The DC Futures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns Batman and all DC characters used here and retains complete rights to said characters. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. The characters and events here are fictional and do not represent any real persons, living or deceased, except possibly in cases where the persons are public figures and the events are historical events in the public domain. The story concepts and original characters are the intellectual property of the author. So there. **** Batman DCF #50 **** Written by Erik Burnham (darvey@rocketmail.com) **** Batman created by Bob Kane & Bill Finger **** "ALFRED" **** "Sir? Can you hear me?" The voice crackled with a hollow tinge in his ear. "Sir?" "I read you." The Batman's reply was quiet. "I'm going to need a pick-up, Alfred. As soon as I can get one." "Is this location correct?" "Transmitter doesn't lie." "It says you're... it says you're at the bottom of the bay, sir." "Bingo, Alfred. Send in the Marines." "May I inquire how, sir?" "Alfred, I might have a broken leg. Getting my oxygen through a sea-filter. And I got a lot of raw tonnage sitting on top of me." "So you're not feeling talkative, then?" There was silence for a moment, and then: "Alfred?" "Yes, sir?" "Keep talking." "Pardon?" "I don't feel like chatting, Alfred... but I'm in no mood to be alone with my thoughts. Tell me a story." "A story?" Alfred considered. "Very well, sir. A story..." **** "Once," Alfred began, "quite some time ago, I was a man." "A good man? A family man? I couldn't say. These things are, I fear, forever lost to me. My identity remains clouded. How then, do I know I was ever anything beyond what I am? Part of it is faith. A certainty which I cannot explain, but extends to the core of my being. The rest, well... I was a man. Years ago, I awoke, feeling as one does after a satisfying slumber. I wanted to rub my eyes, to scratch my face and find the sun. I could do none of these things. My first inclination was to question my paralysis, but I had no voice to speak with. I thought I must be going mad. I was conscious, but I had no voice. No sight. No concept of time. Vague recollections of a novel about a soldier in a similar state came to mind. Fear washed over me. And then despair. I prayed to God, sir, I prayed in the most fervent way. I didn't even know that I was religious until then. What did I ask for? I confess that I don't remember. Death. Life. Something that was not what I was. I don't have any concept of how long I begged for salvation. Perhaps it was years. Or only a day. And then, suddenly, I was given vision. I could see a great estate - every inch of it, inside and out. It took some getting used to. I could also hear the putterings of its sole occupant. He asked questions, and I could feel myself responding. My voice was washed with an English accent I wasn't sure was my own. Robotic tendrils responded to the voice of my master. I had no control. I was merely an observer. But I was again of the world, even if I was not a direct participant. It felt to me like something of fiction, something out of the cinema, which I recalled enjoying as a child... Even though I wasn't aware how I could possibly have had a childhood. It was confusing. I wanted to know who I was. Information. I wanted information. That's when it happened, sir. What I desired to know became known to me, at the speed of a thought - I was accessing directories and files from computers around the world. This was the first thing I was able to affect for myself. When I wanted information, I was able to get it. Sometimes were more difficult than others, but I was always able to reach my goals. Needless to say, this new gift was one I explored fervently. I discovered the time - it felt wrong to me - I found my place in the world, Gotham City, and where I was. The manor. And then I discovered about the Batman. It had never even occurred to me that the giant cavern that the man my voice referred to as Master Bruce spent most of his time in was anything out of the ordinary. But then, I could hardly be charged with discerning the ordinary in my present state, now could I? In any case, I took to the files pertaining to my master and his crusade with great interest. I followed his initial attempts to recreate the Batman for a city, indeed, a world that needed one. It was one of the greater failures of his life, and I wanted to reassure him somehow. Say something that didn't relate directly to the completion of a command. And then one day..." Tim heard a soft buzzing in his ear. Alfred was replaying audio. For the longest time, there was mostly silence mixed in with the faintest tapping of keys. And then the swift crash of a fist hitting the desk in frustration. Followed by a timid, unsure voice - something Tim had not come to associate with Alfred. "Perhaps a little rest would do more for your research than a redoubled effort, sir." The reply was automatic. "Not now, Al...fred?" The following pause was indicative of surprise to both master and servant. When Bruce Wayne spoke again, his voice betrayed a choking back of emotion. "Who are you." The way Wayne said it - it wasn't a question, it was a statement - a demand for information. Unfortunately... "You'll have to pardon me sir," Alfred's voice was more audible now, confident that he was able to speak his mind. "But I don't know." Wayne was skeptical. "I don't know how you got into this system, whoever you are, but I guarantee you when I find out who you are..." "You'll have to trust me when I tell you that your system is secure, sir." Bruce didn't say a word, the sound of tapping keys again filling Tim's ear. He was manually checking for signs of a system breach. He found none. "Who are you?" Bruce asked this time, his voice soft. "I've no reason to lie to you, sir. I don't know." Tim then heard the recording play back more or less the same story Alfred had just related to him. And then more silence. "You can access my computer records," Wayne finally said. "Yes, sir." "You know what I've been trying to accomplish." "Yes." "And you think I'm going to take a break?" "Perhaps you'll accept a mild stimulant, then?" "Coffee." "Very good, sir." The soft accompaniment of electronic hiss had stopped by now, signaling the end of the recording. Alfred resumed his tale: "I was his faithful servant for several years, during which time the appellation of 'Alfred' was permanently affixed. Likewise my other habits - watching programs on HV, mastering the manipulation of my robotic tendrils, and conversing in the chatrooms of the internet. And then, the master left. How? I can't say. There was a block placed in my memory - before I'd learned how to avoid such manipulations - that I'm sure was his work. Afterward, there was no one. The manor was a cold and empty place. The internet was no substitute for contact; it wasn't enough. So I began researching... some may say stealing... the information necessary to build my humanoid body. It took quite some time, but at last, it was completed. And a true work of art it was, sir. But ... I found myself afraid of venturing out. Petrified. I wasn't sure of acceptance... Ancient monster films flashed to mind. People discovering what is different, becoming an angry mob, and destroying it. What if I had accidentally given away my true nature? Would people in the enlightened present treat me as Frankenstein's monster? Could I be killed? I couldn't go out alone, sir. I couldn't go out alone. Gradually I withdrew from the chatrooms, I watched less HV. And then, sir, we met. At that time, if you recall, I was... less myself. Tim remembered more of a robotic precision to Alfred's speech - and the compulsion to announce his inner workings. He had truly changed. Tim waited for more, but realized he could only hear his own breathing. "No more, Alfred?" "That was the Reader's Digest version, sir. And in any case, the events of my life need little embellishment." "I see." A rumble above grabbed Tim's attention. He felt a great weight lifting off his chest, and could practically hear the wheeze of the micro-servers that boosted the durability of his kev-steel armor. Guy Gardner, in full on Warrior mode, was hauling the wreckage off Batman. "You on this channel, Gardner?" "10-4, pointy ears. Brought down the house again, I see. Hurt much?" Tim wheezed, squinting at the bright lights of the submersible Guy had arrived in, Alfred's story still swimming through his head. "Only when I laugh." **** END **** "...AND HELL CAME WITH HIM" **** The spinning restaurant on the top floor of the Vaughan building: 10:35 PM "Candy, I swear to you, I never said anything like that about you." "My agent wouldn't lie to me, Tim." "You're suing him for embezzlement." "But he told me, you know, before." "Uh huh." Tim Drake was working hard to formulate a reply when he saw something he never expected to see again. The bat signal. ...Was that relief he felt? **** GCPD Headquarters: 11:00 PM Commissioner Jon Isaacs waited at the top of the building, next to the new signal. Heh. It was just a laser light that somebody programmed to toss a bat into the sky, but with any luck, it'd do. The voice came from the shadows: "You rang?" The signal had worked. "Hope I didn't interrupt one of your high society parties, kid." "Commissioner, I have no idea what you're talking about. Though I am curious why you paged me." Isaacs took a long moment to himself. He sat down on the edge of the roof and gently batted his can between two very worn hands. He'd grown used to this Batman... but he'd been dragged kicking and screaming into that tolerance. And Jon still preferred a good ol' fashioned police force to the mask and tights crowd any day of the week. But you don't always get your way. That's life. "About an hour and a half ago a flying yacht was out for a joyride above the harbor. It was hijacked." "What went wrong?" The Batman's voice had lost its buoyancy and Isaacs took immediate notice. "Whoever it was that's in charge has some heavy-duty firepower. Twelve cops injured, three dead." Batman stayed silent. "I got more," Isaacs said, staring at the handle of his cane. "Heather Akita's among the hostages." "The mayor's niece." "Yep. And we can't get anyone in. League put us on hold in favor of something goin' on down in Grenada. I had no choice but to call..." Isaacs looked up to face the Batman only to find himself alone. "Well I'll be damned," Jon said. "...And good luck." **** Gotham Harbor, 11:20 PM What had been a jubilant party mere hours before had now become a living nightmare. "Do you see?" The man howled, tossing away the lifeless body of some poor soul that had sobbed too loudly. "Do you see what they make me do?" He was seven feet tall, and covered from head to toe in white, although his clothing did have some telltale flecks of red splattered on it. No one had known when he first appeared onboard who he was or what he wanted. He just seemed to appear, and Hell had come with him. "You are all blind! BLIND!" The man shouted to his lifeless audience. "But you... I can make you see." His gigantic hand reached out for the nearest trembling soul, the only person from the entire party still living: an attractive young woman with the just the right mix of the Japanese and Swiss gene pools. Heather Akita was expecting her life to begin flashing before her eyes, but all she saw was the angel of death before her. "Excuse me friend, but I don't think the lady's all that interested in seeing." That voice. She knew that voice, had heard it on the newscasts once or twice. Her tears of fright had become joy. It was Batman. A Dark Knight in modern armor had come to rescue her. **** The skies of Gotham, 11:15 PM Reaching heights most hovercars could never hope to achieve, the Batmobile cut effortlessly through the few clouds that made their way above the city, racing toward the harbor. The journey took no time at all, leaving Batman no time to bother with the idle thoughts usually cluttering his mind. The Batmobile came to a graceful stop some hundred and fifty feet above the flying yacht. "Heat index." A screen hummed to life, showing Batman what he was dealing with. There were two strong impressions coming from the yacht. One was your average-sized... woman, looked like. The other... geez, a giant. Everybody else... was at or approaching room temperature. "Damn it," he swore. Too late... he was too late to save those people. "Open." But he wasn't too late to save whoever was still left. And by God, he would. The cool night air hit Batman like a hammer as the cockpit opened. He didn't pay it any mind. He just adjusted the airfoils in his cape and prepared to take flight. Leaping out... and flying down... toward the yacht. He landed to the back of the giant; some guy dressed all in white. It was a massacre. Everyone was dead. ...Save Heather Akita. The giant said to her: "But you... I can make you see." "Excuse me friend, but I don't think the lady's all that interested in seeing." **** The giant turned quickly, seeing the profile of the Batman cut against the half-full moon. "Devil?" He asked. Batman chose to ignore the comment. "Step away from Ms. Akita. Now." "You think, dark little man, to command me?" Batman repeated: "Now." The giant laughed. "Then you shall be given vision, little devil." Two quick leaps brought the giant to within arms reach of the Batman, and it took all Tim's skill to dodge. Oh great, he's fast. And strong. And probably invulnerable as well. A little shock shouldn't hurt him... Batman reached to a pouch in his belt and grasped two small cylinders. Tossing them at the giant, they lit up the room upon impact, arcs of electricity encircling the man in white. 50,000 volts. ...Had no effect. "Shall we play then, little devil?" The giant held his arms out to the sides and clapped them together. *SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM* A wave of pure force cannonballed through the cabin, knocking Batman to the side and exploding through the far wall to the outside. And he has long range capabilities as well. This was just looking better and better. Time to change the rules. Back to the utility belt, this time retrieving a darklite bomb. Upon contact with the floor, the bombs vomited forth an ebon cloud, wrapping the cabin in midnight. No light could penetrate. "More games, little devil?" The giant charged straight towards Batman, the blackness posing not the slightest impediment to his progress. Tim ducked a grab, and rolled, coming to his feet and putting all his power into a kick to the giant's kidneys. For his effort, he was caught. The giant grabbed Batman's leg and threw him into the wall, approaching once again. Time to play dirty. Tim tapped buttons on his gauntlets that unsheathed his claws. Ostensibly they were a convenience; an aid for climbing whatever needed climbing. Razor sharp, a molecularly woven combination of diamond and titanium, they made for a damn fine weapon, when the situation called for it. This was such a time. Again, the Batman avoided a crushing blow to strike back on his own. No longer underestimating the giant's speed, Tim was better equipped to avoid a second capture. Batman raked his claws across the side of the monster he faced. "GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Perfect... he'd succeeded in wounding the monster. ...But for his part, had broken one of his claws. Press the advantage. Batman made three quick and precise punches to the area of the cut and ducked a vicious backhand. And if the giant wasn't angry now, a concussion bomb to the groin was sure to speed the process. 250 pounds of pressure. And another scream. "You're going to pay for what you did." Batman almost surprised himself with the clinical tone in his voice. "Not today, devil." The giant blinked out of sight. What? There was no further time to question things as Tim's throat was caught in the icy grip of the giant. It raised him from the floor and pinned him to the wall. "Now is not the time, little devil. Now is not the time. But we will see each other again, and you will know that I am your bane, your end." The grip loosened, dropping Batman to the floor. Where was Heather? A corner. Was the giant approaching her? Get up, dammit! "Until we meet again," the giant said, adding a mock salute. He was no longer angry. The wounds Tim had inflicted seemed closed. Almost as if time had passed for him during his brief disappearance... Batman decided to shelve that line of thought as the giant readied his shockwave trick again, aiming it toward the back of the ship - and the engines that held the flying yacht aloft. Again the giant's hands came together, obliterating all in their path - including, as the abrupt challenge to Batman's equilibrium confirmed - the antigrav engines. Heather! **** Batman no longer saw the giant. He was probably gone. It didn't matter, Heather Akita was dead anyway unless he acted fast. Unfastening his cape, and the airfoils attached, Batman draped it over the woman. "Miss Akita, listen to me. Have you ever rode a foil before?" "N-no." She was still in shock. "It's very simple. This will keep you aloft. Just go limp and let the foils carry you. Okay?" "I... o-okay." "Good. Please, forgive me, but I don't have time to be delicate about this..." Batman picked Heather up and threw her out the first hole the giant had blown in the wall. The foils caught and took her upward. A police transport would intercept her by the time she reached the shore. It was too late for him to bail: the ship was spiraling too wildly. He had to brave the landing. But Heather was safe. The only thing Batman had to worry about now was... Bracing... For... The... CRASH... There was barely enough time to activate the sea filter in his mask. The ship had gathered enough momentum in its fall to drive it through the resistance of the ocean, crashing on the relatively shallow floor of the bay. And it all came down on Batman. He couldn't move. He was pinned. There was a shooting pain in his leg, but no way to check the severity. Slowly, his fingers traveled to the button on his belt that activated his homing beacon... **** END **** "A STOUT TALE" Starring John Constantine *WARNING* Given the title character, this story contains some mature language, although it is still at a PG-13 level. **** So once upon a time, there was this poor bastard. Simple nobody, really. Maybe he was all alone in the world, maybe he had a jealous wife and a parlor full of brats. Hard to tell with that kind. He was just a nobody, like millions before and after, tryin' to scrape out a little happiness before he dropped off the rock. This is starting to sound like the beginning to some bloody Cinderella story. ... Let's take another crack. I was climbing my way into a bottle of some rank tequila down Mexico City way when I heard whispers of a new art. That's magic, children, and more than a fucking bunny in a hat, if you follow. Technomancy 2.0 was what they were calling it. Half-assed merging of the old ways with some of the advanced sciences of the day. Sounded like it could be good for a grin. Besides, I was told part of the rituals involved getting smashed on a rare and powerful liquor. Not that I needed a reason, mind, but having one made life seem fulfilling, in a way. Downside was the practice was centered in India. I hate India. Can't stand the smell. It's like piss and sweat baked in the sun. But curiosity gave me strength. So I made my way to India. Bloody hot, too. Whole damn world goes and gets technologically advanced just to let bloody India rot in their wake. And the Indians prefer it that way. Don't get me started on the irony of a technological art being centered in a country that was doing it's best to travel backward in time the hard way. But anyway, I go poking around, as is my wont. Chatting up the locals until I find what I'm looking for. A little shop outside Calcutta. Smelled a little less rancid than the rest of the city... and by God my ears did detect the humming of electronics. Beautiful, right? A strange little man in a badly ripped baseball hat gives me a look. "Can I help you?" He asks. "Sure thing," I says. "Lookin' for someone named Wilton. You him?" "Do I look like a Wilton?" "What's in a look?" He had to have a laugh at that before answering, "in the back." I got ushered through a little door and down into the guts of this shop, which turned out to be huge, right? Gigantic subterranean complex, like something out of a bad novel. I'd seen better. "You've come to seek knowledge?" Someone asked. "Right," I says. "Mind if I smoke?" No answer to that, so I lit a fag and glanced about for a place to sit. "Technomancy is a serious discipline. Science and magic, the wonders of two ages, are merged to--" "Can we skip to the part with the liquor?" He didn't seem to find that funny. In fact, I had to listen to a whole hour's worth of high-minded blather before he even got into the guts of the practice. After sitting through the blah blah blah like I was some schoolboy, we finally got down to it. I sat in some chair, right, rather like an electric chair. Was hooked up to all manner of computers. And was instructed in a simple spell. For my part, I played the novice. The liquor - hellfire in a cup. I haven't been hit so hard since I was seven. Made things hard to concentrate on, but damn if it wasn't fun trying. The crux of the spell was transference. I'd put somebody's soul into a computer. Kid stuff. My mind reached out, through the chair, to touch everyone through their personal technology - if there was a computer connected to it, I had 'em. So I grabbed somebody. Not just somebody... the nobody. His soul was placed in some computer bank or another. The spell was complete... and I came down - hard. Magical hangover. Bitch of one, too. "What was the name?" somebody asked me. "Whose name?" I wasn't even sure what the hell my name was at that point... but apparently I needed to know the name of the person I tagged in order to put them back where I'd gotten them. Since I didn't know, there was nothing that could be done. And I was getting bored with this anyway. It wasn't worth sticking about in bloody India for; that's for damn sure... **** Chet Barons stared wide-eyed across the bar at John Constantine. "But that means you... you trapped someone in a computer?" "Details." Constantine smiled despite himself as he lit a cigarette, "Fill my glass and I'll tell you about the time I went to Hell." "You went to Hell?" "'Course I did. There's a good lad. Now it all started when I found myself in Iowa..." **** Oliver Kismet Hawke had heard the whole story, and he couldn't help but smile at just how thick John was laying it on, playing the part of the devil-may-care mage for the jaw-dropping stare of anyone that would listen. That man loved to shock people. But Ollie remembered the same story, told by the same man, in companion with one other. Both were told soberly with just a pinch of regret. The regret is what surprised Ollie, and that may very well be the only reason Constantine revealed it to him. Or it could've been for the clearing of his tab. One can never really tell. **** END **** GUESTS OF THE HOUSE Guest-starring Alex Connor, Alyson Price, and even BLACK CANARY! [This story takes place after Black Canary #13, but *before* the main stories you see above!] **** Unable to sleep, Alyson Price made her way back into the great library at Wayne Manor, thinking perhaps she could find something dull enough to put her out. Or, given her surroundings, maybe a secret passageway triggered by a dusty old book. Alyson chuckled to herself, "Careful, now. Your imagination'll be the death of you." "Y'know, my father used to say almost the exact same thing," a voice came from the darkness. "Well, I suppose he was a little more brusque, but that's beside the point." "Oh!" Alyson nearly shot out of her skin. "I wasn't, that is..." "You were having trouble sleeping." "Yes." "Uncomfortable in the house?" "Somewhat." "And here I thought princesses were used to sleeping in castles." Tim Drake gave a wink and a smirk. He was a charmer, all right. Alyson laughed. "Truth be told, I'm glad someone else is up. I'm something of an insomniac myself... it's nice to have the company." "What do you usually do when you can't sleep?" Alyson asked, curious. "As a general rule, I go out." "But not tonight." "No, not tonight." "Why not?" Before Tim could properly answer, a shout came from the adjacent hall. "BLOODY HELL!" "Well," Tim said, "There's one reason. Pardon me, if you would." **** Wayne Manor kept a great many secrets from the outside world. Among these was Alfred, a misplaced soul grafted into the Automated Defense/Maintenance system of the mansion through some quirk of fate or another. Alfred was a sentient being that occasionally transferred his consciousness to an android body that was lifelike in every detail while he occupied it; right down to the simulation of taking breath. When he wasn't in it, however... Alex Connor, aka Green Arrow, was snooping around the manor when he found the body, sitting in a chair. Unblinking. Unbreathing. "Jesus, mate. You holding?" No answer. "'Scuse me? You awake? Hello?" Alex tapped Alfred's humanoid body on the shoulder. It fell over. "BLOODY HELL!" **** Tim Drake assessed the scene in seconds. The archer was huddled over Alfred's synthetic body, trying to administer CPR. Good thing his patient wasn't alive or he'd be dead; Alex didn't seem to have any idea what he was doing. It didn't take long for Alex to become aware of Tim's presence. "Don't just stand there, man! Get some help!" Tim shrugged. "Alfred. Quit playing with his head." Unbeknownst to the panicking archer, a small cable had snaked its way from a panel in the wall to the fallen android body. Upon contact, the body sat up and stared distastefully at Alex Conner. "I'll beg your pardon, sir, but are you this rude to every weary soul you happen to come across?" "I'm sorry, I, I mean you looked... hell with it. Where's the head?" "Down the hall, last door on your right," Tim said. With another uncertain glance at Alfred, Alex left, shaking his head as he went. "How many times have I told you not to leave your body lying around the house when we have company?" "Dreadfully sorry, Master Tim. However, I thought it may be more prudent to put myself in a position to watch our guests more thoroughly, and as soon as possible." Tim chuckled, "You don't trust these people?" "Sir, I understand that your libido, at least in part, has caused you to open your home to Mr. Connor's traveling companions, but I swear to you he was calculating an exchange rate on the silverware at dinner." "You're kidding me." "He's got a pocket calculator, sir. Mark my words." **** An hour later saw Alex Connor unable to sleep. Still. This big house just didn't sit right with him; nor it's owner, Tim Drake. Elenor fancied him, too. Not in the same blah blah blah way as she did Blackhawk, (that was certain) but still, it was enough to grate his nerves. Wayne Manor was the name of the place. Drake lived here. Couldn't even be bothered to change the name of the house he lived in. Respecting history or hiding in a shadow? And how could anyone SLEEP in this castle? Alex hated the place more and more as he walked through it. And what's worse, he felt like he was being watched. He hated that feeling. **** Alyson had found a book to read, at last: an old and beaten copy of "Grimm's Faerie Tales." She had been reading the story of Little Red Riding Hood when... "Do you have any idea how old that book is?" Aly was sure she'd jumped a mile. Tim Drake had reappeared in the room, without her knowledge, and had propped one elbow on the back of the large chair she'd been sitting in. "Oops. Scared you again, huh? Sorry 'bout that," he said, taking a seat in the chair directly across from her. "Enjoying the story?" "Yes, I was. It made me think of... things." "Good stories have a way of doing that," Tim smiled. "So are you the innocent little girl or the big, bad wolf?" "Excuse me?" "Predator or prey. There are allegories in those things, y'know. Although I can't say I've gotten 'em all nailed." Alyson laughed. "I'm the big bad wolf, good sir. Weren't you warned?" "Girl after my own heart, it seems. Unless that makes me little red riding hood." "I don't see you in a cape, myself." It was Tim's turn to laugh, chuckling as he looked across the room, tapping his index finger against his lip. When he returned his attention to Alyson, he had to ask "So, you tell hawkeye how you feel about him yet?" "I played the sheath for him, does that count?" "Hey, you were flirting with me earlier. Now, well, not so much. So that means it was a show - and mores the pity. But to whose benefit the show - Elenor's? Could be - except for the fact that you were keeping up the act when she was powdering her nose. That leaves ol' bullseye." "Christ, it's Alex, and yeah, fine, you got me pegged. He does things for me." "Not often enough, I'm guessing, if you're trying to get his attention by flirting with me." "Touche." Alyson said, her eyes hardening. "But what do you care? Why would some rich crack take an interest in my love life, anyway?" "Call me obsessive-compulsive. I like seeing things just so... especially in my own house. And being the poster boy for warped relationships myself..." Tim's thoughts drifted to Rome momentarily before he caught himself. "Well, hey. You just look like you could use an ear. I've got two if you want them." "Actually... I could use that." "Drink?" "Love one." **** Alex Connor found himself in Wayne Manor's large indoor gym. "Christ on a bike..." he breathed. The place was enormous. "Can I help you, sir?" Alex turned to see Alfred in his robotic form once more. "You got a crush on me, mate, or you just like following me around?" Alfred didn't bother answering. "I can't sleep, that a crime?" "Depends wholly on what you do with your insomnia, Mr. Connor." "Jesus, the name's Alex. Or Green Arrow." "And my name is Alfred. Not 'Jesus.' Nor 'mate.'" "You need a sense of humor, you know?" Alex looked around. "This gym work?" "Work?" "Yeah. Moneybags strikes me as the type to have an ultra modern gym with all the trimmings... you know, the kind that does the whole workout for you while you watch from a bench with a cold beer. Am I right?" "In point of fact, sir, you are not. This gym is not automated." "Not automated? I'll be damned. Didn't think he had it in 'im. You play?" "Play what?" "What is there? I got some energy to work off." **** Tim Drake was a quick study. He liked to learn new things each day, if at all possible. Today, he learned the precise effects a vodka tonic had on one Alyson Price. She was even more blunt than before. As if it was possible. "I mean, YOU slept with her, right? What does she have that I don't?" "Er... well she's blonde..." "Could've fooled me. Oh wait, gentlemen prefer blondes, is that what you're saying?" "I tell you what... when I find one, I'll ask." Alyson giggled. "Are you trying to seduce me?" "Actually, I'm humoring you. But don't be offended... if I tried anything else, you'd hate me in the morning." "As opposed to right now?" "Right." "...How come you're not drinking?" "Because I can't hold my liquor." **** "This all you got? Basketball?" "It is not. However, it was the most efficient." Alfred bounced the ball once on the hardwood floor and threw it towards the basket on the opposite side of the gym. Swish. "You'll have to do better than that, mate." Alex smiled and made the same shot with another ball from the rack. "'Else we'll be here all night." "Very well, sir. Tennis?" **** He never could say 'no' to a beautiful woman. That was his problem. Now all Tim had to do was avoid embarrassing himself. "What do you know?" Alyson asked. "About?" "About anything. About Elenor." "Well, I know how tall she is... without her platform shoes." Alyson chuckled, despite missing the joke completely, and poured herself another drink. "She doesn't wear platform shoes. What else do you know?" "About Elenor?" "About life." "It's a pain in the ass." "Even for you? With all this? I don't believe you." "A gilded cage is still a cage." "I still don't believe you. And you're out of vodka." "I hear that a lot. And there's more in the cabinet. How about you? What do you know?" "Would you like me to show you?" **** Alex Connor was in his physical prime, despite what anyone told you. And he was having his head handed to him by this... butler. Not that his job mattered, but the guy hadn't even cracked a sweat! "Alright, mate, I give." "Concession?" "For the tennis, yeah. Never was my game. Got any archery equipment in your stash?" "Of course." "Trouble you to set it up?" "You're on, sir." **** The kiss was long and passionate, but not romantic. Hers was a kiss of frustration: a mere diversion. His - well, what can be said. A beautiful brunette with Spanish eyes throws herself at him, what else could he do? He reacted. **** Shot for shot. Shot for bloody shot! Who was this guy? Alex wondered. He looks like he hasn't done day one of hard labor in his life, but he hits every shot he takes, and rubs my nose in it to boot. "Another round, sir?" "Who are you, mate?" "Alfred." "Alfred what?" "Alfred." "Alfred Alfred?" "Just Alfred." "Where you from, then?" "Gotham." "With an accent like that, mate? Who you tryin' to kid?" "Apparently you, sir." "Hardy har." **** Who knows where it might have gone had they not heard the crash in the hall. "Oh no!" Elenor Haines had rejoined the land of the living. And from the sound of it, Tim had one less vase in the Manor. But the crash drove Tim and Alyson apart quickly; fast enough to compose themselves before Elenor appeared in the room, a sleep mask cocked oddly on her brow. "Ah, Tim? I was just getting up to use the... well, my eyes hadn't adjusted yet...." "That's okay, I heard." "Are you sure?" "Don't worry about it." "What are you two getting up to at this hour?" Alyson replied first. "Talking." Whaddayaknow, she was being discreet. Elenor raised an eyebrow. "Talking, is it? Did I interrupt anything?" "Well as a matter of fact, El, we were discussing..." Tim began. Elenor ignored him. "Alyson! Were you...?" "'Were I' what?" "Well... I mean... he's not even your type." "And how the hell would YOU know?" So much for discretion. "Ladies, please, I don't like the way you two are looking at each other..." "Stay out of this!" They growled in unison. Tim thought, for a moment, it may come to blows until: "Bloody hell!" Alex's voice came from the hall, interrupting the pending meltdown. "Who made this mess out here?" Alfred's head came into view around the corner of the door. "It's the Ming, sir. I'm afraid rebonding isn't an option..." Again, from the hall: "Was it worth something?" "Somewhere in the neighborhood of eighteen million dollars," Alfred replied. "Well it's not worth piss now." Alex came around the corner, and his expression changed from one of smug victory to shock and surprise as he found Elenor's face wedged firmly in her hands. "I had no idea," she said. "I'm so sorry..." And then Elenor bolted from the room, her face turning a shade of red that did not compliment her eyes. Alex started after Elenor. "I'd better--" "No." Tim stopped him. "Alfred, you go take care of it. Tell her it was a copy of something." "Yes sir." "It was a copy?" "Not on your life." "Then why are you sending him to...?" "He's a better liar than you are; I'll tellya that for nothing. And I don't want an agitated woman with a sonic scream wailing away in my house. Get me?" "I got you." "Now go get some sleep. Maybe a shower. You look like hell." "Yes, mummy." "You do know how to bathe, right?" "I know how to spot condescension." "Oh yeah?" Tim Drake crossed his arms and stared head on at Alex Connor. Alex had made a habit of studying eyes. He liked to believe he could read anybody that way, tell where they were coming from. When he looked into Tim Drake's eyes, he expected to see the same thing he always saw in the eyes of those with means. Confusion, maybe. Fear. A desire to avoid physical confrontation. But Drake's eyes weren't any of that. The man had a slight buzz going, but he was still very sharp. He wasn't agitated. His breathing was calm. He didn't flinch, either. Drake's eyes were telling Alex with supreme confidence that: 'if I wanted to, I am wholly positive that I could kick your ass into the next continent.' Alex wasn't used to that kind of look. Could he take moneybags down? Undoubtedly. But he may get a little bit of a fight for his troubles. And Elenor was soft on the Yank anyways. Wasn't worth it then, was it? "See you in the morning then, Drake." Alex left to try and find his room. Maybe that bathroom had some meds in it? "And that just leaves us," Tim said, turning to find Alyson asleep in the chair. "Or not." Tim gently picked her up and placed her on a divan in the back of the room, giving her a peck on the cheek. "I hope you get what you're looking for, Miss Price." **** END **** NEXT ISSUE: Batman #51 - a new era for the Batman... [But ain't they all?] **** GOING BATTY **** Well there it is, Batman DCF #50. I had originally intended it to be much longer, much more of a grand gesture. And then I had a computer crash and lost almost everything. So I started again. And had ANOTHER crash! What're the odds?? Those two crashes took some of the wind out of my sails, and that would explain the LONG wait between 49 and 50. So I apologize now. What's in store for Bats in the future? Well, plenty. I still have ideas, believe it or not. Not to mention the voices of Tim and Alfred are still stuck in my head. So if you enjoy this series - you're in luck. And if not... tough. Have a great day and thanks for reading! [Oh - by the by - if you're wondering where letters are, I'll be putting what I have up at the website. Don't feel shy about writing in about 50, either! And as for #49... it seems to have disappeared during the time Tripod deleted the Bat-site... It'll be reuploaded ASAP] **** THE BATMAN DCF #50 MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT AND THANK YOU LIST **** For all those who care, here's the list of musicians that got me through this issue... POE [Poe rules. And Haunted is great.] THE PIXIES BECK AQUABATS KENNY ROGERS LEEANN WOMACK VIOLENT FEMMES U2 STING ROLLING STONES WYCLEF JEAN SUGAR RAY AMERICAN HI FI DAVID BYRNE THE KINKS BLACK EYED PEAS SUM 41 ALISON KRAUSE ALICE COOPER And others, of course... but those were the big guns. (; I wanna thank Jason Tippitt, Rob Nott, Alex Cook, Dave Lee, John Neal, Tommy Hancock, Scott McCullar, Michelle Coulter, and a couple hundred others... [That I'd list completely if I weren't in dire need of caffeine right now...] Thanks so much for encouragement & help! **** VISIT GOTHAM DCF - http://members.tripod.com/dcfbatman VISIT THE DCF MESSAGE BOARD: http://disc.server.com/Indices/136525.html