Robert leaned against the counter of his comic book store, the bck phone pressed to his ear. The familiar hum of fluorescent lights filled the quiet space around him.
"Yeah, I appreciate you doing what you did, William," Robert said warmly. "Hopefully the meeting between those two will help Bruce find the answers he's looking for."
He listened for a moment, nodding at his friend's response.
"By the way, how's it going with you? All that's good, so Batman is doing okay with his new repcement? How about the suit upgrade—is that working out?"
Robert chuckled softly at whatever William said. "Oh, I'm gd it's working out."
His expression shifted, taking on the look of someone who was about to give advice he'd given many times before.
"Yes, I'll let her know you said hey, but like I told you before, you better make a move because she's not waiting on you forever. It's not like my sister can't get dates."
Robert shook his head as he listened to his friend's familiar excuses.
"I'm telling you, make your move, or you're just going to be sitting there in your universe. You've been saying that ever since I've known you." He sighed with fond exasperation. "Yeah, yeah. You need to either go for it or just let it go."
Robert straightened up, preparing to end the call. "Okay, well, talk to you ter, Dozier."
He pced the receiver back in its cradle and shook his head with a small smile.
---
The luxurious penthouse bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of Gotham's city lights filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows at eleven PM. Alice y in the massive bed, her blonde hair spread across the silk pillowcase as she was catching her breath. Jervis was beside her, and on his other side y the younger woman they'd brought up from the third floor.
"That was good, Little Alice," Jervis murmured, his voice carrying that peculiar mix of gentleness and authority that Alice had grown to both love and fear. She watched as he addressed the thirteen-year-old, noting the satisfied smile that pyed across his lips.
Alice felt a familiar knot forming in her stomach. She was his second-in-command, his right hand, his *Alice*—but tely, she'd been noticing the way his attention lingered on their regur bedmate. The girl was fresh-faced, eager to please, and undeniably younger than Alice's twenty years.
As they y in the afterglow, the thirteen-old was drawn closer by Jervis, being positioned between Jervis and her. The arrangement felt foreign and wrong to Alice, who was used to having that coveted spot, curled against Jervis's side where she could cim him as hers.
*This isn't right,* she thought, watching as Little Alice nestled comfortably between them. *That's my pce. I've earned that pce.*
"Well," she said, forcing casualness into her voice as she propped herself up on one elbow, "I think our Little Alice should head back down to the third floor now." She tried to make it sound routine, natural, while simultaneously beginning to move toward the center herself—toward her rightful position against Jervis.
But as Alice attempted to recim her usual spot, Jervis's hand gently but firmly stopped her progression. "Now, now, Alice," he said softly, that infuriating smile growing wider. "Let Little Alice stay right where she is. She's been such a good girl today—she deserves to sleep with us tonight."
Alice's heart clenched as she felt herself being redirected back to the outside edge of the bed. *He's choosing her over me,* the realization hit like a physical blow. *When did I stop being his good girl?*
"There's plenty of room for all of us," Jervis continued, his arms wrapping protectively around the younger woman, holding her close with a tenderness that made Alice's jealousy spike. His hand reached over to pat Little Alice's head, fingers threading through her long blonde locks with obvious affection. "She deserves this comfort after being so obedient."
Alice tried to school her features into neutrality, but inside, jealousy burned like acid in her veins. Lying on the outside of their embrace, she felt more alone than she had in years. *Does he want her more than me?* The thought tormented her as she watched them settle together. *Am I too old for him now? Is twenty already past my prime in his eyes?*
She stared at the younger woman's peaceful face, noting how perfectly she fit against Jervis's side—the way Alice herself used to. *She's taking everything from me,* she thought bitterly. *My position, my pce in his bed, his affection. And I won't let her.*
---
Batman 47-X presses his back against the cold concrete wall, his suit's adaptive camoufge responding instantly to the mottled gray surface. The fabric shifts and ripples like liquid mercury, taking on the texture and color of weathered cement until he becomes little more than a shadow that belongs to the hallway itself.
Ahead, two guards fnk the reinforced steel door that leads deeper into the warehouse complex. Their conversation drifts back to him in fragments—compints about overtime, crude jokes about the people inside. The casual boredom in their voices makes his jaw tighten beneath the mask.
Selina's voice comes through his earpiece, crystal clear through the high-tech communication system. "47?"
"Here," he subvocalizes, the words barely a breath that his suit's internal microphone picks up and transmits.
"Bruce Wayne wants to talk to you. Are you busy?"
Batman 47-X's eyes remain fixed on the guards, calcuting distances and angles. "I'm about to infiltrate this sweatshop svery operation, but I have time."
"Patching Bruce through."
A moment ter, Ultimate Bruce's voice fills his ear with perfect crity. "47, sorry for interrupting what you're about to do. How's everything going?"
"Everything's going pretty well," Batman 47-X subvocalizes, beginning to move forward with gcial slowness. Each step is deliberate enough to maintain the camoufge's adaptive response, slow enough that the movement won't catch his targets' vision. "How can I help you?"
"I have a favor I might need from you. Here it is—"
Batman 47-X listens to Bruce's request while continuing his approach, his body moving like a snail along the wall. The suit's technology is remarkable—as long as he maintains this careful pace, the optical camoufge creates the illusion that the hallway is empty, that the shadows are exactly where they should be.
"Sure," he subvocalizes when Bruce finishes. "I'll be happy to do that."
"Thanks," Bruce replies, then disconnects from the channel.
"Selina, prepare your part," Batman 47-X informs her, now less than six feet from the guard on his side of the hallway. "I'm about to make my move."
"Sure, 47," Selina's voice comes back, tense with excitement.
The guard is close enough now that Batman 47-X can smell his stale cigarette breath and see the grease stains on his uniform shirt. The man's attention focuses on his partner, who tells some rambling story about a bar fight from the weekend.
In one fluid motion, Batman 47-X's camoufge flickers as he strikes. His left hand cmps over the guard's mouth, cutting off any sound before it can begin. Simultaneously, a long, slender bde extends from beneath his gauntlet with a barely audible *snick*, sliding into the man's back and piercing his kidney. The guard's eyes go wide with shock and pain, his body convulsing, but the hand over his mouth traps his scream in his throat.
The kidney strike isn't immediately fatal—Batman 47-X draws the bde across the guard's throat in one swift motion, opening his carotid artery. Blood sprays briefly before the man's body goes limp. Batman 47-X lowers him silently to the floor.
The second guard hears something—a muffled grunt, the wet sound of blood hitting concrete. He turns, his mouth already opening to call out to his partner, but stops when he sees his fellow guard crumpled on the hallway floor.
Before the man can process what he's seeing, Batman 47-X raises his right arm. A ft, razor-sharp bde shoots out from his forearm gauntlet and embeds itself in the guard's throat, lodging in his windpipe.
The second guard clutches at his throat, his eyes bulging as he tries desperately to breathe around the obstruction. He drops to his knees, then colpses forward, choking to death on his own blood in silence.
Batman 47-X steps over the bodies and approaches the steel door. His fingers find the handle, turn it slowly, and feel the mechanism disengage with a soft click. The door swings open on well-oiled hinges, revealing the rge room beyond.
He pauses at the threshold, his enhanced hearing picking up the sounds from within—machinery, muffled voices, and beneath it all, the quiet desperation of people trapped against their will.
