Axis Chemicals - 3:00 AM
The front gates of Axis Chemicals were reinforced steel, topped with razor wire and guarded by three automated turret guns.
"Estimated durability of the gate is Class 4," I noted from the passenger seat of the Batmobile. "We could bypass it through the drainage grate in the south sector."
"No," Bruce said. His voice was different. He was wearing the Mark I Exo-Frame. It was bulky, unrefined, and terrifying—thick plates of matte-black titanium, hydraulic pistons hissing at the joints, and glowing white slits for eyes. He looked less like a ninja and more like a walking natural disaster.
"No sneaking," Bruce growled. "Not tonight."
He slammed the throttle.
The Batmobile—a heavy, turbine-powered beast—roared. We hit the gate at eighty miles per hour.
CRASH.
Metal shrieked. The gate flew off its hinges, crumpling like wet cardboard. The automated turrets opened fire, bullets pinging harmlessly off the Batmobile's armor.
We skidded to a halt in the main courtyard.
"Showtime," I said, opening my door.
I stepped out into the rain. I adjusted my white gloves and smoothed the tails of my coat.
Bruce stepped out.
THUD.
The ground actually shook. The Exo-Suit added three hundred pounds to his frame. Steam hissed from the leg pistons as he stood up to his full height of six-foot-six.
Dozens of thugs poured out of the factory doors. These weren't normal criminals. Their eyes were dilated, their veins bulging green under their skin. They were high on a diluted version of the adrenaline compound. They held baseball bats, chains, and submachine guns.
"Get them!" one screamed. " The Clown wants their heads!"
They charged. A wave of screaming madness.
"Shall we?" I asked, pulling three silver butter knives from my breast pocket.
"Stay behind me," Batman commanded. "I'll clear a path."
He walked forward. He didn't run. He stomped.
A thug swung a lead pipe at Batman's head.
CLANG.
The pipe bent around the helmet. Batman didn't even flinch. He simply reached out, grabbed the thug by the chest with a hydraulic claw, and threw him thirty feet into a pile of oil drums.
WHOOSH. CRASH.
"Target neutralized," Batman's mechanized voice boomed.
Three men opened fire with Uzi submachine guns.
PING-PING-PING-PING.
Sparks flew off Batman's chest plate. He marched through the hail of bullets, grabbed two of the men by their heads, and slammed them together. They dropped instantly.
However, a fourth man had flanked us. He aimed a shotgun at Batman's exposed neck joint.
"Cheeky," I whispered.
I moved.
I blurred across the wet asphalt. I appeared between the gunman and Bruce.
The man pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The buckshot hit me square in the chest. It shredded my waistcoat.
The thug blinked. I was still standing there. I looked down at my ruined shirt.
"Do you have any idea," I sighed, my eyes glowing fuchsia, "how difficult it is to find a good tailor in this city at 3:00 AM?"
I caught the barrel of his shotgun with two fingers. I squeezed. The metal barrel collapsed, sealing shut.
"Run along now."
I backhanded him. It was a light tap, really. He spun in the air twice before hitting the pavement, unconscious.
"Sebastian," Batman grunted, crushing a thug's weapon with his boot. "Your vest."
"Ventilation, sir. Focus on the mission."
We moved into the main factory floor.
It was a chaotic labyrinth of conveyor belts, steam pipes, and vats of chemicals.
"Welcome, welcome!" The Joker's voice echoed over the PA system. "I see you brought the heavy metal! And the butler? Oh, how posh! Did you bring tea? I'm parched!"
"Joker!" Batman shouted, his voice amplified by the suit's speakers. "Where is the antidote?"
"Come and get it! Top floor! But be careful... I have a new pet who wants to play!"
From the shadows of the loading bay, a massive shape emerged.
It was a man, but barely. He stood seven feet tall. Tubes pumped glowing green fluid directly into his neck. His muscles were so swollen the skin looked like it was tearing. He wore a wrestling mask.
A prototype. The precursor to Bane.
"Big guy," Bruce noted. "Hydraulics engaged at 100%."
"Go, Young Master," I said, sensing more thugs flanking us from the catwalks. "I will handle the rabble. You take the monster."
Batman nodded. He charged the brute. The two titans collided with a sound like a car crash, grappling in the center of the room.
I turned my attention to the stairs. Twelve armed men were rushing down.
"Twelve," I counted. "And I have exactly twelve pieces of silverware left on my person."
I smiled.
"Dinner is served."
I launched myself into the air. I didn't need the stairs. I ran up the wall, defying gravity.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
Silver knives flew from my hands with the precision of a sniper rifle. Each one found a shoulder, a knee, or a hand, pinning the thugs to the walls or disarming them instantly.
I landed on the catwalk railing, balancing on one foot like a bird.
One thug remained standing. He was trembling, holding a knife.
"Please," I said, dusting off my sleeves. "Look at your friends. Look at me. Do the math."
He dropped the knife and ran.
"Wise choice."
Below me, the battle of the titans was concluding.
The brute punched Batman, denting the titanium chest plate. Batman staggered back, then activated his taser-knuckles.
ZACK-BOOM.
He drove a catastrophic electric charge into the brute's injection tubes. The green fluid boiled. The monster seized up, foamed at the mouth, and collapsed.
"Threat neutralized," Batman panted. The suit was damaged, leaking hydraulic fluid. "Antidote... upstairs."
I jumped down, landing softly beside him.
"Your suit is compromised, sir."
"I can still walk. Let's finish this."
We kicked open the doors to the main office.
There was no Joker.
Just a single, large vat in the center of the room, connected to the city's water main. And a timer.
00:05... 00:04...
"He's going to dump the venom into the water supply," Bruce realized. "If that valve opens, everyone who drinks tap water dies."
"The manual override!" I pointed to a wheel on the side of the vat. It was rusted shut.
Bruce grabbed it with his robotic claws. He pulled. The metal groaned.
"It's stuck!"
"Allow me."
I placed my hands over his. I stopped suppressing my demon strength. Shadows curled around my arms, ripping through the fabric of my coat.
Together—the machine and the monster—we pulled.
SCREEEEEECH.
The rusted metal sheared. The valve slammed shut.
00:01... 00:00.
The timer beeped. The pumps engaged... but the pipe was sealed. The venom churned harmlessly in the vat.
"We did it," Bruce exhaled, the suit powering down.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Slow, sarcastic applause echoed from the shadows.
We turned.
Standing on a platform above us, near the skylight, was the Joker. He was holding onto a rope ladder that dangled from a helicopter hovering silently above.
"Bravo!" Joker laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Oh, that was tense! I was on the edge of my seat! The drama! The bromance!"
"Get down here!" Batman yelled, trying to fire his grapple. It jammed.
"Not tonight, darling!" Joker waved. "I just wanted to see what you could do! And you passed the audition! We're going to have so much fun, you and I!"
The helicopter began to rise.
"Oh, and don't worry about the antidote!" Joker shouted over the rotor wash. "I left the recipe on the desk! Consider it a consolation prize! Toodles!"
He vanished into the rainy night.
Bruce stood there, furious, watching him escape.
I walked over to the desk. There was indeed a piece of paper. It was a chemical formula scribbled in crayon.
"Is it real?" Bruce asked.
I scanned it. "Surprisingly... yes. It is a legitimate neutralizing agent for the binary compound."
Bruce slumped against the wall. "He gave it to us? Why?"
"Because," I said, looking up at the skylight. "He didn't want to kill everyone. He wanted to see if you were worthy of being his opponent."
I picked up the paper.
"Congratulations, Young Master. You have officially been hired as his playmate."
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