London. Decades ago
"This is Agent Penny One. I have eyes on the target,"
A group of men –Soviets, he deduced– brought cases into the warehouse. Agent Penny One watched them from the rafters. The cases unloaded, they placed weapons on a couple tables. Illegal arms dealers. Just like the previous mission. Another group of men walked in. British, this time. The Kensington Mob, according to the Agency's briefing. One of them appeared to be a child. The two groups shook hands. Some sort of transaction was going on. Penny One activated his enhanced listening device.
"Alright, here's the money you asked for," the man handed one of the soviets, their leader most likely, a briefcase probably filled with cash.
The soviet opened it briskly. Inside, a couple thousand grand. "Sergei, fetch guns for Mr. Davies," he demanded.
"Yes Boss" he said in Russian.
Sergei came back carrying a crate full of pistols and shotguns. Mr. Davies took one of the pistols, an expression of satisfaction on his face. He flipped it around in his hand.
"These will do just fine. MacIntyre, take the crate and load up the boot. Fennick, boys, gun' em,"
The men opened fire. The boy hesitantly followed suit. His shotgun unloaded, he opened fire. The soviets fired back. Shots rang through the warehouse. It was becoming a bloodbath. In the unfolding chaos, Davies and MacIntyre fled the scene.
Penny One descended from the rafters. Having ran out of ammunition, he pistol whipped a soviet in the head, stole his shotgun, and started firing at anything that moved. With the last of the soviets down, all eyes were on him. There weren't many crooks left. A thug fired back at him. Penny One hid behind a support beam. In one swift, agile motion, he picked up a pistol and swung it at the man's head. A loud crack. The man slumped into a pool of his own blood.
Fennick and him were the last ones standing. Fennick held up his shotgun with shaking hands. Here he was, a trained agent, in a standoff with a boy no older than fourteen. Before either of them could take action, a car came driving into the warehouse. Davies was back.
"Get in the car, Fennick!" Davies shouted. Before Fennick could take another step, Agent Penny One shot him in the leg. He cried out in pain. Davies opened fire, however, the Agent was faster. MacIntyre raised his hands in surrender.
Penny One fled as sirens sounded in the distance.
Gotham City, Wayne Manor. The Present
"... In terms of celebrity news, Gotham's one and only billionaire says he believes hamburgers patties don't count as real ham…"
He changed the channel.
"... Another arson attack hit Coast City last night. Officials say…"
He changed the channel again.
"... As you can see behind me Lois, Metropolis is once again under attack, this time by well-known supervillain Parasite. Hopefully, Superman will show up any minute now…"
He continued cutting up the cucumbers. A dash of salt here, a dash of lemon juice there. He lightly buttered the thin slices of bread. He neatly placed the cucumbers between slices. A flawless recipe indeed. The kettle whistled. It wouldn't be evening tea without tea, would it?
Meanwhile, in one of the manor's many living spaces:
"Come on David! We're almost there!"
"Leave me be Darla. I'm only slowin' you down and- Ack!" David clutches his shoulder as the zombies gang up on him
Darla screams as David snarls and begins transforming before her very eyes
"Tt- How predictable," Damian yawned, pulling his blanket up.
Jon was sprawled onto the couch, happily munching on popcorn. Him and Damian had agreed to hang out this weekend. With his parent's permission, Jon was allowed to stay over at the Manor.
Yesterday night, Damian had invited Jon out on patrol. Tonight, Jon had suggested they stay home and pick out a movie to watch. Damian had reluctantly agreed. They looked through Bruce's extensive movie collection and settled on some obscure 60s horror flick.
The doorbell rung. Someone knocked. The knocks got louder. Alfred made his way over to the front entrance. He looked through the peephole. It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be. He remained as composed as he always was and opened the large wooden door.
"Good eve-"
Guns are pointed at him. A group of men advance towards him. Alfred subtly pressed a button on his pocket watch.
Damian's wrist watch vibrated. A message was displayed: Emergency at Wayne Manor. "We need to access the Cave," Damian whispered to Jon while showing him the watch. Jon nodded silently. They bolted from the couch in the direction of the nearest secret entrance: the study in the west wing.
"Well, well, well… We meet again… After all these years, I've finally found you," the man grimaced.
"Last I heard, you were incarcerated an entire continent away," Alfred took a few steps back, his composure never faltering.
"Time flies, old man. Indeed I'd been in and out of jail. But I broke out for the last time. Landed myself in America. Started up my own gang. Pretty good business these days, actually. Finally ascending to the role I was born to play. The role you cut short after you bloody well shot me,"
The man limped forward.
"I was trying to save you Fennick,"
"Save me? By shooting a poor kid in the leg?" Fennick aimed his gun at the butler.
"I've had many years to ponder the choices I've made. In hindsight, I never should have done those deplorable actions. I am deeply sorry," said Alfred with a solemn expression on his face.
"I don't need no apology, all I need is revenge,"
Fennick put his finger on the trigger.
The boys had made it to the foyer. The study was on the second floor, on the left side. All they needed to do now was climb the grand staircase. They heard the sound of glass shattering. Turning around, they came face to face with a man in a hood that obscured his face.
He wielded a baseball bat and had a burlap sack strung on his shoulder. He stood still, frozen in place, as if he wasn't expecting any company tonight. He took off his bag and approached the boys. "Now, you two will get outta my sight or I'll bash your heads in, understand?" The boys slowly began retreating up the stairs. The man was following them.
Damian noticed the man's voice sounded familiar. Where had he heard it before?
"Get down stairs, get outta my way!" The man swung his bat mere inches from their faces. As the man narrowly misses them, Damian grabbed the bat and roughly pushed the man, sending him tumbling down the flight of stairs. The man groaned in pain, his face now fully visible. Damian and Jon shared a look as they realized who it was: the locksmith who worked for Condiment King.
With the locksmith down, the two of them ran up the remaining flights of stairs and headed towards the study.
Fennick had his finger on the trigger. Alfred, however, managed to strike him in the arm, forcing Fennick to drop the gun and fall down in pain. Four men carrying lead pipes ran into the entry hall. Alfred kicked one in the stomach and stole his pipe, throwing it at the other three like a boomerang, knocking them out cold. It was at this moment that he ran.
More men came, guns blazing, through the front door. He ran until he'd reached the foyer, where he nearly tripped over a baseball bat. How the hell did that get there? The men caught up to him. Their weapons jammed. A perfect opportunity. He picked up the bat and swung it straight at their faces. One by one, the men went down.
Another group came in. They wielded knives. He grabbed a shotgun and used it more like a baton. He hit them with precision, no doubt breaking a few of their bones. He narrowly avoided a knife to the face. He grabbed the goon's wrist and twisted. The goon screamed. A kick to the stomach. A punch in the head. The goon fell. It wasn't a soft landing.
There was one man left, and he limped into the foyer.
"Impressive, Pennyworth. Too bad your little victory will be short lived," said Fennick.
Meanwhile, Damian and Jon had reached the study. It was a large, ornate room with a wall covered in bookshelves. A Shakespeare Bust sat in the corner. "This way," Damian made his way to the bust and lifted it. He pressed the secret button underneath.
Bookcases began to budge. Bookcases that were secret doors. Secret doors that were opening far too slowly. The boys pushed them open the rest of the way, revealing a set of fireman's poles. "Always wanted to ride the Batpole!" Jon exclaimed. "Please don't call it that," said Damian.
The two slid down the poles, arriving in the Batcave with their uniforms already on.
The fight with Fennick had been short lived. One hit to the injured leg, a quick kick to the solar plexus, and a punch in the head. Down in less than fifteen seconds.
A burst of wind hit his face. Before him stood Robin and Superboy in a fighting stance.
"Don't worry sir, we're here to… save you…" Superboy scanned the area, realizing the fight was already over.
Robin went around, making sure all the goons were down before tying them up.
Glass shattered. All three of them turned to face the large stained windows. There was a hole in the window. A human-sized, bat-shaped hole in the window. And before them stood the Batman.
"Are you three alright?" He inquired.
"Oh, we haven't got a scratch. Though I suppose Master Wayne will not be pleased about the property damage,"