Finally, the noise gives way to the sound of running footsteps and pained groans. Seerwell opens his eyes and sees that two of the Jokerz, the red-haired one and the girl in the fool's hat, are running off as fast as their legs can carry them. The other three are lying stunned on the ground.
He realizes that the strange woman is not pursuing them – instead, she is looking at him. When he meets her eyes, she smiles, but in a friendly way. "Umm," he says, "Thank you…er…what's your name?"
She nods. "Kitsune. Do you live near here?"
Seerwell blinks. "I…um…yes, I do," he answers.
"Okay. You'd better get home," she advises. "I'll take care of these dregs." She pokes at the big Joker with the end of her staff.
"I'll do that," Seerwell assures her. "Thanks again." Feeling awkward, he starts walking in the direction he was taking before the Jokerz assaulted him. He's learned his lesson – he'll never goes through this neighborhood again.
After he's walked about three-quarters of a block, he hears police sirens approaching and it occurs to him to look over his shoulder. A police car is heading for the three Jokerz Kitsune took out. They are sitting back to back to back on the sidewalk, tied up like a package with a thin white cord. Of Kitsune herself, however, there is no sign.
~***~
As far as Terry is concerned, summer vacation does not mean a break from education – it just means that the nature of that education will be different. That is to say, he will be learning from Mr. Wayne, by running whatever training exercises the man can cook up. It was the same way last summer, although he's not going to be spending so much time on it as he did then, since his boss now has his company to attend to as well.* Of course, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, Terry's training days are just when he works full-time instead of part-time.
Bruce Wayne's curriculum may be far more physically and mentally demanding than that of his high school teachers, but it's more useful than most of the stuff Terry learned in high school and far more interesting than anything he's ever encountered in a classroom. Wayne's schedule also allows Terry to sleep later (and therefore more), but that's probably just because he isn't a morning person – unless you stretch the definition of the term to include people who stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 AM on a regular basis.
Right now, Terry's riding in an empty car on the metro, since there aren't a lot of people on the trains at this hour of the day. But he's too preoccupied to enjoy the rare privilege of having the place to himself. The cloud of troubled thoughts that has hovered over him since yesterday is still there, and though part of him knows that it will eventually dissipate or at least shrink to a more manageable size – life goes on, after all – he doesn't really believe that things will get any better. It's all he can do to cling to the desperate hope that they won't get worse.
Absorbed in his thoughts, he hasn't been paying attention to the news screen at the far end of the car. When the newscaster mentions the name 'Batman,' though, it snaps him out of his reverie like a bucket of ice water dumped on his head. Not because of the word itself, but because of the context in which it is placed.
"It looks like Batman is no longer Gotham's only costumed crusader for justice…"
~***~
Terry's so frantic to get down to the Batcave and tell his boss the news that he almost rushes by Mr. Wayne without noticing him. He is actually sitting in an armchair in the parlor. When Terry sees Mr. Wayne and skids to a stop, the latter lowers the book he was reading so that he can shoot a quizzical glance at his protégé.
"Did you see the news?" Terry asks breathlessly.
"Good morning to you too," Mr. Wayne says sardonically. "Yes, I did see the news." He closes his book, places it on the table beside him, stands and picks up his cane, which was leaning against the side of the chair. "I thought you'd be more enthusiastic."
And I thought that you'd be more worried about it, Terry thinks to himself. "Let's just say I think that it's just a little too good to be true ."
The corners of Wayne's mouth turn up in a small smile. Terry realizes that he has just passed a test that he didn't know he was taking. "They don't seem to be a problem yet. Although it is a little too early to draw any conclusions." He starts walking towards the grandfather clock that serves as the entrance to the Batcave.
Terry follows him. "They? I thought there was only one."
"In Gotham, yes. But more of them have appeared in other cities."
"Oh." The report Terry had seen was on the NewsByte program, which only covers events in Gotham. He guesses that Wayne checked out a few other sources. "How many?"
Mr. Wayne opens the face of the grandfather clock. "Six, including this one. The others are in Philadelphia, Miami, Chicago, Houston, and Los Angeles." He starts walking down the stairs. Terry follows suit and closes the door behind him. "Although I won't be surprised if a few more turn up soon. All the information I could find is on the computer."
"Any idea who they're working for?" Terry asks him. "Does anyone in the JLU know?"
Wayne shakes his head as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. "As soon as the news came out, they made it clear that they aren't connected to these people. They said the same thing when I asked them myself." He reaches the chair in front of the computer and sits down, then taps a key to wake the system from standby mode.
"Huh. I guess they don't like this either," Terry observes. "What are they doing about it?"
Mr. Wayne turns to look Terry in the eye. There's a hint of worry on his face. "The only thing anyone can do, at this point. Wait and see."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
* This is consistent with the canon: Paxton Powers was arrested in King's Ransom, and we learn that Bruce Wayne took control of his company again in Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker. In the movie it was referred to as Wayne Enterprises, as opposed to Wayne-Powers, so I'm using the same name here. I know some fanfic authors forget about this or don't know about it – I don't hold that against them. The only reason I know is because I have the movie and I've taped most of the series and watched all the stuff at least three times. I'm such a geek. ;)