"Smile, Young Master. Wider. Show more teeth. You need to look vacuous."
Bruce Wayne stood in front of the mirror in the master suite. He was wearing a seven-thousand-dollar tuxedo, his hair was gelled back in a messy "I just rolled out of bed" style, and he looked miserable.
"I hate this," Bruce grumbled, relaxing his face. "I'd rather fight the Talon again. At least he was honest about wanting to kill me."
"Honesty is for poor people and saints, neither of which you are," I said, adjusting his bow tie with a sharp tug. "Tonight is the Mayor's Charity Gala. Every corrupt politician, mobster, and social climber in Gotham will be there. Including our target: Oswald Cobblepot."
I handed Bruce a glass of champagne.
"Hold this. Do not drink it. Just swirl it around and spill it on people occasionally."
Bruce sighed, taking the glass. "So, the plan?"
"Simple," I said, putting on my own white gloves. "You are Bruce Wayne, the orphaned Prince of Gotham. You are rich, spoiled, arrogant, and slightly dim-witted. You care only for polo ponies and supermodels."
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"While you are busy making a spectacle of yourself, no one will be watching the 'humble servant' standing in the shadows. While you distract Cobblepot with your idiocy, I will lift the encryption key for his arms smuggling ring from his pocket."
Bruce looked at himself in the mirror. He took a deep breath. His eyes changed. The intense, brooding vigilante vanished. In his place was a slack-jawed, sleepy-eyed frat boy.
"Like this?" Bruce asked, letting out a loud, obnoxious laugh. "Ha! Good one, old sport!"
I suppressed a shudder. "Disgusting. It is perfect. Let us go."
The Mayor's Gala - Gotham City Hall
The cameras flashed like lightning as the limousine pulled up.
"Remember," I whispered as I opened the door. "You own the world. Everyone else is just renting space."
Bruce stumbled out of the car, flashing a blinding smile.
"Hello, Gotham!" he shouted, waving the champagne glass (which was actually filled with ginger ale). "Who wants to buy a building? I'm bored! Let's buy a building!"
The paparazzi went wild.
I followed him, looking long-suffering and apologetic. I bowed to the cameras. "Please, excuse the Young Master. It has been a long week of... festivities."
We entered the ballroom. It was a sea of diamonds and fake smiles.
"Target at three o'clock," I projected to Bruce's earpiece.
Oswald Cobblepot was standing near the ice sculpture. He was a short, stout man with a beak-like nose, wearing a tuxedo that strained at the buttons. He was currently holding court with three city councilmen, undoubtedly bribing them.
"Go," I commanded.
Bruce swaggered over. He didn't just walk up to them; he crashed into the circle.
"Ozzie!" Bruce yelled, slapping the small man on the back hard enough to make him choke on his cigar. "My main man! Look at you! You look like a... like a monocle away from being a cartoon character! I love it!"
Cobblepot's face turned purple. "Mr. Wayne," he wheezed, his hand twitching toward the umbrella he used as a cane (and a weapon). "A pleasure."
"Is it?" Bruce laughed, leaning heavily on Cobblepot's shoulder. "Hey, are these guys boring you? They look boring. Let's talk about me. I'm thinking of buying a yacht and filling it with tigers. What do you think? Tigers or bears?"
The councilmen looked uncomfortable. They saw Bruce Wayne as a harmless, drunken idiot. Their guard was down.
"Tigers are... very maintenance heavy," Cobblepot ground out through clenched teeth.
"You'd know, right? You like animals! Birds! Penguins!" Bruce poked Cobblepot in the chest.
While Bruce was being insufferable, I glided up behind Cobblepot.
"More hors d'oeuvres, sir?" I asked, holding out a silver tray of caviar.
Cobblepot turned to snap at me. "I don't want your—"
As he turned, his jacket flared open slightly.
Time slowed.
My hand moved faster than the shutter speed of a camera. I reached into his inner pocket, located the encrypted flash drive, extracted it, and replaced it with a similar-looking USB drive I had prepared earlier (loaded with a virus that would replace all his files with pictures of Sir Pounce).
"Apologies, sir," I bowed, already stepping back. "I shall leave you to your conversation."
I tapped my ear piece. 'Asset acquired. Make your exit, Young Master.'
Bruce, hearing the signal, decided to go for the grand finale.
"You know what?" Bruce slurred, swaying dangerously. "This party is dead. I'm going to Ibiza. Right now! Who's coming with me?"
He spun around, "accidentally" knocking over the massive ice sculpture of a swan.
CRASH.
Ice shattered everywhere. Cold water soaked the Mayor's shoes. The entire room went silent.
"Oops," Bruce giggled. "Put it on my tab!"
He grabbed a random bottle of expensive wine from a passing waiter and stumbled toward the exit.
"Sebastian! Car! Now!"
"Immediately, sir," I sighed loudly, giving the room an apologetic bow. "My deepest apologies, ladies and gentlemen. Youth is wasted on the young."
I grabbed Bruce by the arm and steered him out of the ballroom before Cobblepot could realize his drive was gone.
The Limo - 5 Minutes Later
As soon as the tinted partition rolled up, separating us from the driver, Bruce dropped the act instantly.
He sat up straight, his face serious. He poured the ginger ale into the ice bucket.
"I hated that," Bruce said, wiping the fake grin off his face. "I felt like a clown."
"You were magnificent," I said, holding up the stolen flash drive. "Cobblepot suspects nothing. He thinks you are an incompetent fool who can barely tie his own shoes. He will never look for Batman in the penthouse of a 'drunk'."
I plugged the drive into the car's secure laptop. Decryption began.
"Besides," I added, "you made the morning papers. 'Billionaire Brat Destroys Ice Swan.' It perfectly cements your cover."
Bruce stared out the window at the passing city lights.
"It's lonely," he whispered. "Being that person. Everyone laughed, but nobody actually likes Bruce Wayne."
"A mask is not meant to be liked, Young Master. It is meant to protect what is underneath."
The laptop beeped. Access Granted.
"Well, well," I murmured, scrolling through the files. "It seems Mr. Cobblepot isn't just smuggling guns. He is buying chemical compounds. Specifically... Axon-N."
Bruce frowned. "Axon-N? That's a nerve agent stabilizer."
"Precisely. And according to this shipping manifest, it is being delivered tonight to a defunct chemical plant in the Narrows. Ace Chemicals."
Bruce's eyes hardened. The playboy was gone. The Batman was back.
"Turn the car around."
"I cannot," I noted. "We are in a limousine. However..."
I pressed a button on the console. The floor of the limo opened up, revealing a hidden compartment containing the tactical suit.
"We can pull over in the alley. The night is young, Young Master."
Bruce began to unbutton his tuxedo.
"Let's go," he said.
I smiled.
"Excellent. I believe I can finish analyzing this data and prepare a midnight snack before you are done beating up the henchmen."
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