A series of renovations over the years turned the Batcave — as his main base of operations had become known — into a fully functional and self-contained facility.
Carving out the space from which he could work was only the first step in turning the cave into a viable workstation, though. He next needed to fill that space with the equipment that'd help him in his quest.
Having his own R&D department gave him access to the computers and other tech necessary for his chosen line of work. If the tech he needed wasn't available? He hired people who could make it so.
He next added a garage full of specialty vehicles — air, land, and aquatic — and a machine shop in which to fix them.
Then came a state-of-the-art crime lab, medical wing, and a sophisticated training area complete with AR technology.
What once had been nothing but a vast underground chamber beneath Wayne Manor was now multiple levels, all connected by sturdy steel ramps, stairs, and walkways.
The only thing that remained of the cavern he stumbled on as a child was the jagged stalactites high above his head. Well, them, and the nocturnal occupants who roost among them, Bruce mused as soft chirps filled the air. The bats nested in a portion of the cave he designated specifically for them. He was determined not to evict them despite Alfred's frequent complaints about the mess they made. They'd been here first, after all. Plus, Damian made a rather compelling argument against displacing the creatures.
"It's nearly dawn, sir," Alfred observed as he joined him at the main computer station."Your winged namesakes are retiring for the night. Perhaps you might consider doing the same?"
"I'll sleep later, Alfred."
The butler's frown was visible in the holographic screen.
"I don't believe I need to remind you about the importance of getting the proper amount of rest."
"No, you don't."
It was a debate they had been having since before he became Gotham's caped crusader. Bruce's struggle with sleep started after his parents were murdered. He regrettably shared sleep issues with three of his children. He wished they didn't have such a disorder in common, though.
There were many things Bruce wished his children didn't suffer from. Like generalized anxiety and bi-polar disorder, complex PTSD, pavus nocturnus, psychogenic hand tremors, survivors guilt, grief disorder… the list went on and on.
What more he could have done, though, he didn't know. Bruce admitted he was far from the perfect parent. He made his share of mistakes. Wasn't there for his children as he should have been, didn't listen to them when he should have, placed others above them.
He wanted better for his children. As any good father would. He wanted them to rise above their traumas. Thrive and grow. Become capable, confident adults. He did his best to help them. Gave them a home and family. Warmth and comfort. Provided them with what safety and security he could. All his children received a proper education. Were taught the skills they needed to navigate the world outside the Manor's iron gates.
It hadn't been enough, though.
He hadn't been enough in the end.
"You have not slept since Commissioner Gordon gave you the files he received from the NYPDs Deputy Commissioner."
Bruce hadn't slept since before Gordon handed him those files but he didn't tell Alfred that.
There'd be no living with him if he did.
"I'll sleep once I figure out what the Court has planned and put a stop to it."
A soft sigh was Alfred's reply. Bruce was under no illusion the subject was closed, however. Four decades with the man taught him to never believe a topic had been resolved simply because Alfred chose to no longer comment on it.
"I thought you already figured out what it was the Court planned?"
"I thought I had."
"Something has changed your theory?"
More like someone, Bruce corrected silently. Aloud, he said, "I believe this situation is more complicated than we realized."
Especially if he's involved…
Bruce didn't share his fear with Alfred.
Not yet.
He needed to know he was right, first.
Bruce scanned the information scrolling by on the holographic screens in search of the answers he needed to either confirm or deny the suspicions heavy on his mind since leaving Gordon.
He checked the status of the tissue sample he procured from the charred remains. The tissue was undergoing a comprehensive spectrographic analysis — one he customized in order to search for a specific substance. The time-consuming procedure tried the limits of his patience, however. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He had no choice but to wait, however. The other tests, while faster, were far less reliable and lacked the consistency he needed.
"Is this not part of the prophecy?"
"It is."
Bruce was saved from having to elaborate further by an electronic chime. Perhaps Gordon has an identification of the remains. He opened a new window on the central monitor but it wasn't Jim Gordon who peered back at him.
It was Raya.
The interior of the office behind her suggested she wasn't at Jessica's as he instructed. Bruce's brow furrowed beneath the cowl.
"Why aren't you at Jessica's?"
"Because a dead body deposited in Jonathan Hartley's office here required I leave Jessica's to investigate."
His brows winged up.
"A dead body was left in Jonathan Hartley's office?" Why hadn't he heard about it? "And it's not Hartley?"
"No." Raya stepped to the side, exposing what had been a human until someone — and he had a good idea who that someone was — turned them into a pincushion. "This is definitely not Jonathan Hartley."
The body slumped in the chair behind the desk. Much like the charred remains from earlier had been. This body hadn't been burned, however. Had the killer been interrupted before he could set fire to the body? Or was this an intentional oversight?
"Do you have any idea who he is?"
"Yes." Raya's expression was as grim as her tone. "Miguel Caldera."
"Horacio Caldera's son?"
"Yes."
"How do you know it's Miguel Caldera?" Bruce could barely make out any facial features through the blood and bruises. "Facial recognition software wouldn't be able to identify him with the condition his face is in."
"I didn't need facial recognition to identify him." Raya held up an item in her hand. A rattle, Bruce realized, belly clenching. "This confirmed he's Miguel Caldera."
Bruce stared at the rattle as bats chittered overhead. This development complicated matters.
Not that they weren't convoluted enough.
Killing Miguel Caldera made sense in the larger scheme of things. He was the first and only son of Haracio Caldera. However, Bruce suspected his murder had less to do with the Court's prophecy and more to do with the suspicion streaking up and down his spine.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"There was a man here." Raya dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Dressed like a Talon."
"A Talon?" He didn't growl it. Well, he didn't growl it much. Raya had orders to not confront any of the Court's diabolical assassins. Not on her own. "You were told not to confront Talon."
"I didn't have a choice," Raya said, tone cool. "I had to follow him." She stepped aside so the people from the coroner's office could bag the body. "It was the only way to find Jonathan Hartley."
"Did you?"
"No."
Bruce swore silently. Hartley missing was the last thing they needed.
"You should have called for backup."
"I didn't need it."
"You didn't need it?" His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
"Because this man might have been dressed like a Talon but he definitely didn't act like one."
A Talon who didn't act like a Talon? Bruce had never heard of such a thing.
"What do you mean?"
"He didn't attack me for one. And…" she paused. "He knew my trigger word."
Stunned disbelief crashed over Bruce in icy waves. It wasn't possible, played over and over through his mind. Only those Raya personally selected had knowledge of that word.
A word he instilled to break her out of an anxiety attack.
"He used your trigger word?" Bruce managed around the lump in his throat. "He used rise?"
"Yes." Her eyes met Bruce's. Conveyed to him there was more she wasn't saying because she wasn't currently free to do so. "He used rise."
A flashing icon drew his gaze from hers. The results of the tissue analysis were ready for his inspection. Bruce decided to shelve the situation with this Talon for the moment. There would be time later for them to discuss what happened on the roof of Hartley's building.
After the test results either prove or disprove my theory about what's really going on...
To do that he needed to confirm the presence of electrum — a highly conductive alloy composed of silver and copper — in the tissue sample.
The metal had been prized by ancient Egyptians for its unique ability to reanimate the dead. The Court of Owls learned how to harness that ability from Doctor Leviticus years ago. It was how they reanimated their Talons when they had need of them. The Court also utilized the metal in the weapons they outfitted their Talons with. Bruce, however, had found traces of electrum in bottles of elixirs and tonics, the water in the fountain he drank from while trapped in the Court's massive maze, even in the walls of the labyrinth itself.
This discovery allowed him to develop a way to test for the presence of the metal. He could identify even the tiniest traces of electrum in organic or inorganic samples, no matter how damaged or degraded they were. If the incinerated man from earlier had come into contact with the metal, this test would tell him.
However, and more importantly, he also searched for the presence of one other material: dark matter.
Specifically, Nth metal.
"Return to Jessica's," he told Raya as he called the results up on the screen. "We'll talk more about this later."
"Gil will be tickled pink at hearing you ordered that."
Bruce ended the transmission without replying. It wasn't like Raya expected one. She understood small talk wasn't his strong suit. What he needed to say, he said. They'd talk more about this Talon once he looked at the results of the analysis. Bruce found himself shying away from looking at the answer. Such hesitation was out of character for him. He believed in facing facts head on. He could deal with facts, after all. It was rumors and speculation he couldn't deal with.
This hypothesis, though, changed everything he thought and believed.
Stalling wasn't going to give him the answer he needed. Overcoming his reluctance, he called up the results. The answer appeared on the screen in glowing green letters:
PRESENCE OF ELECTRUM: CONFIRMED
He already assumed as much.
The next box was the one that most concerned him.
PRESENCE OF NTH METAL: CONFIRMED
The temperature in the cave dropped dramatically.
There was no denying it anymore.
It's him, Bruce realized, stomach churning with a mix of fear, dread, and anger. He's here.
How, he didn't know.
He thought Diana destroyed him when she pushed him into the Death Sun.
Somehow, some way, the Darkest Knight survived.
"Damn it," he muttered, fists clenching at his sides. "Damn him."
"I take it your analysis confirmed your suspicion?"
"Yes."
Alfred stared at the results displayed on the screen through slightly narrowed eyes. He, as well as Bruce knew exactly what those results meant.
Who they referenced.
"So, the Court is not trying to call Barbatos here as you initially believed."
"No." Bruce turned and stared into Alfred's somber face. "They're not trying to call Barbatos here as I initially thought."
No, he suspected they were trying to stop an imminently more dangerous threat.
"I see." Alfred waved towards the results. "And what does he have to do with Miss Raya and Master Malcolm?"
Bruce's brow creased as he pondered that question. Everything initially pointed to The Court killing all firstborn children in order to fulfill one of their ancient prophecies. Ian Corbin even referenced the prophecy in his notes multiple times:
And he, the Destroyer came to let loose his anger and hate, destroying the universe, and all with it.
Clearly, that Destroyer wasn't Barbatos.
Nor was the Court trying to use Malcolm and Raya to bring him into their universe.
A broken man must extinguish the fire of the burning muse.
He didn't know what those words meant now.
How they factored into what was going on.
"I'm not sure how Malcolm and Raya figure into this," he admitted grimly. "The Darkest Knight being involved changes everything."
"If I may ask, sir, what are you going to do?"
Bruce already knew the answer to that question, Darkest Knight or no Darkest Knight.
"My job."
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!
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