BATMAN: THE WORLD'S GREATEST DETECTIVE

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DISCLAIMER:

I own no recognisable characters in this story (basically Bruce/ Batman and Alfred).

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CHAPTER ONE: The Party and the Past

Bruce Wayne grimaced as he entered the ballroom of Wayne Manor. Guests danced around him, and Wayne sighed. He loathed these wretched parties, where he had to appear with his real mask: as a pampered, partying playboy. He would much rather have been leaping rooftops and dodging bullets in his guise as the Batman.

"Bruce! How good to see you!" An old woman hurried towards him. She spoke with an English accent, and leaned on a thick, knotted walking stick. He could not recall her name, "How long has it been?"

"Uh…"

"No matter! Too long, too long, dear," the woman beamed, her cheeks bright red, "It must have been way back in Venice, my dear! You recall? It must have been at least five years. You do remember me, don't you, Brucie?"

"I'm afraid I…"

"Ah, I am Helena Jarvis, you remember? You used to play with my little boy, John."

Bruce had a vague vision of a small, skinny boy with round, baby-blue eyes and scruffy blond hair. He had never known John Jarvis well, and had certainly never been a great friend of the boy. They had had no animosity but… well, Bruce was top of every damn class, and John was, to put it bluntly, both academically and emotionally… moronic.

"I do," Bruce smiled and tapped a waiter on the shoulder, snatching up a glass of red wine from a tray, "A drink, Mrs. Jarvis?"

"Ms." Bruce looked blankly at her, so Helena Jarvis explained, "Ms. Jarvis… Arvin passed away several years ago… and I prefer not to be reminded of my loss with such a title."

"I'm sorry. How…?"

"Oh, cancer," Jarvis sniffed into a handkerchief, "But don't be sorry. It had been coming for a long time, since Johnny killed himself…"

"Why?"

"I… I don't know…"

Bruce patted Ms. Jarvis gently on the shoulder, and soon found himself trying to comfort her outbreak of tears, though Jarvis soon took her leave to go to the lavatory, and Wayne was ushered over to a group of businessman seated around the fireplace, sipping wine and arguing. It was quite a crowd, too, Bruce thought: Cuban legitimate businessman Diego Sanchez, slimy old Henry D'Arbanville, D'Arbanville's old rival Edward Sloane, and Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprise's CEO.

"Henry here was just saying…" began Sanchez. Bruce was very surprised at how comfortable Sanchez and D'Arbanville were in each others' presence- he had not seen them together before, and Diego was a very formal surname-centric man, but they seemed close, "…that morality is a thing that must sometimes be sacrificed for business. What do you think, Mr. Wayne?"

"I think…" Bruce paused to think for a moment, "I think that… morality is necessary in any age of any venture- anywhere."

"Agreed," Lucius Fox nodded his head.

Sanchez swore under his breath in Spanish, and lit a Cuban cigar, taking a long, exasperated drag. He and D'Arbanville exchanged a significant look- one that Bruce and Fox both noted.

However, after that, the party was somewhat elementary. Shortly after midnight, the last few guests- Mr. and Mrs. Darbanville with their daughter Juliette, Diego Sanchez, Eddie Sloane, and Ms. Jarvis- sat around the fire, as Bruce and his butler, Alfred, hurried down a hallway, Bruce slipping off his bow tie and dinner jacket.

"Sir, you can't go now, the guests will miss you!" hissed Alfred.

"It's hardly the first time, Alfred… there were plenty of beautiful women to account for my disappearance, old friend," Bruce smiled slightly for the first time that night, as he headed for an old grandfather clock, "Besides, there's been a disturbance at the Sanchez Corporation and I want Diego kept out of the way when I have a look round. Keep the guests happy… you know a joke or two, right?"

"Of course, sir," Alfred replied stiffly, and he nodded and turned heel and walked away back towards the ballroom, as the clock slipped away and his employer swept down into the depths of the huge cavern known as the Bat Cave.

Wayne did not reply, he just forced the clock back into place (the mechanism's getting stiff, he thought, that needs seeing to) and then he was descending down a stony staircase.

Three minutes later, the Batmobile burst through a waterfall and sped on towards Gotham City. The Batman sat at the wheel, steering as the communication screen crackled on to reveal the face of Police Lieutenant James Gordon.

"Batman, there's been an attack on SanCorp! Arson… and there are armed gunmen everywhere in the compound… we can't get within a hundred yards without killing the workers!"

"I'm on it, Jim," the Dark Knight replied calmly, and tapped a second screen on the Batmobile, "Computer: Detailed blueprints of the Sanchez Corporation Gotham facility."

"Why don't we get that kind of hardware?" grumbled Gordon, "With that kind of tech, we wouldn't need you!"

Batman just grunted in reply, and the lieutenant seemed unsure of what to say next. Batman soon flicked off the monitor and sped through the barricaded gates of SanCorp, knocking wood and steel aside like so much dust, then he ejected from the vehicle and fired off his grapple, shedding the car seat as he swung onto a wall and kicked a gunman to the ground.

"Billy?" A shout issued from along the wall. Bruce glanced at the burning main building, and wondered what he should do now. He moved instinctively, like a cat… like a leaf in the wind… and was gone, moving in the shadows of the wall to bring two men crashing down, and then he picked up the one called Billy's radio as it crackled on:

"Bill? You there?"

The Dark Knight did his best to imitate a thuggish voice, and thought he did pretty damn well considering the circumstances:

"Fine, man, thought I saw somethin' a minute ago back there- just a bat." The vigilante smirked at his own joke, "All's fine, dude."

"Great," the man at the other end sounded relieved, "Well, get on down to the garages. We need a hand in dealing with the frickin' prisoners."

"On it, man."

Batman smiled again. The garages. Perfect… LOTS of cover… plenty of margin for error.

He grappled down and landed on the garage skylight, peering in. About twelve punks with guns had what the Dark Knight estimated to be thirty prisoners huddled up in the centre of the room. There was plenty of car cover in the shadows. As quietly as possible, Batman levered the skylight open, and dropped inside. A thug spun around.

Gunfire rattled past, and pinged off the steel walls.

"What the hell you doin', Frankie!?" yelled the mook that Batman had spoken to on the radio.

"Thought I saw somethin', Lou," grunted Frankie, "Maybe even the Bat…"

"Go check it then, don't blast those snipers a nice li'l hole to pop us through, jackass!" yelled the man called Lou, and Frankie nodded, slowly venturing towards a Sanchez Corp lorry, upon which Batman was hunched. Slowly, silently, he reached down and snapped off the wing mirror, holding it over the edge where Frankie stood…

Thwack! Francis Maloney keeled over. The Dark Knight crouched silently still.

"Frank!?"

"Here, Lou, 'm fine!" Batman called, dropping behind the lorry, "Jus' checkin' bit more."

"You sure?" The Caped Crusader heard Lou's footsteps draw closer. He poised himself, swung round behind a second lorry and thrust out a fist with pinpoint precision. Lou let out a tiny yelp as he fell.

"Holy crap! You hear that?" A thug panicked as he heard the squeak, "Louie!? Frankie!? You guys OK!? Oh, jeez, it's the Bat!"

"Or somethin' worse," said another, "I heard he don't kill… but his friends sure do."

"Who…?"

"You know that Cat-Chick? And what about that techno Batman we had runnin' round a couple years back?"

Batman listened for a moment, and then loosed four gas pellets. They exploded, spraying smoke across the garage. The goons began coughing and retching, and then Wayne was upon them. He drove his fists hard into two of their faces, and swung his elbow into another's chin- moving by instinct and hearing, not vision!

His leg whirled up in a kick here, and he flowed into a punch there, as he knocked goons aside with ease. Soon enough, it was over and the smoke had subsided. The Dark Knight Detective towered over the huddled hostages, as police ran in.

"It's okay now," he muttered, "It's over." And then he was gone…