Chapter 80: Batcave
The Batwing's engines wound down to silence as the aircraft settled onto the landing platform in the depths of the Batcave.
The familiar sounds of home—the drip of water, the flutter of bat wings in the upper reaches—felt distant after what had happened. Nothing should sound normal ever again.
Batman sat motionless in the cockpit for several long seconds with his hands still gripping the controls. Through the canopy, he could see Alfred approaching from the computer station, his posture straight and formal as always, unaware of the bad news that was about to shatter his world.
The cockpit hissed open. Batman climbed out slowly, his movements slow and rigid, then reached back to carefully lift Tim's body from the passenger compartment.
Alfred stopped walking.
The old man's face went through a series of transformations— from confusion to recognition, then denial, and finally a horror so big it seemed to age him ten years in as many seconds. His hand found the workbench beside him for support.
"Master Timothy," Alfred whispered.
Batman carried Tim to one of the medical examination tables, laying him down with care. He arranged the boy's hands across his chest. He then smoothed the unruly hair that had escaped from his cowl and closed the eyes that would never again sparkle with intelligence and determination.
"What happened?" Alfred's voice cracked. "Bruce, what in God's name happened?"
Batman turned back to the Batwing, retrieving the stasis field generator containing the Architect's clone. The device hummed softly as he set it on another examination table.
"The Architect killed him," Batman said. "Used him as leverage to try to force me to execute Firefly. When I refused, he snapped Tim's neck."
Alfred's legs gave out. He sank into a nearby chair, his face buried in his hands. For several moments, the only sound in the cave was the old man's labored breathing as he fought to process what he'd been told.
"You refused," Alfred repeated slowly, raising his head to look at Bruce. "The monster had a gun to that boy's head, and you refused?"
"It wasn't a gun. And I tried to negotiate, tried to find another way—"
"He was your responsibility, Bruce!!" Alfred's voice exploded through the cave, decades of suppressed emotion finally breaking free. "That psychopath Firefly has killed plenty of innocent people!! And when faced with a choice between that monster's life and Timothy's, you chose the monster!"
Batman's jaw clenched. "I don't execute people, Alfred. That's not who we are."
"Who we are?" Alfred stood, his hands shaking with fury. "First Jason, now Timothy, and you stand there talking about who we are! They were your responsibility, Bruce!! Is your costume more important to you than your family?"
The words hit harder than any physical blow the Architect had landed.
Batman felt something crack inside his chest, a foundation that had held firm through decades of loss and trauma suddenly showing hairline fractures.
"I tried to save him," Batman said quietly. "I offered myself instead. I fought the Architect with everything I had."
"You know those are just excuses, Bruce!!" Alfred shot back, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. "You wouldn't do the one thing that might have saved his life. And now that brilliant, brave, wonderful boy is dead because you were more concerned with your soul than his life."
Batman absorbed the blow, feeling each word. Alfred wasn't wrong—that was the worst part. Every criticism and every accusation was justified.
"Where are the others?" Batman asked, changing the subject before the conversation could destroy what was left of his resolve. "Stephanie? Dick?"
Alfred wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, struggling to regain his composure. "They are still on patrol. Do you want me to call them back?"
"No." The response was immediate. "Don't contact them. Not yet."
"Bruce, they have a right to know—"
"Yes, just not now" Batman interrupted. "I need some time to process this Alfred."
Alfred stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "What will you tell them when they return?"
Batman didn't answer. Instead, he moved toward the cave's central computer system. "I need to analyze this clone. There might be information we can use to track the original."
"Master Bruce," Alfred called after him. His voice was gentle now that the anger was burned away by grief. "You can't bury this under work. You can't pretend that analyzing evidence will bring him back or make this hurt less."
Batman's fingers flew over the computer's interface, calling up diagnostic programs and molecular scanners. "But I can make sure it doesn't happen again."
Batman paused, his hands hovering over the keyboard. In the reflection of the computer screen, he could see Tim's body lying on the examination table behind him, still and peaceful in death.
Batman initiated the scanning sequence, advanced sensors beginning their analysis of the frozen clone.
The computer chimed softly, indicating that preliminary scans were complete. Batman pulled up the results.
"What is this?," he murmured, his detective instincts temporarily overriding his emotional turmoil.
"What is it?" Alfred approached reluctantly, drawn by the change in Batman's tone.
"The clone's molecular structure is more complex than I initially thought." Batman highlighted sections of the scan data, rotating three-dimensional models on the main screen. "There are multiple layers of biomass, but look at this—" He pointed to a dense core at the center of the frozen figure. "There's something solid inside all that constructed tissue."
Alfred leaned forward, squinting at the display. "What kind of something?"
Batman ran a more detailed scan, the computer's sensors penetrating deeper into the clone's structure. The results appeared layer by layer, like an archaeological dig rendered in digital detail.
"Computer, isolate and outline the solid mass at the subject's core," Batman commanded.
"Processing," the artificial voice responded. "Outline complete."
The screen flickered, then displayed a wire-frame representation of the object hidden within the clone's biomass exterior. The shape was unmistakably humanoid—arms, legs, torso, head.
But it was the size that made Batman's heartbeat skip for a second.
The outline was small, slender, built exactly like a teenage boy. Built exactly like Tim Drake.
"Dear God," Alfred breathed, his hand flying to his mouth.
Batman stared at the display.
"Computer," Batman said, his voice barely steady, "run a comparative analysis between the internal structure and Timothy Drake's biometric profile."
"Analysis complete. Match probability: 97.3%"
The cave fell silent except for the distant sound of water and the quiet hum of machinery.
"Bruce," Alfred whispered, "what does this mean?"
Before Batman could answer, a new mocking voice sounded through the cavern.
"Oh, its nothing !! Your 'Tim' isn't actually dead."
Notes :
Short chapter. Kinda busy these days. Most of you guessed the upcoming plot correctly. Kudos!!!
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DC : Architect of Vengeance
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