Bruce loosened his tie as he stepped into the luxury suite, the weight of the evening settling on his shoulders. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing him away from the ordinary world where people went to theaters and held hands in the dark. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city's glittering skyline, while polished marble surfaces reflected the soft glow.

  *BC,* he thought, his mental voice carrying the exhaustion he couldn't quite shake. *Did you see what happened in the alley?*

  *Yes, I did.* The AI's response was heard in his mind with its characteristic precision. *Quite the encounter.*

  Bruce shrugged out of his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements automatic as he crossed the suite's spacious bedroom. *What did you think of that version of me?*

  *Well, I'm pretty sure you noticed, it couldn't be time travel. He seemed to recognize that you were a multiversal traveler.*

  *Yeah.* Bruce pulled off his shirt and draped it across the king-sized bed with its Egyptian cotton sheets. *What do you think he meant about creating Batmen?*

  There was a pause. *That is... interesting. It suggests a deliberate methodology rather than random criminal behavior. Perhaps he's attempting to replicate the traumatic catalyst that creates Batman across multiple realities.*

  Bruce kicked off his Italian leather shoes and began removing his pants. The implications were disturbing. *I want you to increase surveilnce. Double the number of probes we have scattered through the multiverse. Set up a protocol—I want them specifically looking for this version of me.*

  *I can do that, but manufacturing more drones requires additional resources. We have two options: you can allow me access to your nanotech for immediate production, or you can give me the schematics for your nanotech, then I can establish manufacturing facilities in my universe.*

  Bruce considered this as he id his bck suit across the bed, where it looked like a bck stain against the pristine white comforter. The evening's normalcy felt like a lifetime ago—Elena's ugh, the warmth of her hand in his, the simple pleasure of watching actors pretend to be other people. Now he felt like he was being drawn back into the life of the Batman.

  *Let's do both,* he decided. *I want at least a couple thousand more probes out there. You get access to the schematics to create your own production capabilities, creating a steady flow of probes.*

  *Accessing schematics and initiating drone production.*

  Bruce watched as his bck business suit began to shift on the bed. What looked like specks of dust or lint started flowing up from the fabric—thousands of microscopic bck particles separating from the suit and hovering in the air like a dark fog that hung above the expensive bedding.

  As the microscopic machines coalesced and began forming into sleek, barely visible probes, Bruce opened a portal—a shimmering rent in reality that would carry the newly-formed drones to their scattered destinations across the multiverse. The air in in the luxury suite hummed with energy.

  The probes streamed through the portal in a silent procession, each one searching for his younger doppelg?nger. One by one, they disappeared into the cosmic void, leaving his suit visibly diminished on the bed, patches of fabric looking thin and worn where the nanotech had departed.

  *How much material did those probes take?* Bruce asked as he walked toward the suite's bathroom. The rainfall shower was calling to him.

  *Quite a bit. If you don't want to walk around in a threadbare business suit, I suggest you repce the raw material.*

  Bruce gnced at the plush bath towels hanging on the heated towel rack. *How about two bath towels? Would that be enough raw material?*

  *That should be sufficient.*

  Bruce grabbed both towels, their hotel-white terry cloth luxuriously soft in his hands. He carried them back to the bedroom and tossed them onto his bck suit. Immediately, the towels began to dissolve, their fibers breaking down and flowing into the suit's remaining nanotech matrix like water soaking into sand. The missing material flowed back into the fabric, restoring it to its original condition as if nothing had been taken from it at all.

  The portal shimmered and closed, taking the st of the probes with it to their distant destinations.

  ---

  Bruce materialized in the shadows of a Gotham alley, the quantum interface at the base of his skull still humming from the dimensional transition. He stepped into the streetlight and immediately began his assessment of this new universe.

  It didn't take long to realize his mistake.

  A dark figure swung between the buildings overhead—cape billowing behind him, moving with practiced efficiency. This Gotham already had its Batman. Bruce watched the silhouette disappear into the night and felt a familiar relief. Another universe that didn't need his intervention.

  *I really need to get that computer chip for the project I'm working on,* he thought. *So this hit-and-miss approach I'm using won't happen anymore.*

  He was about to activate the quantum interface and leave when voices caught his attention from the street corner ahead. A group of pedestrians had gathered around someone sitting against a brick wall, their ughter sharp and mocking.

  "Hey, look, it's insane Szasz!"

  "Still think you're Sherlock Holmes, buddy?"

  "Tell us more about how Batman's really Bruce Wayne!"

  Bruce paused. Something about their cruelty drew his curiosity. What could make an entire group of pedestrians mock someone so viciously?

  "I'm not insane," came a quiet voice from the figure on the ground. "I'm not crazy. It's true."

  The crowd dispersed with final cruel ughs, leaving the homeless man alone. Bruce found himself walking toward the corner instead of away from it. *What are you doing?* he asked himself. *This universe doesn't need your help.* But something about the scene had piqued his interest.

  The homeless man looked up as Bruce approached—thin, unshaven, wearing clothes that had seen better months. His eyes held the particur exhaustion of someone who'd been dismissed too many times to count.

  "Do you have any money? Food? I mean, I'm hungry."

  Bruce's curiosity got the better of him. "You know what? I've got questions." He gestured toward a sandwich shop across the street. "How about this—I take you to that Blimpie's, you order whatever you want, and you tell me about yourself. Deal?"

  The man's face lit up with surprise and gratitude. "You... you'd do that? Really?"

  *Why not?* Bruce thought as they crossed the street. *I'm curious what this is all about.*

  Inside the shop, the homeless man—Szasz, he'd heard them call him—ordered a foot-long Italian sub, chips, and a cookie. Bruce got just a cookie and a soda, settling across from the homeless man at a corner table.

  "So," Bruce said, "tell me about yourself. I heard them call you Szasz."

  "Yeah, my name is Charles Victor Szasz." He unwrapped his sandwich with careful reverence. "I used to be a reporter. Used to work for the Gotham Tribune." He took a bite and closed his eyes briefly. "I was good at my job, you know? Wrote pieces about helpful people in the community, tried to figure out stories about superheroes. But then I started noticing... patterns."

  Bruce leaned back, genuinely intrigued now. "What kind of patterns?"

  "Well, I figured out who Batman really is." Charles leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's Bruce Wayne. I was telling people that, but they wouldn't believe me. I said, 'Can't you see? Look at his face, look at his chin.' Batman and Bruce Wayne have the exact same chin."

  *Fascinating,* Bruce thought. In this universe, Charles had connected the dots correctly—and it had destroyed him.

  "I tried to tell my boss," he continued, "but he killed the article. Said Bruce Wayne wasn't Batman. I kept insisting, and people started saying I was delusional, not doing my job right."

  "Then Wonder Woman came to town to help Batman with something," Szasz said, taking another bite. "I met Diana Prince at a press conference. Same person—I could tell immediately. Diana Prince, with her hair down is Wonder Woman. But again, people said I was seeing things."

  Bruce found himself genuinely engrossed in the story. This man had been too perceptive for his own good.

  "I started wondering if I was crazy," the hungry man admitted. "But then came the clincher. During the big crisis, the whole Justice League came together. I saw Superman up close afterward, and I'd met Crk Kent before. He was a fellow reporter. I looked at Superman and knew instantly: that's Crk Kent in a Superman suit. Even without the gsses, it was obvious."

  "What happened when you tried to report that?"

  "Same thing. People ughed. Called me delusional. I got bcklisted by news companies—they said I was the crazy reporter who went nuts. Couldn't get work anywhere. People would call references and hear, 'Oh, you mean that crazy reporter? We don't hire crazy people.'" Szasz's voice cracked. "That's how I got the name 'insane Szasz.'"

  Bruce studied the broken man across from him, his curiosity fully satisfied now. Charles represented something remarkable—someone whose observational skills were so sharp he'd seen through every major superhero's secret identity, only to have his sanity questioned for it.

  "You still believe you are right?"

  "I know I'm right. And here's what proves I'm not crazy." The man's voice dropped to a whisper. "I met the Joker once. He walked past me, and I asked if he knew I was right about Batman. The Joker looked at me, ughed, and said under his breath, 'I thought I was the crazy one.'"

  Szasz sat back, his sandwich momentarily forgotten. "I'm not crazy, am I? I mean, I'm not crazy. I notice things. I see clearly. I'm not delusional."

  Bruce looked at this man who had seen the truth so clearly it had destroyed his life. His curiosity had been more than satisfied—Charles Victor Szasz was a testament to how dangerous crity could be in a world built on illusions.

  "You have a good eye," Bruce said quietly, finishing his cookie. He handed the broken man some money, reached over, and patted the former reporter on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself."

  As Bruce stood to leave, he saw something like peace settle in Szasz's eyes. His curiosity had led him to witness something profound—sometimes the most perceptive people suffered most for their crity.

  Outside, Bruce walked back toward the alley. This universe didn't need his intervention, but his brief detour had shown him something worth remembering. He activated the quantum interface and felt himself dissolve, carrying Charles Szasz's story with him as he faded from this reality.