Thud—Clang!
Batman dropped from the sky, landing flat on his back.
And still, he was gentle—cradling Rachel atop him while taking the brunt of the fall himself.
The blue SUV's roof was left with a huge dent, its airbags having deployed from the impact.
Not that the owner would complain—waking up to a brand new vehicle as compensation would make anyone wish Batman fell a few more times.
Leo activated his optical scanner and zoomed in 6x to assess Batman's condition.
His chest was rising and falling. Eyes blinking. Jaw clenched—but no screaming.
Looks like he's not gonna die.
Good. At least that meant Leo wouldn't need to make a run for it out of Gotham tonight.
Just as he was about to hop out and help, something in the rearview mirror caught his eye—two motorcycles had pulled up behind the Batmobile. Two men, clearly reporters, lifted their cameras, trying to capture both the wrecked car and the fallen Dark Knight in the same frame.
The riders themselves pulled out phones, snapping away wildly from a distance.
The constant click-flash of the shutters lit up the scene in surreal bursts.
A hero who risked his life to fight crime and protect the city lay injured, while the very people he protected were clamoring for a spectacle—hoping to profit off his pain.
This city… was beyond saving.
Leo opened the canopy of the Batmobile and stood up, expression solemn. He pointed at the reporters.
"Hand over the memory cards. At the very least, you should show some damn respect to the hero protecting your city."
The two journalists didn't flinch. Instead, they turned their lenses toward him.
The skinny one smirked and quipped:
"And who the hell are you supposed to be? Sitting in the Batmobile—what, Batman's sidekick?"
The bald guy chimed in from the back:
"Wait, are you saying 'Batman' isn't a person but, like, a team name? Y'all work in shifts?"
Their friends kept clicking away, openly mocking him.
Leo sighed internally. Should've known—this is Gotham. No one here's normal.
Fine then. Time to speak their native tongue.
He reached toward his waist, and under the cover of his coat, pulled a pistol from the Singularity Space.
The red-dot sight activated.
Immediately, all four froze.
"W-wait—don't do anything crazy! Batman doesn't kill!"
The skinny one still tried to reason with him.
Leo had already jumped down from the car, approaching them step by step:
"Correct. Batman doesn't kill. Me? I try not to. But that doesn't mean I won't break your legs."
"Now—hand over the SD cards. You can keep whatever you shot with your phones. Fair?"
They looked like they were about to haggle—until Leo fired a warning shot.
Bang!
The bullet sparked against the ground.
Instant compliance.
Leo pocketed both memory cards with satisfaction.
Perfect. Exclusive high-res Batman footage. Whether I sell it or keep it for myself—either way, it's worth a fortune.
He pushed the journalists a few steps back, then turned to approach Batman.
Before he got close, he heard Batman whispering to Rachel.
"You okay?" Batman had shaken off the dizziness and immediately turned to her.
"I don't want a next time… Is Harvey alright?"
Rachel's question almost made Leo burst out laughing.
The man literally body-slammed a car to save her life—and the first words out of her mouth were about her current boyfriend.
If Batman wasn't crying inside, Leo had to salute his emotional fortitude.
Batman's exposed face went dark—not just metaphorically, but pale and ashen with exhaustion.
He gasped like a fish out of water:
"He should be… right, Alfred?"
His earpiece buzzed with the voice of his ever-reliable butler:
"Yes, Master Wayne. Harvey Dent is unharmed. I drove the Joker off, but he had a bomb strapped to him—I couldn't risk staying."
Batman exhaled in relief, slumping against the SUV's roof:
"Good. Watch the other thugs—cops'll be here soon."
"Understood. But what about you, sir?"
"Still breathing…"
Before the words even finished leaving his lips, he raised his left arm—aiming a batarang launcher at Leo.
Leo stopped in his tracks and stared, deadpan.
"You seriously need to learn to trust people, Bats. If I wanted you dead, I could've just popped you from ten meters away—or lobbed a grenade. You're in no shape to stop me."
Batman turned his head toward him.
"You stole my car. Concealed a weapon in front of me. Made your cuffs disappear. To me, that makes you more dangerous than most criminals."
Leo rolled his eyes:
"I'm a merchant. I'm here to do business, not get tangled in your Gotham nonsense. Now hurry up and get moving. People are gathering."
He holstered his gun and had Pure White drive the Batmobile over.
Batman knew he was right.
Tonight's gala was high-profile—tons of bodyguards, drivers, and opportunists looking to mingle with the rich and powerful were loitering nearby.
Their dramatic fall had drawn a crowd.
If Leo hadn't fired earlier, things would've gotten worse.
Batman gave him a long look… then slowly lowered his arm.
Slowly—because Leo noticed the blood trickling from his armor, staining the cracked sunroof.
No wonder he hadn't gotten up—he was genuinely injured. Maybe even worse than in the original film.
"You're hurt?"
"What?" Rachel, who'd gotten up first, gasped. "Bruce—Batman, that's your blood!?"
"Whose else would it be?"
Leo rushed around the car and offered his uninjured arm for support:
"Come on, we need to get you to your private doctor. You look pale as a corpse…"
Leo was only a few centimeters shorter, so walking him to the car was easy.
Rachel trailed behind, guilt written all over her face.
She realized what she'd said earlier… and how wrong it sounded.
Bruce had risked everything to save her, and her first thought was Harvey.
Her conflicted heart grew even more tangled.
"Let me come with you… I'm worried."
"No. You should go back."
"But—"
"No buts. There are only two seats. Unless you wanna ride in the trunk."
Leo cut them off.
Someone's bleeding out—save the romance for later, will you?
Rachel finally stepped aside, looking torn.
Leo had barely solved that issue when another one popped up.
"Really? You're this messed up and still insisting on the driver's seat? Planning to steer with one hand?"
"The car has autopilot."
Batman shoved Leo aside and climbed in.
Leo could only sigh and take shotgun.
"Wayne Tower, west wing. Third safehouse."
Batman initiated the autopilot with a voice command. His face had gone ghostly pale.
The canopy closed, shutting them away from Rachel and the growing crowd.
The vehicle surged forward.
Outside, the city blurred past like a river of neon.
Inside, the tension was suffocating.
Leo kept sneaking glances at Batman's face—more and more frequently.
Finally, he broke.
"You're just going to tough it out? Doesn't the Batmobile have a medkit or something?"
No answer.
Batman's silence—and vacant eyes—hinted at blood loss and growing disorientation.
Leo started to panic.
If Batman died… where was he going to find another rich, morally upstanding partner?
He had to do something.
Besides, saving a life should definitely score some goodwill points, right?
Considering he'd already done a disappearing-cuffs trick, pulling out a medkit from thin air wouldn't be too strange. He'd just say it was subspace storage tech—who could disprove it?
With that, he stretched out his hands… and summoned a medkit emblazoned with Trauma Team's logo.
Perfect for stabilizing the injured.
He popped the case open and reached for Batman's arm—
Only to find Bruce already watching him.
That sharp gaze said it all: He wasn't as out of it as he looked.
So it was an act. A test.
Damn it. This guy's head is full of traps.
"What is that? Where'd you pull it from?"
"Emergency medkit. Pulled it from my subspace storage." Leo slapped the case. "Flat price: 200,000 dollars."
He was going to offer it for free. Do the hero a solid.
But now?
Nope. Back to business.
He pulled out a pneumatic injector:
"This one's a healing agent—not as strong as the medkit, but it'll do. Cost me a lot to import. Yours for 50k."
It was a RecuFast Type-3, retailing at 90 euro. Factoring in multiversal taxes? 50k was a steal.
Batman didn't reply. Seemed like he was determined to wait it out and treat himself.
Leo got it—guy trusts no one, not even someone trying to help.
But someone else wasn't as stoic.
[Master…]
Alfred's voice crackled through the speakers.
[The gala's over. Guests have left, police took the thugs. But now there's only one problem… your injuries?]
Finally, Bruce spoke:
"Old wound reopened. Minor muscle tear. No broken bones. I'll recover with rest."
Leo's eyes narrowed. He jumped in before Alfred could:
"Rest how long? Don't forget—Joker's still loose. If you don't act fast, who knows what that psycho'll do."
Both Batman and Alfred fell silent.
Because… he was right.
Leo pressed on:
"Traffic's bad. You won't reach your safehouse for at least ten more minutes. And you're still bleeding. Wait any longer, and you'll miss the best treatment window.
I'm right here. Worst case? If the meds suck, I'm not going anywhere."
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