Night in Gotham was thick, made for deep sleep.
Yet Bruce barely slept at all.
In his hand was a stack of files, the very ones he had ordered to be re-investigated on Lance Prescott.
Lance had no idea he had been thoroughly examined by a twenty-year-old Batman.
All he knew was that the bed in the Presidential Suite felt unusually uncomfortable tonight.
The mattress was no longer soft. It even felt slightly uneven.
In his dreams, he heard the system's alert.
But he was sleeping too deeply, and without realizing it, a blue light flashed past…
Amid a final burst of chaotic noise, Lance's figure vanished from the bed in the Presidential Suite.
[ Multiverse merging, merge failed… ]
[ Re-merging… Emergency protection system activated… ]
[ Locating universe, receiving universe data, writing identity… ]
[ Writing… Write failed… Write successful… ]
When he opened his eyes again, Lance rubbed them and was immediately blinded by sunlight.
"Damn it," Lance muttered, raising a hand to shield his eyes. "Since when does Gotham have sunny days?"
He rolled out of bed, stepped barefoot onto the soft carpet, and pulled the curtains open.
What greeted him was a bright, sunlit New York City.
Completely different from Gotham's miserable weather.
New York was clear and dazzling.
But… New York?
Lance's fingers remained clenched around the curtain as his mind went blank for three seconds.
He suddenly turned to scan the room.
Minimalist modern decor, a floor-standing desk cluttered with scattered files, and an ID card pressed on top:
Lance Prescott | Attorney at Law | New York State Bar Association Registration # NY-7743
Not even a partner? Doing this badly?
"Again?" He twitched the corner of his mouth. "An upgrade this time? At least I'm not a rookie anymore."
Before he could start cursing, his apartment door was pounded with a loud, rapid clatter.
The person outside hammered on the thin door so hard it shook, a male voice roaring through it.
"Prescott! You damn bastard, you money-obsessed devil, how dare you be late on a day like this? I'll throw you off the top of Times Square!"
The noise made Lance's ears ache. He had no memories of New York, which meant he would have to figure everything out on his own.
As for the man outside, Lance preferred to think of him as a tutorial NPC.
He rubbed his throbbing temples and opened the door.
A man in a wrinkled Armani suit barged in.
He did not even spare Lance a glance, heading straight for the wardrobe with practiced familiarity, pulling out a pressed gray suit and tossing it at Lance's head.
"Get changed. Now." He kept checking the time on his watch.
"Tony Stark is an arrogant, insufferable bastard, but you're even more annoying than him. Secure the Stark family's legal representation, and every law firm in New York will be lining up to polish your shoes, you little bastard. Though you're already irritating enough as it is."
"Stark?" Lance cut in. "Tony Stark?"
"Who else?" The man shoved him toward the door.
"That genius bastard has locked himself in his lab for three days and hasn't come out. Miss Pepper needs a lawyer who can make that lunatic listen."
The man kept ranting as he pushed Lance into a black sedan.
"Listen carefully, you insufferable little bastard. Once this is done, I don't want a single cent missing from my commission. Short me even a dime, and I'll sell your tax loopholes to the IRS."
Lance felt his head spin from the barrage of words, but he still caught the key point.
Tony Stark?
So what point in time was this? Had Iron Man been kidnapped, or had he already returned?
Lance did not even have time to go online and check.
By then, he was already sitting in a car sent by Stark Industries.
A beautiful woman sat in the passenger seat, composed and professional.
She looked at Lance and extended her hand. "Hello, Mr. Prescott. I'm Pepper Potts."
By the time the car slid into the garage of Stark Tower, Lance had just finished tying his tie.
Pepper Potts removed her sunglasses, revealing faint dark circles beneath her eyes.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice. The situation… is quite complicated."
"How complicated?"
"Ever since Tony returned from Afghanistan three months ago, his condition hasn't properly recovered. But Congress has already issued a letter of accountability, and even the company itself is beginning to stall."
Pepper pressed the elevator button. "Now even the military is…"
"Miss Pepper?"
Lance turned to look at her.
Pepper covered her eyes briefly, then continued, "Sorry, Mr. Prescott. Someone recommended you to me. Please take this commission seriously."
"Please, Mr. Prescott, don't let him carry this alone."
Lance understood. The situation had clearly reached the point where Iron Man had returned from captivity.
He had discovered that his company's weapons were being used in unjust conflicts, and now both Congress and the military were closing in. Pepper, worried that Tony Stark was shouldering everything alone, had brought in outside help.
If Bruce Wayne was a pretty little bastard, then Tony Stark was an arrogant big bastard.
Even standing on the edge of collapse, he still forced himself to hold on, refusing to show any weakness.
Take this moment, for example. As Lance stepped into Tony Stark's office, the man looked up, rolled his eyes, and shot him a long, disdainful glare.
Lance coughed lightly. Pepper glanced at Stark with concern, then quietly turned and left.
"Get out," Stark said. "I'll tell Pepper I don't need a lawyer, let alone a babysitter. As for your fee, Stark Industries will pay you in full."
"Are you sure?" Lance looked Tony Stark up and down. The man looked worn, but not outwardly disheveled.
If Lance did not understand a bit of psychology, he would not have been able to tell that the man was on the verge of a breakdown.
"Much as I'd love to agree, take the money, and walk away, I'm afraid I can't. Miss Pepper paid this fee into my account personally. So, in simple terms, what you say doesn't count."
Lance spread his hands, shrugged, and spoke with mock regret.
"How much did she pay? I'll double it. Now get out of my sight."
"If I'm not mistaken, Miss Pepper is listening right now," Lance said.
Tony Stark fell silent.
"However, I can tell you that Miss Pepper paid me one million dollars. But if you pay me two million, I'll provide you with absolutely favorable conditions…"
"Wait. Two million dollars?"
Tony Stark's eyes widened as he stared at Lance, his voice rising.
"What do you take me for, an idiot?"
"Pepper has already paid, and you want me to pay again just to receive a service you were supposed to provide in the first place?"
"One million dollars gets you an ordinary lawyer. Two million gets you Lance Prescott. I can keep you out of prison, keep you from taking the fall, and keep you in power. But the condition is simple. You listen to me."
Stark's exaggerated gestures came to a halt, and he slipped back into the composure of a calm genius.
He looked at Lance with suspicion. "Give me a reason. Why should I trust you?"
"Fine." Lance sighed.
"Miss Pepper, are you listening? Please note that from this point on, my services are billed at a different rate."
"So, what's your professional advice?"
Stark leaned back in his chair, his tone laced with disdain.
"To be honest, every lawyer who's come here lately says the same things. Telling me to do this, telling me to do that, quoting legal clauses and trying to muddle through. I'm already sick of it. What tricks do you have that are different?"
"Tricks? No." Lance shook his head. "I intend to persuade you from a psychological standpoint."
"Psychology…" Stark stared at him for a full ten seconds, then curled his lips into a mocking smile. "Fine. I'll give you five minutes. Tell me something I don't already know."
Lance pulled out a chair and sat down.
"You're very similar to someone I met before. The same playboy attitude, the same cynicism, the same habit of using an exterior to hide what you really think."
"You both act like fools drifting through life without a thought for tomorrow, yet you share the same level of intelligence."
The corner of Stark's mouth twitched.
"Right now, you look afraid. Even terrified. But like him, the solution to your problem lies in your past. In the part of your past you avoid the most lies the answer you're looking for. I saw it once in the news. The founder of Stark Industries. Your father…"
"Enough." Tony Stark cut him off.
He turned away, leaving his expression hidden from Lance.
His voice carried a faint tremor. "Who told you?"
"No one. Just basic psychology every lawyer is supposed to know."
Lance took a fountain pen from his inner pocket and wrote a string of numbers on a memo pad.
"This is my New York number. Two million, and I'll let you keep being Tony Stark. You can even be a superhero if you want. Think it over."
He turned and walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
"Oh, right," he said without looking back. "Your father, Howard Stark, left you more than just a company. He also left you a choice."
"You're making that choice right now. Whether to remain the bastard who sells weapons, or become a different kind of bastard. Either way works. But you have to choose."
"Get out!"
After Lance left, Stark smashed an entire set of wine glasses in his office.
...
Meanwhile, in the office of S.H.I.E.L.D..
Nick Fury pressed his earpiece and spoke to the person on the other end of the line.
"Investigate a lawyer named Lance Prescott immediately. Right now. I want everything on him."
____
Don't worry, Lance hasn't abandoned Gotham. He'll go back. Bruce Wayne's case will be fully handled.