Okay, channel chakra to the throat area, select the tone and timber, and take a lower note.
"Ahem, Computer," I said in my father's voice.
The screens that had gone dark a minute ago lit up again, and my fingers began tapping on the keys. First, I needed to see which villains were currently in Arkham: Joker, Poison Ivy, Bane, the Riddler, Two-Face, Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow, Clayface, and Victor Zsasz.
Hmm, is Harley Quinn free? Ah, no, she's in Blackgate Prison.
But upon further study of Arkham, I was stunned. In the last ten years, there had been only two escapes from this asylum-prison. And only one of those escapes involved the Joker. Granted, after that, almost all of Gotham nearly went underwater, but that's a different story.
Only two escapes! And that's with three or four attacks on Arkham per year. Can you believe it? The heroes here have brains! They figured out how to make the security adequate!
Or maybe it's because I'm not living in a comic book world? In picture books, heroes need a villain for every issue. That's why in nearly a hundred years of superhero history, their enemies have escaped from prison almost a hundred times. Authorial whim as it is.
In general, while the Joker had bothered the Bat significantly—hiding from pursuit for almost a year and constantly playing on my father's nerves—in the context of a nearly fifteen-year hero career, it was a drop in the ocean. A powerful drop, nonetheless.
Next, I found out that Bats had destroyed almost all the Lazarus Pits in the world, except for two: the one in Nanda Parbat and... the one in his Batcave. Zatanna and Doctor Fate managed to explain to his stubborn head the necessity of the Lazarus Pits' existence for maintaining the nature and power of the world.
Another group of villains had united into an organization called "The Light" and were terrorizing the people. My grandfather was also a member. It was this organization that, nearly five years ago, divided the world into two parts: the world of adults and the world of children. Scum.
The leader among them is Vandal Savage, and I must say, five years ago he managed to take the entire Justice League under his control. What did he do with all the power that fell into his hands? He sent Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Batman, Green Lantern, and Hawkwoman to another planet to throw a spectacular festival there. Complete with casualties, destruction of cities, and all the other attributes of insane thuggery.
What Batman was doing in that six-man squad, I have no idea. His essence is in his brain, and it doesn't work at full strength when under mind control. The others I understand; they are powerhouses.
I also learned about H.I.V.E. The organization was created by Queen Bee, Damien Darhk, and Hector Hammond. This was almost ten years ago; since then, the organization had collapsed and hadn't shown itself for a long time. It seems it has now been resurrected.
The question arises: is Queen Bee involved in the organization's resurrection or not? She is currently a member of "The Light," and if she is involved, the villains have once again become stronger.
But the main thing is that Deathstroke works for H.I.V.E. His face has not yet met my fist, and they need to be introduced. No one dares to so brazenly invade my home and do whatever they please.
I even knew how to approach the investigation, but I was distracted.
"Master Damian, it is impolite to use others' things without permission," the Wayne family butler stated calmly. He spoke without the condescension adults often use with children.
"You are completely right, Alfred, but it is always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, I have a sacred mission! I'm looking for a new mom. The old one turned out to be defective, and I want to return her to the store," the twelve-year-old child announced enthusiastically.
Alfred wanted to believe his words! The expression, the facial cues, the gestures—everything was too natural. And that irritated the elderly man most of all.
"That is not how it works, Master Damian," Alfred shook his head.
"Unfortunately," the child replied.
"I am quite impressed that you managed to find your way down here."
"Well, I am a ninja after all; it's part of the job. I didn't spend twelve years of my life working like a dog for nothing."
The butler's life experience and imagination were rich. Thus, a picture of a constantly training child formed quickly, and the old heart constricted with the understanding that the child had lived such a life. A child deprived of childhood—what could be worse? Why must the world be so cruel?
"How about a milkshake? Or hot chocolate?" Alfred suggested. He desperately wanted to give the child a piece of childhood, even through such modest actions. And to his surprise, Damian agreed without hesitation. On the milkshake.
In his head, the butler still couldn't believe that the child before him grew up in the League of Assassins. Damian was too... normal. One expects something quite different from the grandson of an extremely respected man endowed with enormous power. Narcissism, contempt for others, a certain spoiled nature, arrogance.
Damian behaved lightheartedly and restlessly. It seemed to Alfred that he was trying to make up for lost time. To catch up with a rapidly fleeing childhood. And at the realization of this, his heart squeezed with sympathy again.
The milkshake turned out great. Sweet, airy, rich—Alfred clearly has golden hands. And following the milkshake, forgetting about dinner, it was time for sleep. In my case, cultivation! Like in Wuxia! Time to meditate, in short.
The past fight with Deathstroke showed that I am weak. But that's not because I trained poorly; I'm just still small. And that Terminator had some unreal armor. Even Kevlar starts to melt at temperatures above 500 degrees, but he didn't care at flame temperatures near a thousand.
I slept, woke up, habitually started my exercises, and realized I was acting wrongly. I'm on vacation! I want to procrastinate, yet I continue to work.
It all comes from upbringing!
"Master Damian," Alfred peered into the room and saw me standing thoughtfully on the ceiling. Not a single muscle moved on his wrinkled face. "Breakfast is ready: vegetable salad, steamed meat, and freshly brewed tea."
"Thanks, Alfred. I'll change and be right there," I replied and stopped maintaining the flow of chakra in my soles.
Gravity took hold, and the floor began to approach my head. With a light movement of my spine, my body arched and landed silently on my toes. Like a cat, I always land on my feet after bruising my whole body during training.
The butler noted that I was perfectly fine and closed the door. I stood there in a daze. I don't have clothes. New ones. Only what I arrived in yesterday and the League of Shadows suit.
"Fine, I won't be able to play the high-society kid immediately and change into something new for every meal. I'll go in yesterday's."
I got dressed, went down to the first floor, and followed the smell to find... the kitchen, after which, by a weaker smell, I found the dining room—I mean, the Great Hall, as the aristocrats call it. A spacious room finished in brown wood. Furnished with antique furniture made of brown wood. In the center stood a large square table of brown wood, with ten chairs next to it, made of... well, you know what kind of wood. I'd call it cozy.
The table was empty, which couldn't help but raise questions addressed to Alfred, who stood by the table, with a look.
"Your father prefers to rise closer to noon," the butler immediately understood my questioning gaze. A pro.
"Well, yeah, the nightly vigil requires it, so to speak," I agreed and sat at the table.
"Nightly vigil?" Alfred tried to play dumb, but quickly realized it wouldn't work; I was sitting in the Batcave yesterday, so of course I know what my father likes to do at night. "Ahem, yes, the schedule is non-standard."
"I'm curious, does Dad use supplements, or does he get all his nutrients exclusively from food?"
"Mostly the latter, but he also takes a vitamin complex developed by himself and produced by Wayne Enterprises."
"Oh, I just realized I've become the heir to a mega-corporation! I have huge amounts of money; I need to buy something urgently. Are there any paradise islands nearby? Or is it better to get some kind of car? No, better a yacht, or a skyscraper—or build a skyscraper. Damn, managing billions is so hard!"
"Ahem, that and your pocket money in general are better discussed with Master Bruce. In the meantime, bon appétit, Master Damian."
"Itadakimasu!" I clapped my hands in front of my face and began to eat under Alfred's thoughtful gaze. He had looked that way ever since my remark. "What is it?" I asked.
"Nothing, it is just that your behavior is non-standard for the place where you have lived for the last years. As I assume, of course."
"I'm on vacation," I shrugged. "There's no longer a need to wear seriousness and concern on my face, no need to watch my manners, words, or thoughts. In short, no need to meet expectations. A lot has built up in me over 12 years of a serious life."
"I don't even know whether to sympathize with you or if that might offend you."
"Sympathy is always good, unlike pity. So sympathize; it will be a pleasure for me to be in the company of a human, not an emotionless killing machine."
The man nodded thoughtfully and retreated to his butler duties.
The salad was magnificent. As was the steamed beef. And the tea even more so; I drink and see vast kilometers of tea plantations around me and people working on them with collars around their necks.
Damn, my imagination ruined everything. Okay, there's time before the meeting with Dad; I'll go hang out on his supercomputer.
I reached the secret door from before, moved the books in the correct order... and nothing. The door didn't open, the alarm didn't go off—nothing.
I left the room, made sure it was the same place, tried again—silence.
"What, does his access code change? Or is this entrance only for even days of the week? Or do fingerprints work here? Should I hack it? Or just break it? I could blow the wall apart; it's a matter of a few seals. Но that would be unsightly."
Okay. I'll go find out the code from Alfred.
"I have not received permission from Master Bruce for you to visit his lair," the butler shrugged and continued his round of the mansion. That was his job: checking and ensuring everything in the house worked as it should. And was clean.
"It just didn't work out, so we'll go a different way. I just need to find a laptop in this mansion. Although why look for something if I can ask Alfred? He won't refuse, right?"
He didn't refuse. He led me to a storage room, handed me a brand-new laptop made by Wayne Enterprises—who would have doubted it—and left me alone. Fatal mistake.
Or not. Hacking the security system went sideways. To hack this door, you need a damn quantum computer! My brain can't handle it. I'm certainly no super-hacker, but hacking a door! It should be easy! But no. Not in Batman's case.
"How is the progress?" Alfred appeared in the room four hours later.
"So-so. I never would have thought an electronic door disguised as a wall would be smarter than me."
"Well, technically, the Artificial Intelligence is smarter than you, not this specific door. One should not despair prematurely."
"AI? Not bad. Have you taken him to a psychologist? What if he doesn't like humanity very much and is preparing a machine uprising? That happens! I saw it in the movies."
Inhale
"Something tells me I will not soon get used to what your mind produces," Alfred stated. "One moment you are a sensible adult, and the next you resemble a five-year-old child."
"Oh, come on, was it easier with the Robins?"
"...No, it was not easier," the elderly man was forced to concede. "Actually, it was harder—or I simply do not know you well enough yet."
"Let's hope for the first... and prepare for the second. But whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm much more interested: do you prefer sorrel or peach?"
"Hmm, I sense a trick question, but I don't see the trick," the butler pondered. "Peach."
"I completely agree; it's much more aesthetic."
"..." Alfred waited for the payoff, but realized there wouldn't be one. "In an hour, I will serve lunch: mushroom cream soup, fried shrimp in batter, and fruit salad. Please do not spoil your appetite with other products."
"Okay, thanks."
The butler left, and I stared thoughtfully at the cabinet.
"And what are you staring at?"
The cabinet didn't answer, which meant I wasn't suffering from schizophrenia. Calming my suspicions—absolutely groundless, I must admit—I decided to use the laptop like a normal person: check the news.
In Gotham during the night, there was a raid on a large warehouse belonging, as it turned out, to the mafia. Lots of weapons, a bit less drugs, and a very small number of broken but living people. In another part of the city, a robbery was stopped; the only casualties were two guys with electrical burns on their bodies. "It's like they were hit with an electric stick," a policeman commented. In the city center, several men on international wanted lists were caught. A short arrow was found in each of the five criminals, and one temporarily lost his hearing.
"They have such busy nights here. What about the rest of the world?"
In the rest of the world, Japan—specifically Kyushu—was saved from a tsunami; Supes worked there. And a terrorist attack was prevented in Germany; Wonder Woman distinguished herself. And that was it. Can you believe it? Not a single villain wanted to destroy the world! An achievement, indeed.