> "The doctor said you'd need at least two weeks before you could even get out of bed.
I figured you'd last a week before trying…
But it's only been five days."
Alfred set his coffee cup aside and gave Bruce Wayne a helpless look.
His young master was relentless — a man who cared as little for rest as he did for pain.
Still, Alfred understood.
He had seen the toll Gotham took on Bruce — and how much of himself Bruce had given to the symbol of Batman.
So after a soft sigh, he said nothing more.
> "Alfred," Bruce said, his voice low but steady. "There's a madman loose in Gotham. I have to do something."
> "With all due respect, Master Wayne… what exactly can you do?"
Alfred tapped a few keys on the console.
Several surveillance clips filled the screen.
Bruce leaned forward — and froze.
Zzzzt! Zzzzt!
Onscreen, Homelander's eyes flared scarlet.
Twin beams of molten light tore through the air, carving down a squad of armed men like paper cutouts.
Bodies fell, one after another, smoke rising from blackened wounds.
> "So the rumors were true," Bruce muttered. "He really can shoot lasers from his eyes…"
Humans weren't supposed to be able to do that.
At this point, Batman had only been active for half a year.
The supernatural world — the aliens, the metahumans, the monsters — hadn't yet revealed itself.
Not in Gotham.
Not yet.
Here, the villains were lunatics, yes — but human lunatics.
Men with toxin gas, freeze guns, bombs… not heat vision.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
> "That's not all," Alfred said gravely.
He clicked again. Two new surveillance stills appeared — different crowds, different streets.
But the same man.
Homelander.
At first Bruce didn't see the point — until he noticed the timestamps.
The two images were taken one second apart.
But the coordinates?
Three kilometers apart.
> "You're telling me… Homelander crossed three kilometers in one second?" Bruce asked quietly.
> "That's what the data says," Alfred replied. "The footage is blurry, but facial analysis came back positive — it's him.
There's always room for error, of course… but considering the eyewitness reports — the eye beams, the sonic booms — I doubt it's coincidence."
Bruce's expression darkened.
If that was true…
How could anyone stop something like that?
> "Homelander…" Bruce murmured. "What kind of monster are you?"
> "So, Master Wayne," Alfred said softly. "We're back to the same question.
Against someone like that — what can you possibly do?"
Bruce's jaw tightened.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"But the one thing I won't do… is nothing."
He pressed a switch.
The Batcave floor split open, mechanical arms rising to reveal the armored Batsuit.
Moments later, Batman was suited up and rolling into the night in the Batmobile.
But this time, his target wasn't Homelander.
After what he'd seen, Bruce knew better.
A direct confrontation would be suicide.
Instead, he went after someone else.
Catwoman.
According to Alfred's intel, she was the only person in Gotham who'd ever interacted with Homelander personally.
They'd shared dinner once.
Danced together at Bruce's own gala.
If anyone knew more about him, it would be her.
---
With Alfred's network feeding him live data, Batman tracked her to a luxury high-rise apartment.
He grappled silently up the wall and slipped through the window like a shadow.
On the couch, a lithe figure lounged before a glowing TV screen, watching yet another news broadcast.
> "Some call him a hero," the anchor's voice echoed. "Others call him a monster. What do you think?"
> "Who's there?"
Catwoman was on her feet in an instant, whip coiling around her wrist, eyes sharp.
Even Batman had to admit — her reflexes were impressive.
> "Batman?"
Recognition softened into a smirk.
> "Well, well…
I suppose congratulations are in order.
You can retire now."
Her tone was teasing, but her words cut deep.
> Gotham has Homelander now.
Who needs Batman anymore?
Bruce didn't answer. He didn't have to — he knew half the city was thinking the same thing.
> "I need you to tell me everything you know about Homelander," he said flatly.
> "And why would I do that?" she purred, arching a brow. "What's the matter, Bats? Feeling useless now that someone else actually fixed your city?"
Most people feared Batman.
Catwoman wasn't most people.
> "You think he's a hero?" Bruce shot back. "He's not. He's no different from the criminals he kills. Now tell me what you know."
Before she could reply—
A calm, amused voice drifted from the window.
> "If you wanted to know about me that badly…
why not just ask me directly?"
Batman froze.
He turned sharply.
And there, perched casually on the windowsill, was Homelander himself — cape fluttering in the cold night air, eyes faintly glowing red, and a smile that didn't reach them.
> "Evening, Batman," Alex said lightly. "Talking behind my back already?"
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