Stepping inside, barely crossing the threshold, a shout of "SURPRISE!!!" hit Bruce in the face. Bruce, though he'd more or less expected this, still made a show of genuine surprise.
Standing before him in the hall was only Julia; in the background, Alfred was setting the table.
The thing is, today, April 19th, the number in Bruce's age ticks up by one, from 25 to 26.
Bruce Wayne, feigning slight annoyance: "Alfred, did you forget to close the door?"
Julia Madison: "You forgot you were having guests today, so the door needs to stay open." Though her tone carried a hint of gentle scolding, Julia then wraps her arms around Bruce's neck and gives him a light kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday."
Bruce Wayne: "Thanks. You know, I kind of forgot about it myself—what with all the management, financing, and other nonsense."
Julia Madison: "Well, no turning back now." Julia takes a small bag from the coat rack, obviously containing gifts. "Now, brace yourself." First, she pulls out a decently sized bottle of white wine and hands it to Bruce.
Bruce Wayne, examining the bottle: "Good lord. Alfred was right about needing to expand the wine cellar."
Alfred Pennyworth: "I told you so, Master Bruce! If you'd just listen to my advice once in a while, life would be a breeze!" Bruce didn't even look up at Alfred.
Julia Madison: "It's from Dad. He's been aging it in his basement for forty years."
Bruce Wayne: "I'll hope you didn't steal it, and that your dad really does respect me that much."
Julia Madison: "Don't you dare doubt it. Okay, now my turn." The next gift Julia pulls from her bag is a signed VHS tape, which she hands to Bruce. "Raging Bull. Signed by Scorsese."
Bruce Wayne: "My god. I'm almost afraid to ask where you got this."
Julia Madison: "Dad won it at an auction once. He's not a fan of those kinds of movies, so it was just gathering dust on his shelf."
Bruce Wayne: "A crime for something like this to collect dust."
Julia Madison: "I doubt he even ever played it." After this, Julia reaches into the bag again. "And that's not all." Julia hands Bruce a medium-sized bouquet of roses.
Bruce Wayne, accepting the bouquet: "Roses, too. Also from Mr. Madison, I presume?"
Julia Madison: "Nope."
Bruce Wayne: "Don't tell me you picked them from my rose garden?"
Julia Madison: "You don't have a rose garden—you even forgot that."
Bruce Wayne: "Exactly why I don't have one—so my own flowers don't get given back to me. *light sigh* Alright, I won't doubt you either anymore. Thank you." Bruce hugs Julia.
Alfred Pennyworth, taking all the gifts from Bruce's hands: "May I?" Without waiting for an answer, Alfred takes the bottle, the tape, and the bouquet, and places them in their rightful spots.
A little later, Bruce and Julia were sitting at the table in the center of the hall. Though there wasn't an excessive amount of food on the table—there were only two of them after all—in terms of quality and presentation, it could rival only the finest hors d'oeuvres from the most lavish social events.
Julia Madison: "I don't buy that you didn't invite a whole crowd and throw a massive party."Bruce Wayne: "At least at home, I want to be away from that rabble. I'm not a fan of those big gatherings anyway."
Julia Madison: "Strange to hear that from someone whose name is written in big letters on the tallest building in Gotham."
Bruce Wayne: "First off, it's not my name, it's my family's name. Not the same thing."
Alfred Pennyworth, interjecting: "And second, Master Bruce is trying his hardest not to be like his father. He was constantly throwing parties—the life of every party."
Julia Madison: "I don't doubt it, Mr. Pennyworth."
Alfred Pennyworth: "Please, Miss Julia—just Alfred."
Bruce Wayne: "You forgot to add that Father never let parties get out of hand. Besides, we've already discussed that the post-return honeymoon phase wouldn't last long. Next birthday, we'll be celebrating surrounded by people from all over the city and beyond."
Alfred felt like saying, "No, Master Bruce, that's not what you told me," but instead simply said, "I have no doubt."
A bit later, when the food on the table was almost gone.
Bruce Wayne: "Alfred, come on, bring out the bottle."
Julia Madison: "You want to open it right now?"
Bruce Wayne: "What's the point of a gift if you don't give it a chance on the very day?"
As Alfred briefly excused himself to get the bottle Julia had given them.
Julia Madison: "Listen, sorry Dad couldn't make it. He had some meeting or something this afternoon."
Bruce Wayne: "No problem, I'll see him in a couple of days anyway. I'm more surprised you came so early."
Julia Madison: "I just called Mr. Pennyworth and asked when you'd be out, and decided to come surprise you."
Bruce Wayne: "Well, you succeeded."
Julia Madison: "Oh, don't flatter yourself. You knew I'd be here the moment you saw my car."
Bruce Wayne: "Either way, I'm glad at least one of the Madisons came today. And even more glad it was the Madison I value most." He said as a slight blush appeared on Julia's cheeks.
Alfred Pennyworth, coming back with a bottle of wine: "Well, lady and gentleman, be ready." Opening the bottle of white wine, Alfred pours into two glasses on the table.
Bruce Wayne: "You're this cheered up right now. Peeing yourself with joy that finally more than two glasses will be in the wash today?"
Alfred Pennyworth: "Why should I be happy to clean one more extra glass? Unless it was put into a good use."
The next two hours Bruce and Julia spent watching Raging Bull, drinking wine, and finishing off the last of the food. When the movie was about halfway through the final third, Bruce, hearing strange sounds from Julia's direction, realized she'd fallen asleep right there on his sofa.
Alfred Pennyworth, clearing the last plates: "Seems the film wasn't to her taste."
Bruce Wayne: "Understandable. I prefer Scorsese's Taxi Driver myself. Though maybe that's just because it was the last movie I saw before leaving."
Alfred Pennyworth: "I don't remember it much, but it's sure closer to what we got around us. But I do remember you as a little tyke being crazy about that Zorro movie. The one with Alain Delon."
Bruce Wayne: "That's in the past, Alfred. Everything in the past is always the foundation for the future."
Alfred Pennyworth: "Here we go."
Bruce Wayne: "I mean that time is like a tower. Every present moment, we build the foundation, which over time becomes the past. And when the present turns into the past, and the past starts seeing the present as the future, that foundation sinks deep underground. Over time, it becomes an illusion of the past—something that once was, and no longer matters in the present. For some, that foundation sinks faster, for others, slower—but the outcome is always the same."
Alfred Pennyworth: "I didn't understand a word of that, but I'll take it under advisement."
Bruce Wayne: "And no need to understand for you. This isn't a recruitment pitch, so consider it thinking out loud."
Alfred Pennyworth: "From time to time, I get the feeling you don't even really believe in your own philosophy."
Bruce Wayne: "Philosophy is the search for meaning where none was intended. I'm not searching for meaning—I'm articulating the one that was already given to me. It's not the same thing."
April 19, 1989. Around 3 PM.
Having covered the twelve miles from his home to Gotham, behind the wheel of that same black Maybach. For the first time in all this while, there was a passenger in the car who wasn't Alfred. Sitting beside him was Julia, still asleep. It wasn't so much that *Raging Bull* was a movie she could sleep through, but that she'd barely slept the night before, thinking about Bruce's gift. She was already regretting not getting proper rest. And, of course, there was the amount she'd had to drink.
Bruce drove very slowly, careful not to wake her. Remarkably, even in his less-than-sober state, Bruce handled the car without any issues, and within half an hour, he was pulling up in front of a fairly sizable, classic-looking manor. It wasn't big enough to rival Wayne Manor, of course, but calling it small, or even medium-sized, would have been a crime.
Getting out of the car, then helping Julia—still asleep—somewhat to her feet, Bruce, supporting her barely standing form, approached the door and pressed the doorbell twice. After half a minute with no sound from inside the manor, Bruce fished Julia's keys from her pocket and opened the door himself. Once inside, Bruce guided Julia to the living room sofa and laid her down just as she was. After that, he took her keys again, locked the front door from the inside, and exited through a window near the door—even despite how the suit restricted his movements. This way, Bruce completely erased any trace of his presence in the house.
About two hours later, Bruce, now in a more sober state, arrived at Wayne Tower. He'd called Alfred from a nearby payphone to pick him up from Julia's house. Now inside the building, Bruce crossed the lobby and reached the elevator, taking it down to the basement level. Among the Wayne Enterprises employees who happened to cross his path at that moment, none even questioned the state of Bruce's jacket, why it was so rumpled. The reason was simple: Bruce had already ironed a spare jacket and tidied his hair before heading to the tower.
Lucius Fox: "Happy birthday."
Bruce Wayne: "Yeah, thanks. So, no present?"
Lucius Fox: "Well, you see, I haven't had time to wrap it up in a box with a ribbon and get to the post office."
Bruce Wayne: "And now seriously?"
Lucius Fox: "Just this morning you've already came here. Even considering I no longer have resource strugles, the building process hasn't gotten much quicker."
Bruce Wayne: "Just this morning I gave you ideas on how to fix everything and pace up the process by stripping away all the extra crap."
Lucius Fox: "If I speed things up a little, I'll have your order done in two days, three at worst."
Bruce Wayne: "And what have you been doing for the past two weeks?"
Lucius Fox: "Mm, let's see, let me check my diary." (He has no diary.) "Oh, right—I've been promoted and now handle almost all of Wayne Enterprises' business projects. I could have spent that time building your travel device. Makes me consider if I should submit a resignation letter."
Bruce Wayne: "Don't even let those thoughts cross your mind. And I suggest you speed up. You have three days, tops."
Lucius Fox: "If it takes three days, the point of it being a birthday gift is lost."
Bruce Wayne: "Then present it to me as justification for why I promoted you—so you'd have an excuse."
Lucius Fox: "Message received. Another loyalty test."
Bruce Wayne: "Not a loyalty test—more like a competency test."
Lucius Fox: "Even more reason, then. You already know the answer."
Bruce Wayne: "That you'll deliver the car by cargo helicopter? No point expecting anything else from you."
Around eleven PM, on the roof of the Gotham City Police Department Building, Gordon stood waiting for his colleague. The wait rarely exceeded half an hour, but still, spending that much time on the roof of a five-story building, scanning East Island from that height, was far from the most engaging activity. Gordon watched as a small convoy of police cars headed west toward Central Island.
Pulling out a pack of cigarettes to kill time, Gordon immediately dropped the cigarette from his fingers upon hearing from behind him: "Where are they going?"
James Gordon, turning toward the voice: "Surprised you don't know."
Batman: "Sorry I'm not omniscient."
James Gordon: "Here's your answer, then." Gordon handed him the case file. "You know, I'm still not used to seeing you have any… limits. I forget you're actually closer to people than you seem."
Gordon had wanted to say, "I forget you're still human," but in his mind, only God knows (and even that's debatable) what's hiding under that horned mask, so he didn't belittle him by comparing him to a mortal.
James Gordon: "You know who Sal Maroni is, aren't you?"
Batman: "One of the main Italian gang bosses in all of Gotham. Primarily runs on the South West and South Central islands."
James Gordon: "Surprised you didn't recite his whole family tree and biography. So, the deal is, there's word is his people are currently running a deal under the Central Gotham Bank building."
Batman: "If you want to hide, hide in plain sight. I'll handle it."
James Gordon: "Our squad's already on its way there."
Batman: "And now that's a problem. I don't need extra crowd."
James Gordon: "Then you'll have to get there first. They're probably already approaching Central, too late to call them back by now."
Batman: "Then I'll handle it myself."
Before Gordon could look away, Batman was already on the tall building next to the Police Department, having scaled its façade in under two seconds. Before Batman vanished from Gordon's sight, all he saw was him covering inhuman distances in record time using his grapple, cape, and the neighboring buildings.
Though Gordon had been working with Batman for two months now, he rarely got to see Batman move with his own eyes—usually, he'd just vanish the second Gordon looked away.
By the time the police cars were already crossing the Aparo Bridge.
Remarkably, it hadn't even been three months since this bridge was nearly in ruins, and now it was more than serviceable for routine use, as if nothing had ever happened.
Even more remarkable was that the Gotham City government itself had allocated almost no funds for the bridge's reconstruction, and the project timeline should have taken at least a year.
It could have dragged on even longer, had an anonymous billionaire not invested in restoring the bridge to its former state, speeding up the process considerably. What makes this story even stranger is that Kane & Finger, the small construction company that worked on the bridge, was dissolved immediately upon completion of the work.
For those to whom the Kane & Finger story seemed like real mysticism, any attempts at even minimal investigation never got far. One reason for this, of course, is the effective information concealment on the part of those responsible for this 'mystery.'
Meanwhile, the police squad had already reached Central Island. Despite Batman having nothing even remotely resembling a jetpack or any other rapid transit device, his grapple—which he used to latch onto buildings to gain altitude and speed—and his glider-cape, which allowed him to perfectly utilize the altitude and speed gained from the grapple, were more than sufficient.
To a very small degree, Batman even felt a slight easing of his mind, knowing that this kind of frantic maneuvering would soon be over, as Lucius would finish work on the vehicle in the very near future.
Bruce could generally rarely afford relief from anything at all, but the thought of imminent transportation beneath his feet was one of those things that allowed him to feel at least a bit of ease.
By now, Batman had drawn level with the police cars and was just a step away from overtaking them. But instead, he only pulled a few meters ahead of his terrestrial competitors and produced from a pouch on his belt a handful of very small metal spikes. They were small enough that several dozen could fit in an adult's hand.
Next, he began scattering the spikes on the road below him. He deliberately waited until all the cars had passed through the intersection, ensuring none of them had a chance to turn off the straight road.
Batman started scattering the spikes beginning with the rear cars, so as not to cause senseless traffic accidents that could potentially occur if the rear cars, nearly at full speed, plowed into the front cars with punctured tires.
He not only perfectly timed four spikes for each car's trajectory, but also precisely calculated the drift angle for each vehicle so that their rear tires would also fail.
Having pulled this trick on all five rows of cars—11 in total—Batman didn't even spare them a backward glance and simply continued on his way to the Gotham Bank building.
The cops emerging from their cars could only watch him go. Though another police squad had already been dispatched at that very moment, it seemed they had no chance of arriving at the deal site before Batman.
By now, Batman had reached his destination. Entering the building's underground parking garage through ventilation ducts to avoid drawing attention, then positioning himself atop them to have a good, unobtrusive view of his opponents, Batman observed the scene before him.
There were three cars, black Mercedes—far from outdated models—around which stood 12 men in suits.
Not half a minute passed before another car entered the parking garage, through the very same entrance Batman had used. It was a white Porsche, but what drew Batman's attention more was the driver's seat.
Watching the Porsche take its place alongside the Mercedes, the man who emerged from the car was the last person Batman expected to see in such company. He'd seen this man regularly for the past month, as he was actively doing business with him. Normally, this man's expression was serious and important, but this time his features showed fear and apprehension.
That man was Norman Madison.
To say this was the last thing Batman expected at that moment would be an understatement.
Despite this, he effortlessly suppressed the shock. Recalibrating his plan on the fly, he sprang into action.
He quickly drew attention to himself by throwing a pair of Batarangs at nothing in particular. At the sudden appearance of these shapes, most of the twelve men present immediately opened fire with their pistols at the Batarangs.
In a single throw, Batman could palm six Batarangs between both hands, meaning he'd need two throws to hit all twelve targets.
With his first throw, he disabled six pistols—either slicing their barrels or plugging their muzzles. He deliberately aimed at the six men farthest from him.
Within two seconds, before the chaos in the crowd could even register, there were multiple sounds of foot connecting with face, followed by brief groans of pain.
In less than seven seconds, twelve men lay unconscious on the ground, and only one participant in the deal remained standing. Only because he hadn't been Batman's target.
Norman Madison had merely watched the situation unfold, having ducked behind his white Porsche at the first sound of trouble. When he realized he was alone with Batman, he drew a revolver from his jacket's inner pocket and prepared to fire. The next second, the revolver's barrel in his hand was jammed by a Batarang hurtling into it, and Norman himself was knocked to the ground by the impact of the throw. He wasn't even remotely physically imposing.
Though Batman simply stood there looking in his direction, Norman instinctively tried to crawl backward. The fear in his eyes was visible to the blind. Fear had flickered on his face the moment he'd driven into the parking garage, but the expression on his face now compared to that was like a child startled by a popped balloon compared to a full-blown phobia.
Batman: "Run." In the dimly lit parking garage, that voice seemed even clearer and more commanding.
Even if he hadn't uttered that single word, Norman would sooner or later have fled in whatever direction his legs carried him.
And flee he did. Within five seconds, he was sprinting toward the exit on the other side of the garage, because at the entrance he'd driven through awaited the most terrifying figure he'd ever seen.