Chapter 8: The Residence of Bats
The constant scrolling on his phone, the muttered "He used to help me," and the general air of melancholy meant that the security guard at New York University failed to notice a figure using an improbable method to enter the building unnoticed.
Wayne understood the community's grief and respect for Spider-Man. But it had nothing to do with him. His objective was simple: utilize the university's resources to forge a perfect identity.
Pulling his hood tighter, Wayne moved through the unfamiliar halls. Though he had never been to NYU, he navigated the corridors, easily bypassing the CCTV cameras, and quickly located his target: the computer lab.
The lab was locked, a visible deterrent against overzealous students, especially on the cusp of Christmas break.
Wayne calmly produced a small gadget from his utility belt. He pressed the device against the electronic lock. The mechanism clicked open instantly, no time wasted.
He entered the dark computer room. After confirming that no student was present, Wayne settled in and began his work. Though the computers weren't high-end, they were more than capable of creating a flawless identity.
In the dark room, only the light from the monitor illuminated Wayne. The baseball cap and hoodie kept his face hidden from the ceiling camera. The only sound was the rapid, rhythmic clicking of the keyboard.
When the sun rose again, Wayne had completed every preparation.
He was amazed by his current body's stamina. After an all-nighter, he felt fully energized. Over the course of the night, Wayne had created: a legal identity, a driver's license, a legal bank account, and a social security number. He even fabricated corresponding tax records filed annually with the IRS.
"I'm truly grateful that Mr. Kane chose our bank. You will always be our most valued client," the bank manager said, extending his hand with a wide smile.
"Then I'll see you next time," Wayne replied, shaking the manager's hand firmly before turning and leaving.
After Wayne departed, the tellers happily discussed the handsome, if strangely dressed, man. A meticulously perfect man wearing utterly inappropriate, baggy clothes created an undeniable dramatic tension.
The manager, though initially hesitant about the large cash deposit—a rarity in American society, usually associated with illicit activities—had no reason to turn him away. Everything about Wayne suggested a normal, if wealthy, civilian.
By the time Wayne walked out of the final bank, he was no longer a Bat carrying millions in a cloth sack; he was Bruce Wayne, the millionaire.
His next step was obvious: proper clothing.
Standing on the measuring platform at Gucci, Wayne was questioned by the tailor.
"Sir, are these sets for a formal or a social setting?"
"Social."
"Daytime or evening?"
"I want a day set and an evening set."
"Style?"
"Italian."
"Number of buttons?"
"Two."
Since Wayne lacked a fixed address, he scheduled a pickup in two days. But he didn't leave empty-handed. He walked out of the store completely transformed in a tailored three-piece suit.
Looking into the distance at the memorial service for Spider-Man and listening to the family's speeches, Wayne simply walked in the opposite direction of the crowd. He already had a solid grasp of this world. He'd even seen the film about the various Spider-Men, intrigued by the multi-universe concept.
But that was irrelevant now. He needed to settle his affairs quickly. Since he lacked the specific ability to return to his dimension, all he could do was establish his life here.
"Isn't it a little small?" Thomas frowned, viewing the modest single-family home Wayne had chosen through his eyes.
"If I had inherited your fortune, Wayne, do you think I would live here?" Thomas scoffed.
Wayne was quite satisfied. "At least I have a place to live." He parked his newly purchased car and looked at the house. He knew that if he chose to build a Batcave later, the construction would be enormous, but this location was perfect for his immediate needs.
"Even if this residence may be uncomfortably close to trouble."
Wayne saw several people gathered at the door of the neighboring house, helping an elderly, white-haired woman inside.
It was exactly what he had tried to avoid: the one place that met his criteria for move-in readiness and financial practicality was a detached house only fifty meters away from the home of Peter Parker's Aunt May.
"Do you really not need me to stay with you?" Mary Jane asked Aunt May, her face etched with worry. Sending off a child was the worst pain for a parent, and she was concerned about Aunt May's mental state.
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