The stolen, battered 2005 Ford Focus, for which I had, incidentally, received an entire Bronze Ticket from the System for the trivial act of appropriating someone else’s property, came to a quiet stop in front of the monumental wrought-iron gates of Wayne Manor.
The famous residence stood on a gloomy, windswept hill at the very edge of Gotham.
I killed the engine and climbed out of the sedan, which smelled strongly of cheap tobacco.
The moment my boots touched the asphalt in front of the gates, the familiar System interface flashed before my eyes.
Feat Completed: Visit an Iconic Location, Wayne Manor.
Reward: 1 Bronze Ticket.
“Not a wasted trip after all.
The gas paid for itself.”
I smirked and shoved my hands into my pockets.
The smirk came out slightly forced.
I was surprised that nobody was there to greet me.
Absolutely nobody.
Not Batman dropping from the sky.
Not an ARGUS strike team armed to the teeth waiting in ambush.
Not even some basic security detail, which a billionaire’s estate absolutely had to have.
Barbara hadn’t even rolled out to greet me in her wheelchair so she could sarcastically kiss me on the cheek.
And then professionally stab me under the ribs with a knife covered in holy water, my subconscious helpfully added.
With a crooked, expectant grin, I walked right up to the gate and delivered a short, enhanced kick to one of the massive iron panels.
The metal tore free from its centuries-old hinges with a horrible screech, and the heavy structure crashed onto the driveway.
I could have simply jumped over the fence or climbed the wall without making a sound.
But I physically wanted some kind of reaction from this dead place.
I wanted to provoke Thomas.
Unfortunately, the only response was the thunderous crash of the fallen gate echoing through the grounds.
So I had no choice but to walk onto the property, feeling less like an unwelcome guest and more like an idiot kicking down an open door.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I expected some kind of high-tech bullshit.
Hidden turrets.
Laser grids.
An alarm system activating.
Or, at the very least, a platoon of security guards with attack dogs.
I crossed the grounds with every muscle tense, ready to bolt away from any threat at a moment’s notice.
But once again…
Nothing.
Only the wind rustling through the trees.
Just the grounds of an elite estate.
Although, to be fair, the grounds were unbelievably neglected.
Wild ivy crawled aggressively across the stone walls.
Thick vines had completely swallowed a once-straight cypress tree, making it resemble some twisted monster.
As for neatly trimmed topiary or manicured lawns, those clearly hadn’t existed in years.
The groundskeeper hadn’t touched a pair of shears in months.
Maybe years.
Although, I suppose that’s understandable considering Alfred is dead in this version of the timeline.
An AI-Alfred wasn’t exactly capable of trimming flowerbeds, and Thomas Wayne, after losing his son and any meaningful sense of a normal life, clearly didn’t give a damn about landscaping.
From the outside, the house was a perfect metaphor for its owner’s mental state.
Dark.
Dying.
Covered in layers of isolation.
The manor itself was a magnificent three-story structure built from pale stone, but even it carried the unmistakable signs of deep neglect.
Dark, empty windows stared down at me with complete indifference.
And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me.
My enhanced undead senses picked up every detail.
The facade and driveway were covered with hidden cameras.
Their tiny LEDs blinked red in the darkness.
I was one hundred percent certain that the ground beneath my feet was packed with motion sensors and that microphones were hidden inside the cornices.
Thomas had to know I was here.
The system was working.
Yet I still hadn’t received the slightest indication that anyone intended to stop me.
Turning around and leaving now would have been a crime against my chaotic logic.
Another enhanced kick sent the carved oak front doors flying apart.
They splintered inward and crashed into the entrance hall.
Completely satisfied with the destruction I’d caused, I casually stepped over the threshold.
Empty.
Silent.
And unbearably dusty.
That was the first thing that hit me, both visually and through my sense of smell.
Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating thick columns of dust dancing through the air.
Paintings along the walls were covered with old sheets.
Furniture had been hidden beneath white covers.
“So, once again, total neglect,” I muttered loudly, making absolutely no attempt to hide my voice.
My words echoed through the empty corridors.
“Hey, owners!
Is anyone actually alive in this place?!”
As expected, there was no answer.
Seriously?
No servants at all?
Does Thomas live in this giant mansion with Barbara and nobody else?
Or without her?
Do they even live here anymore?
Maybe the entire manor has been abandoned.
The System immediately disproved the last theory by rewarding me for visiting the location.
Which meant the place still held some kind of significance.
My eyes settled on the doors of a small elevator built into the wall behind the grand staircase.
For a classic three-story nineteenth-century mansion, it was an obvious architectural oddity.
I shrugged and walked toward it, continuing to notice cameras hidden beneath the ceiling molding.
They were watching my every step.
“Either this is some incredibly clever, multi-layered plan by Thomas to lure me into a trap, or…”
I suddenly stopped.
The pieces began falling into place.
That’s right!
Jason complained on the rooftop that Joker-Bruce had gotten inside the Bat-family and torn them apart from within.
He knew all the passwords and codes.
He bypassed every security system in the Batcave.
If that’s the case, it would make perfect sense for Thomas, after surviving that disaster, to permanently abandon the compromised base and move his main headquarters somewhere safer.
I slapped my fist into my open palm.
“That explains everything!”
I nodded at my own conclusion.
“And I only got the Bronze Ticket because this old crypt still has iconic historical status.”
BANG.
Another unfortunate door, this time the elevator doors, was demolished by one of my trademark kicks.
The metal screeched aside, revealing a basic elevator cabin with a simple three-button panel.
1.
2.
3.
No retinal scanners.
No biometric locks.
Nothing remotely sophisticated.
I didn’t have the time or desire to hack anything, so I simply pressed 3, stepped back into the hallway, and waited for the elevator to hum its way upward.
Then I stepped directly into the empty shaft.
Free fall.
The descent lasted noticeably longer than would have been physically necessary for an ordinary mansion basement.
The ground rushed toward me.
My undead durability and kinetic absorption worked perfectly.
I landed on my feet almost silently, without even raising a cloud of dust.
Another elevator-shaft door stood ahead of me.
Without breaking my newly acquired habit, because yes, I was definitely developing a strange fondness for kicking doors off their hinges, I drove my foot into it.
The metal gave way.
I stepped through and found myself inside a gigantic natural cavern.
The ceiling disappeared into darkness.
Feat Completed: Discover Hidden Iconic Location, Batcave.
Reward: 1 Gold Ticket.
Just as I’d expected, it was empty.
Not a single person.
But…
My eyes moved across the shelves and computer consoles.
This place had definitely been used.
And recently.
“What the fuck…?”
I scratched the back of my head, slowly moving deeper into the cave while searching for the damn catch.
A tripwire.
A mine.
Anything.
This completely broke the expected pattern.
I’d just barged into Batman’s most protected, sacred, and valuable location.
His sanctum sanctorum.
Yet instead of resistance, an epic battle with his security systems, or a dramatic confrontation…
I got nothing.
Absolute silence.
In my head, the scenario had played out completely differently.
Everything should have started the moment I approached the gates.
I should have fought my way through automated turrets.
Engaged Thomas, or one of his new attack dogs, in a bloody battle.
Stormed into the Batcave with barely any health remaining.
Collected my well-earned Gold Ticket.
Found Barbara staring at me in shock.
Winked at her.
Then improvised from there.
Reality was much more boring.
There was simply no reaction.
A complete vacuum.
“And why is the wheelchair empty?”
I asked the echoing cave, suddenly noticing a detail that didn’t fit.
A small electric wheelchair, obviously belonging to a woman, sat abandoned beside the glass cases containing Batman’s armor.
It had been shoved aside.
Abandoned in a hurry.
Not neatly parked.
The costumes in the display cases were actually what convinced me this wasn’t some abandoned museum.
This was still an active headquarters.
One of the cases contained a Kevlar suit with serious damage around the chest and ribs.
My Dragon Slayer had done an excellent job a few hours earlier.
The dent was enormous.
There was also barely any dust on the work surfaces compared with the halls upstairs.
And then again…
The wheelchair.
That lonely, empty wheelchair.
Where had Barbara gone?
There was no way the paralyzed hacker had simply stood up and walked away.
I approached the central platform.
The gigantic monitor belonging to the supercomputer towered over the center of the cave.
It was completely powered down.
No lights.
No activity.
Just a black mirror.
On a separate hydraulic platform sat the Batmobile, its armor gleaming menacingly.
A straight road led from the vehicle deeper into the cave toward a concealed exit.
Nearby, a matte-black Batboat gently floated on the underground waterway, ready to race through the subterranean river directly into the city’s docks.
The equipment was here.
The costumes were here.
The cameras were working.
But there were no people.
And the medical capsule…
My eyes caught several brown stains on the metal floor.
They had already dried.
Nearby, beside an advanced surgical capsule that looked almost like a sarcophagus, sat several bloody bandages and empty painkiller ampoules.
The smell of antiseptic and dried blood was unmistakable.
Thomas’s traces.
I’d broken open his chest, and the old man had apparently patched himself up here in a hurry, spitting blood onto the floor.
“No, seriously, what the hell is going on?”
I threw my hands into the air, addressing the empty cave.
“Are you guys screwing with me?”
“Is this some long-running prank?”
“This is fucking ridiculous!”
“Barbara, roll yourself out here.
We need to have a serious conversation!”
“Thomas, I swear I won’t break any more of your bones.
Come out!”
My amplified voice bounced through the enormous cavern.
Somewhere high above, bats squeaked nervously.
I received no answer.
No sniper bullet.
No explosive Batarang flying into my face.
Nothing.
“Fine.
Not like I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
I muttered, finally accepting that the mouse’s nest had been abandoned.
“Time to start looting.”
I approached the illuminated equipment displays and pulled off the Arkham security uniform, which smelled of blood and smoke.
I was left completely naked.
Even this boring anticlimax can be turned into something useful.
I carefully examined the suits hanging inside the displays.
I chose the one that, from my paranoid perspective, contained the least complicated electronics and servo motors.
Fewer circuits meant fewer chances of the damn thing being remotely disabled while I was wearing it.
Or electrocuting me.
Putting it on was neither quick nor heroic.
Heavy Kevlar.
Rigid straps.
Clamps that kept catching on my fingers.
The suit smelled like synthetic material, sweat, and, for some reason, old people.
After roughly ten minutes of awkward grunting, adjusting straps, and tightening buckles, I finally straightened up.
Fortunately, the armor had an intelligent size-adjustment system.
The suit fit tightly around my body, compressing my torso while giving me a pleasant sense of physical protection.
I stared into the dark, powered-down Batcomputer screen, temporarily using it as a mirror.
My pale lower face protruded beneath the horned cowl like a corpse.
I lowered my voice as much as possible, making it deep, dramatic, and, most importantly, not raspy.
Then I declared with complete conviction:
“I am Batman!”
Feat Completed: Equip an Iconic Armor Set.
Reward: 1 Silver Ticket.
For the new Dark Knight, savior of this cursed city, you could’ve at least given me Gold, you greedy bastard.
I snorted and stepped directly up to the supercomputer’s control panel, visually searching the maze of switches for the power button.
Click.
The machinery began humming deeply as the cooling fans spun up.
The enormous screen flickered to life, flooding the central platform with cold light.
Welcome, User.
To continue, please configure the System.
A pale-blue, friendly window appeared in front of me.
It looked like a completely standard operating system. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
I blinked.
Then wiped the lenses of my cowl.
“What do you mean?”
I stared stupidly at the text.
“Where’s the super-advanced AI?”
“Where’s the dark, customized operating system with bats in the background?”
“Where’s at least a fingerprint scanner or a requirement to provide a DNA sample?”
I muttered a curse and began randomly pressing keys, reasonably assuming this was some kind of elaborate trick.
A security measure designed to keep idiots out.
Apparently, though, it hadn’t been designed to stop a determined idiot.
Or…
Maybe things were much more mundane.
Unfortunately, the interface didn’t change.
I placed my Kevlar-covered fingers on the trackpad and sighed before clicking Next, spending the next several minutes of my non-life performing the basic setup of Batman’s computer.
Create Username:
Definitely Not Bruce Wayne.
Create Password, optional:
Kirkman_Is_Handsome.
Would you like to receive personalized advertising offers?
Yes, I’ll take two.
Would you like to enable geolocation?
Yes.
Would you like to…
Yes, yes, yes!
I agree to everything.
Just show me the databases!
After a short loading sequence, the giant monitor, which had probably cost more than the annual budget of a small African country, displayed the default desktop.
A peaceful green meadow.
Blue sky.
Puffy white clouds.
Not a single shortcut.
A perfectly clean hard drive.
That was the exact moment I finally realized this wasn’t some stupid prank.
And it wasn’t a trap.
I simply didn’t have…
Information.
CRACK.
My fist, enhanced by anger and the weighted armor of the glove, slammed into the center of the peaceful meadow.
A massive spiderweb of cracks spread across the supposedly indestructible monitor.
The screen emitted a pathetic electronic squeal, flickered with static, and died forever.
Feat Completed: Destroy Batman’s Priceless Property, Main Terminal.
Reward: 1 Gold Ticket.
“Idiotic.”
I shook my head irritably, brushing fragments from my knuckles.
I’d come here for information.
Instead, I got a middle finger.
To calm myself down, I reached into the utility belt and mentally materialized the Gold Ticket I’d just received.
The cardboard cracked familiarly beneath my fingers.
Name: Knight Killer
Type: Item, Weapon
Rarity: Uncommon
Description:
A heavy magical dagger forged specifically for opening cans.
Perfect for fighting opponents equipped with heavy or magical armor.
The thicker and more durable your enemy’s defenses, the greater the conceptual damage inflicted by the blade upon a direct hit.
A massive, crudely forged dagger appeared in my inventory.
It had a broad, dull-looking blade.
The weapon felt utilitarian.
Malicious.
Effective.
Against someone like Ares, an armored Lex Luthor, or Thomas wearing a Superman-Buster suit, this should work beautifully.
At least I’d gotten something useful instead of another Trait.
I quickly checked my inventory.
I currently had eight items.
Based on the trend, the maximum number of slots in this category was probably ten.
Which meant I’d soon hit the limit here too.
I’m seriously lacking skills.
I recognized the growing imbalance in my build.
Aside from Breathing Technique with Intermediate Concentration, I had essentially no foundation.
No formal combat school.
And basic proficiency with bladed weapons, proper distance management, and footwork could multiply my effectiveness with Dragon Slayer or the new dagger.
Right now, I was relying almost entirely on raw power, superior biology, and surprise.
I was basically swinging a railroad track as hard as I could.
But sooner or later, I’d inevitably encounter someone with physical stats comparable to mine.
Someone like Black Adam.
Or Wonder Woman.
And then I’d simply be dismantled through superior technique.
“All right.
We’ll deal with problems as they come.”
I looked around the gloomy cavern.
“And next…
next…”
My gaze swept across the Batcave.
“I sincerely hope all the spark plugs are still installed in this beautiful machine.”
In the darkness, the Batmobile rested on its hydraulic platform.
It was a dark, brutal, futuristic monster, looking more like the result of an illicit affair between a battle tank and a Cybertruck.
Wide tracked tires.
Massive wheels.
Angular matte armor.
Twin cannons.
There was none of the sleek aesthetic, little wings, or theatrical nonsense from the old comics and movies.
Just pure, aggressive, utilitarian power.
There absolutely has to be an autonomous system.
Electronics, paranoid AI, and biometric security were all well and good until they malfunctioned at the worst possible moment.
Batman was a pragmatist.
He had to understand that.
And I wasn’t wrong.
The moment I approached the vehicle, its massive armored cockpit tilted backward with a quiet hydraulic hiss.
Some kind of backup RFID key or similar device must have been integrated into the suit or utility belt.
Primitive, perhaps, but convenient for field operations.
And right now, that primitive design had worked against Thomas.
Feat Completed: Steal the Batmobile.
Reward: 1 Bronze Ticket.
The moment I squeezed myself into the rigid Kevlar-covered driver’s seat and placed my hands on the steering wheel, which looked more like an aircraft control yoke, the dashboard erupted with tactical information.
Then the system generously gave me another pleasant surprise.
The engine behind me roared to life with a deep, vibrating bass that rattled my bones.
I sat there for a moment, thinking.
Am I some kind of legendary idiot who voluntarily climbed into a mousetrap, or…
I never finished the sentence.
I slammed the accelerator to the floor and cranked the steering yoke.
The multi-ton machine launched forward.
The tires screamed, throwing sparks from the concrete.
I hadn’t found Thomas here, inside his own lair.
Fine.
Then the old man could come find me.
I wasn’t going to hide.