The Batcave had always been impressive in the comics, the movies, the games, the animated series, and literally every other piece of media that had ever attempted to depict the operational headquarters of Gotham's Dark Knight. But there was something fundamentally different about standing in the actual, physical, real-life Batcave and realizing that you were now responsible for transforming it from a glorified man-cave with a computer into a genuine command center capable of supporting a one-man war against crime, corruption, and the occasional interdimensional threat.
Bruce stood on the main platform, surrounded by holographic displays that he had spent the last six hours configuring, and tried to process the sheer scope of what he was attempting to accomplish. The original Batcave—the one that existed in this timeline before his arrival—had been functional, certainly. It had computers, vehicles, a workshop, storage for equipment, and all the basic necessities for a vigilante operation. But it was also, from the perspective of someone who had spent years analyzing Batman's methodology from the outside, woefully underutilized.
"Alfred," Bruce called out, his voice echoing slightly in the vast underground space, "I need you to look at these specifications and tell me if I'm completely insane or only mostly insane."
The butler appeared from somewhere in the depths of the cave—Bruce was still learning the layout, which was considerably more extensive than any comic had ever suggested—carrying a silver tray with tea and what appeared to be a comprehensive engineering manual.
"I believe, Master Bruce, that the distinction between complete and partial insanity may be somewhat academic at this point," Alfred replied, setting the tray down on a workbench that was already cluttered with half-assembled components and design sketches. "However, I am happy to provide my assessment of your proposed modifications."
Bruce gestured toward the main display, where a three-dimensional model of the upgraded Batcave rotated slowly, highlighting the various improvements he had planned. "The first priority is the command center. The current computer system is adequate for basic operations—surveillance, criminal database management, communication—but it's not designed for the kind of threat analysis we're going to need."
He zoomed in on a section of the display showing a massive server array. "I want to install a distributed processing network with enough computational power to run real-time analysis of every security camera, police radio, and emergency service dispatch in Gotham simultaneously. The system should be able to identify patterns in criminal activity, predict likely targets for major operations, and provide tactical recommendations during active engagements."
Alfred studied the display with the expression of a man who had seen many strange things in his life and was attempting to determine where this particular strange thing ranked on the overall scale. "That's... ambitious, sir. The processing power required alone would exceed anything currently available on the commercial market."
"Which is why we're not going to buy it on the commercial market," Bruce replied, pulling up another window showing a schematic of custom-designed processing units. "Wayne Enterprises' Applied Sciences division has been developing quantum computing prototypes for the last three years. They're not commercially viable yet—too expensive, too unstable, too difficult to maintain—but for a single installation with dedicated support staff, they're exactly what we need."
"And by 'dedicated support staff,' you mean...?"
"Me. You. And eventually, some very carefully selected allies who can be trusted with the knowledge of what we're really doing down here." Bruce turned to face Alfred directly, his expression serious. "I'm not going to make the same mistakes the original Batman made, Alfred. I'm not going to try to do everything alone, keep everyone at arm's length, and then act surprised when my isolation leads to catastrophic failures."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "The 'original Batman,' sir?"
Bruce paused, realizing he had let slip more than he intended. "In my visions. The version of myself that followed the path I was on before... before I received the warning. He was brilliant, dedicated, tireless—and ultimately ineffective because he refused to truly trust anyone. He kept secrets from his allies, maintained emotional distance from everyone who tried to get close to him, and spent decades fighting the same battles over and over because he couldn't accept that collaboration might be more effective than isolation."
"I see." Alfred was quiet for a moment, processing this information. "And you intend to do things differently."
"I intend to do everything differently. Starting with the infrastructure." Bruce turned back to the display, zooming out to show the full scope of his planned renovations. "The cave itself needs to be expanded. More vehicle storage—we're going to need multiple Batmobiles configured for different mission profiles, plus aerial vehicles, watercraft, and specialty transports. More workshop space—the current fabrication capabilities are adequate for basic equipment, but I want the ability to manufacture advanced components in-house rather than relying on external suppliers who might ask uncomfortable questions."
He highlighted another section of the display. "Medical facilities need a complete overhaul. The current setup is basically a first aid station with some surgical equipment. I want a full trauma center, with diagnostic imaging, automated surgical assistance, and enough supplies to handle anything short of a major organ transplant."
"You're anticipating significant injuries, sir?"
"I'm anticipating everything, Alfred. That's the point." Bruce's voice carried a weight that seemed to surprise even him. "In my visions, I saw myself—the other version of myself—get hurt. Badly. Repeatedly. Broken bones, internal bleeding, traumatic brain injuries, damage that would have killed a normal person a hundred times over. And every single time, the recovery was longer and harder than it needed to be because the medical facilities weren't adequate."
He pulled up a detailed schematic of the proposed medical wing. "I'm not going to lie in a hospital bed for months because I didn't have the foresight to install proper recovery equipment. I'm not going to suffer permanent neurological damage because I didn't have access to advanced diagnostic imaging. And I'm definitely not going to die on an operating table because Alfred Pennyworth—brilliant and capable as he is—had to perform emergency surgery with inadequate tools."
Alfred's expression softened slightly at this, though his voice remained dry. "I appreciate your confidence in my surgical abilities, Master Bruce, however backhanded it may be."
"You're the best combat medic I've ever known, Alfred. But even the best medic can only do so much with limited resources." Bruce saved the current display configuration and pulled up a new file. "Now, let's talk about the really important part: the suit."
The current Batsuit hung in its display case like an accusation, its simple lines and minimal armor a testament to everything Bruce found inadequate about the original Batman's approach to personal protection.
"Look at this," Bruce said, gesturing at the suit with a combination of professional critique and personal offense. "This is what I've been using to fight criminals. This is what I've been trusting my life to every single night. A glorified costume with some Kevlar panels and a cape."
He circled the display case, cataloging the suit's deficiencies with the practiced eye of someone who had spent years identifying exactly these flaws. "The cowl provides basic head protection, but it leaves the entire lower face exposed. The jaw, the throat, the neck—all completely vulnerable. One lucky punch, one well-placed bullet, one knife at the wrong angle, and the Batman is dead. Not incapacitated, not injured, dead. Because apparently, the original design philosophy was 'looking intimidating is more important than not having my jaw shattered.'"
Alfred, who had followed Bruce to the suit display, cleared his throat delicately. "I believe the original design was intended to allow for greater peripheral vision and easier breathing during extended physical exertion, sir."
"And those are valid considerations," Bruce acknowledged, "which is why the new suit will address them properly instead of just ignoring the problem. Peripheral vision can be maintained through properly designed optical sensors feeding into a heads-up display. Breathing can be managed through an integrated air filtration and circulation system. There's no reason to leave half my face exposed just because the alternative requires actual engineering effort."
He pulled up his redesigned suit specifications on a nearby display, the sleek black-and-red lines of the modified Beyond suit rotating slowly in three-dimensional detail. "This is what I'm building. Full coverage armor with articulated joints for unrestricted mobility. The helmet"—he emphasized the word pointedly—"provides complete cranial protection while incorporating advanced sensor arrays, communication systems, and a display interface that will give me more situational awareness than the current setup could ever provide."
"It's certainly more... comprehensive," Alfred observed, studying the design with evident interest. "Though I notice it's considerably more aggressive in appearance than your current suit."
"The appearance is functional, not aesthetic. The angular lines help deflect impacts and reduce the suit's radar cross-section. The red accents serve as visual warning indicators—they'll shift color based on the suit's status, from red during normal operation to other colors indicating damage, power levels, or threat detection." Bruce zoomed in on the helmet section of the display. "But the most important change is the full face coverage. I am not going to get shot in the jaw and die because I thought looking like a bat was more important than protecting my vital organs."
He began pacing, his enthusiasm for the project evident in every gesture. "The base layer is a molecular-bonded carbon fiber composite—stronger than Kevlar by a factor of three, but flexible enough to allow full range of motion. Over that, we have an articulated exoskeleton frame that provides enhanced strength—my current estimate is approximately ten times normal human capability, though that might improve as we refine the design."
"Ten times, sir?" Alfred's eyebrows rose slightly. "That seems... considerable."
"It's necessary. The threats I'm going to face aren't limited to ordinary criminals, Alfred. There are metahumans out there—people with strength, speed, and durability that makes normal human capability look like a joke. If I'm going to operate in the same arena as those individuals, I need equipment that levels the playing field."
Bruce pulled up another section of the design, showing the suit's integrated flight system. "The cape is no longer just a gliding membrane. It's an active flight surface with embedded thrusters and control surfaces that allow for true powered flight. Not just falling with style—actual aerial maneuvering capability. The wings can also shift configuration for different flight modes: high-speed transit, combat maneuvering, or stealth approach."
"And the power source for all of this?"
"That's the challenging part," Bruce admitted. "The original Beyond suit used a compact fusion reactor, which doesn't exist yet. For now, I'm working with high-density battery arrays that should provide enough power for several hours of operation, with the ability to quick-swap depleted batteries for fresh ones during extended missions. It's not ideal, but it's what we can do with current technology."
He saved the suit specifications and pulled up a new file—this one showing the various systems integration he had planned. "The suit's real advantage isn't any single capability; it's how everything works together. The sensor array feeds data to an onboard AI assistant that provides real-time tactical analysis. The communication systems integrate with the cave's command center for remote support. The weapons systems—"
"Weapons systems, sir?"
Bruce paused, meeting Alfred's eyes. This was another point of departure from the original Batman's methodology, and he knew it would require careful explanation.
"Yes, Alfred. Weapons systems. Not just batarangs and smoke pellets—actual weapons designed to neutralize threats that can't be handled through conventional means." He pulled up a detailed schematic showing the suit's armament options. "Integrated taser systems capable of delivering incapacitating electrical charges. Sonic emitters for crowd control or disorienting individual targets. Micro-missile launchers for dealing with armored vehicles or hardened positions."
"And lethal options?"
"When necessary." Bruce's voice was steady, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not planning to kill everyone I encounter, Alfred. The vast majority of criminals can be subdued through non-lethal means and processed through the legal system—corrupt as it is. But there are going to be situations where non-lethal force is insufficient. Enemies who can shrug off tasers, who laugh at sonic weapons, who treat conventional restraint as a minor inconvenience."
He pulled up a separate file showing a list of names—villains from the comics whose threat profiles made non-lethal approaches dangerously inadequate. "When I face those enemies, I need the option to end the threat permanently. Not because I want to kill, but because the alternative is allowing them to continue killing."
Alfred was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I understand your reasoning, Master Bruce, even if I cannot fully endorse it. But might I suggest a safeguard?"
"I'm listening."
"If you're going to equip yourself with lethal capabilities, perhaps you should also establish clear criteria for when those capabilities may be used. A set of rules, if you will, that ensures the decision to take a life is never made lightly or in the heat of the moment."
Bruce considered this, nodding slowly. "That's... actually a good idea. A decision tree, essentially. Non-lethal options are always the first priority. Lethal force is only authorized when specific conditions are met—the target has demonstrated a pattern of lethal violence that cannot be stopped through other means, non-lethal options have been exhausted or are demonstrably insufficient, and the immediate threat to innocent life outweighs the moral cost of taking action."
"And you would commit to following this framework even when emotions run high?"
"Especially when emotions run high," Bruce agreed. "The point isn't to become a killer, Alfred. The point is to be effective. And effectiveness requires discipline, including the discipline to only use extreme measures when they're genuinely warranted."
Alfred seemed satisfied with this response, or at least as satisfied as a man of his moral convictions could be when discussing the ethics of vigilante homicide. "Very well, sir. Shall we proceed to the other items on your agenda?"
The Batmobile—the current version, at least—sat in its designated bay like a sleeping predator, its matte black surface absorbing the cave's ambient lighting. Bruce circled it slowly, his expression a mixture of appreciation and frustration.
"It's a good car," he admitted, running his hand along the reinforced chassis. "Fast, maneuverable, armored enough to survive small arms fire and most explosive attacks. The original design team did excellent work within the constraints they were given."
"But?" Alfred prompted, recognizing the tone that preceded one of Master Bruce's critiques.
"But it's still fundamentally a car. Four wheels, internal combustion engine, limited to surface roads and relatively predictable movement patterns. Against ordinary criminals, that's fine—they're driving ordinary vehicles, and the Batmobile's superior performance gives me every advantage I need. But against enemies with aerial capability, or superhuman speed, or the ability to just pick up the car and throw it..."
He trailed off, shaking his head. "I need something more versatile. Multiple vehicles configured for different mission profiles, all designed to work together as part of an integrated tactical system."
Bruce pulled up his vehicle specifications on a nearby display, showing a array of designs that made the current Batmobile look almost quaint. "The primary ground vehicle stays mostly the same—upgraded armor, improved propulsion, better sensor integration—but with the addition of a modular weapons platform and the ability to operate in autonomous mode when I need to deploy on foot."
He swiped to the next design. "The aerial vehicle—the Batwing, or whatever we want to call it—needs to be completely reimagined. The current design is basically a jet with some stealth features. What I want is a VTOL-capable aircraft with advanced sensor arrays, electronic warfare capabilities, and enough firepower to deal with serious threats. It should be able to function as a mobile command center when I need extended operational capability away from the cave."
"That's... a significant aircraft, sir."
"It is. Which is why I'm also designing a smaller, more personal aerial vehicle for situations where the full Batwing would be overkill." Bruce pulled up another schematic, showing a compact, single-person aircraft that looked like a cross between a motorcycle and a helicopter. "The Batcycle—aerial variant. Faster and more maneuverable than the Batwing, capable of operating in urban environments where a larger aircraft would be impractical."
Alfred studied the designs with evident fascination, his earlier reservations seemingly overwhelmed by professional interest. "The engineering challenges here are considerable, Master Bruce. Propulsion systems, power management, materials science—you're proposing to develop technologies that don't exist yet."
"Some of them exist," Bruce corrected. "They're just not integrated in the ways I'm proposing. The propulsion systems are adaptations of existing jet and hover technology. The materials are advanced composites that Wayne Enterprises already has the capability to produce. The sensor arrays and computing systems are sophisticated but achievable with current technology."
He saved the vehicle specifications and turned to face Alfred directly. "This is what I mean about actually using the resources available, Alfred. Wayne Enterprises has access to some of the most advanced technology on the planet. The original Batman—the version from my visions—used maybe ten percent of that capability because he was too focused on maintaining his secret identity and too paranoid about technology falling into the wrong hands."
"And you're not concerned about those same risks?"
"I'm concerned about everything," Bruce replied. "But I'm also realistic about the cost-benefit analysis. The risk of advanced technology being stolen or misused is real, but it's manageable with proper security measures. The risk of being overwhelmed by superior enemies because I refused to utilize available resources is also real, and it's not manageable at all—it just results in failure and death."
He pulled up a new display showing security protocols and containment procedures. "Everything we develop will have multiple layers of protection. Biometric locks, remote deactivation capabilities, self-destruct mechanisms for the most sensitive equipment. If any of this technology falls into the wrong hands, it will be useless to them—and potentially very harmful to anyone who tries to misuse it."
Alfred nodded slowly, apparently satisfied with this explanation. "You've clearly given this considerable thought, Master Bruce."
"I've had years to think about it, Alfred. Years of watching the original Batman make the same mistakes over and over, years of screaming at screens about how obvious the solutions were, years of—" Bruce caught himself, realizing he was slipping into Mike Chen's cadence rather than Bruce Wayne's. "I mean, I've had... extensive visions about how things went wrong. And I'm determined not to repeat those failures."
It was during a brief break from the technical work—Alfred had insisted on lunch, maintaining that even aspiring dark knights needed proper nutrition—that Bruce turned his attention to a aspect of Batman's methodology that had always particularly infuriated him.
"The contingency plans," he said suddenly, looking up from his sandwich with an expression of dawning realization. "I need to address the contingency plans."
Alfred, who had been quietly reading a newspaper while Bruce ate, looked up with a expression of polite confusion. "Contingency plans, sir?"
"In my visions, I saw... the other Batman... maintain detailed files on how to neutralize every member of the Justice League. Detailed plans for taking down Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, every single one of his allies. He called them 'contingencies,' kept them secret from everyone, and when they were eventually discovered—or stolen and misused—the resulting fallout nearly destroyed the League."
Bruce set down his sandwich, his appetite suddenly diminished. "It was idiotic, Alfred. Completely, absolutely idiotic. These were his friends. His closest allies. The people he was supposed to trust most in the world. And instead of trusting them, he planned for their betrayal. Planned for the day when he might need to destroy them."
"Given the potential threat posed by individuals with superhuman abilities," Alfred said carefully, "one might argue that such planning was merely prudent."
"One might argue that, but one would be wrong." Bruce stood, beginning to pace in the way he did when working through a particularly frustrating problem. "Here's the thing about contingency plans against allies, Alfred: they demonstrate a fundamental failure of strategic thinking. Batman was so focused on the hypothetical threat posed by his friends that he completely neglected the actual, documented, repeatedly demonstrated threat posed by his enemies."
He pulled up a new display, beginning to create a file structure that would eventually contain very different contingencies. "The Joker escaped from Arkham how many times? Dozens? Hundreds? Each time, he killed more people, caused more chaos, proved beyond any reasonable doubt that conventional containment methods were insufficient. And what did Batman do? Kept beating him up and sending him back to the asylum that couldn't hold him."
"Meanwhile, he's spending his valuable time and resources developing kryptonite weapons to use against Superman—Superman, who has never shown any inclination toward betrayal, who has consistently been one of the most trustworthy beings on the planet, who has literally sacrificed his life to protect Earth more than once."
Bruce turned to face Alfred, his expression intense. "The contingencies should have been for the rogues gallery, Alfred. Detailed, comprehensive plans for permanently neutralizing every recurring threat to Gotham and the world. Not 'how do I beat this villain in our next encounter,' but 'how do I ensure this villain never threatens anyone ever again.'"
He began populating the new file structure with names, each one accompanied by everything he could remember from the comics about their capabilities, weaknesses, and patterns. "The Joker. Bane. Ra's al Ghul. The Court of Owls. Deathstroke. Every single entity that will pose a credible threat to Gotham or the world at large. I'm going to develop complete strategic profiles, including lethal options for the ones who have proven that non-lethal containment is insufficient."
"And the heroes, sir? You'll have no contingencies for them at all?"
Bruce paused, considering the question. "If—and this is a massive if—any of my future allies ever became genuine threats, the response would be collaborative, not unilateral. I would share my concerns with other allies, develop joint responses, operate on principles of transparency and trust rather than paranoid secrecy."
He shook his head, a note of disgust in his voice. "The original Batman's contingency plans weren't about protecting the world. They were about control. About ensuring that no matter how powerful his allies became, he would always have a way to bring them down. It was arrogance masquerading as prudence, and it caused more harm than it ever prevented."
Alfred was quiet for a long moment, processing this perspective. Finally, he spoke: "You're proposing a fundamentally different approach to heroism than what I've observed in your... visions."
"I'm proposing an approach that might actually work," Bruce replied. "The original Batman was effective in many ways, but his inability to trust—his compulsive need to maintain control over everyone and everything—was his greatest weakness. I won't repeat that mistake."
The afternoon brought a different kind of challenge: the Wayne Enterprises board meeting that Bruce had been dreading since he woke up in this body.
Actually, "dreading" was perhaps too strong a word. Mike Chen had never been particularly interested in corporate governance—his professional life had been spent as a mid-level graphic designer at a marketing firm that specialized in pharmaceutical advertising, which was about as far from billion-dollar business management as one could get while still wearing a tie to work. But Bruce Wayne's muscle memory and institutional knowledge had provided enough baseline competence to function, and his new perspective offered advantages that the original Bruce had never possessed.
Specifically: he actually cared about Wayne Enterprises as something other than a funding source for the Batman mission.
"The quarterly reports are encouraging," said Lucius Fox, standing at the head of the conference table with a presentation that featured the kind of charts and graphs that would have made Mike Chen's eyes glaze over but which Bruce found himself following with unexpected interest. "Revenue is up seven percent year-over-year, with particularly strong performance in our aerospace and medical technology divisions."
Bruce nodded along, his mind simultaneously processing the financial data and cataloging which divisions would be most useful for his planned upgrades. The aerospace division could potentially develop the Batwing components. The medical technology division might have resources applicable to the upgraded cave facilities. The Applied Sciences division—Lucius's personal domain—was obviously central to the entire operation.
"What about Applied Sciences?" Bruce asked, interrupting Lucius's presentation with a directness that drew surprised looks from several board members. "I've been reviewing our R&D pipeline, and I have some questions about project prioritization."
Lucius's expression shifted almost imperceptibly—a flicker of interest behind his professional mask. "Of course, Mr. Wayne. What would you like to know?"
"The carbon fiber composite program—where are we with commercial viability?"
"We've made significant progress on tensile strength and flexibility, but the manufacturing costs are still prohibitive for mass-market applications. Current estimates suggest another three to five years before we can produce materials at competitive price points."
"What if cost wasn't the primary consideration?" Bruce pressed. "What if we prioritized performance over commercial viability for certain... specialized applications?"
The room went very quiet. Several board members exchanged glances that ranged from confused to concerned. Lucius, however, seemed to understand exactly what Bruce was asking.
"For specialized applications," Lucius said carefully, "we could accelerate development significantly. The materials themselves are already performing well in laboratory conditions. It's the scaling for mass production that presents challenges."
"I'd like to discuss those specialized applications in more detail," Bruce said. "After the meeting. In private."
"Of course, Mr. Wayne."
The rest of the meeting proceeded normally—budget allocations, personnel updates, the usual corporate minutiae—but Bruce's mind was already racing ahead to the conversation he would have with Lucius afterward. The engineer was one of the few people in the original timeline who had known the full truth about Batman and had been trusted with access to the most sensitive technologies. Getting him fully on board early would accelerate everything.
When the meeting finally concluded and the other board members filed out, Bruce remained seated, waiting for Lucius to approach.
"You wanted to discuss specialized applications," Lucius said, closing the door behind the last departing board member.
"I want to discuss reality, Mr. Fox." Bruce leaned back in his chair, studying the engineer with an intensity that seemed to make the older man slightly uncomfortable. "You're one of the smartest people in this company, maybe one of the smartest people on the planet. And I suspect you've already figured out that some of our 'specialized applications' have nothing to do with commercial products."
Lucius was quiet for a moment, his expression carefully neutral. "I've noticed that certain prototypes have disappeared from Applied Sciences inventory without corresponding commercial deployment. I've also noticed that several of our most advanced projects seem to have no clear business justification, yet continue to receive funding."
"And you've never reported these discrepancies?"
"I've... had my suspicions about where those prototypes went and why those projects were funded." Lucius met Bruce's eyes directly. "And I've decided that, whatever is happening, it's probably serving a purpose that I support."
Bruce allowed himself a small smile. "You're right to trust your instincts, Mr. Fox. And I think it's time we stopped pretending and started working together openly."
For the next two hours, Bruce laid out his plans—edited for security, but comprehensive enough to give Lucius a clear picture of what they were building and why. The engineer listened with increasing fascination, occasionally interrupting with technical questions that demonstrated both his expertise and his growing investment in the project.
"The full-face helmet design addresses a vulnerability I've always wondered about," Lucius admitted, studying the Beyond suit schematics on Bruce's tablet. "The exposed jaw seemed like an obvious weak point."
"It is an obvious weak point. That's why I'm fixing it." Bruce highlighted the helmet's sensor array integration. "But the helmet isn't just about protection—it's about capability. Full three-sixty degree awareness through integrated sensors, real-time threat analysis, communication with the cave's command systems, even limited neural interface capabilities once we develop the technology further."
"Neural interface?" Lucius's eyebrows rose. "That's... ambitious."
"Everything I'm planning is ambitious, Mr. Fox. That's the point. I'm not trying to marginally improve the current approach—I'm trying to revolutionize it. And I need your help to make that happen."
Lucius was quiet for a long moment, clearly weighing the implications of what he was being asked to participate in. Finally, he nodded slowly.
"I'll need complete access to your technical specifications. And I'll need to bring in some trusted personnel—engineers who can be relied upon to maintain discretion."
"Agreed. But everyone who joins this project does so with full understanding of the security requirements. This isn't a corporate research program—it's something else entirely, and the stakes for breaches are correspondingly higher."
"Understood." Lucius extended his hand, and Bruce shook it firmly. "Mr. Wayne, I've been waiting for you to take this project seriously for years. I'm glad you're finally ready to do things right."
It was late evening by the time Bruce finally returned to the cave, his mind buzzing with the day's accomplishments and the work that still lay ahead. Alfred had anticipated his return and prepared a light dinner, which Bruce ate while reviewing the status of various upgrade projects.
"The manufacturing equipment has been ordered," Alfred reported, scrolling through a tablet that displayed procurement details. "Most items should arrive within the week. The quantum computing components will require longer—Mr. Fox has indicated that some of the necessary materials must be specially fabricated."
"That's fine. The computing upgrade is important, but it's not the most time-sensitive element." Bruce pulled up his suit design on the main display, making minor adjustments to the power distribution system. "The priority is getting the basic suit functional. Everything else builds on that foundation."
"Very good, sir. And speaking of foundations..." Alfred pulled up a new display showing Bruce's personal financial information. "I've taken the liberty of reviewing the Wayne family accounts, as you requested."
Bruce glanced at the display, expecting to see the kind of substantial-but-comprehensible wealth that he had vaguely imagined from the comics. What he saw instead made him choke on his dinner.
"Alfred," he said slowly, once he had recovered from his coughing fit, "is that number correct?"
"It appears to be, sir."
"Because that number has... a lot of digits."
"Indeed it does, sir."
Bruce stared at the display, trying to process the financial information it was showing him. The Wayne family fortune, as it turned out, was not merely substantial. It was not even merely vast. It was, by any reasonable measure, functionally infinite.
The liquid assets alone—cash, easily-liquidated investments, readily accessible funds—amounted to more money than Mike Chen could have spent in a thousand lifetimes. The illiquid assets—real estate, corporate holdings, art collections, various other investments—multiplied that figure by an order of magnitude. And the potential future value of Wayne Enterprises' patent portfolio and ongoing business operations...
"Alfred," Bruce said, his voice faint, "this can't be right. I mean, I knew Bruce Wayne was rich, but this is..."
"The Wayne family has been accumulating wealth for generations, Master Bruce. Your father was a skilled investor, and his father before him. The compound growth over centuries, combined with the extraordinary success of Wayne Enterprises in the post-war period..."
"Comic book logic," Bruce muttered, shaking his head. "It's comic book logic. The writers never had to actually justify the numbers, so they just... made them up. Big enough to fund anything the plot required, never so big that anyone had to ask why Bruce Wayne hadn't just bought Gotham and declared himself king."
"I'm not certain I follow, sir."
"Never mind." Bruce took a deep breath, trying to adjust his perspective to accommodate this new information. "Okay. So money is not a constraint. At all. For anything."
"That would appear to be the case, sir."
"Then we're not doing this halfway. The cave upgrades, the vehicles, the suit—I want everything done at the highest possible quality with the best available materials. If better options exist, we pursue them regardless of cost. The only constraints are time and technology, not budget."
He began modifying his specifications, removing the cost-optimization notes he had included out of habit. "And I want to establish additional funding streams for the allies we're going to recruit. Training facilities, equipment, support infrastructure. If someone is going to fight alongside Batman, they're going to have access to the same quality of resources I have."
"That's quite generous, sir."
"It's practical, Alfred. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. If my allies are underequipped because I was too cheap to fund them properly, their failures become my failures." Bruce pulled up the contingency files he had started earlier, adding budget allocations for each potential ally's equipment needs. "When Barbara Gordon joins the operation, she's getting a suit as good as mine. When Dick Grayson—assuming events play out as I expect them to—enters the picture, same thing. No more making do with hand-me-downs and improvised gear."
"You're planning quite far ahead, sir."
"I have to, Alfred. I know what's coming—at least, I know what was supposed to come in the original timeline. If I'm going to change things for the better, I need to be prepared for every contingency."
He paused, a sudden thought occurring to him. "Speaking of contingencies... the chemical plant incident. The one from yesterday's news. I need to investigate that tonight."
"Tonight, sir? You haven't finished any of the suit upgrades yet."
"I know. I'll have to use the current suit, inadequate as it is." Bruce's expression hardened. "But this can't wait. If I'm right about what's happening at that plant, we're looking at the origin of one of Gotham's most dangerous threats. A threat I might be able to prevent if I act fast enough."
Alfred's brow furrowed with concern. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then I've wasted an evening investigating a minor chemical theft." Bruce stood, moving toward the suit display. "But if I'm right... if I can stop this before it really starts..."
He reached out, touching the glass case that held the current Batsuit. It was inadequate, yes. Vulnerable in ways that his new design would address. But it was also functional, and tonight, functional would have to be enough.
"The full-face helmet isn't ready yet," he muttered, pulling the suit from its case. "Guess I'll just have to hope no one shoots me in the jaw tonight."
"Most reassuring, sir," Alfred said dryly.
The suit fit differently than Bruce had expected—or rather, than Mike had expected. Bruce Wayne's body had been wearing this suit for months, and the muscle memory of donning it was as familiar as putting on a well-worn jacket. But experiencing it from the inside, feeling the weight of the cape on his shoulders and the tightness of the cowl around his face, was something else entirely.
"This is real," he murmured, staring at his reflection in the display case's glass. "This is actually happening."
The Batman stared back at him—the actual, genuine, honest-to-god Batman. Not a costume, not a cosplay, not a character in a comic book. A real person, standing in a real cave, preparing to go out into a real city and fight real criminals.
Mike Chen, comic book critic and professional Batman hater, was now Batman.
"The irony is not lost on me," he said to his reflection. "Just so you know."
His reflection, naturally, did not respond.
Bruce—Batman—whoever he was now—turned away from the display and made his way to the current Batmobile. It wasn't the upgraded version he was planning, but it would serve for tonight's mission. The drive to the chemical plant would give him time to think, to plan, to prepare for whatever he might find when he arrived.
"Alfred," he said, activating the communication system built into the cowl, "I'm heading out. Monitor the police frequencies and keep me informed of any relevant developments."
"Of course, sir. And Master Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"Do be careful. The new suit may not be ready, but the man wearing the old one is irreplaceable."
Batman allowed himself a small smile beneath the cowl. "Noted, Alfred. I'll try not to die until the helmet's finished."
"Most considerate of you, sir."
The Batmobile's engine roared to life, and Batman pulled out of the cave, heading toward the city—toward the chemical plant—toward the beginning of something that would either save Gotham or destroy everything he was trying to build.
Either way, it was going to be one hell of a story.
END OF CHAPTER TWO