Kansas

The old, green truck screeched to a sudden halt, rubbing against the pavement of the long, mostly barren, Kansas road. The heat was visible, shifting vision in the distance and creating an illusionary reflection from the road of the clear, blue sky. The truck was surrounded by a field of corn on the right of it and wheat to the left. Inside the truck, an older man was already turned to the back seat, where a boy with black hair and blue eyes shifted awkwardly.

"You signed up for what now?!"

The boy sighed, then muttered, "I knew this wasn't going to end well."

The woman in the passenger seat turned to the man, putting her hand on his shoulder, "Jonathan, please."

"No, Martha, I ain't letting this go!" He trained his eyes back on the boy, "Repeat what you just said, Clark Kent. Now!"

The boy wanted to shrink into his seat. "I," He had to take a deep breath before continuing, "signed up for a foreign exchange program."

"We went over this many times, son, you ain't going to that school! End of discussion!"

"But, Dad, I can make a huge difference in the world if I went! You're always telling me that I'm going to change the world and I think this is it!"

Martha pushed her sand-colored hair out of her face, looking to her husband, "Jon, dear, you can't just blow him off like that."

He turned to her, an offended look plastered on his face, "Don't you take his side now," he turned around, placing his hands on the wheel and shifting gears from parked to drive, "I know this is the way society has been for a while, but violence only begets more violence. I won't let you be part of that vicious cycle! Period."

The boy knew he wasn't getting anywhere from there. He crossed his arms, accepting a bitter defeat once again.

Gotham City

The spotlight shone brightly in his face, making it difficult to see the live audience in front of him. The cheers were enough to let him know, however, that there were plenty of men and women in front of him. To his left, a woman with blonde hair and green eyes was smiling towards a camera, waiting for the red light to blink on. She was fixing the last of her make-up, making sure she looked good for the small screen.

The woman turned to the boy after she clasped the foundation capsule shut, "Are you sure you're ready? This is kind of a big deal for you, too."

The boy nodded, giving the woman a smirk. "Is there a better way you can think of to tell Gotham I'm back in town than the Vicki Vale Show?"

She smiled, nodding to him, "Better than Jack Ryder's show, that's for sure."

One of the crew members signaled to the two on stage. In response they got into their respective positions, both smiling towards the camera.

"We're live, in five, four three, two…" The crew member put two fingers up at the respective number, then lowered the second finger silently before clenching his fist. When the fist clenched, the red light on the camera came to life, signaling the Vicki Vale to start.

"Hello, fellow Gothamites! I'm Vicki Vale, and this is the Vicki Vale Show!" Artificial clapping ensued, the host waving at an audience that was there only in spirit behind their TV screens. Once the clapping settled down, she leaned forward, the camera zooming forward towards her, "Now, I've got a little secret to tell you all, something that took precedence over our original interview with the famous actor and one of many great heroes of Gotham City, Clayface."

She leaned back, tilting her head down as solemn music played in the background, "A mere six years ago, there was an incident involving one of the wealthiest families in the world. A mother, a father, and their son were caught in a mugging in the infamously dubbed, Crime Alley. The parents were shot in the dark, murdered in cold blood to satiate his own greed, leaving their son to fend for himself in the streets until the police and heroes were able to arrive on scene!" She closed her eyes, giving a small pause to allow for the music to die down. "That boy, a mere two weeks after this incident seemingly disappeared, hadn't been seen again and was presumed dead by police and whose belongings were left to a friend of the family."

She opened her eyes, staring down the camera, "If only we had this boy here today to tell his side of the story, right Gotham? Well, wish granted…"

The camera zoomed out even further and strafed to the right of the person next to the host. The camera, once he was in view, switched to another of a close up of his face, to which he smirked towards.

"Please welcome Bruce Wayne back to Gotham City from the dead!" Vicki Announced, the artificial cheering bursting from the background.

The billionaire waved to the camera and continued to smile, even as the clapping receded. As it did, he turned towards the host with the grin still on his face, "Please, Miss Vale, you make it sound a lot more thrilling than it really was."

"How about this; you call me Vicki and we'll let you tell your side of things to Gotham, deal?"

"That sounds fair to me," the boy laughed under his breath before crossing his left leg over his right, "But it really wasn't as interesting as you make it out to be. I simply had to leave Gotham for a while. I went to a place where I could be secluded, to reflect and come to peace with the horrific deaths of my parents." By this point his face had become more solemn than what it was when he started, "I was only eight years old then, and I couldn't really function as well after it."

The woman nodded, "Indeed, I can't imagine what it must have been like for you. I hope it didn't get in the way of your schooling, then."

Bruce nodded, smiling back to the woman, "I had plenty of resources where I was to get the proper education, but the best thing for me there was getting rest and therapy."

"I suppose it would be difficult for you to continue normally with such a weight on your shoulders. I'm sure everyone at home have their sympathies towards you, Bruce." Vicki sat back in her chair, a smile falling back on her face, "So, what are some of your plans coming back to Gotham City outside of school?"

Kansas

"Well, Vicki, I was hoping to throw a party here next week, inviting some of the Pro Heroes and other wealthy families from around the world." The boy in the loose suit smiled to the camera, "It's important to know who the best is before donating to them, after a-."

The television shut off and the farmer sighed while placing the remote on the counter next to him. He looked back at his son, then to his wife. Then he grunted to himself, "Everyone is obsessed with this hero business."

Clark picked up his empty plate, motioning towards the kitchen, "That's because they do really good work protecting people."

"Watch your mouth, young man! You're on thin ice after what you pulled."

The boy continued his way towards the kitchen with a quick, "Sorry, sir." Under his breath.

Jonathan glanced at his wife, who was staring at the farmer, "Why are you taking his side on this? You know why I'm doing this."

"Because Clark was right earlier, he can do great things, and if he feels like this is it, we should be supporting him in that." Martha stood, taking her plate and her husband's, "He's different than us, dear, he's strong and fast just like that American hero that went to Japan. What was his name, Tall Might?"

The farmer grunted in response, scratching the top of his head.

"Your quirk is just being able to speak to machinery, all I can do is weave threads with my mind, but our son, our miracle to the world, I know that if he put his mind to it, one day, he'll be able to rest the whole world on his shoulders and carry its burdens."

"Martha, that's a bit much to put on the boy."

"I don't mean now, but one day, when he's stronger, he'll be the one to be a superhero among the Professional Heroes. I just know it." The mother kissed the father on the forehead, "You know it, too."

With a sigh, the farmer looked up in defeat, "I'll think about it, dear."

Gotham City

The night had settled, and the three men were sprinting through alleys of the Narrows, one of the slums of Gotham. The one in front was carrying a bag of money in a fist that resembled a crab's claw. The man directly behind him had spikes growing from the backs of his hands, prepared for any attack from police or any of the pro heroes. The last man seemed pretty normal, with no distinguishable characteristic separating him from the quirkless.

The clouds overhead scattered drops of water across the rooftops of Gotham. This weather had been holding like this for about an hour or two, the puddles and streams made their debut for the night as they made their ways into any cracks or into the drains that lead to the sewers. Lightning sounded as it pleased, catching on buildings high above and the thunder spreading throughout the night sky. Sirens almost always made up the background noise of the city in addition to the honking of horns and the occasional gun shot. Tonight, the sirens were coming from the Narrows, and seemed to follow the three crooks as they splashed through puddles and small crowds of the homeless to escape the officers.

The three eventually made their way into an abandoned building where squatters made their home and sat in wait for anything. The scrambled up stairs into the fourth story, taking a breath inside of a hall which connected to multiple open apartment doors.

The man with the money slammed into the wall, sliding downwards onto his rump. "What the fuck happened to the driver, huh?"

"I don't know, Lenny! His car was there, the guy just wasn't."

The claw man sneered at the boring-looking crook, "Oh, what, so our driver decided to take a piss or grab a cup o' Joe while we were committing a HEIST!"

The spiked man shushed the two, "Will you idiots keep it down? I don't want some hero coming in here and taking us on. This place ain't exactly full of escape routes."

"Yeah, alright. I just gonna call Randy, maybe he returned to his car."

The man pulled out a flip phone, dialing the number and placing the phone on his ear. The phone picked up almost immediately, "Hey, Rand, where'd you go you-?"

"Randy will be with you soon." A voice unfamiliar to the crook broke through. It sounded more like a growl than a voice, sending shivers up his spine.

"Woah, woah, woah, is this a pro hero? Which one are you? Clayface? Maybe you're that Mr. Freeze guy?"

"I'm not a hero." The call ended.

"What the fu-?"

The ceiling above the three men broke through, and dust circled them. They coughed and the man with the money stumbled to his feet with a yelp. The spiked man pulled out his phone, turning on his flashlight and shining it over whatever it was that fell in. On the ground was a man with his mouth and eyes in switched positions, his left eye blackened and a few fresh, small cuts visible on his head.

A gasp came from the bland criminal, "Oh, no way. That's Randy!"

"How the hell is he here?"

The flashlight went up to the hole, but nothing was on the floor above except for dust. The men exchanged looks, all of them sharing a small sweat as the situation became clear.

"I'm right here." The same growl.

The three men screamed before what looked like a shadow whipped between them all, over the body on the ground and through to the man with the money. It didn't stop at the man, as it pushed him through and into the wall he was slumped on, causing more dust to circulate into the air. On instinct, the spiked man aimed his hand at the fresh hole, spikes forming on his palm and shooting out into it. Three spikes flew in before the other criminal shoved his arm down.

"What are you doing? What if you hit our guy?"

"Whatever, let's get outta here!"

The two bolted towards the stairs headed down, leaving the money and their man behind. It only took about three seconds to get to the stairs, and only half a second more for the stairs to explode, flinging chippings and splinters into the air! Another set of screams came from them both as they both jumped back onto the floor before the stairs, opting to head upwards as their only alternative.

"Must be a team of them!" The spiked thug suggested as he led them both up the stairs.

"No, no! That isn't it!"

The leader turned back, "What, you know who this is?"

"Kind of, it's a rumor." The spiked man rolled his eyes, but the other persisted, "I'm being serious, they say something was brought into Gotham, something else other than a guy with a quirk."

"Are you stupid or something? I mean, I knew you were dumb, but this is a bit too far even for you."

The two finally ended on the top floor, the former leader taking a knee and aiming his arm at the stairwell.

The other continued, pacing behind him, "I'm being serious, they say that this thing is different, that it's more than a guy with a quirk."

"Maybe he has two quirks then. That happens all the time, either way it's just a guy."

"Karl said that his cousin investigated a drug lab and it was completely torn down by this thing. Said that there were ten guys in that place, all with quirks, and they were all broken to hell!"

The knelt man turned back, "He was investigating for the Falcone family, right? Must'a been a shit show when he reported back to Falcone himself."

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin' that there's some back bone to this!" He knelt with the spiked man, "This thing is different."

The first thug shrugged off in reply and turned back to the stairwell, "You and Karl are full of it, there ain't no such thing as anything like that unless it's a guy with a quirk, and if it's some hero I'm killing him!"

He sat there, silent for a few seconds waiting for the opposition to jump up the stairs.

He waited.

Waited still for any sign of movement.

Nothing but darkness.

He tilted his head back towards his friend, "Hey, you think I got him?"

There was no answer. He frowned, turning back to find himself in the hall alone.

"Frankie?" He whispered into the rooms, but no reply came. He decided to raise his voice a little, "Hey, Frankie, quit messing with me man."

Still no reply.

"Shit."

The spiked man decided to burst up the final flight of stairs, slamming into the door which led to the rooftops. The rain had picked up now, and anything with direct view of the sky was becoming drenched. Through the rain, he could barely see past the rooftop he was on. He slammed the door he came through shut, shooting a spike through the door at an angle, locking it by lodging his projectile into both the door and the brick frame. He took a step back and a deep breath before taking a look at his surroundings.

"C'mon, there's gotta be a fire escape or something!" He spun around, looking for the metal frame. As he scanned the rooftop he was on, something shuffled around on the rooftop ahead of him. "No, that's not possible!"

He aimed his arm and shot more projectiles. Whatever shuffled bolted back and away from where he shot to where he could no longer see it. He spun around, looking for whoever was chasing him.

"Who are you working with, huh? The police? One of the hero associations?"

The only reply he got was more rain slamming against the rooftops and a couple honks from the city. By now, his heart was in his throat.

This isn't how this is supposed to go, heroes have a procedure! Even Gotham's heroes follow it to an extent.

The criminal spun again, catching glimpse of a shadow move again, this time on the opposite building. He shot again, not even sure if he was aiming at the right place, but just sure that it moved away. It slinked back into the rain and darkness.

"C'mon you freak, tell me what you want from me!"

"Fine."

The spiked formed from his back in a start. Before he knew it, his legs were swept from under him and he landed on his back, piercing the formed spikes back into his back. The thug groaned in pain, looking up at a black figure as it grasped his ankle with enough force to make it feel like it was on the verge of breaking. Then a tug at his leg began to pull him along the water that puddled the rooftop and pulled him closer and closer to the edge of the rooftop. The thug pulled his arm up, ready to shoot another projectile at the figure, but was met with another hand grabbing his wrist and twisting it unnaturally around. As soon as something popped a bit too loudly for the criminal's liking, he howled out into the sky.

"You're finished as a hero, this is too far! I'm suing you so hard for-!"

The man was grabbed by the neck, pulling him up and over the edge of the rooftop, an easy seven stories high. His adrenaline pumped intensely into the back of his head and he frantically kicked around as he grasped the forearm of his assailant.

"Stop! Please, I'll do anything just don't kill me!"

He looked back at the figure, whose face lowered, "How do I find Karl?"

Kansas

Martha, Jonathan and Clark were sat at the dinner table in what felt like torture for Clark. He scratched the back of his neck, sure that he was going to get the last piece of lecturing before bed. His father's hands were folded over one another, his mother sat next to him sipping on a glass of water. Clark could only take a deep breath before placing his hand on his knee, parallel with the other hand. As the clock ticked and the crickets chirped outside, time seemed like it was at a crawl.

His mother was the first to speak up, towards Jonathan, "Dear, you have to say something."

"I know, Martha, I know." He locked eyes with their son, then took a breath of his own, "Look, Clark, you-."

"I'm in trouble, right? I know how much you hate the idea of me going to a school so far away for something like this, but I know I can help people!" Clark perked up, "I mean, I lift up the tractor all the time, and that thing weighs tons!"

"Clark! What have I said about interrupting others when they're talking?"

"Sorry, sir."

A sigh came from the man's mouth, then he scratched the back of his own neck, "Your mother and I, we talked about this a little more. Even though we don't exactly agree with it, we believe it's also important to respect other people's dreams and-."

"We're going to allow you to go to this school." Martha interrupted, a smile on her face towards her son.

"Martha, I just scolded him on interrupting."

She turned back to Jonathan, "You were stalling, Jonathan."

Clark jumped up, his eyes practically shining, "Wait, really?! You're letting me go to the school!"

"On one condition." Jonathan stepped in.

"O-oh, what's that?" Their son sat back down.

Martha placed a hand on Clark's, her smile faded, "We have something we need to tell you, something serious."

"Um, Mom, you're scaring me a little bit."

His father leaned forward, looking Clark in his blue eyes, "You know how your mom and I always said you came down from Heaven?"

"I guess, what does that have to do with this?"

Martha replied, "Well, we weren't lying exactly. You aren't…"

Jonathan placed a hand on his wife's shoulder, "What your mother is trying to say is that you came from outer space to us as a baby."

There was silence for a second, but Clark began laughing nervously, "I didn't think you two were such good actors! But, you guys could have picked a better time to tell jokes."

But his parents never started laughing. His mother even began to cry and his father held his head down with his eyes closed.

"You guys aren't joking." Clark pressed his hand against his head and began shaking it slightly, "So, I'm an alien? I'm sorry, but that just doesn't make any sense. I've just got really good quirks is all, that's what you both have always said. I'm just like everyone else."

Jonathan stood up, "Maybe we ought to show you rather than tell you."

His father lead him into the barn, standing right before the middle of the floor, which was clear of most of the dirt and didn't have the tractor Clark mentioned earlier parked. He gestured towards the floor.

"You're young, pick up the floorboards for me."

Clark nodded, kneeling down and lifting the wood boards. As he set them aside, the weight of what his parents had just told him began to sink in. Each board that he moved revealed more and more of the object that solidified the truth. By the time he removed the last board, it was already in clear view. It was a smooth, chrome disk in the shape of a narrow teardrop. The only exception to the chrome metal was a symbol, one that looked like a 'S' inside a diamond.

"Clark," The boy looked up to the farmer, "this is the ship we found you in, this is your heritage. This is you."

Clark looked back at the ship and the symbol, "What does this mean?"

"I don't know, Clark. That's for you to figure out."

"Clark?"

He turned back to his mom, who was holding what looked like clothes in her arms as she trudged towards him, "This is the only thing other than you we were able to uncover from this ship."

It seemed to be mostly blue with a red and yellow metal symbol that perfectly matched that which was on the ship. The blue seemed to outline his body with an indent, as if to emphasize the muscle groups. Above the symbol was another red cloth, which seemed to be about as large as the blue material.

The woman was still in tears while she passed the material off to him. He looked at her, then the other farmer. He smiled, hugging Martha lightly, "This must have been hard for you both, but you're still my parents. I love you both."

Gotham City

The criminal hung from the edge of the rooftop by his belt, unconscious. Rain trickled off his exposed back and soaked all of his clothes, which were slightly pink in a few places from the small amounts of blood leaving the holes in his back. The red and blue blinding lights spun off the police cruisers, reflecting off the rain and the reflections of the windows. Three out of the four bank robbers were already out of the building and being questioned. One was found blown through a floor with a black eye and a broken rib, another was found against the wall of a room whose wall had been rammed through using the defeated crook. The third was found with a concussion and a sprained hand.

It was clear who did this from the anonymous tip they got for the building and the fact no one was killed in the apprehension.

"The commissioner isn't gonna like this one, lieutenant." The officer in question's partner remarked. "What do you make of this, Gordon?"

Jim Gordon scratched the stubble on his face, turning to Harvey Bullock and gesturing towards the cruiser. They both piled in, Harvey taking the driver sear and Gordon taking passenger.

"I think that this bat character must have one amazing quirk. Think back on what he's done so far; he takes on dozens of guys with quirks-."

"Including cops and heroes, mind ya."

"But no trace of his own quirk in any scenes they mention the "bat man."

Harvey laughed, "Batman! That's the first one you've come up with that doesn't sound like dogshit."

Gordon sighed, lighting pulling out a pack of cigarettes and smacking them against his hand, "Bite me, Harv, I'm in charge of chasing a ghost, not naming him. That's the journalist's job."

"Yeah, alright, fine." Harvey started the ignition, turning over the engine and pushing forward and off the crime scene. "I'm starting to think this guy is a bit off out pay grade."

"You and I both." James pulled out his lighter, setting the end of the paper, tobacco-filled tube on fire. He sucked in the initial puff as he snapped the lighter shut and exhaled. "That's why I'm glad for Bruce Wayne's return."

"Bruce Wayne? Hold on, didn't he die?"

"His parents did," Jim inhaled and exhaled the cigarette, "He's back in town though, and he's throwing a charity party for the Pro Heroes and the like to donate to schools. It's the biggest story in town, it's probably going to take our vigilante off the front page."

As the car approached the stoplight, the light turned red. In response, Harvey turned on his police siren and lights and drove through it anyways, turning it off once they were through the light, getting a sigh from Gordon that was unnoticed by the driver.

"Alright, so Brucie is inviting a bunch of the big shots, what good does that do us? It's not like we can just waltz in there as if we belong."

"Maybe not, but my hope is that Mr. Wayne's memory wasn't warped from the trauma of his parents."

There was silence for a second, then the gears in his head visibly began to turn as he perked up, "Wait, you were the detective that was a part of that case! I remember now, it was like your first month with the badge." He turned the wheel into the drive through of a fast food place, "So, you gonna go up to Wayne manor and beg for an invitation?" The car stopped at the speaker, "You want anything?"

Jim shook his head, "No, the wife wants me to watch my eating." Gordon pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, tapping over the ashtray before putting it out in it, "Also, no, I'm going to ask him to relay the message to any of the pro heroes that are attending the charity."

"Suit yourself."

Kansas

Clark was still sitting in the barn. By now, both his parents have gone back inside the house, but Clark decided to stay outside. It didn't take long for him to open the ship, as him brushing over the symbol on the ship with his hand made the symbol itself power on. It began to glow a light blue, prompting the shutter of the ship to pop up and slide over the other side of the hull. When the door was fully open, something inside the ship began to power on.

A smaller light burst to life, and a picture of a man with a suit and symbol on his chest that matched the symbol on the ship. The only differences being the suit was black and the symbol was white. The man had black hair and blue eyes, much like Clark. There was no mistaking it, the man on the projection was his real father.

"My son, by now you must have discovered the truth of your origin. You come not from Earth, but from another world. My name is Jor-El, I am from a planet called Krypton of which by now has seen its demise. I'm sure you have many questions, I will try to answer as many as I can. Your real name is Kal-El, as such you are a part of the House of El. This is represented by the symbol on the ship and the garments I placed with you as a memento, and the symbol upon my chest. This symbol represents hope on Krypton, and now you can continue this ideal by giving hope to those on planet Earth." Clark took a second to look at the symbol on the suit in his lap, brushing over the symbol with his hand, "You may notice yourself with abilities that overcome even the abilities of some humans on Earth. This is due to the Sun Earth inhabits, the yellow Sun combines with Kryptonian physiology and will empower you to great extents, but to which extents I am unsure. Protect Earth and its people, give them hope where none can be found. I know you will do great things, Kal-El. I love you, my only son. Live on and be strong."

By the time the hologram ended, Clark couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face. He wiped his cheeks with his sleeve, sniffing his nose and pressing his hand on the projector.

"I will make you proud, Father. I'll represent you and what you stood for proudly! I promise."

Gotham City

Standing in his study, blood trickling down his arm where the grey of the suit was a figure standing at about 178 centimeters. The mask with two pointed appendages was thrown onto the floor and he stood watching the picture of a man with black hair and a mustache with light greying next to a woman with blonde hair. In front of them both was a boy with black hair and blue eyes. The three of them stood with smiles on their faces in the frame.

The person in the suit turned, meeting the butler of the mansion face to face. The suit of the figure was mostly grey with a black cape and cowl. In a matching shade of black was a symbol on his chest, one that was in the shape of a bat that only covered the center of his chest. Over his hands was black gloves that covered up to his forearm just before the bend of the elbow. His feet were covered by combat boots which strapped together just tight enough to not allow water from rain to seep into them. His face was mostly saved from any scratches or bruises, besides a small cut on his lip.

The butler, who was wearing the staple black and white suit and bowtie with white gloves over his hands sighed to the person in the suit. "Master Bruce, I don't mean to interrupt, but it seems you've tracked blood from the cave to this lounge."

"Sorry, Alfred. I'll clean it up before I go to bed."

"That's not the part I'm concerned about, sir." The butler marched forward, picking up the mask from the ground, "You're going out there, doing God only knows what. And while I do think it is a good thing that you're putting people in the wrong in their rightful place, I don't think it's a good thing to do so at your own expense!"

"It's the only way to truly protect Gotham, Alfred. If someone else doesn't do it, then I will."

"Sir, you aren't even through high school yet, going on these tirades in order to take your temper out on criminals is not something advisable for anyone, let alone someone like you."

The billionaire lowered his brow, "I know what I'm doing, my predicament is not a hinderance."

"You know I didn't mean it like that." The butler sighed, "I'll clean up the mess, you need to focus on what the next move will be."

The boy marched from the lounge to the study, where pins and thread were already scattered about, connecting some of the bosses of the crime families to small time crooks who work under them, and even connecting the criminals to police officers and some Pro Heroes.

"For now, I need to gather more information. Many of the 'Professional Heroes' and their abilities are scattered across the internet – in some cases some of their fights are included in highly rendered video – including some interviews about some of the things they struggle with the most." Bruce moved to the computer on the desk in the study, opening the laptop and the tabs which contained heroes from overseas, "This charity may be able to give me much better insight on all of them and will be a perfect opportunity to purchase some 'extravagances' that will make things easier both in research and in the field."

Alfred grasped a paper on the wall about a clipping of an asylum patient who underwent major behavioral changes after being admitted. "If you will be able to make things easier after the charity, why go out into the field now, sir?"

Bruce looked up from his laptop and notebooks, "If my alter ego were to emerge after I announced my coming back into town, it's a bit more difficult to cover up that I am indeed the vigilante. However, if I start before I announced myself, it's more ambiguous."

"I believe this is what most would consider paranoia, Master Bruce." Alfred turned back to his ward, "You are a student, after all. No one would suspect someone like you to maintain good grades and being out and about for three quarters of the night."

Bruce sighed, nodding and smiling to the friend of the family, "I suppose you do have a point there, Al."

"Happy to be of service, sir."

"But you know, it is still Summer vacation here, so I think it was still necessary."

"To each their own. Now," The butler beckoned to the door, "Come to the bathroom so I can fix that nasty gash, or I'll give you another one along the way."

Bruce laughed a little, setting down his pen and following the lead of the butler. Tonight, he had done enough.

"Tomorrow night, I'm going after a lead that may land me right in the wake of Carmine Falcone. He's going down this month."

Alfred sighed, patting the billionaire on the back and closing the door to the study for the night.