Wayne Enterprises Applied Sciences Division, Night
Batman crouched in the shadows of the ventilation hub on the roof of Wayne Enterprises, his cape folded around him like the wings of his namesake. The storm that had threatened all evening had finally arrived, pelting the city with sheets of rain that obscured visibility and masked sound—ideal conditions for Taskmaster's infiltration, but equally useful for Batman's counter-surveillance.
Through lenses calibrated to cut through the downpour, he monitored the building's exterior access points. Three hours of patient observation had yielded nothing, suggesting Taskmaster was either exceptionally patient or had already breached the perimeter through means Batman hadn't anticipated.
"Alfred," he subvocalized, the cowl's comm system picking up even this whispered communication. "Any movement on the security feeds?"
"Nothing obvious, sir," Alfred's crisp voice replied in his ear. "Though there was a momentary glitch in the east wing cameras approximately four minutes ago—likely interference from the storm, but possibly something more deliberate."
Batman's eyes narrowed. The east wing housed the primary server array that controlled security for the Applied Sciences level. A strategic target if one were planning to disable the building's internal defenses.
"I'm moving to investigate," Batman confirmed, rising from his position with fluid grace that belied the persistent pain in his ribs. The damage from Kraven's attack had been partially mitigated by Alfred's excellent medical attention, but the injury remained a tactical liability—one Taskmaster would exploit if given the opportunity.
As he fired his grapnel toward the east wing's maintenance access, Batman reflected on the unique challenge Taskmaster presented. Unlike Deadshot's lethal precision or Kraven's primal ferocity, Taskmaster's threat lay in his ability to perfectly mirror Batman's own techniques—a living reflection of years of training and combat experience turned against him.
The maintenance hatch yielded to his security override, allowing silent entry to the climate control level above the server farm. Heat signatures below confirmed the presence of the night staff—three technicians monitoring the system's core functions, all following normal movement patterns. Nothing obviously amiss, yet Batman's instincts signaled danger.
He moved through the narrow maintenance crawlspace, each motion calculated to distribute weight evenly and prevent telltale sounds. The ventilation system offered a direct route to the server level without triggering motion sensors designed to monitor the main corridors.
The first indication that something was wrong came when he reached the access point above the server room. The security seal that should have been intact showed microscopic tool marks—evidence of expert tampering rather than forcible entry. Someone had accessed this route recently and taken pains to conceal their presence.
"Alfred, check the building's power consumption metrics for the past hour," Batman requested, examining the compromised seal more closely.
"One moment, sir." A brief pause followed before Alfred continued. "Interesting. There's a two percent increase in power draw from the climate control systems, despite no corresponding change in external temperature requiring compensation."
Batman nodded to himself. Classic infiltration technique—using existing systems to mask additional power consumption from unauthorized equipment. Someone was already inside, piggybacking on legitimate operations to avoid detection.
"Lock down all access to the Applied Sciences servers from this position," Batman instructed. "Route everything through the Batcave's proxy."
"Already done, sir. Though I should note that if someone has established physical access to the server array, they could potentially bypass our digital countermeasures."
Batman didn't respond, focused now on removing the access panel with methodical precision. The server room below was bathed in the blue glow of monitoring screens and status lights, creating stark shadows among the tall equipment racks. The three technicians moved between workstations, performing routine maintenance tasks with the casual efficiency of seasoned professionals.
Except one wasn't a technician at all.
Batman's enhanced vision caught subtle inconsistencies in the third figure's movements—micro-hesitations before routine actions, suggesting unfamiliarity with the specific procedures despite flawless mimicry of general behaviors. The uniform fit perfectly and the security badge appeared authentic at a glance, but the impostor's posture betrayed faint militaristic undertones beneath the technician's slouch.
Taskmaster.
Batman watched as the disguised assassin casually inserted a device into one of the auxiliary server ports—likely uploading specialized malware designed to create temporary blind spots in the security monitoring. The other technicians remained oblivious, focused on their own assignments in different sections of the room.
Batman's mind calculated options, considering the confined space and presence of civilians. Direct confrontation risked collateral damage, while allowing Taskmaster to complete his infiltration might provide opportunity to track him to the armor vault. Intelligence from Deadshot had confirmed that Alberto Falcone wanted the prototype armor for Deathstroke, making the vault Taskmaster's primary objective.
The decision was made for him when one of the legitimate technicians approached Taskmaster, saying something Batman couldn't hear from his position. The assassin responded with a casual gesture, but the technician's body language shifted from routine to suspicious. He'd noticed something amiss.
Taskmaster's reaction was immediate and brutal. In one fluid motion, he drove a fist into the technician's solar plexus, simultaneously covering the man's mouth to suppress any cry of alarm. The movement was hauntingly familiar—it was one of Batman's own non-lethal takedown techniques, executed with perfect precision.
Batman dropped through the access panel, cape spreading to slow his descent as he landed between Taskmaster and the remaining technician, who had turned at the sound of her colleague's muffled struggle.
"Get out," Batman commanded the woman, whose eyes had widened in shock at his sudden appearance. "Emergency protocols. Now."
To her credit, the technician recovered quickly, slapping the nearest alarm panel before sprinting for the exit. Klaxons immediately blared throughout the level, automated systems initiating lockdown procedures that would seal the server room from the rest of the building.
Taskmaster released the unconscious technician, allowing him to crumple to the floor as he turned to face Batman. The assassin wore a modified version of his traditional outfit—the skull-like mask covering his features, with a sleek tactical bodysuit beneath reinforced armor plates at critical points. The shield strapped to his back gleamed dully in the emergency lighting that had replaced the room's standard illumination.
"Right on schedule," Taskmaster observed, his voice distorted through the mask's filtration system. "I was wondering when you'd make your appearance."
Batman remained silent, assessment continuing as they circled each other. Taskmaster's stance was a perfect mirror of Batman's own—balanced, prepared, alert to any opening. No wasted movement, no telegraphed intention. Like fighting his own shadow.
"Not feeling talkative?" Taskmaster continued, drawing the shield from his back with practiced efficiency. "That's fine. I've been studying your moves for weeks. I already know everything I need to about how you fight."
"Studying and experiencing are different things," Batman finally responded, voice low and controlled.
Taskmaster laughed, the sound hollow through his mask. "True. But my photographic reflexes bridge that gap nicely. Every technique you've displayed in Gotham is cataloged and ready for deployment." He tapped his temple. "Perfect muscle memory, instantly accessible. Your own movements used against you with equal skill."
Batman launched forward without warning, feinting toward Taskmaster's left before dropping into a sweeping leg strike aimed at destabilizing the assassin's foundation. It was a basic opening move, deliberately conventional—a test of Taskmaster's claims.
The assassin responded as if he'd rehearsed the encounter a hundred times, leaping over the sweep while bringing his shield down in a perfect counter that would have caught Batman's shoulder had he not already been rolling away. The movement was fluid, confident—exactly how Batman himself would have countered such an attack.
"See?" Taskmaster sounded almost gleeful as they reset, again circling each other. "I told you. Every move, every counter, every strategy you've employed since beginning your crusade—it's all mine now." He tapped his skull. "Photographic reflexes. Your greatest strength transformed into your greatest vulnerability."
Batman narrowed his eyes, reassessing. Standard techniques wouldn't work against an opponent who could anticipate and counter them perfectly. Time to implement the modifications he'd developed with Dick's help.
He fired his grapnel suddenly, not at Taskmaster but at the server rack behind the assassin. As the line retracted, Batman launched into a spinning aerial maneuver that incorporated elements of circus acrobatics rather than martial arts—the kind of movement no conventional fighter would employ due to its apparent inefficiency and flourish.
Confusion flickered across Taskmaster's posture as he attempted to track the unorthodox approach. His shield came up defensively, but the angle was slightly off—he'd anticipated a direct attack rather than the corkscrew trajectory Batman had adopted from the Flying Graysons' repertoire.
Batman's boot connected solidly with Taskmaster's shoulder, sending the assassin staggering back into the server rack. The impact disrupted the malware upload, the device Taskmaster had planted ejecting automatically as the system detected the physical disturbance.
"Interesting adaptation," Taskmaster acknowledged, regaining his balance with remarkable speed. "Acrobatic elements incorporated into your standard technique. Trying to confuse my reflexes with movements outside your established patterns."
Batman didn't respond, pressing the momentary advantage with a combination of strikes that blended his foundational fighting style with Dick's acrobatic principles. Each movement flowed into the next without the typical transitions a trained fighter would expect, creating sequences that appeared almost random despite their underlying strategic purpose.
Taskmaster blocked or evaded most blows, but not with the perfect efficiency he'd displayed against Batman's standard techniques. The unpredictability was working, forcing the assassin to react rather than anticipate.
"Impressive improvisation," Taskmaster commented, voice betraying the first hint of effort as he countered a particularly complex sequence. "But adaptation works both ways. My reflexes don't just record—they learn."
To demonstrate, Taskmaster suddenly incorporated the same unusual transitional movement Batman had just employed, but with a modified follow-through that exploited the technique's inherent vulnerability. His counterattack caught Batman in the ribs—directly on the injury from Kraven's assault—sending a spike of searing pain through the vigilante's side.
Batman suppressed a grimace, using the momentum of the blow to create distance between them. Taskmaster was right—his photographic reflexes weren't just recording Batman's techniques; they were learning the new patterns in real-time, adapting to the hybrid style almost as quickly as Batman could deploy it.
The server room offered limited space for prolonged combat, and the unconscious technician remained a liability on the floor nearby. Batman needed to move this confrontation away from the sensitive equipment and civilian personnel.
"Let me guess," Taskmaster said, correctly reading Batman's assessment of their surroundings. "You want to draw me away from the servers and your unconscious friend here. Somewhere with fewer witnesses and collateral concerns." He gave a theatrical shrug. "I'm game. After all, my primary objective is several floors below us anyway."
With unexpected speed, Taskmaster threw himself backward through the server room's glass wall, shattering it in an explosion of fragments as he rolled into the corridor beyond. Batman followed immediately, unwilling to let the assassin gain too much lead toward the Applied Sciences level.
The emergency lockdown had evacuated most personnel from this floor, leaving the corridors eerily deserted as warning lights pulsed in rhythmic sequences. Taskmaster was already disappearing around a corner, headed for the central elevator shaft—the most direct route to the research levels below.
Batman fired his grapnel at a structural support beam, using it to swing around the same corner with greater speed than running would allow. He caught sight of Taskmaster prizing open the elevator doors with mechanical claws extruded from his gauntlets—another piece of technology clearly inspired by Batman's own equipment.
"Your arsenal is impressive," Batman observed, closing the distance between them. "Though lacking in originality."
"Says the man who modeled his entire persona after flying mammals," Taskmaster retorted, finishing with the doors and revealing the empty elevator shaft beyond. "Besides, why reinvent the wheel when I can simply appropriate the best tools from those I study?"
Without waiting for response, Taskmaster leapt into the shaft, attaching himself to the elevator cables and beginning a controlled descent. Batman followed suit, the familiar vertical drop triggering combat protocols specifically designed for the confined environment of elevator shafts and air ducts.
They descended in parallel, exchanging blows whenever their paths brought them within striking distance. The darkness of the shaft was intermittently broken by the emergency lighting at each floor, creating a stroboscopic effect that added surreal quality to their vertical combat. Each flash illuminated a frozen tableau of their struggle before plunging them back into shadow.
Taskmaster reached the Applied Sciences level first, forcing open the doors and rolling through into the corridor beyond. Batman arrived seconds later, immediately assessing the new battlefield. Unlike the server room's cramped confines, the Applied Sciences floor featured spacious laboratories with high ceilings and specialized research stations. More room to maneuver, but also more valuable technology at risk of damage.
"All this trouble for one prototype," Batman said, watching Taskmaster orient himself toward the armor vault at the far end of the main laboratory. "The question is whether Alberto Falcone explained exactly what he wants it for."
"The client's intentions aren't my concern," Taskmaster replied, drawing a collapsible sword from his back harness. With a flick of his wrist, the blade extended to its full length, gleaming wickedly in the laboratory's emergency lighting. "The contract specifies acquisition of the advanced composite armor prototypes. My focus remains on fulfilling those terms."
"And the secondary target?" Batman pressed, circling to position himself between Taskmaster and the vault. "Rachel Dawes isn't part of this equation."
A slight tilt of Taskmaster's mask suggested surprise—or perhaps admiration that Batman had uncovered this aspect of his contract. "You're well-informed. But then, you always are, aren't you? The world's greatest detective, always one step ahead."
"Not always," Batman acknowledged. "But often enough."
Taskmaster lunged suddenly, sword arcing in a precise strike aimed at Batman's shoulder—a disabling blow rather than a lethal one, consistent with his contract to bring Batman in alive. Batman deflected with a gauntlet, the specialized armor dispersing the impact even as sparks flew from the contact.
What followed was a display of combat mastery that would have awed any witness. Taskmaster's sword became a silver blur as he executed techniques from a dozen different fighting styles, seamlessly transitioning between them with the fluidity that made him legendary among assassins. Batman countered with his hybrid approach, incorporating the unpredictable elements from Dick's acrobatic background to offset Taskmaster's ability to anticipate standard moves.
Their battle carried them across the main laboratory, disrupting research stations and sending equipment crashing to the floor. A centrifuge exploded when struck by an errant batarang, showering them both with fragments of reinforced glass. Prototype technology worth millions lay ruined in their wake as neither combatant could afford to prioritize property damage over the existential threat the other represented.
"Enjoying the workout?" Taskmaster asked, his breathing controlled despite the exertion. "I've studied recordings of your encounters with Deadshot and Kraven. They each challenged you differently, but neither pushed you to your limits like this."
Batman didn't waste breath on response, focusing instead on maintaining the unpredictable patterns that seemed to moderately confuse Taskmaster's reflexes. Yet even this advantage was diminishing as the assassin adapted to the hybrid style, learning its internal logic with each exchange.
The fight reached a temporary impasse when they separated after a particularly intense sequence, both assessing the other from opposite sides of a shattered holographic display table.
"Your ribs are still compromised from Kraven," Taskmaster observed clinically. "You're compensating well, but the injury limits your rotational torque by approximately twenty percent. Deadshot's assault the night before likely contributed to the initial weakness."
Batman's eyes narrowed behind the cowl. The assessment was uncomfortably accurate, suggesting Taskmaster had been monitoring the previous encounters rather than merely receiving reports. "You've been in Gotham longer than the others."
"Three weeks," Taskmaster confirmed with casual arrogance. "Studying your patrol routes, your techniques, your equipment. The others rushed in with brute force and overconfidence. I prefer thorough preparation."
"Yet you still haven't reached the vault," Batman pointed out, gesturing toward the armor repository that remained securely sealed at the far end of the laboratory.
Taskmaster shrugged. "All in due time. This encounter serves multiple purposes beyond mere combat."
The implication was clear—their fight was providing Taskmaster with even more data, additional techniques to absorb and counters to develop. Each moment Batman spent engaged with him only increased the assassin's effectiveness.
Changing tactics, Batman reached to his utility belt and deployed a series of smoke pellets, instantly filling the laboratory with dense, disorienting vapor. Standard procedure would suggest using the cover to approach from an unexpected angle—but that would be exactly what Taskmaster would anticipate.
Instead, Batman did something entirely contrary to his established patterns. He remained perfectly still, controlling his breathing to near imperceptibility, becoming a void in the chaos rather than an active element within it.
Seconds stretched into nearly a minute of complete silence. The smoke began to dissipate, revealing Taskmaster in a defensive posture, shield raised as he scanned for an attack that never came.
"Interesting choice," the assassin commented, mask swiveling as he continued searching for Batman's position. "Subverting expectations by doing nothing at all. Psychological warfare rather than physical engagement."
Batman remained motionless in plain sight, relying on Taskmaster's conditioning to overlook what didn't match expected patterns. It was a technique he had learned during his time with the League of Shadows—the discipline of non-action as action, becoming invisible through stillness rather than concealment.
The strategy worked for precisely three more seconds before Taskmaster's mask tilted in recognition. "Ah, there you are. The absence revealing the presence. League of Shadows methodology, if I'm not mistaken." He paused, his next words carefully calculated. "Ra's said you were his finest student—before your disagreement over Gotham's fate, of course."
The mention of Ra's sent a chill through Batman that had nothing to do with the physical temperature. His time with the League had shaped him profoundly—two years of brutal training that had forged his mind and body into the weapon he wielded against Gotham's criminals. But it had ended in bloodshed when Ra's demanded he execute a prisoner as proof of his commitment—a line Bruce had refused to cross.
"You've had contact with Ra's," Batman stated rather than asked, abandoning the failed strategy and readying himself for the next exchange.
"The League and I have had... professional interactions over the years," Taskmaster replied, advancing slowly with shield raised. "Your training with them is evident in your movement economy and strategic approach, though you've modified their teachings significantly—particularly their philosophy regarding lethal force."
Batman's mind raced with implications. If Taskmaster had indeed been in contact with Ra's al Ghul, it suggested a concerning expansion of the League's influence. After their violent parting three years ago, Batman had monitored for signs of Ra's's activities near Gotham, knowing the Demon's Head considered the city beyond redemption—a cancer that needed to be excised rather than healed.
"Ra's believes Gotham is beyond saving," Batman said, probing for information while repositioning himself subtly. "That its corruption has reached terminal stages."
"A view you clearly don't share," Taskmaster observed, matching Batman's movements with mirrored precision. "Your dedication to this city is... well, let's call it admirable, if ultimately futile. Ra's has studied civilizations for centuries. He recognizes the patterns of decay that have already claimed Gotham's soul."
The conversation was a distraction, Batman realized—keeping him engaged while Taskmaster steadily worked his way closer to the armor vault. Changing tactics again, Batman fired his grapnel at the ceiling and launched upward, using the laboratory's height to gain aerial advantage.
Taskmaster tracked the movement perfectly, his shield already positioned to deflect the expected downward strike. But Batman had incorporated another element of Dick's training—the misdirection principle fundamental to circus performance. Instead of attacking, he released a spread of flashbang devices on his ascent, detonating them at precisely calculated intervals to disrupt Taskmaster's sensory processing.
The assassin staggered momentarily as the overlapping concussive waves interfered with his equilibrium. Batman capitalized on the opening, driving downward with focused force that bypassed the shield and connected solidly with Taskmaster's shoulder junction, temporarily numbing the arm.
"First blood to you," Taskmaster acknowledged, shaking his arm to restore circulation. "The circus elements are an interesting addition to your repertoire. Recent acquisition, I'd guess. Not fully integrated into your muscle memory yet." He tilted his head slightly. "Ra's would disapprove of such... theatrical flourishes. He always emphasized efficiency above all else."
"I'm not Ra's's student anymore," Batman replied, his voice carrying an edge that revealed the complicated history with his former mentor. He had respected Ra's's knowledge, his dedication to justice—but their paths had diverged irrevocably over methods and means. Where Ra's saw only destruction as the cure for corruption, Batman still believed in redemption, in the possibility of saving even a city as broken as Gotham.
"Clearly," Taskmaster said with something that resembled amusement in his voice. "Though some lessons remain, don't they? The way you temper mercy with necessary violence. The precision of your strikes. The calculated intimidation." He gestured around at the laboratory. "Even your choice of symbols has League influences—the bat, creature of darkness, inspiring fear in the superstitious and cowardly. Very League of Shadows, despite your rejection of their more... permanent solutions."
Batman pressed the advantage, unleashing a combination of strikes that forced Taskmaster into a defensive retreat. Each blow incorporated unpredictable transitions borrowed from acrobatics, making anticipation difficult even for the assassin's remarkable reflexes.
They crashed through a prototype testing area, specialized equipment shattering around them as their combat intensified. A weapons display case erupted as Taskmaster was thrown against it, releasing an array of experimental devices onto the floor. The assassin grabbed one without looking—a compact sonic emitter—and activated it with intuitive precision.
Batman's audio dampeners partially protected him from the worst effects, but the disorientation was still significant. Taskmaster used the opportunity to close distance to the vault, producing specialized breaching tools from his utility harness.
"Your arsenal here is impressive," Taskmaster commented, working on the vault's outer security layer while maintaining awareness of Batman's position. "So many interesting prototypes. Almost a shame I can only take one today."
Batman regained his equilibrium and moved to intercept, but Taskmaster had anticipated the recovery time precisely. He triggered another sonic device, this one modified on the fly to emit a frequency that bypassed the cowl's protective systems. The pain was immediate and intense—a spike of agony that drove Batman to one knee.
"Found that particular resonance during my study of your equipment," Taskmaster explained, continuing his work on the vault. "Every system has vulnerabilities if you understand its fundamental architecture."
Through sheer force of will, Batman pushed through the debilitating sound, drawing a specialized EMP device from his belt and activating it. The electromagnetic pulse knocked out all electronic equipment within a ten-meter radius—including the sonic emitter, the vault's electronic security measures, and unfortunately, several of Batman's own systems.
In the sudden silence, Taskmaster laughed. "Sacrificing your own technology to neutralize mine. Effective, if costly." He turned from the vault, which had sealed itself into mechanical lockdown following the EMP. "But now you've created a different problem. That vault's failsafe protocols require manual override from certified security personnel—who won't be arriving any time soon thanks to the building evacuation."
"The armor stays secure," Batman stated, rising to his full height despite the lingering effects of the sonic attack. "That's what matters."
"Is it?" Taskmaster's head tilted questioningly. "Or is preventing my secondary objective your real priority now? After all, the prototype is just technology. Ms. Dawes, on the other hand..." He let the implication hang between them.
Batman's expression remained impassive, though internally his priorities shifted. The armor was indeed secondary to Rachel's safety—something Taskmaster had clearly deduced, either through observation or intelligence provided by Alberto Falcone.
"Wayne's technology isn't going anywhere," Taskmaster continued, casually collecting several smaller prototype devices from the destroyed display cases and securing them to his harness. "Contingency prizes for my client. But my timetable for Ms. Dawes is rather tight."
"You won't reach her," Batman stated with absolute conviction.
Taskmaster laughed again, the sound hollow through his mask. "I already have an operative in position. The moment I give the signal—which I did when we first engaged—she'll be secured and transported to the designated facility." He spread his hands in a gesture of mock apology. "This entire confrontation was partially diversionary, you see. Keeping you occupied while other aspects of the operation proceeded."
Batman's fist tightened, the only outward sign of the cold dread that settled in his stomach. If Taskmaster was telling the truth—and there was no reason to believe otherwise—Rachel was already in danger while he'd been fighting what amounted to a distraction.
"Don't worry," Taskmaster added, seeming to read Batman's thought process. "My contract specifies she's to remain unharmed. Alberto Falcone wants her as leverage against the DA's office, not as a casualty."
With remarkable speed for someone his size, Batman closed the distance between them, driving Taskmaster back against a reinforced wall with enough force to crack the concrete. "Where is she being taken?" he demanded, voice dropping to its most threatening register.
Despite his compromised position, Taskmaster remained unintimidated. "You know I won't answer that. Professional ethics."
Batman increased the pressure, his gauntlet pressing against Taskmaster's throat. "Your 'professional ethics' don't extend to innocent civilians."
"On the contrary," Taskmaster rasped against the pressure. "My reputation depends on fulfilling contract terms precisely. Ms. Dawes will be treated according to the parameters specified—no harm, no unnecessary discomfort, simply secure detention until after Carmine Falcone's acquittal." He tilted his head slightly. "Besides, I thought you didn't believe in deadly force. Or does that principle apply only when convenient?"
The question struck uncomfortably close to Batman's core philosophy. Despite the rage and fear for Rachel, he eased the pressure marginally—enough for Taskmaster to breathe more comfortably, though not enough to create escape opportunity.
"You still cling to your principles," Taskmaster observed, his voice rough but steady. "Ra's was right about your conviction, if not your methods. He spoke of you with respect, you know—even after your... dramatic departure from the League. Said you possessed true determination, though misdirected toward saving what he considered unsalvageable."
"Gotham isn't beyond redemption," Batman growled, the old argument with his former mentor resurfacing. His time with the League had given him skills, purpose—but he had refused to accept their judgment that entire populations deserved destruction rather than justice. "One city, one person at a time—that's how change happens."
"And yet the corruption only spreads," Taskmaster countered. "For every criminal you put away, three more take their place. The Falcones, the Maronis, the corrupt officials who enable them—they're symptoms of Gotham's terminal illness. Treating symptoms while ignoring the disease is futile."
"You have one chance," Batman said, deliberately refocusing the conversation. "Where is Falcone taking her?"
Taskmaster remained silent for several beats, then sighed. "You realize this changes nothing? Even if I told you—which I won't—my team has a significant head start. By the time you reached the location, they'd have moved her elsewhere."
Batman's free hand moved to a specific compartment on his utility belt—one containing one of his most rarely used but effective tools. The hypodermic injector contained a fast-acting truth serum developed for extreme circumstances. He had used it only twice before, both times on hardened criminals with information about imminent threats to innocent lives.
Taskmaster tracked the movement, immediately recognizing the device from Batman's documented arsenal. "Sodium pentothal derivative with proprietary modifications. Effective, but with significant risk of adverse reaction in subjects with certain metabolic profiles. Are you sure you want to take that gamble, detective?"
The use of his title rather than his vigilante persona was deliberate—a reminder that Batman operated according to principles of investigation rather than torture. The psychological tactic was effective, causing Batman to hesitate just long enough for Taskmaster to make his move.
The assassin triggered a hidden mechanism in his armor, releasing a pressurized spray of dense smoke directly into Batman's face. Even with the cowl's filtration, the proximity ensured some penetration—enough to create momentary disorientation.
Taskmaster capitalized instantly, breaking Batman's hold and delivering a precise strike to the damaged ribs that sent white-hot pain radiating through Bruce's torso. The follow-up attack targeted the back of Batman's knee—a textbook League of Shadows disabling technique executed with perfect form.
Batman went down hard, years of training the only thing that allowed him to roll away from the worst of the subsequent attacks. Taskmaster pressed his advantage mercilessly, each strike precisely calculated to exploit the injuries sustained in previous encounters.
"Your principles are admirable but limiting," Taskmaster observed, pacing around Batman's defensive position. "You could have used that injector immediately, but your internal debate about ethics gave me the opening I needed." He sounded almost disappointed. "That hesitation will cost Dawes her freedom tonight."
Batman surged upward suddenly, drawing on reserves of strength that even Taskmaster hadn't calculated into his assessment. The attack caught the assassin by surprise, driving him back across the laboratory toward the emergency stairwell.
"Impressive resilience," Taskmaster acknowledged, regaining his balance. "But ultimately futile. My mission here is accomplished—the diversion worked, secondary acquisitions have been secured, and Ms. Dawes is already in transit."
He backed toward the stairwell, shield raised defensively. "For what it's worth, I believe she'll be returned unharmed after the trial. Alberto Falcone is many things, but he understands the value of limiting collateral damage in these operations. Unnecessary cruelty creates unwanted complications."
Batman advanced steadily, calculating the diminishing probability of extracting useful information against the need to pursue Rachel's captors. Each second reduced the chances of tracking her before she disappeared into whatever facility Falcone had prepared.
"Our rematch will have to wait," Taskmaster concluded, reaching the stairwell door. "Though I look forward to studying the new elements you've incorporated. The acrobatic transitions are particularly interesting—not a fighting style I've had much opportunity to catalog." He paused, adding one final barb. "Perhaps you should consider reaching out to your old mentor. For all your differences, Ra's al Ghul might be a useful ally against the Falcones. After all, he's dealt with corrupt dynasties for centuries."
With that, he triggered the building's fire suppression system. Sprinklers erupted throughout the floor, instantly drenching everything and creating additional sensory interference. By the time Batman reached the stairwell, Taskmaster had disappeared, leaving only a faint echo of footsteps several floors below.
Batman immediately activated his comm system, relieved to find it operational despite the earlier EMP. "Alfred, Taskmaster claims Rachel has been taken. Verify her status immediately."
"Already attempting to do so, sir," Alfred replied, tension evident in his voice. "Her apartment shows signs of forced entry according to GCPD dispatch communications. No contact established with Ms. Dawes herself."
The confirmation sent a chill through Batman that had nothing to do with his soaked suit. Rachel was in Alberto Falcone's hands—a bargaining chip in his scheme to secure his father's acquittal.
"I need all available intelligence on Falcone properties suitable for holding a kidnapped assistant district attorney," Batman instructed, already moving toward the roof access. "Focus on locations with enhanced security, limited access, and proximity to their legal operations."
"Compiling now, sir," Alfred confirmed. "I've taken the liberty of alerting Master Dick to the situation. He's cross-referencing property records as we speak."
Batman hesitated only briefly at the mention of Dick's involvement. Under normal circumstances, he might have objected to bringing the boy deeper into this dangerous situation. But Rachel's safety took priority over ideal training protocols, and Dick's analytical skills had already proven valuable.
"Keep him focused on information gathering only," Batman specified. "No field involvement under any circumstances."
"Understood, sir. Though I feel compelled to mention he's showing remarkable aptitude for investigative correlation. He's already identified three potential facilities based on power consumption patterns and recent construction permits."
Despite the direness of the situation, Batman felt a flicker of pride in his young ward's initiative. "Send the data to the Batmobile. I'm en route."
As he emerged onto the roof, the rain still pouring relentlessly across Gotham's skyline, Batman allowed himself a moment of personal concern beneath the vigilante persona. Rachel Dawes wasn't just an assistant district attorney—she was one of the few people who knew Bruce Wayne before his transformation into the Bat. They had been close once, more than close, before he'd left for his years abroad. Though she had moved on—gravitating toward Harvey Dent both professionally and personally—Bruce still cared deeply for her.
That personal connection made her kidnapping both more painful and more dangerous. Emotional involvement clouded judgment, created vulnerability. Yet it also provided motivation beyond abstract justice—a driving force that would push Batman to his limits to secure her safe return.
The Batmobile's remote activation signal was already bringing the vehicle to the designated extraction point. As Batman prepared to descend from the roof, he cast one final glance at the destruction visible through the laboratory windows below. Wayne Enterprises could absorb the financial loss, but the technological setbacks represented by the destroyed prototypes were more significant concerns for the long term.
For tonight, however, only one priority mattered: finding Rachel before she disappeared into the labyrinthine criminal empire of the Falcone family.