Title: Neater That Way

Author: The Book Thief

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to Chris Nolan (except Old Spice Guy).

Summary: Written for this prompt on the Inception Kink Meme:

Saito/Other - Saito becomes a superhero.

Inspired by Bruce Wayne's superpower of being richer than God, Saito abandons his small-time hobby of purchasing random airlines so he can follow in Batman's footsteps.

Martial arts training, fancy Saitomobile, the whole shebang.

The Here and Now

The Batman leapt through the night on wings of silence, stealth, and very expensive and durable microfibres woven into his cloak. Sailing from rooftop to rooftop, he glanced down deserted streets and ramshackle alleyways. The night was quiet. Good.

Then, he saw it.

Up in the sky, the bat signal flared to life. Trouble was brewing. Batman redoubled his speed, slicing through the night air like the human equivalent of a stealth bomber. Faster than the time it takes to sign a trade agreement, he was on the roof of the GCPD headquarters, ready to apprehend some nefarious criminals.

Unfortunately, it looked like someone else had gotten there first. A figure was perched on a stack of crates, silhouetted by the spotlight. Four thugs were lying unconscious, bound and gagged at its feet. The figure crossed its legs daintily as Batman approached. It was wearing okobo.

"Did you apprehend these men?" the Batman growled, in a voice that could finalize contracts in five seconds flat.

"In a manner of speaking," the figure replied. It was definitely male. That voice sounded familiar, like a favourite chequebook, or a particularly treasured account statement. Behind his incredibly costly mask, the Batman frowned.

"Mr. Saito?"

Eight months earlier:

Saito sat back in his chair with a sigh, and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. He was contemplating. It was one of his favourite pastimes, right after touring dreamscapes, altering people's fundamental view of themselves, and purchasing random airlines.

It was the last one that was the problem, Saito reflected. The airlines were no longer a challenge for him. He already owned five, and was finding out that there wasn't much to them, really. He'd even tried branching out into various other enterprises, but however entertaining the Old Spice Guy was, Saito was looking for something different. And although he was quite glad to purchase anything his Dream Team deemed necessary, Saito found himself feeling a bit uninspired of late.

With a small yet incredibly expensive moue of disappointment adorning his face, Saito swiveled his chair back to his desk, glancing over the tasteful – yet incredibly expensive – layout. (Saito was one of the few men in the world who could afford to purchase a company dedicated to the art of desk feng shui.) A lone newspaper (printed on designer stationery, of course) caught his attention. GOTHAM CEO RICHER THAN GOD? read the headline.

Saito skimmed the article; a name caught his eye. It was an expensive name. Tasteful. Elegant, yet powerful. It probably even had its own watermark. Bruce Wayne.

Gotham, Saito mused. Interesting. He summoned his personal assistant, Robert Fischer Jr.*, with the power of his mind.

"Find me all the information you can on Bruce Wayne." The name even tasted expensive. Saito knew good things were about to happen.

* After buying out Fischer-Murrow, Saito had approached Robert and offered him a work placement. Now, Robert ran one of the many art galleries Saito owned (his was the nicest, obviously), and doubled as Saito's personal assistant. His very personal assistant. Especially in the bedroom.

Seven and a half months earlier:

Bruce Wayne was rich. Very rich. This impressed Saito, who was, if not richer than God, probably richer than Saint Peter at this point.

"I must learn from him," Saito declared impressively. "He is richer than God. And yet," he continued, "even only having so many hours in a day to bask in his wealth, he still finds the time to beat up thugs in a customized batsuit complete with detachable codpiece. I must follow in his footsteps."

Saito peered around the room, but the gray wool carpet remained unmoved. No matter. He swept regally out of the room, already pulling out his iPhone (he had purchased Apple thirty-five minutes ago, for a 25% discount).

"Robert. Call the construction company I own and tell them to renovate the basement of my office building. Turn it into a combat studio."

His bank account balance might impress Bruce Wayne, but Saito would need to hone his ninja-fu if he wanted to impress the Batman.

Two months earlier:

Saito was ready. He had been training almost non-stop since the lower levels of his office had been transformed into a multi-billion dollar, state-of-the-art workout zone. In a gym spacious enough to build a hotel, he ran, lifted weights, and practiced every form of martial art known to man (and some that were known only to Chuck Norris). He sweated*, toiled, and learned how to kill people with his mind and how to finger them through their jeans. He was on ceilings, watching you masturbate. He even trained himself to believe it wasn't butter.

But even his amazingly toned physique and streamlined abs weren't enough. Saito had studied the Batman's methods. He needed a costume, something that would allow him to go out in public without being molested by everyone he passed. Blatantly shopping in public would be too blasé, though. So, he did the obvious thing: he bought a mall. It seemed neater.

After hours of paying people to search for him, Saito found something. It was as black as an Armani tux, as sensuous as the night breeze under Robert's negligee, and very, very expensive. Saito smiled as he looked at the price tag. It was his costume, and it would be worth it.

The next night, three thugs found themselves cornered by an insanely attractive man dressed in a kimono and geisha makeup.

"Who- who are you?" The leader asked, his back pressed against the wall in fear.

The geisha just smiled. "They call me… the Tourist." The three men were rendered unconscious by the power of his voice, and the day was saved.

*Not really. Saito was too GQ to sweat. Instead, he glistened with astonishing brightness and sent every female within a ten-mile radius into a coma with his glory. He never smelled either, except of money and Old Spice (and manliness, which is basically the same thing).

One month earlier:

Saito wanted a car. But he didn't want just any car; it needed to be swift as a coursing river, with all the force of a great typhoon; it needed to have all the strength of a raging fire, and yet be as mysterious as the dark side of the moon. There was only one man in the world Saito would trust with the task of pimping his ride. So he bought Stark Industries. It seemed... neater.

When it arrived, it was the most streamlined, beautiful, and efficient missile-launching car anyone had ever seen. It was also the priciest. Saito installed a custom license plate that read TOURIST, and he and Robert christened it the Saitomobile. They christened it quite frequently.

Two weeks earlier:

"I'm sorry Mr. Saito, but Gotham Air is not for sale."

Saito frowned and the stock markets of the world plummeted (except for his shares, of course, which soared). "Why won't you let me be great?" he demanded.

"Mr. Wayne is disinclined to do business at this time."

But Saito was too expensive to be refused. Three days later, he flew first class to Gotham, with only one thing on his mind: he had to meet Bruce Wayne.

Two days earlier:

Saito strode into Dorsia, sharp eyes missing nothing as he scanned the ridiculously classy interior of Gotham's most elite restaurant. His stride was powerful and confident as he cut cleanly through the tables in his designer East-West fusion suit. The maitre d' guided him to a table for two, informing him that Mr. Wayne would be along in a moment. Saito nodded, and focused on being incredibly wealthy and good-looking as he waited for him to show.

It wasn't long before Saito's costly and exceptionally well-honed instincts told him that someone was approaching. Looking up, Saito caught sight of the man richer than God. Bruce Wayne was headed towards him in a suit that would have made Arthur swoon. In fact, Saito felt a little bit like swooning himself. Bruce was impeccably coiffed, and even more impressively outfitted. His tailored three-piece suit in charcoal-grey fabric fit him like a proverbial glove, groping him in all the right places. His rich crimson tie shone softly against the stark white of his shirt, like an invitation to touch. (Saito could see the shirt was clearly Armani. He wondered if Bruce owned that particular brand.) The creases in Bruce's dress pants sheared neatly through a mahogany chair leg as he passed. Saito was grudgingly impressed.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne." Saito stood in a movement that was as fluid as the money in his bank account. "I am pleased to meet you."

"Mr. Saito," Bruce greeted him, smiling the smile that had deflowered a thousand ladies. "Welcome to Gotham. Have you been enjoying your stay so far?"

His voice even sounded expensive. Saito suppressed a shiver. "Very much. I'm somewhat of a professional tourist, you might say."

A waiter came and served them the most savory and delicious food Saito had ever eaten. There were no menus. At Dorsia, if you had to ask, you probably couldn't afford it. Over wine that cost several months' salary a bottle, they talked about politics, music, and interior decorating.

"I am partial to Huey Lewis and the News," Bruce admitted, a smile creeping up his cheeks like a ninja. "Hip to be Square is actually strangely appealing."

"I am more a fan of the classics, myself," Saito replied, in a tone that suggested he knew where you'd been last summer. "Edith Piaf's Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien always wakes me right up."

Bruce gave him a smile thinner than a side-view of his AMEX. "I see. But Mr. Saito, you're not really here just as a tourist, are you?"

Saito's face heated at the sound of that smooth voice. It was like wads of bills were whispering to him. "I assure you, my interests are identical to those of any other businessman."

"Truly. Why Gotham, Mr. Saito? What does this city have to offer you that you could not buy anywhere else?"

Saito dabbed at his lips neatly with a 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton napkin. "I am interested in pursuing an elite business partnership. And where better to start than with the man richer than God?"

Bruce's smile flickered across his face like a signature on a cheque. "I usually don't hold personal meetings with potential business partners until after a rigorous screening. But you tried to buy my airline, Mr. Saito. I'm impressed."

Saito shrugged in the way that only someone used to wearing a nation's GDP as a suit could. "Airlines have become something of a hobby of mine."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "I will definitely consider your proposal." He signaled to a waiter that their meal was over. Saito reached into his breast pocket for his wallet, but Bruce stopped him with a shake of his head that would later go on to become GQ magazine's Number 1 Hottest Moment of the Year.

"It's alright," Bruce said, standing and shaking Saito's hand. "I bought the restaurant. Have a nice evening, Mr. Saito. I'll be in touch."

Thirty Seconds into the future:

"Actually," Saito said, in a voice whose sultry timbre rivaled that of George Takei, "I prefer… The Tourist."

"Why are you here?" Bruce asked.

"I am here to discuss my offer. Have you considered it?"

"Yes," Bruce answered. "Normally, the Batman works alone."

Saito frowned at that, and several small economies went bankrupt.

"However," Bruce continued, "I find myself continually impressed by your business strategies. Your work with the Old Spice Guy was riveting. Furthermore, my terrifyingly overpaid sources tell me that the crime rates in Japan have become negative since the Tourist has shown up. Acts of extreme do-gooding are on the rise."

Saito inclined his head imperceptibly, and the previously bankrupt economies started to recover. "Crime harms profits." Criminals everywhere suddenly felt strongly compelled to give up their lives of crime and volunteer at local orphanages. "And what are airlines to the man richer than God? Your actions were my inspiration."

Bruce cracked a smile at that, and though it looked slightly out of place beneath the threatening cowl of the Batman, stock markets everywhere rocketed heavenwards. "Drop by my office tomorrow; we can discuss terms there. I believe our interests align closely, wouldn't you say, Mr. Saito?"

"I agree. That is why I desired our partnership. It seemed… neater."