CHAPTER THREE: Applied Sciences

"Holy shit."

The words came out of Randy Gutierrez's lips too fast for the rookie cop to catch himself, but Lieutenant James Gordon didn't rightly blame the kid—he'd felt like the saying the exact same thing.

Yellow tape had already been drawn across the door of apartment 17, which Jim had learned was being rented out by some guy named Blevins. He didn't personally know the tenant, and details were quite scarce, but Gutierrez said he had been involved in some drug bust where Blevins had gotten arrested. The guy had some other dirt on him, like so many other convicts in Gotham.

But, alas, it was him who had been wronged today.

Jim examined the wall of the living room, a smear of blood encircling a lone bullet hole running down the tan surface until it pooled on the floor beneath the body of the murder victim. Jim eyed Blevins: the guy didn't immediately jump out at him upon first inspection, but at the same time he had the look of so many men that Jim had seen in his line of work. Desperate guys who got caught up in the wrong thing and couldn't get out until it was too late.

"Lieutenant," another cop, this one in uniform, said as he strolled towards Jim's side. Jim knew the cop as Marvin Blaine; he didn't work with Blaine often, but he knew enough of the officer to know that he was more trustworthy than—as much as it pained Jim to admit it—a great deal of the other officers on the force. Much like the rest of Gotham City, its police department had slowly begun to crumble until friend couldn't really be discerned from foe, and it made the job that much tougher for the real good guys like Jim.

Not only did you have to look out for the bad guys on the streets, but you also had to be wary of the ones lurking in your own precinct.

"Blaine," Jim acknowledged the cop with a brief nod. "Do we have any clue what the hell happened here?" Jim's tone was one of exasperation; workdays were stretching into worknights, wearing him down on every front. He wasn't able to be there for his wife or kids nearly as much as he used to, not to mention the added stress of trying to avoid getting a bullet in the back of the head.

Blaine inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Not much of anything. Neighbors called in saying they'd heard a gunshot in the apartment, we rushed out as quick as we could, and here's what we found," Blaine said, gesturing to the dead man on the ground. The cop reached up and removed his hat, scratching at the reddish-brown hair underneath. "I don't know . . . these sorts of things take forever to get sorted out, if they get sorted out at all."

Jim sighed, running a hand over his mouth. Even though time was becoming more and more of a commodity, the police lieutenant still made sure to keep his mustache trimmed to the proper guidelines. It was one of the few things he could still hold pride in, what with the GCPD sinking to a lower level than many of the Gotham slums that he patrolled.

"It's a shame," Jim muttered. "Guys roam around, kill at will, and get off scot-free. Justice is a dead thing it seems."

Blaine snorted. "Justice hasn't been around this city in a long time, Gordon. Don't think it's something that's vanished out on us now, out of nowhere."

Another officer called for Blaine, and he departed from Jim as Gutierrez came to his partner's side. "I checked with the other officers. The rest of the apartment is a mess," Randy murmured, his eyes on a swivel as they examined the rest of the room. Jim had to give it to the rook; he was efficient in his work, making sure to check whatever leads were there, just as they had been instructed to at the academy. It gave him hope that there were at least some younger officers within the force who aspired to be a force for good in their city. "Tables overturned, drawers rummaged through—I think whoever killed this guy picked him on purpose."

"Thinking doesn't get us anywhere, though, Gutierrez," Jim advised, cocking an eyebrow at the rookie cop. "In order to follow a lead, we've gotta have concrete evidence."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Gutierrez said, nodding his head softly and humbly as he looked at his polished black shoes. "Just trying to think of something. You know how it is—forensics will take damn near a year to come back to us with any leads. So this'll just be another murder to be swept under the rug."

"Have faith, Randy," Jim said with a smile, patting Gutierrez on the arm. "One of these days, luck will have to lean our way just a bit."

Gutierrez snorted. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Jim strode over to Blaine, who was deep in discussion with a few other cops by the hall table just a few feet from the front door of the apartment. "Blaine," Jim interrupted as the other cops all turned to face him. "We're going to head back to Central. You got everything handled here?"

Blaine nodded. "Sure thing, Gordon. We'll let you know if we find anything of importance."

Jim gave Blaine one last nod of thanks before he and Gutierrez turned and exited the apartment, leaving behind the scene of the crime.

Lucius Fox walked down one of the many winding hallways on the fifteenth floor of Wayne Enterprises, the clip-clop of his dress shoes on the laminate flooring filling his ears. As he made his way to the boardroom, he turned to look for Annie the secretary, but she was not seated behind her desk.

A puzzled expression on his face, Lucius glanced about to see if Annie was perhaps in the lounge room behind her desk, but she was not. "Annie?" he called out, just before his ears picked up the sound of giggling laughter from inside the boardroom.

Lucius slowly crept towards the boardroom and pushed the door open to find Annie and none other than Bruce Wayne standing close to one another. Annie was holding a golf club in her hands, and Bruce—standing directly behind her—was holding her hands in his own, guiding her in a soft, mock swing of the club.

An eyebrow raised in curiosity, Lucius cleared his throat to make his presence known. "Miss Hall, I, erm, believe that Mr. Wayne and I have some business to discuss," he said, a friendly smile on his face. Lucius was not one to ire easily; as a member of the board of Wayne Enterprises, it was his job to make sure that things ran in tip-top shape within the company, although he took his job with delicacy and sincerity. It wasn't out of greed or a hunger for power, like Earle and others with his outlook.

As such, he was also one of the more easygoing and forgiving members of the board of executives.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Fox. My apologies," Annie said, her cheeks flushed red as she hurried to the doors. Bruce gave her a quick wave goodbye as she closed the door behind her.

"You move rather fast, Mr. Wayne," Lucius commented, slowly turning to face Bruce. "It's only, what—you're second day back, and you're already making yourself quite the celebrity. Around Wayne Enterprises, at the very least."

"You know what they say, Mr. Fox," Bruce replied with a grin. "You gotta keep the people on their toes."

"Perhaps," Lucius answered as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. "I hope I don't seem too quick to get this over with, Mr. Wayne, but I do have an important project to get to work on down in Applied Sciences, so I'm afraid I can't allot too much time to a tour or anything."

"Well, as a matter of fact," Bruce said, "I was hoping to get a tour of Applied Sciences."

Lucius paused, taken aback. While Wayne Enterprises was rather active in numerous fields, truth be told, he was expecting Applied Sciences to be one of the last areas that Bruce would be interested in. "Well, Mr. Wayne, if you're certain—"

"Trust me," Bruce answered, "I've got a bit of an interest in technology."

Bruce followed Lucius down the hall of the Applied Sciences Division, examining different tools, gadgets, and other pieces of technology littering the worktables within the underbelly of Wayne Tower. No one else was in the workrooms at the moment, leaving Bruce alone with his companion.

Lucius had just finished showing Bruce a new array of projectile launchers that fired a wide variety of items—grenades, grapples, tracking devices, among others. As Bruce examined the rifle, which required a double-handed grip, he cleared his throat. "I've gotta say, Mr. Fox, these are quite impressive." As he lowered the launcher, he continued, "Do they sell rather well?"

Lucius shrugged. "Unfortunately, Mr. Earle has . . . tabled some projects of mine. It seems that he has other priorities for Wayne Enterprises over developing and selling new tech."

"Such as?" Bruce prodded.

Lucius licked his lips nervously, giving a slight chuckle. "I'm not quite sure that's something a young, debonaire playboy would be particularly interested in."

"On the contrary," Bruce replied, setting the launcher on the table, "I'm quite interested in whatever it is Earle is up to."

Glancing around as if scouring for any prying eyes, Lucius lowered his voice to a whisper. "I don't want to make this out to be a definitive fact—because the truth is I don't rightly know—but I, and several others on the board, are a bit suspicious about Earle's dealings."

Bruce nodded slowly. "I know a bit about that. Alfred told me some."

"Ah yes, Alfred," Lucius said with a smile. "He's a fine man. Your father knew how to pick some friends. Well—for the most part. Others, like Earle . . ." Lucius trailed off, and Bruce gave him a knowing smile.

"Yeah, I get the picture."

"Regardless, we think Earle might be funneling money out of the company's accounts into both his own private funds . . . and perhaps worse."

"Worse?" Now, Bruce was intrigued. Alfred hadn't mentioned a "worse."

Lucius nodded. "You've been away from Gotham for a while, Mr. Wayne. Even then, you weren't out in the city much when you were here. Crime has become rampant—criminal ring leaders have a firm grip on every nook and cranny in Gotham. The police, government officials—and even in Wayne Enterprises."

The picture was becoming quite clear. "So you're telling me Earle is paying up to these criminals for protection?"

"Precisely. In return for payment, these crime families ensure that things go well for Earle." Lucius opened his mouth to continue before pausing and biting his lip.

Bruce could tell he was on the verge of divulging something else. "Go on, Mr. Fox."

Lucius sighed deeply. "There is one other theory I have. One I haven't shared with anyone else." Seeing that Bruce was waiting for his theory, Lucius rubbed his temple. "I'm afraid it has to do with your parents, Bruce."

Now, Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Go on," he repeated. His tone was much colder.

Lucius swallowed hard. "You know the type of man your father was, Bruce. He cherished this company and this city much more than a man like Earle ever could. Why, then, would he leave everything in Earle's power? Your father was a good-hearted man, Bruce, but he wouldn't jeopardize his company's future by pledging it to a man who was known to be swayed by greed."

"You think Earle had my father killed?" Bruce was incredulous.

Lucius held his hands up. "As I said, nothing is definitive, but I have my suspicions. It just doesn't add up. And these crime families, they'll send a hitman out to make a kill just as easy as a postman will deliver a package."

Bruce's eyes were beginning to fill with rage. "Who is it?" he said shortly.

"What?" Lucius questioned him, taken aback yet again.

Bruce raised his voice. "Who does Earle pay off? You have to know a name!"

Lucius was still stone-faced, yet obviously a bit rattled by Bruce's sudden lack of composure. "I don't know for certain—as I said, this is all mostly just theories—but he has been known to hang out with the bigger names in the criminal underworld. Falcone, Thorne, Maroni, Cobblepot—and those are just a few."

Bruce nodded. "Those are enough."

"Mr. Wayne!" Lucius called as Bruce turned on his heel and made his way towards the elevator. "Don't do anything rash."

"Trust me, I won't." Bruce nearly turned away from Lucius before his eye caught something, and he pointed to the projectile launcher. "Do you happen to have any smaller, more compact versions of these?"

Lucius eyed the launcher before flicking his eyes back to Bruce. "Like a pistol?"

Bruce nodded. "Like a pistol."

Lucius thought about it for a moment before breaking out into a slow nod. "As a matter of fact, yes we do."

"Is there any way I could get one?"

Lucius broke out into a laugh. "Now Mr. Wayne, just what need would you have for a projectile launcher?"

Bruce chuckled. "I'd need it for a grapple gun. I'm thinking about going . . . mountain-climbing."

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "With a grapple gun?"

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. "You know how it is, Mr. Fox—a debonaire playboy has to do things in style."

Lucius mulled his options over carefully before he smiled. "All right, Mr. Wayne. I have to go rummage around for it, but I can go grab you one right now."

"Thanks, Mr. Fox. I appreciate it."

Lucius nodded as he turned around before pausing and casting a glance over his shoulder. "You know, Mr. Wayne, when you go to pay a visit with those criminal kingpins, you probably don't want to broadcast who you are to them."

Bruce chuckled again. "Don't worry. I'm not planning on letting them get a look at my face."

A/N: Author's note time! Thank you everyone who checked out the first two chapters - I hope you all enjoyed them, and have been awaiting more! As you can probably tell, we are slowly getting built up to Bruce's first night out! And, to answer ReadingBeta's question in their review: Yes, there will be a bit of time until Bruce fully becomes the Batman we know, but it will be a gradual process. And as to the other question... I'd say that's also a yes. I don't want to give too much away, but that certainly is a potentiality with where the story is headed!

Thank you again for everyone who's read along thus far: I hope you've all enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear your further thoughts on the story so far and any particular characters/storylines/anything you'd like to see, I'm down for recommendations! Until next time!