Of the five bat mobiles I had been gifted. The bike was my favourite one. I never had much of an Interest in Motorcycles before. Or any vehicles for that matter. However, seeing Barbara's bike and the way she drove it awoke something in me. The feel of the engine humming beneath me, the soft leathery sets, the scenery blurring by, my hand wrapped around—someone.

That's why I was having such a hard time deciding on which one of the 'Batmobiles' (I wish my power rebranded things automatically) I should take out on my ride. Because taking it out in my new identity would mean I can't take it out in my superhero identity. It was a hard decision to make.

I looked at the final two contenders for my jaunt. The first was a car. The most normal looking of the bunch. No obvious bat signs anywhere. It looked sleek, like something I could see an average rich socialite on TV drive.

Or at least that was what my peon self thought before I researched this at the library in a now discarded timeline. There were tiers to the kind of luxury car one could own. The lowest on the ladder were the ones someone like dad—no someone like Emma's dad could hope to buy. The Luxury-Economy mix. This was not that.

The second tier would be the ones someone like Max Anders or Richard Stansfield would drive. For the obviously rich. The ones who were rich enough to meddle in city-level or even sometimes state-level politics. This wasn't where this car belonged either.

This was the car for people who could afford to buy whole small countries. This was the kind of car Marcel Mojmír or Damion Beckett would drive. Two of the richest men on the planet. The kind of people who could pay Tinkers to create and maintain their cars. No, that was wrong. The second kind of Car owner could also do that. What changed here was that people at this level of wealth could pay regular designers and Tinkers to get along so that what the Tinker ends up producing does not end up as an ugly monstrosity. This was where the car belonged.

If there were two pieces of solace to be had. One was that luxury cars on this level could get away with not having a proper brand name as long as it compiled with the complicated tinker tech ownership laws that I didn't fully understand.

The second was that I was only able to pick up on all this nuance due to me using my new skill [A Detective's Lens], the average Joe would not want to or be able to pick up on all that.

Ok, so simple. Mega-rich car that car aficionados and only rich people would be able to tell how rich it was. Not a big deal, right? No, wrong.

That was just the exterior. A facade. A single press on the touch-sensitive pad would reveal why this car even with everything I listed was something only Bruce would have. Holographic screens listing all sorts of data that I still had to fully parse lit up all around me at that press. Weapon trays, Batarang holders, and other gizmos will all come out of their corners. And finally, the exhausts would stop emitting the crimson red colour and it will shift to blue.

I didn't know what the shift did. And I was scared to try to find out.

I could see the purpose behind the car, it was made to be a perfect spy car. However, in my humble opinion, it was anything but. It would be the perfect spy mobile for the richest man in a different world not for me.

So that was option one. An ostentatious car that told the world I was important. That I was rich and had to be taken seriously. Something I could never use as Agent Fox—no, Vulpente.

I sigh as I remember that whole debacle. I had to accept that it might be a better name, and move on. Even if I wondered if it was the PRT or Victor that renamed me and why.

Back to the matter of which vehicle to take. Option two was Barbara's motorcycle. At once bulky and slick, even I could tell this was a marvel of engineering. It didn't look as immediately rich as the spy mobile, which was a good thing. And Its colours, the yellow and blue that reminded me of a friend a universe away were far more appealing to me than the black and red of the spy mobile.

It also had way lot more tinker tech in it when compared to the other. Or put another way I had more discovered tinker tech in it than the others.

Looking at both choices, the one I should go with was obvious. The Spy-Car regardless of its ostentatious nature was something meant to be driven around by a non-cape. Its mega-rich nature might not even be picked up. Don't get me wrong, no one would think this was cheap. But your average Joe might see it as just another luxury car rich people drove.

It also helped that taking the spy car meant that I get to drive the bike in my normal cape activities.

—

My new name. The name that my power gave me on an entire set of legal documentation was Kate Wayne. A 23-year-old orphan and the heir to 'Wayne Industries'. I didn't know where it came from but other than the fact that my new second name was Wayne, I was fine with the new identity.

I activated [Identity Like Glasses] as I got ready. It guided my hands on how to apply the right makeup to look different. Like a different person. Older and more gentle—womanly. The makeup set was one of the things I had found with the cave. It had everything I needed for this step.

By the time I was finished, I looked like a completely different person. So much so that I wondered if [Identity Like Glasses] had a stranger element.

Thirty bars, pubs and restaurants spread out in ten different countries. Fifteen of them in America. Fifteen outside. All under the umbrella of 'Wayne Industries'. A company that has existed for thirty years at this point. A company that was entirely owned by my Kate Wayne persona. In addition, I also had government paper trails in those ten countries. And most excitingly a bank account that had been collecting profits from all these ventures for thirty years and continued doing so.

I was disgustingly rich.

A company with no real headquarters and no real employees. Owning restaurants that from everything I could tell, existed long before me gaining the reward or 'Wayne Industries'. I came to that conclusion because Fugly Bob's was one of them.

However, I did not know what any of that meant. What does Bob think of being part of this international conglomerate of restaurants that had nothing to do with each other? Were they even aware? Who managed all of this? What happens to my secret identity if I just ignored all of this? And most importantly. What happens with the taxes?

I was going out to find out all of that and more. So I put on the black three-piece suit I had received as part of the costume rewards for some reason. Changed my glasses to the expensive ones I had received with the same rewards. Checked my stupidly expensive watch I suspected would be enough to buy my whole house and sat down in my obscenely rich car that would buy me a good part of Brockton Bay.

Then I got out of it because I had forgotten that I had to set the tunnel exit required to get out of the cave on the computer. I had three of them, that opened at different places.

I opened the tunnel closest to the location I wanted to get to. Which caused one of the three massive iron doors to swing open from my giant empty bat cave. Lights started turning on Illuminating the path. I wondered who paid the electricity bills and who it was paid to.

One thing at a time, I told myself and started the car. It started with a rev that sent a shake through my body. I clutched the steering wheels and took off.

—

The underground tunnels were fascinating. They ran through underground cave systems I chose to believe already existed before all this and weren't just my power's creations. But that was just most of the time. Sometimes the winding tunnels would make a way underwater. Some sort of strong material made a transparent tube and a driveway that allowed me to look out from the car and see the fishes that swam through Brockton Bay's underground aquifer.

It was surreal. Once I got over the size of this entire construction and stopped being depressed by the crushing sense of loneliness and claustrophobia being in the Batcave gave me, I will be able to stand in one of these underwater tunnels to fully appreciate my reward.

I also wanted to see how strong that glass was. For security that is.

For now, I kept my eyes straight and drove.

[Urban Warfare] had taught me how to drive. I looked at one of the panels I had. It showed what the sensors said of potential onlookers outside the camouflaged tunnel exit. It used some sort of sensing drone to make sure that no one saw me drive out of a tunnel. I reviewed the details on the screen and gave instructions to open the exit.

A 'rock' split open letting me drive out. The car tracks were being erased by a nozzle spraying something on the ground. I soon joined regular traffic using the data my spy drones sent me. And thus I was out.

It was fun but I was also terrified. I wished I had gotten the big tinker tech mech Batman was using instead. All of this was too much to worry about.

—

Eighty percentage of the places I owned were there for rich clientele. They were wealthy and ostentatious like everything else my power had given me after this dungeon. But the remaining twenty percentage? They were the six restaurants, which did not gel with my other gifts.

Fugly Bob's was important for Brockton Bay, As important as a fast food place could get, but it wasn't the 'Marechal Juin' Restaurant I owned in France, that housed the Prime Minister of Sweden last year for a whole week.

I wasn't prepared for my life to get this complicated this fast. Not after my second dungeon.

My destination was not Fugly Bob's. It was a recognized brand and it was too important for me to just go in and say I was the owner of that place. And that I was one for however many years.

Heavy rain pelted the car windows as I drove to the second out of the three places that I owned in Brockton Bay. The seediest place I owned.

I drove to Somer's Rock.

—