A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

Chapter 12

Consoles were one of the banes of Daredevil's existence. It wasn't the consoles themselves that were the issue; his radar sense brought buttons, dials, and levers into sharp relief, whether they were raised or recessed. However, being able to 'see' the controls was useless, when he couldn't see what he was doing on the screen. So, when he wanted to reach Nightwing and Cyborg, he could only hope that the button he pressed for the intercom was the same one that Cyborg had pointed out to him earlier.

Infomorph laughed. "Do you really think they'll be able to protect you?" she demanded mockingly. "Oh, no, my old enemy. I'm very much afraid…" she went on, as her contours began to shift, taking on height and bulk. Her flat electronic voice deepened and gained further emotional depth. From the top of the now-streamlined shape that was her head, two small horns protruded. "…that they won't even know who their enemy is!"

The doors to the monitor room slid open and the two Titans-in-residence dashed in and stopped.

"Don't just stand there!" Infomorph exclaimed. "Stop her!"

Cyborg and Nightwing glanced at each other. "Any bright ideas on figuring out which one's which?" Cyborg asked, looking at the two Daredevils in front of him in confusion.

Nightwing nodded. "Sorry about this," he said in a low voice that, perhaps, only one Daredevil heard clearly. He pressed a panel on the wall.

Cyborg sounded bewildered. "What good is that going to do?" he wondered aloud.

And then all hell broke loose.

The two figures in crimson both heard the pneumatic hiss and loud clicks as the Kevlar shields slid over the delicate electronic controls and locked in place. Then a fire alarm sounded directly overhead and shockingly loud. At the same time, the automatic sprinklers activated, sending high-pressure jets of water beating down on the monitor area. The barrage ricocheted off of the Kevlar, hitting the walls and rebounding on the two identical vigilantes in the middle of it.

Both Daredevils staggered. But only one dropped to the ground, hands clamped over his ears, trying to curl up into the fetal position. "Make it stop," he whimpered in obvious pain. "Why is it so… loud?"

The other Daredevil shook himself a few times, as though trying to brush off the worst of the effects. "Hypersenses aren't always as wonderful as you might think," he said, strain apparent in his voice despite his best efforts to sound nonchalant. "Right, Infomorph?"

The Daredevil on the floor shuddered as the high-pressure jets continued to beat down. Then, his form began to change, shedding bulk, exchanging muscle for curves and fair skin for dark. The red costume changed to green and gold. Infomorph's shudders stilled, but she made no attempt to rise from the floor.

Nightwing turned off the sprinklers. He glanced at Cyborg. "Forcefield containment cell, do you think?" he asked.

Cyborg nodded. "Probably best, if we're dealing with someone who can go two-dimensional." His gaze flickered to the only person in the room currently wearing red.

"You okay, Daredevil?"

Matt nodded back. "I've been better," he admitted. "But, at least, I knew this was coming and I've had a couple of decades or so to deal with my abilities—two factors that worked against Infomorph. Nice work, Nightwing."

Dick grinned. "I don't usually get thanked for putting people through hell. Then again," he added thoughtfully, "hell's kind of familiar ground for you, right?"

"In more ways than one," Matt said smiling. "In more ways than one."

The two Titans looked up as Daredevil re-entered the monitor room. "Well?" Nightwing asked. "Any luck?"

Daredevil shook his head in annoyance. "She's not talking. Unfortunately, we don't know any more about who she's working for or what her goal is than what we've already pieced together. And we can't prove any of what we know; not so it'll hold up in court. Or clear Bruce's name," he added.

"I've been making progress on getting power and communications back up," Cyborg said. "No word from Oracle yet, but her diagnostics are likely to take some time."

"Is Infomorph human?" Nightwing asked suddenly. "Or is she more of an AI? Or both? Because if she's some sort of AI or a cyborg, then, Vic—"

Cyborg nodded and rose to his feet. "Right!" he exclaimed. "I might be able to interface with her to get what we need to know!"

Daredevil was frowning. "It's an idea," he said, "but would there be a risk that she could use that interface against you, instead?"

For a moment, Cyborg's posture slumped. Then he lifted his chin. "She's not going anywhere for the time being. I'll hold off until Oracle's back online. Between the two of us, we can probably rig up some kind of firewall to keep Infomorph from sinking her hooks in too deeply. At the very least, Oracle can keep an eye on my cybernetics and alert you if I'm in any way compromised."

Nightwing nodded. "I think that works. Any objection?"

Daredevil smiled. "No, I think that probably covers any reasonable contingency."

"Great. In that case," Nightwing said, "Cyborg, let me give you a hand with the repairs. Bruce gets antsy when he has to sit stuff out. Probably best to check in with him sooner, rather than later."

It took almost two hours before they were able to connect with Oracle. It was almost that long before Cyborg returned from interrogating Infomorph. He had a disgusted look on his face.

"I'll be glad when we can turn her over to the authorities," he said. "At least when Beast Boy shapeshifts, he stays green. If Infomorph somehow breaks loose, finding her again—never mind recapturing her—is going to be 'fun'."

"What did you find out?" Daredevil asked.

Cyborg smiled. "She's working for H.I.V.E. I don't know if I trust everything she told me, but taking her at face value for the fun of it, it seems like Baron and Baron has become the financial company of choice for organized crime. H.I.V.E is a bit late to jump on that particular bandwagon and they wanted some assurances that their dealings would be secure. They hired Infomorph to see how easy it would be to penetrate Baron and Baron's security—I'm guessing that the more ethical hackers tend to steer clear of outfits who run around in black-and-yellow spandex while cackling maniacally; just a hunch. She found a quiet office to work in, one where she wasn't expecting to be disturbed, and settled in. And if H.I.V.E hadn't gotten greedy," Cyborg added, "odds are, we wouldn't have gotten involved."

"Come again?" Nightwing asked.

Cyborg shrugged. "If Infomorph hadn't happened on Baron and Baron's client list, or if H.I.V.E had managed to resist the temptation to get some insider knowledge on their competition, she probably would have been long gone when Batman showed up. As it was, when he came in the window, she was in the middle of deactivating one of the system safeguards. She panicked, went two-dimensional and flattened herself against the wall. That's a plus for you, by the way," he added. "Batman's back was to her when she changed. She never saw his face and she didn't make the physical contact that would have been necessary for her to absorb his skills or memories. The minus, though, is that because she had to break off the hack in a hurry, building security detected something wrong. To cover her tracks, once she was alone in the office again, she returned to the computer and duplicated the only part of Batman she had seen, namely the back of his head. The way I understand it, she can take on the characteristics of anyone she comes in contact with, but if all she gets is a rear view, she can't determine what someone looks like from the front or vice versa."

Daredevil nodded with a thoughtful frown. "I did not know that," he admitted.

"Guess we should probably head off," Nightwing said. "Give Batman the good news and all that. Unless you need some help keeping watch on Infomorph?"

Cyborg shook his head. "Nah, she's not going anywhere until the authorities come to collect her. I've alerted S.T.A.R. Labs. They'll take precautions to make sure nothing goes wrong in transit."

"Yeah, can't have her disguising herself as one of the guards," Nightwing grinned. "Or making a break for it through a crowd. Thanks, Vic," he added. "You've been a big help."

In the barge back to Manhattan, Daredevil cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You realize," he said seriously, "that proving that Infomorph was the one stealing information doesn't necessarily exonerate Bruce. They could have been working together. Infomorph's disguising herself to look like him only corroborates the idea that they were in close proximity."

Nightwing sighed. "I know," he admitted. "But we know what H.I.V.E was up to, we know how the data was compromised, and we know that the city's unlikely to suffer another blackout for the foreseeable future. I say we chalk up a partial victory tonight and worry about the other part tomorrow." He smiled. "Seriously, we did good tonight."

Daredevil smiled back in response.

Dick sounded considerably less enthusiastic back at the hotel. "I thought that once we found the real hacker, we'd automatically clear your name," he admitted to Bruce. "Looks like we've got a ways to go, yet."

Bruce nodded sourly. "Oracle has managed to keep this out of the press, thus far," he said. "Normally, I couldn't care less about whether WE's stock drops a few points now and again, but a scandal like this could damage the company's reputation too severely." He shook his head. "If the situation isn't resolved favorably—and soon—I may need to consider stepping down as CEO." He flinched when Dick's hand came down on his forearm. "I don't want to," he said, covering Dick's hand with his own. "Not like this. But I can't deny that it could come to that." He sighed. "I don't intend to drag this thing out in the legal system for what could be years. It would just be much better if the case were to be dropped before it becomes a matter for the courts."

"I hear that," Dick said. "And Matt and I are still working on it."

"I know."

Dick sighed. "Forced inactivity's getting to you, huh? Can't patrol to work out your frustrations, can't dangle Kingpin off the Empire State Building—"

"I doubt I could do that even if my ribs were healed," Bruce muttered. "Not if I meant to pull him back to safety afterwards."

"You can dream, can't you?"

Bruce tried to glower, but his lips twitched involuntarily. "Perhaps," he hedged. He shook his head. "You're right, though. I would prefer to be a bit more… active. And in a location with fewer spectators than the hotel's gymnasium."

Of course. Couldn't have word getting out about playboy dilettante Bruce Wayne having moves that could make him a contender for the next U.S. Olympic team. "Well," Dick ventured, "if you'd like to come back with me to Titans Tower and have a friendly chat with Infomorph, I guess you could check out our athletics facilities while you're there. And if you wanted a friendly spar, that could be arranged, too."

This time, the lip-twitch morphed into a quick smile.

"All contact?" the man in black and yellow repeated in clipped tones. "And since the communications grid was restored, there's been nothing?"

The H.I.V.E underling nodded. "Infomorph should have reported in over two hours ago."

His superior pondered that. "Continue to scan all frequencies. If her signal was detected, she might try to reach us via some other channel. What of our person inside Fisk Industries?"

"No communications for nearly a week, sir."

Because the superior was wearing a full helmet with a tinted visor, it was impossible to gauge his expression. When he spoke, his tone was measured. "He's been known to go as long as two weeks without checking in. I'll order no action, as yet. But keep a closer watch on Fisk's movements. If he's aware of our activities, he'll intend to strike at us when our guard is down. If you allow him that opportunity, I will have the reason why of you."

The underling gulped. "I understand and obey, sir," he replied with a stiff salute.

"Dismissed. Go about your business."

When the underling left, his superior removed his helmet and wiped his forehead. He hoped that Infomorph was either still free or in the custody of local law enforcement. She could escape from there, given sufficient time. If she was in Fisk's hands, though, whether she regained her freedom was immaterial. If Fisk knew what she had been up to…

The H.I.V.E operative groaned. "…We are so screwed."

The next morning, Wilson Fisk sat in his office at his executive desk, behind closed doors and soundproofed walls. A white-noise device that resembled nothing so much as a smoke detector was bolted to the ceiling to confound any potential eavesdroppers. The precautions served him well when matters pertinent to his less legitimate activities spilled over into his regular workday.

"So," he rumbled, "you're telling me that it was not Wayne who broke into your systems, but this… Infomorph." He snorted. "I must say that I find this revelation more plausible than the notion that one of Gotham City's most celebrated nullities is a master computer hacker in his spare time. I do not scoff at the possibility that he may engage in extra-legal enterprises, but a man of his resources would hardly sully his hands with direct involvement." And, Fisk thought wryly, he himself was in a position to understand that better than most.

Elias Baron, VP Risk Management for Baron and Baron nodded nervously. "We're not certain how she got in, but we're hoping to have an answer shortly."

"My hopes mirror yours," Fisk said, in a tone that was almost gentle. "Because I have heard this woman's name before. She is a mercenary, and her services come at a significant cost. Wayne can afford her rate and might even be willing to suffer some embarrassment to deflect attention from the true corporate spy. If so," his expression darkened, "he's not altogether the fop he appears. However," he added, "if I were you, I would not jump to any conclusions, as of yet. Whoever hired Infomorph knew precisely what data to have her seek out. I will be scouring my organization for any associates of questionable loyalty. I would recommend that you do the same."

Baron nodded, tight-lipped. "I'll do that, Mr. Fisk."

"Excellent. Oh, and Elias?" Fisk smiled benignly, rather like a predatory Buddha. "Should you find such a person, I trust you'll inform me. It would give me great pleasure to meet that individual and debrief them… personally."

Baron swallowed hard.

That night, patrol was useful as a catharsis, but it brought them no closer to their goal of clearing Bruce.

"Is there no way that the evidence we recovered could be admissible in court?" Nightwing asked. "Even if we can't exonerate Bruce right away, we can still cause some real damage to the criminal syndicates."

"The evidence that we, working as vigilantes—borderline criminals ourselves in the eyes of the law—obtained without a search warrant, with no signed or otherwise recorded confession to go along with it?" Daredevil sighed. "Technically, we have no right to do what we do, and any lawyer cross-examining us would make full use of that very salient point." He smiled bitterly. "And then, we'd probably meet at Josie's and I'd vent to you about the nerve of that other attorney." He shook his head. "And five minutes later, I'd be shaking my head and telling you that I can't believe the other attorney had missed the opportunity to rake us over the coals on some other points and bemoaning our being shown up by someone who wasn't even all that thorough."

Nightwing chuckled.

Daredevil shrugged. A moment later, he winced as Nightwing's commlink beeped.

"You can hear that?" Nightwing asked, sounding surprised. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the channel. "Nightwing here." As he listened, his smile faded. "Damn," he muttered. "Thanks for letting me know." He turned to Daredevil. "Guess you caught what Cyborg told me, too."

Daredevil nodded. "Infomorph escaped during transit? Yes."

Nightwing sighed. "Not much we can do about it now beyond keeping our eyes—and other senses—peeled."

"I know."

"Damn," he said again.

"Your coffee, sir."

The H.I.V.E. superior looked up and blinked in surprise. The woman holding the white ceramic mug was very slender, very blonde, and very inappropriately dressed—in a French Maid outfit that looked like it had come from a dollar store's Halloween costume display.

"Um…" He gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Uh… thank you. Um… Are you new here?" She had to be. He'd have remembered seeing her before.

The woman smiled. And then her features shifted, flattened, and elongated, transforming her into the operative he'd been hoping would report in. "Infomorph. Interesting… look."

"I don't mind being remembered," the woman said, "as long as I cannot be identified."

"I trust that your mission was a success?"

Informorph's face went flat. "I was successful in locating the data that was not stored in the cloud," she said. "While I was retrieving it, I was surprised by an intruder. Concerned that he would detect my presence or activity, I assumed his guise and allowed the cameras to detect me. Unfortunately, the influx of security personnel forced me to abort my retrieval. When I returned to complete my task, the data was gone."

The superior half-rose from his chair, as though he meant to lunge across the desk, but he caught himself in time and settled back down. "Gone?" he repeated. "Where?"

"Unknown. The hard drive had been removed from the computer I had been accessing."

H.I.V.E did not tolerate failure easily. He'd had to convince several of his own higher-ups that employing Infomorph was an avenue worth pursuing. He had at least two underlings who would be only too delighted to discover how precarious his perch had just become. "Unknown?" he echoed. "You are a sophisticated computer program given life, Infomorph. Data is your currency. But incompetence has a cost. You will uncover the location of the drive and bring it to me within forty-eight hours, or you may find yourself encoded on a number of five-and-a-quarter floppies—a storage medium which only a miniscule fraction of the population currently retains the means to access. I assure you," he continued, "such a punishment would carry the same weight as a life sentence for one of your… nature."

Infomorph was no longer smiling. "I shall not fail you," she said.

"You already have. What remains to be seen is whether you can redeem yourself. For your sake, I hope it may be so." He lifted a snow globe off his desk and shook it, sending a blizzard of soap flakes cascading over a diorama of plastic dinosaurs in a tropical paradise. "You are dismissed," he said, not looking up.

"I'm not even going to ask how many hours of sleep you got last night," Foggy sighed, taking in the Styrofoam clamshell container on Matt's desk, open to reveal two large crêpes. Matt had already cut into one, revealing strawberry filling—a relatively healthy offering, had the thin pancakes not been topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream and drizzled in chocolate sauce. "The only time you go for something that isn't a high-fibre cereal or some kind of yogurt smoothie is when you're exhausted."

"Thank you for finishing your fried-egg-and-sausage platter before you came in to yell at me," Matt murmured.

"This isn't yelling!" Foggy exclaimed.

"It is for me," Matt muttered. He shook his head. "Sorry. It's the usual." He gave Foggy a brief rundown of his last couple of evenings. "…And," he finished, "maybe it is sleep deprivation kicking in and doing a number on my memory, but I can't for the life of me come up with any way that what's on that drive could be admissible in court, short of replacing it at Baron and Baron and coming up with some grounds for a search warrant." He lifted another forkful of crêpe to his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and fastidiously wiped whipped cream off of his upper lip with a napkin. "I hate when that happens."

"I know," Foggy sighed.

"The evidence that can get them shut down is in our hands…"

"I know."

"And it'll get tossed out of court if we try to use it."

"Uh-huh."

Matt popped the last bit of the first crêpe in his mouth and chewed angrily.

Foggy sighed. "Give me the details and I'll see what I can find. At least I got a full eight hours, last night."

Matt realized that his fingers were sticky from the chocolate syrup. He opened his desk drawer with his clean hand and extracted a narrow cylinder in plastic wrap. He tore it open with his teeth, freeing the moist towelette. "You should get out more," he murmured.

Foggy shrugged. "A couple of nights ago, I got to visit the Ritz-Carlton," he pointed out. "Meanwhile, I take comfort in knowing that at least one of us can avoid snoozing in court."

Matt smiled at that. "Foggy… thanks," he said sincerely. "I know I don't always say it, but thanks."

"Hey," Foggy grinned back. "What are friends for?"

There was only so long that Dick could sit in the hotel suite and pretend that Bruce's scowls weren't affecting him. Finally, around one o'clock, he gave into his restlessness and went for a stroll in the Battery. He was admiring the Statue of Liberty from the waterfront promenade when he heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by a faint tapping sound. He turned with a broad smile. "Kind of a long walk from Hell's Kitchen, isn't it?" he asked.

Matt drew a couple of steps closer. "I generally think better in the fresh air," he said quietly. "And I really think we need to talk…"