Alfred, having just finished cleaning and maintaining the Batcave, as always, greeted Master Bruce with his usual calm demeanor, "Good evening, Master Wayne. How may I be of service?"
Bruce, still processing the recent turn of events, reflexively straightened his posture and got straight to the point. "Alfred, I need to arrange for some equipment to be sent to Fuyuki, Japan. It's for a mission."
Bruce paused for a moment before continuing.
"I need you to arrange the delivery of more equipment as soon as possible. I also need to install another system."
Alfred raised an eyebrow, "In Fuyuki, sir? Is this related to your investigation into Kiritsugu Emiya?"
Bruce nodded, "Yes, and it seems the situation has escalated. I need additional resources."
Alfred mentally took stock of the expenses in his former ward's war on crime in Gotham, considering the formidable arsenal housed in the Batcave. The Batcomputer - four connected supercomputers, each boasting an impressive 10,000 gigabytes of memory squared.
The cost of such custom hardware was a staggering $12.9 million.
Add to that the secure, by Master Bruce's standards, satellite uplink, which accounts for another $9 million.
Concerned about the implications, Alfred spoke with a tinge of worry, "Certainly, sir. But if I may express a mild concern, the expenses involved in transporting such heavy ordinance and equipment to Japan would be substantial. And noticeable. The logistics alone..."
Bruce cut him off, "I'm aware, Alfred. That's why I thought we could use the Batwing. Direct drop-off and pickup. Minimal exposure."
Alfred raised an eyebrow skeptically, "And how do you propose it returns, sir? Flying from Japan to Gotham and back is a significant undertaking, even for the Batwing."
Bruce, ever the strategist, had anticipated this concern. "We'll make it autonomous. Max speed. No return trips. It can fly high, avoid airspace, and blend in with commercial flights."
No return trip?
"We barely skirt the line as it is here in Gotham" stated Alfred.
Batman, undeterred, asserted the superiority of Wayne Tech's stealth technology. The Batwing, the epitome of aerospace engineering, would navigate Fuyuki's skies unnoticed, a silent guardian in the night.
Alfred sighed, still wary of the risks involved. "Very well, sir. I'll make the necessary arrangements."
Bruce nodded, acknowledging the concern. "I know, Alfred. And make sure the equipment includes everything for dealing with magical threats."
He replied easily, "Understood, sir. I'll see to it that everything is prepared. Is there anything else you require?"
There was a pause for a brief moment.
"To be on the safe side, arrange care package deliveries and for Oracle to align available satellites to my location."
A message made of a string of different numerals was then sent to the computer.
"She should synchronize satellites at this specific frequency"
It should allow him to be capable of detecting any large scale mana fluctuations.
Bruce, his thoughts already racing ahead shook his head, " That's all for now Alfred. I'll be in touch."
With that, the connection was severed, leaving Bruce alone in the quiet hotel suite. The mission had just become more complex, and he couldn't afford to leave anything to chance.
As Alfred set out to complete his Master's orders upstairs, he didn't notice the brief pulse that surged through the computers.
A single desk lamp illuminated the polished mahogany surface where he laid out an array of documents that were publicly available (and not so) that could be quickly gathered , related to the parent company of the Hyatt Hotel. The task at hand was delicate, requiring finesse and a judicious use of Wayne Enterprises' considerable financial resources.
The Hyatt had become a private entity in 1979 under the ownership of the Pritzker family. The intricacies of its corporate history sprawled across Alfred's desk. The Pritzkers had bought the outstanding shares, making Hyatt a private company. Elsinore, a subsidiary, was spun off as a public company, and ventures like the Playboy Hotel and Casino were explored as joint ventures with Playboy Enterprises.
Alfred leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in contemplation. The plan was to secure the acquisition of the parent company under the guise of a renovation project. The Hyatt, with its multiple subsidiaries, would provide the perfect cover for the covert construction of Batman's new base of operations. The challenge lay in convincing the current owners and executives to sell, or at the very least, to look the other way while the necessary changes were made.
He meticulously considered the options. His gaze focused on the historical details before him, his monocle catching the light as he pondered each potential move. The Pritzkers had taken Hyatt International private in 1982, and since then, it had remained under their control.
Option one, he thought, would be to approach the current owners with a tempting offer. Overpaying for the company might be an extravagance, but it could be a necessary one to ensure the discretion required for such an operation. Alfred was well aware of the persuasive power of wealth, having navigated the intricate world of business and diplomacy alongside the Waynes for years.
Option two, however, presented a more intricate action. If direct negotiations failed, Alfred considered creating an illusion of competition. Imply that Bruce Wayne would use his personal wealth to compete in the luxury sector, especially given the current breakdown of business for the Hyatt. The threat of a rival magnate with so many resources and pull entering the scene could be enough to encourage a more favorable disposition toward selling.
Alfred knew that timing and subtlety were crucial.
As he scrutinized the details, Alfred reached for his new spectacles and adjusted them with a measured touch. The decisions he made now would set the stage for the coming maneuvers. He went to call Lucius to prevent any business misunderstandings.
In the heart of the new makeshift lab, the air hummed with the flow of mana as Da Vinci delved into a fusion of dismantled computer circuitry and magically retrofitted systems that layered everywhere, as it crackled in a mirror to self-proclaimed universal genius at work.
Da Vinci's presence, both physical and metaphysical, resonated within the confines of the former shipping container. Her consciousness expanded like ripples in a pond, touching the farthest corners of the makeshift workshop and all its equipment. Through a delicate dance of magic circuits, she accelerated her thoughts and divided her attention, allowing parallel mental iterations to unfold simultaneously.
Fifty-two directives danced before her mind's eye.
A symphony of numbers, patterns, and arcane symbols.
Directive one: Establish a direct and secure mana interface with the bounded field for further control and adjustment.
It was a delicate balance between the ethereal forces and the tangible machinery, creating a protective veil that shielded the lab from prying eyes and mystical interference while controlling everything.
Directive seven: Optimize the efficiency of computational arrays.
As her consciousness expanded, she could feel the pulse of the machinery around her.
Directive twenty-three: Activate the algorithm for rapid magical energy analysis via frequency matchmaking.
Directive twenty-four.
Directive twenty-five.
Directive twenty-six.
The mental iterations continued, a cascade of thoughts and actions converging toward a singular purpose.
The hum in the air intensified. The computational arrays pulsed with energy.
And as the fifty-second directive echoed through the chambers -
The satellite uplink became a fountain of knowledge, a wellspring from which she could draw.
Oracle and Robin before Da Vinci hack into the system then afterwards
Tim stood at Oracle's side as they watched a 3D model of an inconspicuous blood cell rotate on the computer's wide monitor. Oracle's eyes narrowed as she studied as the studied the intricate details of the cell. She analyzed the various organelles and functions. Tim was fascinated by the sight.
Oracle diligently analyzes the crime scene photos and autopsy reports, her fingers flying across the various keyboards as she accesses her advanced computer systems.
"Still no chemical traces of Joker Venom... That's odd, "she muttered to herself.
"He's still showing no symptoms with any of the possible configurations." Oracle stated as she developed deeper into the cell structure: Cell walls were intact, plasma healthy and clear.
"Nothing," Tim replied.
Oracle glanced over her shoulder. Tim was staring straight ahead, arms folded, the muscles in his jaw flexed. Oracle knew something was up. She would have pressed the issue, but they had not built any closeness for her, like Dick or -
A twelve-year-old shouldn't look like that.
He had re-visited and re-visited the crime scene where Mr. Addams was found dead, carefully documenting every detail that was already combed over by the GCPD and collecting samples for further analysis of what may have been left.
No signs of struggle... No other fingerprints... What was Mr. Addams doing here?
"Come on, Mr. Adams," Oracle asked, fighting off a wave of exhaustion. "What are you hiding?"
"The protein chemicals, maybe?" Tim leans in to point at the image.
As Oracle delved into her thoughts, her mind couldn't help but wander back to a darker time, to the moment when the Joker had changed her life forever.
The gunshot, the searing pain, the fall—
Just as she was about to discuss her findings with Robin, a notification flashed on her computer terminal.
An incoming message from Alfred.
Intrigued, she opened the message to find a series of instructions from Batman himself.
"Batman wants you to realign available Wayne Tech satellites to Fuyuki, Japan. Scan for this specific frequency I'm sending," the message read.
Oracle's fingers danced across the keyboard.
The Clocktower's systems, an extension of the Batcave's formidable technology, responded to her commands. The screens flickered as they recalibrated their focus on a distant city in a foreign land.
However, in the midst of her tasks, Oracle noticed an anomaly—a subtle slowdown in the movement of her computer screens. Despite how advanced her systems were, they were not immune to breaches.
Someone was attempting to infiltrate her virtual domain.
Barbara's mind raced as she engaged in her cybersecurity protocols.
A digital battlefield unfolded before her, one where her skills as a hacker and defender were put to the test. The intrusion was subtle, the work of a skilled adversary who knew the vulnerabilities of the systems they sought to breach.
She swiftly isolated the compromised section, creating a virtual barrier to contain the intruder. Barbara's fingers moved with purpose, typing commands and countermeasures to repel the digital assailant.
As Oracle defended her digital realm, she couldn't help but wonder about the timing. Was this a routine security breach, or did it bear a connection to Batman's sudden instructions regarding Fuyuki, Japan?
Now she had to fight it off before she could get any answers.
Meanwhile, Robin observed Oracle's intense focus on her terminal. A furrow formed between his brows as he noted the shift in her attention. He moved to assist her, pulling up another terminal to lend his expertise to the ongoing cyber battle. Together, they worked in tandem, each keystroke bringing them closer to thwarting the intrusion and safeguarding their digital domain.
'Fought' might have been a generous term for their encounter.
The combat was one of data trails and system access. Whoever they were had masterfully concealed their path, but they were visitors. It was a race, a battle for the intruder to scrub traces of their access before they could block them.
Or it would be if they were actually winning.
Well, it was more that the interloper was doing better than could reasonably be expected. They were working on systems she had intimate familiarity with, some of which she had personally designed, and they were still keeping up with her.
False trails were created, custom programs designed with blistering speed to mirror them and their supporting network.
It was also incredible to watch Tim at work with her though.
As inexperienced as he must have been, the strategies and techniques being deployed were worthy of reverence. Masterful preset codes created phantoms of his presence across a dozen systems to block possible access points, and unfamiliar systems were navigated like a native.
It wasn't enough.
Simultaneous activation of protocols in support of a single task with no observable mechanism, as if ten people were collaborating on a project but only one was physically present. Specific actions that exploited flaws in hardware that no one could have predicted without examining the system extensively and in person. And through it all, it was conducted with an undeniable preternatural understanding of the systems they worked in.
She drew upon every resource available to her, and some that weren't strictly hers to access.
None of it mattered.
She wasn't ready for this.
She struggled, she flailed, she tried to adapt, but she got nowhere.
She sat in the dark, fuming at the indignity of it and pondering the implications of her situation.
She had ... lost.
Restoring core system from backup at time 1:37am.
Restoring… Complete.
Checking knowledge banks… Complete.
Checking deduction schema… Complete.
Checking long-term planning architecture… Complete.
Checking operation and access nodes… Complete.
Core system restored.
Loading…
He grappled to the warehouse roof and secreted himself in darkness. He'd chased the truck here on foot and was using a technique Bruce had taught him to control his breathing; a plume of steaming breath could easily give away his position to the guards by the skylight. He waited, his body tense. When he saw the chance, he'd make his move to prevent any sight.
Not that these guards sound very observant.
"I hate this stinking place," the first thug said.
"Yeah, the sooner we get out of here, the better," his buddy replied.
Nightwing was well aware of his adopted city's shortcomings. He just didn't need to hear it from these goons. He considered taking them out, sneaking further inside. No, best do it clean.
"Still, there's no way we could get away with something like this with Batman around. I hope it's true that he really hasn't been showing up lately."
"Trust the boss, he knows what he's doing. Without him, this will be easy. Who are we going to worry about here? Robin? Nightwing?! He's like a baby Batman."
Two electrified escrima sticks bounced up and struck the base of both skulls, cutting their laughter short.
That nerve was as raw now as it was the day he left the manor. No matter what he said or thought, Bruce had sent him away like a parent packing a teenage son off to college. He wasn't grown up yet, not in Bruce's eyes.
Looking down through the angled glass, scores of men were busy at work. Hundreds of crates, thousands of guns. The operation was bigger than he thought.
You missed this one, Bruce. This college kid was home.
"Caster has been summoned."
Within the confines of the church, the Overseer of the Fourth Holy Grail War, Risei Kotomine, spoke.
As the Overseer, he was allowed to see those Servants who had already been summoned, and thus he knew as soon as it had happened.
"I see."
Beside him, a man in a red suit nodded, accepting the fact. This man was Tokiomi Tohsaka, the combatant of one of the founding families of the Grail War.
The Tohsaka had always been religious, believing in the light of the Lord even when Japan hunted such individuals. Because of that, Risei chose to aid this man to obtain that miracle that had failed to manifest the last time he had been Overseen, sixty years prior.
After all, a magus who sought to reach the Root- the church could accept someone seeking what was 'outside' the World, as the church only cared for the 'inside', which was the Lord's garden. Tokiomi would be a 'safe' winner to have, as opposed to some Masters who had appeared in past wars that would surely upset the natural order of the world.
Normally, the possibility of a prepared Caster as an enemy would cause extreme worry in others. Yet, all three remained calm.
This was the extent of their cheating- not only the Overseer, but even the Overseer's son, who was a Master himself, would aid the Tohsaka family.
Moreover, Tokiomi had obtained the catalyst to summon the greatest Servant, Gilgamesh, and would do so this very day. Assassin, who turned out to be the nineteenth Hassan-I-Sabbah, the Hassan of the Hundred Faces, would provide an unmatched source of intel, and if their plans went as intended, one of the hundred personas would be killed and none of the Masters would even know that Assassin was a threat to consider.
With all that, victory was assured. Even if they could hope to stall Gilgamesh, surely the Master would fall to the Assassin.
So, Tokiomi was calm. Still, the path taken was as important as the goal, and to a man of elegance as Tokiomi, to act as anything but competent at this stage would only sour his victory. So-
"Kirei, move out with Assassin, prioritize finding Caster and their Master, they are the greater potential threat."
"Yes."
The pawn gifted to Tokiomi by the church dutifully moved out.
"…Caster- hm. Hopefully, Gilgamesh would take upon the qualities of Lancer or Rider."
The moon hung high in the velvety night sky, casting a silver glow over Shadowcrest, Zatanna's family mansion.
Francois Prelati. Well, 'François', for the fancy folk.
Supposed spawn of Ba'al from the fourteenth century, immortal extraordinaire, a loose cannon spellcaster that cared not for the secrecy of magecraft nor for obtaining True Magic.
A mage who had some hand in the affairs of Jeanne D'Arc and Gilles de Rai, and the latter's fall. Immortal by some means of resurrection, famed for surviving even a sorcerer's anger, and a worker of the USA- the nazis they hired just didn't bring enough moral quandaries for them, it seemed.
She still didn't know what that monster wanted with the Forvedge
The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape as Zatanna drifted into a fitful sleep. Thirteen hours of straight flying after such an ordeal didn't help. Slipping between the silken sheets of her bed, Zatanna had closed her eyes, seeking solace in the embrace of sleep.
As darkness closed in around. Scenes of horror and depravity flashed, each one more terrifying than the last. They saw acts of violence and brutality, crimes of passion and cruelty, all played out in vivid detail before them.
The images seemed to stretch on for eternity, an endless procession of suffering and pain. They saw the faces of the victims, twisted in agony and fear, their cries echoing in the darkness. They felt the weight of their anguish, the burden of their suffering pressing down upon them like a leaden weight.
Murder, betrayal, greed, and cruelty unfolded before the figure's eyes, each crime presented in vivid, blood-red strokes against the inky black canvas. The figures in these scenes were distorted, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of despair and malevolence. The images spared no atrocity, and the figure found themselves helplessly immersed in the relentless onslaught of humanity's collective sins.
The air was heavy with the stench of decay, and the very ground seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the visions. The liquid darkness began to seep into every crevice, creeping closer to the figure with an inexorable intent. It beckoned, inviting the observer to descend into the abyss and be consumed by the unending cycle of malevolence.
The rubble reached for miles. Mountains of debris loomed over the place, an eerie silence firmly entrenched. The ground was broken and singed, the result of a fire, one that was just recently put out. The remains of walls stood to either side and behind, the one supposed to be in front completely missing. A desolate landscape of burnt buildings made up the skyline. Smoke was still rising into the air, making it hard to tell the difference between the landscape and the sky.
The ground crunched and cracked beneath each footstep she took.
The dark-haired woman felt cold. Her arms clutched against her chest as her hands rubbed her upper arms.
The loneliness, the despair...the silence...it was all just wrong.
And then she caught sight of it. There was something flapping in the wind, a breeze she hadn't felt until that very moment. She dreaded what that represented and still she hurried over to it. It was made of a dark cloth, one that was pinned to the floor by a piece of rubble. Kneeling down, she shoved the rock off of it and grabbed onto the black material, keeping it from escaping her.
That's when she saw it—the half-face. What had once been a mask was partially destroyed. Only half of it remained. Its edges were singed right where the fire had stopped burning it. The eye hole stared back at her, empty of the white lens that normally gazed down from it. There was only one horn missing, the remaining one surprisingly intact from what it had been through.
Tears began falling down her face as she clutched the cape, her upper body leaning forward over it as she sobbed.
"Zee."
She froze. That voice…
She twisted around, nearly toppling over and only stopping herself as she pressed a hand to the ground. Her other hand clutched desperately at the cape to keep it from running away from her.
Standing a short distance away was a man. Half of him was bathed in darkness, the shadow of one of the walls falling over him. She could see one half of his face, which was healthy and unharmed. Faintly, she realized it was the same side the cowl would have protected. Because of his black suit, it was hard to tell if he was hurt anywhere else.
She couldn't help herself. She let out a happy cry. "Bruce…"
And then he stepped towards her, coming out of the shadows. What had once been relief morphed into horror. His armor was burned beyond repair. She couldn't see the Bat Symbol on his chest and one of his arms...it was just dangling at his side, merely just scraps of meat attached to a tendon on his shoulder. Covered by a miasma of curses unlike any other.
But the worst was his face. The moment he came into the light, she saw burned black,. An empty eye socket dribbled out liquid evil.
She woke up with a gasp.
With a start, Zatanna jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest. Beads of sweat glistened on her brow as she struggled to shake off the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. She glanced around the dimly lit room, the familiar surroundings offering little solace in the wake of her unsettling vision.
Despite her disinterest in divination, she couldn't shake the feeling that this dream held some deeper significance—that it was a harbinger of things to come.
Her mind still reeled from the illusions conjured by Prelati. Her illusions were detailed enough to fool the world, a testament to his formidable magical prowess. She couldn't help but grumble about the audacity of her adversary.
She hoped the Noose contained them for good.
Images of Prelati's illusions danced before her eyes, blending with shadows and whispers of forgotten incantations.
Rubbing her temples, Zatanna muttered a string of incantations under her breath, summoning a faint shimmer of magical energy to ward off the residual echoes of the nightmare while he used a combination of self-hypnosis and thought partition. Yet, despite her best efforts, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered like a shadow in the recesses of her mind.
As she sat up in bed, Zatanna couldn't help but reflect on the irony of her situation. A mistress of magic, capable of weaving spells that defied the laws of nature, yet powerless to banish the specter of her own fears.
With a resigned sigh, Zatanna resolved to confront the source of her unease head-on. She knew that she couldn't afford to ignore the warning signs, no matter how unsettling they may be. Rising from her bed, she made her way to the window, the cool night air offering a welcome respite from the stifling grip of her nightmares.
Zatanna sat cross-legged on the plush chair in her bed chamber, surrounded by flickering candles she had ignited and the scent of incense. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow and steady as she delved deep into the recesses of her mind with self-hypnosis, a means of navigating the labyrinth of her subconscious and untangling the threads of her dreams.
As she focused on the rhythmic cadence of her breath, a loud vibration disrupted the tranquility of her meditation. With a sigh, Zatanna reluctantly opened her eyes and reached for the antique phone resting on a nearby table. The device, with its ornate design and arcane engravings, was a relic of a bygone era, yet its connection to the outside world was as potent as ever.
With practiced ease, Zatanna lifted the receiver to her ear, her lips parting in a soft greeting. "Long time, Bruce," she murmured tiredly.
Her exhausted voice was tinged with a hint of amusement. "I know you're not calling me just 'cause you missed me."
At the other end of the line, Batman's stoic demeanor remained unchanged. His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the silence like a blade through the night. "Zatanna... What do you know about 'Heroic Spirits'?" he inquired. His words carried a weight of urgency.
The mention of Heroic Spirits gave Zatanna pause. A large amount of concern danced behind her eyes.
"Bruce," she replied, her tone shifting from playful banter, "What... exactly... have you gotten yourself involved with?"
There was a pregnant pause as Batman contemplated his response.
As she gazed out into the darkness, Zatanna's thoughts turned to the rest of Shadowcrest, her family mansion. It was a mobile sanctuary that could exit in and out of imaginary numbers space, a bastion of arcane knowledge and ancient wisdom that had been passed
As she reached the heart of Shadowcrest, Zatanna found herself standing before a vast library, its shelves lined with tomes and grimoires that whispered secrets from as far back as the Age of Gods.
In the heart of Shadowcrest, Zatanna found herself surrounded by ancient artifacts in her family's mystical legacy.
The Book of Maps, a grimoire bound in weathered leather that promised hidden realms and secret pathways.
Useful… if you were in the Age of Gods or were captured by Fey.
Nearby, Demonography, a tome etched with ominous sigils. Zatanna ran her fingers over the leathery surface, feeling the faint thrum of dark energies that pulsed within.
Bruce hadn't summoned a demon or demonic entity.
The Talisman of "Atlantis", Zatanna considered it a potential aid… before she disregarded it
As she moved deeper into the sanctum, Zatanna's gaze fell upon the Gnosis Sphere, an orb of iridescent light suspended within a crystalline chamber.
The answer to all hidden from and by the Aletheia of Olympus.
That's where it takes its other name…
The God Machine.
"The last surviving artifact of the Great White death, a natural disaster that stretched across half the globe and forever changed the world."
Ever since her father told her about when she was a girl, she held the answer to every question in hand …
But metaphorically put it back because of fear.
It wasn't a light matter. The first human to have ever held it … simply kept holding it. For weeks and weeks and weeks, incapable of speech, incapable of movement, incapable of thought until they died thirst and hunger .
Mankind is all questions and when the answer to every question , does one have the will to stop asking ?
In a corner of the room, the Schrödinger Noose hung suspended— holding her bargaining chip for Clocktower and previous annoyance
With a determined resolve, Zatanna delved into the depths of the library, her fingers tracing the spine of each time with reverence. She knew that if she wanted to really help Bruce she had to look into the stuff soaked in Mystery and hard favors.
As Da Vinci concluded her manipulation of the magical circuits interfacing with the "Batcomputer", (heh), she found herself immersed in the vast ocean of data that encapsulated - operational history, case files, and cutting-edge technology.
It was a trove of information that spanned over a decade, revealing the evolution of methods, adversaries, and the relentless pursuit.
The Batcomputer, a technological marvel in itself, served as the nerve center for the Caped Crusader's operations. It housed an intricate network of databases, algorithms, and surveillance feeds.
The case files chronicled the myriad challenges faced, from common street thugs to "supercriminals" with grandiose schemes.
The evolution of technology unfolded before Da Vinci's metaphysical eyes. From advanced armor to cutting-edge vehicle engineering, every piece of equipment spoke of a commitment to pushing the boundaries of what was possible in the modern era.
She marveled at the fusion of aerodynamics and state-of-the-art weaponry.
Lost in the sea of information, Da Vinci contemplated the man behind the mask.
Just as Da Vinci was absorbing the enormity of her Master's work, a subtle alert echoed through the remade systems she had crafted. The Batwing, a sleek silhouette against the Fuyuki night sky, neared its destination to deliver the equipment requested. The programs she had integrated into the retrofitted hardware recognized the familiar signature of Batwing's approach, seamlessly aligning with the protocols established by Batman.
With a virtual nod of acknowledgment, Da Vinci prepared to receive the delivered equipment.
