Batman: Eternal: Season 3, Episode 9 - A Second Date

“I don’t usually do this,” Bruce explained, sitting down to eat with his date at a fancy Japanese restaurant, “Second dates.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel special?” Selina Kyle asked with a sly grin, “Because you’re just like every other person I’ve dated.”

Selina leaned back in her chair, very smug. She had black hair in a pixie cut, a round face, and a small nose. Her slim figured seemed to melt into her seat.

“Every other boy owned the restaurant you ate at?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Not just boys,” Selina corrected, “But I suppose you are the first one to own the restaurant. Props for flaunting your wealth.”

“You really like making fun of me, don’t you?” Bruce asked.

“Someone has to keep your ego in check,” Selina shrugged, “And it’s fun to see you trying to keep your cool.”

“You could see all that?”

“I can see through disguises,” Selina said.

“Oh really?” Bruce smiled.

“Yes, really,” Selina nodded, “I’m great at figuring out who people truly are. Deep down.”

“And who am I?” Bruce asked, “Deep down.”

Selina bit her lip.

“Not so easy?” Bruce laughed.

“I’ll figure you out, Wayne,” Selina promised.

Bruce seriously doubted that. No one had figured out he was Batman, unless he had told them. Except for Tim.

Speaking of Tim, something was going on with him. He had disappeared in the middle of the day with Damian. He’d reappeared at a crime scene with Mr. Freeze. He pursued Mr. Freeze until he was knocked unconscious. Bruce had to get Tim back to Wayne Manor, then change for his date within minutes. He hadn’t checked to see where Damian was. He simply didn’t have the time.

“Mr. Wayne,” the waiter said, coming over to the table, “How is your evening?”
“Going fine. It could be better if we got some food, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Kyle?”

“I’ll have some Ahi sushi,” Selina smiled, politely.

“And I’ll have uramaki,” Bruce said.

“Anything to drink?” the waiter asked.

“Sake, please,” Bruce said.

“For the both of us,” Selina tacked on.

The young waiter nodded, then briskly walked off.

“Ms. Kyle, I still have a lot to learn about you-” Bruce began.

“Oh you don’t know the half of it,” Selina chuckled.

“So let’s start with the basics,” Bruce said, “Job. What do you do for a living?”

Selina pursed her lips for a moment, and glanced up at the ceiling.

“It would seem boring compared to running a multi-billion dollar company,” Selina admitted.

“I haven’t been in my office in quite some time,” Bruce said.

“Why is that? You seemingly vanished. Poof. Off the face of the earth. Now you come out of your cave to see me, but you still haven’t returned to your company. What’s going on?” Selina narrowed her eyes.

“I fully trust Lucius to not run my company into the ground,” Bruce said, “Either way, I’m planning on holding a press conference some time this week. There’s something else I need to attend to first.”

“What’s the press conference going to be?” Selina asked, “‘Hey, I’m back. I’m not dead. I’d like to run my company again. Goodbye.’ That’ll sure shock the audience. We know you’re still alive, we just don’t know why you’re hiding away.”

“We as in-?”

“The general public. No, a super secret cabal of criminal masterminds,” Selina joked.

“It’ll all make a ton more sense when I hold the conference,” Bruce promised.

“What, your date doesn’t get the inside scoop?” Selina purred.

“It’s big. Real big. I can’t let I leak before I officially make a statement,” Bruce explained.

“Fine.”

The waiter returned with a plate of Ahi, a plate of Uramaki, and a bottle of Sake.

“The service is nice,” Selina commented once the waiter had left.

“I own the damn place, remember?” Bruce grinned.

“I suddenly understand why you one-percenters have such a disconnect with the world,” Selina said, scarfing down food, “You never have to wait for your meals.”

“Speaking of meals- you’re eating like you’ll never see another!” Bruce laughed.

“In this world, you never know,” Selina shrugged.


- - -


Damian’s eyes were fluttering closed. He was so bored. So utterly bored.

Boredy boredy bored schmlord.

Boredy bore schmlore bore.

Bore boredy schmlore schmlore.

“Augh!” Damian yelled in frustration, banging his head against his mattress.

Here he was, in a trashy motel room, all alone. Nothing to do.

Tim had gone on patrol earlier in the day to investigate a Bat-Symbol made of ice that had been sprayed on City Hall. He ordered Damian to stay put.

Damian had been a good little boy. But Tim still wasn’t back and the fight against the icy man had ended long ago. Was Tim okay?

Damian stood up, and walked out of the room. The refreshing dusk air hit him and filled him with energy. He walked over to the small swimming pool situated along the parking lot. There were two kids and an elderly lady splashing about.

Damian was wearing some black athletic shorts and a blue and white t-shirt. He could swim in the shorts, but he took his shirt off. He slipped into the water, and swam over to the children, engaging in their game of Marco, Polo. This was a much better way to pass time.

After twenty of playing, the children had to return to their room with their grandmother. Damian was left alone in the steadily cooling night. He sulked back to his room. Tim still hadn’t returned. Damian had to do something.

Damian threw back on his shirt, and changed into silver shorts. He ran out into the night. On the hunt for Timothy Drake.

Damian prowled the streets with one of Tim’s spare shirts wrapped around the bottom of his face like a bandana. He searched for anyone who may a connection to Tim’s disappearance.

Finally, Damian found a group of teenage boys standing around in a circle, with their hoods up. They were nestled between two ratty buildings in a bad part of town. One building used to be a church. Heaven’s Gate Church. It was a smaller church, with only about a hundred people attending mass before it was closed. It was made of old bricks, with a shaky wooden cross on the top.

The other building was a fishing shop that was technically still in business. Only a few rednecks stopped by every week. It was stylized to look like a log cabin, though it had concrete support on the inside.

Damian scrambled up the side of the fishing shop, using the logs that jutted out as footholds. Once he reached the top, he stared down at the circle of seven boys. They were all slouched, focused on something in their hands.

Drugs. If they were hoodlums, perhaps they were connected with Tim’s vanishing! Damian dropped into the circle, kicked one in the jaw, spun and throat jabbed a second, then headbutted a third. He stared down the remaining four. Their was terror in their eyes.

Then Damian saw what they were holding. Not drugs. Game consoles. Some had a 3DS, others had a 2DS, one even had a GameBoy Color. Damian looked closer, and saw they were all playing some form of Pokémon. Tim had taught him about that game. Tim had played it as a young boy.

“I- I sorry,” Damian squealed.

“What the hell?” gasped the boy who had been throat jabbed.

“You all in circle,” Damian said, “Conspicious.”

“Conspicuous, you mean?” asked the boy who Damian had headbutted, “Dude, we just feel like we’re gonna get judged. So we do it in secret. And now we get beat up for it?”

“It’s our worst fear, realized,” muttered a boy who had dropped his 3DS. He picked it up, and saw that it didn’t work.

“So sorry,” Damian said, “I pay back. What is your name?”

“Like I’m gonna tell the kid who just kicked our asses,” the boy shot back.

“I’m sorry!” Damian yelled, “I’m just looking for friend. Drake.”

“What happened to your friend?” a boy asked.

“Taken.”

“Taken?” one boy gasped, then turned to whisper to his friends, “Do you think it’s part of the operation?”

“Operation?” Damian asked.

“A really powerful dude has been wiping out entire gangs around here. Like he’s asserting dominance or some shit,” the boy explained.

“Deathstroke,” Damian growled.

“Deathstroke?” another boy’s eyes widened, “Shiiiiit. Quite the name.”

“Friend was not gang,” Damian said, “Would not be taken by operation.”

Although, perhaps Tim had been taken because Deathstroke knew he was Red Robin. Deathstroke was a definite candidate.

“Look, if there’s anything we can do, we’re more than ready to help,” the kid with the broken 3DS declared, “Even if you made me drop my DS. Name’s Butch.”

“Dami- Nate,” Damian said, using the name of the main character from his favorite video game.

The other boys introduced themselves. Devon. Phillip. Patters. Trey. Earl. Remy. Remy seemed a bit nervous to be helping the masked man who had beat him up, but the others were ready to kick ass.

Damian and his team of not-so-caped crusaders patrolled the city. For two hours, they searched up and down nearly every street in the city, using small handheld radios to communicate. Nothing. Jack diddly squat.

“Is alright. I’ll find my friend tomorrow,” Damian said over the walkie-talkie. He was sitting on top of the G in a Walgreen’s sign.

“No way Nate,” Devon said, his voice static-y, “We’re not ‘boutta leave your friend with the ops.”

“Ops?” Damian asked.

“Operations, dip-shit,” Devon laughed, “Dude, we finding your guy, a’ight?”

“A’ight,” Damian smiled.

Damian stared up at the full moon that was covered in wispy clouds. Everything would be, as Devon said, a’ight.

Damian saw a man exit the Walgreen’s. He was a muscular man with buzzed black hair. He turned to look at Damian.

“Child. Come,” the man said with a thick Latin American accent.

Damian hopped down from the roof, wondering how the man knew he was there.

“Who are you?” Damian asked.

The man paused for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Answer me,” Damian ordered.

“Authoritative,” the man noted, “Towards elders. Unusual in a fourteen year old boy.”

“How do-?”
“I know much about you, Damian al Ghul,” the man laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Damian didn’t move.

“You know nothing,” Damian dared to speak. The man dug his fingers deep into Damian’s pressure point, making him collapse.

“Help,” Damian squealed. He fumbled at his walkie-talkie, finally squeezing the button to transmit.

“Got me,” Damian whimpered, as he cramped up.

“Quiet, boy,” the man said, stomping on the walkie-talkie.

The man released his man, reared back, and threw a punch at Damian’s face.

Damian recoiled, then collapsed.

“Please. Help. Walgreen’s,” Damian got out before fainting. The man picked up the walkie-talkie, and leaned in. It was still crackling. Still working.

“Do not come for the boy if you value your lives,” the man warned, squishing the walkie-talkie after.


- - -


14 YEARS AGO…

Bruce crept along the side of an old donation center in his proto-Batman suit, peering down into the streets. There was a small bank across the street. It looked almost serene, but he knew anyone still inside was almost certainly dead. The League had already robbed the place.

The League’s plan was to murder the mayor, unleash inmates at Arkham Asylum, crush all hope by spreading the destruction over the news, and destroy the city’s economy by robbing it of its cash. Then, Ra’s would enact one final part of the plan. Bruce wasn’t sure what the last step was, and he didn’t want to find out.

“There’s one!” someone yelled from the street below. It was a woman with blonde hair in a bob, pointing up at Bruce. She was huddled within a group of shaken survivors. A broad shouldered man put an arm in front of her, and stared Bruce dead in the eyes.

“Get out of our city,” the man demanded with an inferno in his soul. He had a sharp jawline, with thick facial features. His brown hair was combed back, and spruced up with product.

It took a second for Bruce to recognize the man. Just three years ago, he had been a different man entirely. Very timid. He was two years older than Bruce, but still one of his closest friends.

His name was Harvey Dent.

“I mean no harm,” Bruce said, disguising his voice by making it raspy.

“Then why the hell are you dressed in combat gear and hissing like a damn snake?” Harvey thundered, slowly reaching behind his back.

“Harvey Dent, you must believe I side with you,” Bruce assured.

“How do you know my name?” Harvey asked, drawing a bulky pistol from his waistband.

“I fight for Gotham. I know this city.”

“Then why’d you try to scare the shit out of its D.A.?” Harvey chuckled, putting the gun away.

Bruce relaxed, and hopped down onto the street. In mid-air, Harvey flicked the pistol out again, and blasted Bruce in the side. Bruce slammed into the asphalt, and tumbled over to Harvey’s feet, groaning in pain.

“Let’s see who you freaks are,” Harvey said, kneeling down.

“Har, you have to believe me,” Bruce said, using his normal voice.

“Bruce?” Harvey whispered. Bruce put a finger to his balaclava.

“I’m supposed to be dead, remember?” Bruce wheezed, leaning closer to Harvey.

“How did you-? Where did you-?”

“Later,” Bruce promised, “Right now, I have to operate under anonymity. You have to understand.”

“How do I know it’s really you?” Harvey questioned, warily.

“How many people have you told about the time you helped me, Tommy, and Oz break into Valentin’s workshop? We all made a vow never to tell anyone else,” Bruce reminded him.

“He’s with us,” Harvey confirmed to the rest of his group. He helped Bruce to his feet.

“You’re forgiven, by the way,” Bruce muttered, “For shooting me in the side.”

“Payback for dying on me,” Harvey playfully slugged Bruce in the arm, “What can we do to help save our city?”

“Know who to shoot and who to spare for starters,” Bruce quipped.

“Of course,” Harvey sighed, “After that?”

“Prepare the people,” Bruce instructed, “Evil is coming. The good must rise to meet it.”

“We just have to pray that the good is triumphant,” the woman piped up.

“No,” Harvey shook his head, “We don’t pray. We act. We will take down these… Uh, what are we up against, exactly?”

“Assassins. Highly trained assassins,” Bruce revealed. The group shuddered.

“I’m hoping we have the numbers,” Harvey admitted.

“It’s your lucky day,” Bruce nodded, “There are only a few concentrated strike teams here in Gotham.”

“My idea of a lucky day doesn’t involve assassins at all,” Harvey sighed, “But I’ll take what I can get.”

Harvey turned to his group. They all gazed up with fearful eyes. Behind the fear was something else. Something more powerful. Willpower. Hope. Persistence. They would outlast the threat. They would survive. They were Gotham, and they would not fall.

Bruce rushed off, not waiting around to hear Harvey lay out a plan for the people. He had bigger fish to fry.

Bruce zig-zagged through the streets of Gotham, trying to get to the massive bridge that led to Arkham Island. It was heavily secured, but Bruce assumed the inmates wouldn’t have trouble breaking through with the help of assassins.

Arkham Asylum was unique for an insane asylum. It had quite the shady history. From its beginnings in experimental procedures on inmates, to recent years where it had been exposed for mistreating the incarcerated members.

The Asylum housed not just the criminally insane, but criminals of all caliber. The nearest prison used to be Blackgate, which was a fairly fancy establishment. As fancy as prisons could get. Eventually, the nice facilities caught up to Blackgate, forcing it to shut down until bureaucrats could figure out how to lower costs. In the meantime, Arkham took on all crooks in their low budget building.

A wave of thugs washing over Gotham, along with professional ninjas, would not bode well for anyone.

As Bruce continued searching for the street that led to the bridge, he passed a large studio. The studio for GCN.

Bruce snuck into the studio. No one was guarding the sliding glass door. In fact, it was as if the studio was completely abandoned. Then, he heard a voice.

“You will soon feel the release of your city,” a voice hissed in Arabic, “The release of the world. The Demon will save you.”

Bruce peeked around a corner to witness the scene for himself. Three assassins cloaked in black fabric with golden armor on vital areas stood in front of a single camera, speaking slowly and deliberately. A translator was furiously typing English subtitles over the broadcast to convey what the assassin was saying.

Bruce retreated to the front door, and broke a panel of the glass as quietly as he could. He scooped up a few larger pieces of the glass, and returned to the recording area.

The assassins were wrapping up their speech by the time Bruce had readied himself. He was crouched by the doorway to the room, gripping five shards of glass- three in one hand, two in the other. He took a deep breath, and flicked the two shards out. They hit their mark, taking down the two nearest assassins. Bruce then rushed at the third, flinging another shard when he calculated it would do the most damage. The third assassin collapsed as the other two got back to their feet.

Bruce then sparred with the two assassins, exchanging blows rapidly. Bruce slowly felt himself being overwhelmed. He was going down. This was it.

Suddenly, hands grabbed at the assassins, dragging them away, beating at them, defeating them. The crew members in the studio had armed themselves with chairs, clipboards, pens, anything within reach. They were taking a stand against the assassins. Bruce got back up, dusted himself, and dropped the finishing punches on the assassins.

“Thank you,” Bruce said after a few heavy breaths.

He glanced over a the camera, knowing he had to get a message out to Gotham. But not a masked hero. The public had had enough masks with all of the assassins.

Bruce Wayne tore off his balaclava, and wiped the sweat away from his forehead. The crew gasped upon recognizing the missing playboy. He took a stand in front of the camera, smoothed down his hair, and began:

“Citizens of Gotham- shit, no. Too formal. Uh… Damn, this is why I usually prep my speeches beforehand. Well, I’m back. Not dead.”

The crew became slightly confused. They’d expected a heroic address, not… this.

“Look, there are some crazy people in our city right now. Just my luck that I show up right when they come in here, trying to kill us all. But I know this city. We don’t go down easy. I wish I had better, more profound phrasing, but I don’t. That’s it. We need to show these ninjas that they don’t fu-”

“Network restrictions,” a crew member coughed into their arm.

“They don’t mess with Gotham,” Bruce finished, “So anyone able-bodied person out there, I want to see you out on the streets, showing the samurai who’s boss. Bruce Wayne out.”

Bruce stepped away from the camera, and walked over to the crew.

“How’d I do?” Bruce asked. They all stared back blankly.

“Could’ve been better,” someone finally said.

“I just came back from nowhere, give me some time to adjust,” Bruce said, laying a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“You pick up the sick moves in nowhere?” someone else asked.

“I picked up quite a few skills in nowhere,” Bruce nodded, “Skills that will help fend off these assassins. But I’ll need your help.”

A loud, blasting noise filled the air. The sound of gunshots. The crew dropped almost immediately, many people riddled with bullet holes.

Bruce turned to see the source of the gunfire, and saw Ra’s al Ghul. His dark skin glistened with sweat. He gripped an fully automatic rifle. He had quickly grown accustomed to Western weaponry.

“Next time you are in a war, do not broadcast your location,” Ra’s chuckled, then grew serious, “Part of me is glad that you are not dead. I hate to admit this, but you are the only worthy heir I have ever had. You will accept my position one day. You will see the light, as I do. You will know what is right.”

“You should have killed me,” Bruce growled.

“I will change your heart, mind, and soul,” Ra’s vowed, “You will become an assassin.”

Ra’s simply walked over to Bruce, and knocked him out. Bruce didn’t even try to resist, knowing full well it was futile.


- - -


PRESENT…

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” Selina admitted, “The whole lifestyle. Any of it.”

“Let me teach you,” Bruce said, putting his hand on hers.

“I never said I wanted to learn,” Selina said, pulling her hand away.

Bruce looked down, dejectedly. The date had gone somewhat poorly, with their different upbringings clashing. The one percent of prosperity versus the one percent of poverty. The silver spoon versus the rusted spoon. All of the different symbolisms didn’t gel with each other.

“I should probably get going,” Selina said, breaking the silence as she stood up, “Work in the morning.”

“You never did say what you do for a living,” Bruce reminded her.

“I know,” Selina said, walking out of the restaurant.

“What a woman,” the waiter said from a few feet behind Bruce.

“Jeez, Brendan, do you always sneak up on people like that?” Bruce asked, spooked. But he never got spooked. He was the Batman. He spooked others. Maybe Selina Kyle had more of an effect on him than he realized.

“She’s quite the enigma,” Brendan, the waiter, sighed, ignoring Bruce’s inquiry. Bruce simply nodded before standing up, and leaving the restaurant after Selina.

Once he got outside, his date was nowhere to be seen. He sat down on the steps leading to the restaurant, resting his head on his knees.

Bruce picked up his phone, and dialed Tim to check on him and Damian. He waited and waiter, only to be met with Tim’s voicemail. He hung up, and had the valet bring his car around.

Bruce slid into the cool seat of his car, and drove off. He got home, got out, and stretched a bit, taking in the stale night air.

A searing feeling cut into Bruce’s back, and he collapsed, letting out a small scream. He turned to see a pitch black figure with an hourglass build standing over him. They had small cat-like ears standing on the top of their head. The tips of their fingers had translucent, pink little circles floating off of the end of them. Occasionally, a spark would zip off of the circles, and sizzle away. The figure leaned down, and held Bruce’s face in their hands.

“What are you?” Bruce growled, stalling for time. He was regaining his focus and composure.

“I am-” said the the creature in a disguised feminine voice, before pausing, struggling on what to say next.

Bruce swung his arms in a windmill motion, breaking free of the woman. He thrust his foot forward, catching her in the gut. She took the hit in stride, returning the favor. She brought her hand down over Bruce’s torso, and the pink circles on her fingers brightened as energy burned its way onto Bruce’s chest. Bruce looked down at his searing shirts, as well as the claw marks across his bare skin.

The woman flipped backwards, and grabbed a whip from her hip. She whirled it a few times, until bright white electricity crackled around it. She flicked it forward, entangling Bruce. The electricity coursed through his body, knocking him out.

The woman curled her whip back up, and placed it on her hip. It magnetized into place.

She waited, kicking about, aimlessly. When was he going to arrive?

“There you are,” the woman finally said, spotting Mr. Freeze approaching with Tim Drake slung across his shoulders.

“That house is huge,” Mr. Freeze groaned in his mechanical voice, “It near was impossible to find him.”

“Just be quicked last time, I’ve been waiting,” the woman said.

“Quit your complaining. How did our other… friend do?” Mr. Freeze asked.

“Everything went according to plan,” the woman smiled.

“Riddler will be pleased,” Mr. Freeze smiled, “Let’s go, Catwoman.”