Title : Under the Cape


Chapter 2 : Opening a Can of Cats

A business in the middle one of the grandest, and most technologically advanced, cities in the world, Metropolis, resides in one of the highest, and most decadent, towers of glass and steel to grace the city. Within it a large modern office, accented with dark woods and the sparse decoration, can be found.

At the end, nearest the wall of a window, a lone desk covered haphazardly in papers, and unidentifiable technological baubles, sits. A balding, no completely bald, middle-aged man sits upon a cushioned computer chair.

Whether it's his twitching eyebrows, the snarl not quite present on his face, or the gleam in his eyes, it isn't hard to tell this irascible CEO is annoyed, angry, or maybe even both. Luthor, the owner of this behemoth of a tower and perhaps the richest man in the world, soon stands up his fists clenched and supporting his slight leaning against his desk.

Suddenly, his rage visibly reaching it's climax, "Aargh!"

A single exclamation and his face is once more unreadable, the looming man's countenance unmarked by his seething choler no longer. Luthor was in a jam. And he wasn't sure how to get out of it. Someone was buying up stocks and snatching nearly half of his deals mere days before he planned. And he had swept his office, and home, for bugs. Finding nothing. How the hell were they doing this? Did they have contacts planted in his company? His secretary had always been a scheming bi. . .

A knock at the door interrupts his internal diatribe. Straigtening up his suit, walking unharried, he opens the door. To his surprise, especially since he had, oddly, never had dealings with the billionare, was none other than Bruce Wayne himself.

They had met, only in brief, at events and fundraisers. He was perhaps the only other man in the country with as much money as himself. No, scratch that, but he would be if he didn't spend it on girls, partying, and being overly charitable.

Why hadn't his secretary called him? She could either after something or assumed a person of such importance had been scheduled. Then again, he'd heard Wayne could be persuasive with that pocket book of his. The only thing looser than his wallet was his tongue. And in more ways than one.

Ugh. . . Wayne probably charmed, and even bedded, his secretary to get in (on probably not but a whim). His face didn't show any of this, except for perhaps the slighest bit of suprise, before he smiled graciously, "What a pleasent suprise Mr. Wayne, is there something I can do for you?"

The clean-shaven man, gesturing towards the desk, simply answered, "I'm not quite sure. May I?"

"Yes, of course, I apologize for my lack of hospitality."

"Not a problem Mr. Luthor, no apology is needed at all. I should be apologizing for meeting you without calling first. I was in Metropolis, on vacation, and I realized that I hadn't introduced myself very well in all these years."

Luthor pulled seat out, across from his desk, before seating himself opposite of his guest who shortly followed with a most innocent smile on his face. Luthor could only wonder what he was really here for. It was unlikely his fellow tycoon was just here to talk, and be pals over a drink, but he had heard, through the grapevine, Wayne was somewhat of an eccentric.

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Nearly gagging in the sulfurous atmosphere of what looks to be the inside of a series of building vents a shapely, sensous, women adorning form-fitting black leather, tauter than her nerves, slinks. Well, as much as she can in spite of being within the passage's uncomfortable tightness.

Perhaps the strangest features on her, making her look like a character out of a cosplay, are her goggles, over her eyes, and cowl, which tapers into animal ears. Her mouth, which is the only part of her visible, is twisted into a mocking scowl, despite there being nobody to watch her mockery.

"Sneak into McBaldy's lair, while Batman distracts him. What could be so hard about that?" she couldn't help but mutter, snidely, under her breath.

He certainly wouldn't have the best security, after all he's only a billionare. Her eyes rolled at her own sarcasm. Still, she was suprised to find the building still had traversable vents and wasn't rigged with motions sensors out the wazoo.

That didn't make the cat burglar's job any easier, especially since some of the floor's vents were entirely disconnected from the other floor's, some rooms were locked down and required seperate keys or codes to entery, and the spandex, beneath her leather jumpsuit, was beginning to reak of sweat and plastic. Just gross.

Why in the name of Bastet had she chosen this costume? Oh, right, flexibility and sex appeal. Though she wasn't sure how much of either mattered here. There was hardly any room to be flexible and she doubted that looking like a soaked feline, not to mention smelling like a product mold, was very attractive anyway.

Yes, Catwoman wasn't happy. Just because Mr. Broody and her knew one another's identities and she'd gone clean, mostly. . ., didn't mean he could come to her whenever he needed a sneak-thief for some abnormally dangerous job. Well, at least he was paying her, and underneath the table to boot!

She paused her sidling as an amusing thought struck her. There were bats in Lex's belfry. Barely containing her giggles, and continuing on, she finally nears the exit to the floor above that previous.

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Meanwhile, in Luthor's office, "Some champaign Mr. Wayne?"

Nodding his head, to the affirmative, he answers in turn, "Please, call me Bruce. My father was Mr. Wayne."

"Ah, of course. Then, please, just call me Luthor."

Luthor quickly finds two glasses, and a bottle of champaign, which he fishes out from his desk drawers. Pouring them each a glass, and handing one to Bruce Wayne, he can't help but be curious, "What is it you need of me, ah. . ., Bruce?"

Leaning forward on the desk, in a pensive 'thinker's position' with a worried look on his face, he inquires, "Several businesses have suddenly dropped deals on me and I've caught word you might be having trouble as well."

Debating on how to respond, not sure of Bruce Wayne's game, he carefully studies the other man's face. The man was certainly shrewd, but he was still a playboy, at heart, and it would stand to reason he would come to a more experienced businessman, such as himself, for advice. Still, realizing it would be better to be careful, he responds, "I assume you have some sort of suggestion, or proposal, in the works. Or are you just here seeking for the counsel of a fellow entrepreneur?"

A surprised credulous look, shortly covered over by his mask again, is followed by, "Both actually. If the person, or company, that is involved has targeted both of us, then they are likely pursuing others as well."

"Hmm. . ., Yes that would make sense. By chance, are any of them other companies you are aware of? With the soirées, that you go to, you ought to have access to more rumors on this matter."

Suprising Lex Luthor, with a hearty laugh and a contented smile, he responds, "I hardly remember half the evening of most events. And that's if I'm not late dealing with other matters."

Right, other matters. . . He means cavorting about the glitterati and taking vacations while being so inebriated he can't tell the difference between a restaruant and hotel. Seriously, spooning with a waitress in a restaurant fish tank! Relax, Lex, and remain civil. He has resources I don't, just like I have some he doesn't. "Well I think it best if we both look into this matter more, as discreetly as possible, before actually comparing notes. Any sudden moves and the advantage is lost."

His face showing dismay, he stands up across from Lex Luthor to shake hands, and apologizes, "Sorry for wasting your time with so little information. If it's right by you, then, I'll take my leave."

Standing, shaking his proffered hand alongside an appeasing smile, he answers in turn, "No, no, it's fine. If more than one businessmen is being targeted, Bruce, then at least we know it's probably not personal."

"Of course, and thank you," he replies before letting himself out.

Lex Luthor, sitting back down, is certainly worried. After all, someone buying out underneath large businesses, such as himself, must be trying to take over, and dominate, the market. But, how can a small company have the resources to do that? But, on the other hand, a larger company, with said resources, shouldn't be able to hide such transactions as well as they have been able.

Was someone in his company embezzling? It wasn't uncommon, in big business at least, and it was entirely possibly, if unlikely, for both of them to have been dealing with that same thing at the same time.

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The door closing behind her, Selina, or Catwoman as she is known in costume, leaps, and shimmies, up the railing between floors. A few floors up a door opens, revealing a gaurd on night patrol, whom she hangs over precariously.

His flashlight, now turned to aim up in her position, the gaurd finds nothing and continues on his patrol. Having hidden herself, a floor up, she silently swivels about the railing and drops down to catch the door, before it closes completely, and slip through. All with nary a sound.

Now came the toilsome part. Using a lanyard, which she had previously pilfered off the sleeping gaurd (at the reception desk), she finds it doesn't work. "Damn," she hisses, before picking the lock with the card.

In the dimly lit room are rows, upon rows, of files and folders. "Why can't he just use a server, to store his dealings, like everyone else. . ."

Alright, some photos of the records, and I'm out of here. Hopefully nobody shows up, especially one of the gaurds on patrol. Yeah, way to tempt fate Selina. Tall, dark, and handsome had better be happy or, snickering as the thought comes to her, she might just slip some guano in the folder before she passes it off.

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Finally, swinging by her whip onto a nearby rooftop, our slinking feline fatale meets her contact. Or contacts she corrects herself, when she notices two silhouettes. "Really, he couldn't even drop by to pick it up himself?"

Batgirl, not quite as dark or imposing as the Batman with with her suit's purple and yellow highlights, just scowls and whines, "No, and I was supposed to have tonight off too. I just started college, but if I'm out every night I'm gonna end up flunking."

The black haired boy beside her, dressed in the signature red suit of Robin (with a big yellow 'R' across his left breast) and domino mask, snickered. Only to take a hit from Batgirl right in his shoulder. "Ow, what was that for!"

Rolling her eyes, she turns to Catwoman and pouts, "and I also have to put up with this - she gestures toward robin - all night, every night, too. I thought he was supposed to be the sidekick."

"Hey!"

Catwoman, having just raised an eyebrow at their antics, soon states airily, with a sly and sultry, "Oh, to be a teenager in love again."

"Eeeew," is Dick Grayson's response, to dating Barbara, alongside her simultaneous yell of, "Hey, what's wrong with me?!"

Paling quickly, in the face of her glare, he spits the words out, "But, you're more like a sister to me!"

"Mmhm. . ."

"Ah, ha ha ha um. . ., where'd Catwoman go off to?"


to be continued . . .

How will Batman's legal, if dastardly, plan work? And how will his other plans affect the soon to not be dynamic duo and friends? Find out in the next chapter, An Empty Roost. Holy Shark Repellent, Batman! What suspense!


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