A rifle round caught Ramirez in the thigh as he helped carry Martinez. Both men went down hard. Chen immediately moved to shield them, his shotgun booming defiance.
"Go!" Chen shouted. "I'll hold them!"
Another grenade detonated, filling the hub with thick smoke. Through the swirling clouds, Gordon glimpsed the mercenaries advancing in perfect formation, weapons sweeping for targets with mechanical precision.
Then the firing suddenly ceased. An eerie silence fell over the detention hub, broken only by the groans of wounded officers and the hiss of emergency systems.
Through the settling smoke and dust, a massive figure emerged.
Tactical officers had established defensive positions using overturned equipment as cover, exchanging fire with what appeared to be professionally equipped mercenaries at the far end of the hub. Gordon spotted Montoya directing the defense from behind a reinforced desk, her service weapon drawn but currently held at ready rather than firing.
He made his way to her position, staying low to avoid the intermittent gunfire. "Situation?" he demanded as he reached her.
"Bad," Montoya replied grimly. "They breached through the old tunnel access below the main cells. Hit us from behind while we were focused on the main entrance. Eight operators with military-grade weapons, led by someone who matches Batman's description of Bane."
Gordon surveyed the standoff. "Casualties?"
"Three officers wounded, none critical yet. They're being remarkably careful not to use lethal force unless directly threatened."
"The prisoners?"
Montoya's expression darkened. "That's the primary objective. They've already secured Deadshot and Copperhead. Taskmaster seemed to be expecting them—walked out of his cell the moment they breached the control systems. Kraven put up more of a fight, but they subdued him with some kind of specialized tranquilizer."
Gordon processed this grimly. The four assassins had been their best leads on Alberto Falcone's operation—not to mention key witnesses for potential plea bargains. With them gone, the case against the Falcones would be significantly weakened.
"And the evidence lockup?" he asked.
"No reports of breach yet, but communications are spotty with the power fluctuations." Montoya checked her radio. "Last update from security team Bravo was two minutes ago. All clear at that point."
A sudden lull in the gunfire drew their attention. The mercenaries had pulled back slightly, regrouping around a massive figure who had just entered through the breach at the far end of the hub. Even from this distance, Bane's physical presence was imposing—towering over his men, his muscular frame seeming impossibly large beneath tactical gear that looked more like armor than standard equipment.
"Commissioner Gordon," Bane called, his voice carrying clearly despite the mask covering the lower half of his face. "Your officers have fought admirably, but this confrontation is unnecessary. My business here is specific and limited. Allow us to depart with the prisoners, and further casualties can be avoided."
Gordon rose slightly, keeping most of his body protected by the desk. "That's not how this works. Those prisoners are in GCPD custody pending trial. You're currently committing multiple felonies, including assaulting police officers. Drop your weapons and surrender."
Something like amusement seemed to flicker in Bane's eyes, visible even across the distance separating them. "An admirable response, if predictable. Your dedication to protocol despite overwhelming tactical disadvantage speaks to your character, Commissioner. However..."
He gestured, and one of his men stepped forward, hauling a familiar figure with him—Chief Gillian Loeb, looking considerably less composed than usual with a tactical operator holding him at gunpoint.
"I believe this complicates your position," Bane continued. "Your Chief of Police was attempting to access certain evidence files when my men intercepted him. His security codes have proven quite useful, though his direct cooperation was not part of our operational plan."
Gordon's blood went cold. Loeb's expression contained no fear, only cold calculation and perhaps a hint of embarrassment at being caught. This wasn't a hostage situation—it was revelation of complicity.
"You son of a bitch," Gordon breathed, the pieces falling into place. Loeb hadn't just been on Falcone's payroll—he'd been actively facilitating tonight's operation. The security redeployments, the system inspections, the delayed maintenance on the sublevel access points—all preparing the way for Bane's team.
"A crude but not inaccurate assessment," Bane acknowledged. "Chief Loeb has indeed proven valuable to Alberto Falcone's endeavors, though I suspect his usefulness is nearing its conclusion." The masked mercenary turned his attention to Loeb. "You assured me your security codes would grant unfettered access to the evidence storage. The additional measures were not mentioned in our briefing."
Loeb straightened despite the weapon pointed at him. "Gordon must have implemented them without proper documentation. He's been increasingly paranoid, making procedural changes without authorization."
"Following proper procedure," Gordon called back. "Something you might remember from your early career, before you started selling your badge to the highest bidder."
Another explosion rocked the building, this one from several floors above—the direction of the evidence lockup. Gordon's radio immediately erupted with frantic reports.
"Evidence storage breached—"
"Multiple hostiles, heavily armed—"
"Officer down, repeat, officer down—"
Bane tilted his head, listening to what must have been communication through an earpiece. "It seems my secondary team has accessed your evidence storage facility, Commissioner. The digital records pertaining to Carmine Falcone's case are being purged as we speak. The physical evidence will be destroyed before we depart."
Gordon felt sick. Years of investigation, countless hours of detective work, all the risks taken by witnesses brave enough to testify against the Falcones—all being erased in minutes by a mercenary in a mask and a corrupt police chief.
"Fall back to secondary positions," Gordon ordered the tactical officers around him. "Secure the wounded and establish defensive perimeter at exit points." He turned to Montoya. "Get to the evidence lockup. Save what you can."
"Sir—"
"That's an order, Detective. Go!"
Montoya hesitated only a second before moving toward the rear exit, taking two officers with her. Gordon turned back to face Bane, who seemed to be watching the proceedings with clinical interest.
"Your strategic adaptability is impressive, Commissioner," he observed. "Most would attempt desperate resistance in your position. Instead, you prioritize preservation of both personnel and critical evidence. A logical approach, if ultimately futile in this instance."
"Nothing about this is futile," Gordon replied, fingers tightening on his service weapon. "You might destroy evidence; you might even escape with your prisoners tonight. But this isn't over. Not by a long shot."
"A perspective I respect, though disagree with," Bane replied. "By morning, the Falcone case will be irreparably compromised. The primary witnesses removed, the documentary evidence destroyed, the physical samples eliminated. The trial will collapse, and Carmine Falcone will return to his position of influence—though perhaps with a more cautious approach to delegation of authority."
The pointed glance Bane directed at Loeb spoke volumes about Alberto's likely standing with his father after tonight. The Chief of Police seemed to register this, a flicker of unease crossing his previously composed features.
"Bane," Loeb began, "our arrangement—"
"Has been fulfilled to the letter," Bane interrupted. "You provided access, intelligence, and operational support. The agreed-upon compensation has already been transferred to your offshore accounts. Your retirement should be quite comfortable, assuming you depart Gotham expeditiously following tonight's events."
Gordon watched the exchange with grim satisfaction. Honor among thieves only extended as far as mutual benefit. Loeb was being discarded now that his usefulness had ended.
"What about the other aspect of our arrangement?" Loeb pressed. "My placement in the new—"
"Is a matter for Mr. Pierce to determine," Bane cut him off sharply. "My contract does not extend to personnel decisions within his organization."
The name caught Gordon's attention immediately. Pierce. The connection Batman had mentioned from the data recovered at Dixon Docks—someone operating above Alberto Falcone's level, someone with resources and influence beyond Gotham's usual power players. A government figure, possibly, though their investigation had yet to identify him conclusively.
Loeb fell silent, his expression hardening into something between resignation and calculation. Gordon filed the exchange away for future reference—if they survived tonight, that information might prove useful in understanding the broader conspiracy behind Alberto's operations.
The standoff was interrupted by the distant sound of breaking glass and a distinctive sound Gordon had learned to recognize over years of working with Batman—the soft pneumatic hiss of a grapnel line deploying. Bane heard it too, his head turning toward the noise with what appeared to be anticipation rather than alarm.
"Right on schedule," he remarked, almost to himself. Louder, he addressed his operatives: "Secure the prisoners for transport. Prepare for phase two."
Gordon watched as Bane's men efficiently moved their captured assassins toward the exit breach they'd created. Deadshot, stripped of his guns, looked merely annoyed by the proceedings. Copperhead appeared drugged, her normally fluid movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Taskmaster walked under his own power, seemingly unconcerned by his "rescue." Only Kraven showed resistance, straining against specialized restraints despite whatever tranquilizer they'd administered.
The tactical situation was untenable Gordon had fewer than ten officers in functional condition against Bane's team of elite operatives, with more hostiles apparently at the evidence lockup. Direct confrontation would result in casualties they couldn't afford. Batman was presumably engaging the enemy somewhere in the building, but Gordon couldn't base his strategy on timely intervention, not with wounded officers needing protection.
"Fall back to position Charlie," he ordered the remaining tactical team. "Focus on extraction of wounded personnel. We live to fight another day."
The officers began executing the ordered withdrawal, maintaining covering fire while moving their injured colleagues toward the secure exit. Gordon stayed in position, keeping his weapon trained on Bane though he harbored no illusions about its effectiveness.
"A wise decision, Commissioner," Bane acknowledged. "Pragmatism over pride. A rare quality in men of authority."
"Don't mistake tactical retreat for surrender," Gordon replied. "This building may fall, but we'll rebuild the case. People like you and Falcone always make mistakes eventually."
"An admirable perspective," Bane commented, something almost like respect in his voice. "Though misguided in this instance. By tomorrow morning, the circumstances will have changed significantly enough to render your optimism moot."
As the last of the officers fell back, Gordon prepared to follow. He'd done all he could here—his priority now was reorganizing his department to deal with the aftermath of this attack. Bane's team was already moving toward their exit point, prisoners secured, mission apparently accomplished.
The detention hub was nearly empty when a shadow detached itself from the ceiling—a dark shape that dropped silently behind Bane's retreating form. The mercenary seemed to sense the presence, turning with remarkable speed for someone of his size.
Batman stood between Bane and the exit, cape drawn around him like folded wings, his expression hidden beneath the cowl.
"I've been expecting you, Detective," Bane said, sounding almost pleased. "Though I confess, I anticipated our encounter would occur at the evidence storage rather than here."
"Let the prisoners go," Batman replied, his voice carrying that unique quality that somehow cut through chaos and background noise. "Your business is with me."
"My business," Bane corrected, "is with the evidence against Carmine Falcone and the retrieval of these assets." He gestured toward the captured assassins. "You are merely an anticipated complication—albeit one I've looked forward to addressing personally."
Gordon used the distraction to move toward the rear exit where his officers had withdrawn. Batman caught his eye briefly, a silent communication passing between them—get out, regroup, protect the wounded. Gordon nodded almost imperceptibly. They'd been working together long enough to understand each other's priorities in situations like this.
"Commissioner," Bane called, not turning from his standoff with Batman. "I would suggest you depart promptly. What follows will be historically significant—the night Batman was broken. You might wish to preserve your men from witnessing it."
The casual confidence in Bane's declaration sent a chill through Gordon. This wasn't the boasting of a typical Gotham criminal, nor the theatrical posturing of the costumed rogues Batman regularly faced. This was the measured assessment of a professional who had done his homework and calculated the odds to his satisfaction.
Gordon hesitated at the exit, caught between duty to his officers and reluctance to leave Batman facing Bane alone. The vigilante seemed to sense his conflict.
"Go, Gordon," Batman ordered, not taking his eyes off Bane. "Secure what evidence remains. Protect your people."
Bane made no move to prevent Gordon's departure. "By all means, Commissioner. Attend to your wounded officers. Assess the damage to your facilities. Perhaps even begin contemplating how you'll explain tonight's catastrophic security failure to the media tomorrow morning."
Gordon's jaw tightened, but he recognized the tactical necessity. Batman was right—his priority now had to be salvaging what they could from this disaster and protecting his remaining officers.
"This isn't over," he promised as he backed through the exit.
"Indeed not," Bane agreed amicably. "Though what follows will reshape your understanding of possible outcomes, Commissioner."
As Gordon finally withdrew, the last thing he saw was Batman and Bane circling each other in the detention hub—two apex predators preparing for a confrontation years in the making. The heavy security door sealed behind him, cutting off his view but not his anxiety.
Outside in the corridor, officers were efficiently evacuating the wounded and establishing secondary defensive positions. Gordon found Detective Bullock organizing the withdrawal, his usually disheveled appearance now complemented by a bloody gash across his forehead.
"Commissioner! Thank God. We thought you might have—"
"I'm fine," Gordon cut him off. "Status report."
"Building's compromised from sublevel up to fourth floor. Evidence lockup is under heavy assault—Montoya's team is trying to secure what they can, but it's not looking good. We've got wounded being evac'd via the east exit, SWAT reinforcements inbound from Central, but they're at least eight minutes out."
Gordon processed this grimly. "And Loeb?"
"That rat bastard was working with them the whole time," Bullock spat. "Fed us right into an ambush. If I get my hands on him—"
"Focus, Harvey," Gordon interrupted. "We need to establish a command post outside the building, coordinate with incoming units, and set up a perimeter. Batman's engaging Bane in the detention hub. We may have minutes, not hours, before this situation escalates further."
As if in response to his assessment, a deep, resonant boom echoed through the building—not an explosion but the sound of something massive impacting reinforced walls. The floor beneath them trembled slightly.
"That's not good," Bullock muttered.
Gordon stared at the sealed door, imagining the battle unfolding beyond it. Batman was formidable, but Bane had breached one of the most secure buildings in Gotham with almost casual efficiency. The outcome was far from certain.
"Get everyone out," he ordered, decision made. "Establish defensive positions across the street. Full building evacuation, priority on wounded and essential personnel."
"What about you?" Bullock asked, already moving to implement the orders.
Gordon checked his weapon, expression grim. "I'm going to check on Montoya's team at the evidence lockup. We need to save whatever we can of the Falcone case."
"Sir, with all due respect, that's suicide if Bane's people are still there."
"Then it's a good thing I'll have backup." Gordon nodded toward the window where, visible against the storm-clouded sky, the Bat-signal blazed to life—activated by the automated system Batman had installed for emergency situations exactly like this one.
Bullock looked from the signal back to Gordon, understanding dawning. "You and the Bat planned for this."
"We anticipated possibilities," Gordon corrected. "Now we adapt to reality. Get our people out, establish the perimeter. I'll find Montoya."
As Bullock hurried to organize the evacuation, Gordon moved toward the stairwell that would take him to the evidence storage level. Behind him, another impact shook the building, dust sifting down from ceiling tiles. The confrontation between Batman and Bane was escalating.
—
Wayne Manor, Late Afternoon into Evening
Bruce stood at the Batcomputer, reviewing the financial transaction data Alfred had been monitoring - the task he'd agreed to let Dick assist with after their training session. Three hours had passed since their defensive techniques practice, since Dick had successfully countered his takedown attempt and earned that rare "Excellent" from Bruce. The boy sat at an adjacent terminal, his young face illuminated by multiple screens displaying Falcone financial records.
"This pattern here," Dick said, highlighting a series of transactions. "It's like watching a gymnastics routine - there's a rhythm to it. See how they keep using the same... what did Alfred call it... shell company?"
Bruce glanced over, noting how Dick was applying his performance background to data analysis. "That's right. What else do you notice?"
"The amounts change each time, but it's always on Tuesdays and Fridays." Dick squinted at the screen. "Is that to avoid the automated... um... the computer things that look for suspicious stuff?"
"Detection algorithms," Bruce supplied. "And yes, that's exactly why. Good observation."
"Can I try matching these dates with when the assassins showed up?" Dick asked eagerly. "Alfred showed me how to use the timeline function yesterday."
Bruce nodded, suppressing a wince as pain lanced through his side. The injuries from Copperhead's attack were healing at an accelerated rate thanks to the Lazarus water Talia had administered, but sudden movements still sent sharp reminders through his nervous system. More concerning were the peripheral shadows that seemed to move when they shouldn't, the whispered voices that came when the cave fell too quiet.
"Sir," Alfred approached with a medical scanner. "If I might check your readings? The molecular bonding process for Master Fox's suit modifications will be complete in approximately twenty minutes."
"Fine," Bruce conceded, knowing Alfred would persist until he agreed. As the butler ran the scanner over his torso, Bruce caught Dick watching with barely concealed concern.
"You're still going to GCPD tonight," Dick said. It wasn't quite a question.
"The intelligence on Bane is solid. Gordon's implemented the security measures we discussed, but they won't be sufficient without direct support."
"But you're still hurt," Dick pressed, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. "During training earlier, you stopped moving twice. Like you were seeing something that wasn't there."
Bruce's jaw tightened. He hadn't realized Dick had noticed the momentary lapses when phantom figures appeared in his peripheral vision. "I'm managing it. The effects are temporary."
"Are they getting better though?" Dick glanced at his watch - a habit he'd picked up from Alfred. "Because I noticed they're happening more often. Not less."
The boy's observational skills were becoming inconvenient. "You've been tracking them?"
"Kind of," Dick admitted. "It's like timing between trapeze catches. You learn to feel the rhythm. And yours is... getting faster."
Despite the situation's gravity, Bruce felt a flicker of what might have been pride. Dick was applying his unique perspective even to this.
"The mission proceeds as planned," Bruce said firmly. "But I'll incorporate the suit modifications Lucius sent. The strength augmentation system should help compensate."
Dick brightened slightly. "The new glove things? Alfred was explaining them to me. They make you stronger based on... electricity from your body? I didn't understand all of it, but it sounds cool."
"Neural-responsive polymers," Bruce clarified. "They amplify force output through electrical signals."
"Right," Dick nodded, clearly not fully grasping the science but fascinated nonetheless. "And the cape can go hard and soft really fast? Lucius said something about bat wings when he was here last week."
"Memory fabric that shifts between rigid and flexible states," Bruce confirmed. "He based the design on actual bat wing structures."
"That's so cool," Dick said with genuine enthusiasm. Then, more hesitantly: "I wish I could help tonight. Not fighting or anything," he added quickly, seeing Bruce's expression. "But maybe I could watch the computer stuff from here? Send you information if you need it?"
"That's beyond your current training level," Bruce said gently but firmly. "Continue working on the financial patterns. That's valuable intelligence work suited to your skills."
"But I helped figure out where Rachel was with the power grid thing," Dick protested. "And I've been practicing with the computer systems when Alfred lets me."
"Which is exactly why you're ready for data analysis, not real-time mission support. There's a progression to this training, Dick. Steps that can't be skipped."
Dick slumped slightly, recognizing the futility of further argument. "Okay. But can you at least take the new earpiece thing? Alfred said it has better... encryption? To keep bad guys from listening in."
Bruce studied the boy for a long moment. Despite his clear disappointment at being sidelined, Dick was trying to contribute however he could.
"I'll take the upgraded comms," Bruce conceded. "Have Alfred help you set it up while I gear up."
As Dick moved to comply, practically bouncing with eagerness to help, Bruce caught his arm gently. "Dick. What you're doing here - the pattern recognition, learning the systems - it matters. You're building a foundation for future capabilities."
Dick met his eyes, understanding passing between them. "Like learning basic flips before attempting the quadruple somersault?"
A ghost of a smile touched Bruce's lips. "Exactly."
Dick nodded, squaring his shoulders as he headed toward the equipment bay. "Then I'll get really good at the basics. And maybe next time..."
"One step at a time," Bruce said, but his tone was gentler than before.
Bruce watched him go, noting how the boy was already adapting to their world, even if he didn't fully understand all its complexities yet. That eagerness to help, to be part of the mission - it was both heartening and concerning.
"Sir?" Alfred's voice interrupted his reflection. "Perhaps you'd care to review the intelligence Miss Talia provided regarding Bane's tactical approach? Her observations from Santa Prisca may prove valuable in anticipating his methods."
Bruce nodded, grateful for the redirect. "Pull up the file on the main screen. I need to get through this before I head out."
As he moved toward the computer, something shifted in his peripheral vision—a shadow where the cave's lighting shouldn't allow one. Bruce spun around, muscles coiled for a fight, but found only empty space. Another hallucination. The damn Lazarus water still messing with his head.
Alfred noticed but didn't say anything. They'd worked out this unspoken agreement—Alfred would only step in if Bruce became an actual danger to himself or others. It let Bruce keep some dignity while making sure someone was watching his back.
The main screen lit up with Talia's intelligence file—detailed notes on Bane's operations at Peña Duro prison in Santa Prisca, breakdowns of his tactics, and most importantly, information on the Venom compound that juiced up his physical abilities. Bruce leaned in, studying the chemical composition.
"Looks like a roided-up version of those military stims from Perseus," he muttered. "Same basic profile—strength boost, faster healing, high pain tolerance. Same problems too—aggression spikes, mental instability if you use it too long."
"Sounds familiar," Alfred said, giving him one of those looks.
Bruce glanced up sharply but didn't take the bait. Alfred wasn't wrong. The Lazarus water had some similar effects, even if it worked completely differently. While the water used some ancient process that even Ra's didn't fully understand, Venom was just aggressive chemistry—flooding the body with compounds that pushed human limits while slowly destroying the user.
"Difference is, I know what's happening to me," Bruce said after a moment. "I'm fighting it. Bane's built his whole fighting style around Venom. He's not just using it—he IS it."
"Which gives you an opening," Alfred pointed out. "Any system that dependent has a weakness."
"Exactly what I'm thinking." Bruce zoomed in on the image of Bane's mask, tracing the network of tubes filled with glowing green liquid. "See this? The mask isn't just for looks. It's pumping Venom directly into his system through a port at the base of his skull. Straight to his central nervous system."
"Seems like an obvious weak point for someone so careful," Alfred observed.
"It's a calculated risk," Bruce said, studying the mechanism. "Direct CNS delivery gives him maximum effect with minimum dosage. He figures the payoff is worth the vulnerability."
"Until someone exploits it," Alfred said in that dry tone that never quite hid his concern.
Bruce kept reading through the file, absorbing every detail about Bane's known operations. Unlike Gotham's usual theatrical criminals, Bane was methodical, precise—military discipline combined with strategic brilliance. His operations showed none of the psychological compulsions that made opponents like Joker simultaneously more dangerous and more predictable. Bane was something else entirely—a professional who treated violence as a business rather than an obsession.
"He's never failed a contract," Bruce noted grimly. "Not once in fifteen years of documented operations. Even jobs the intelligence community wrote off as impossible."
"There's always a first time, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, arranging the components for the upgraded Batsuit on the prep table. "Though I'd be remiss if I didn't suggest that perhaps tonight's operation could benefit from additional support."
Bruce knew exactly where this was going. "Talia's already done enough. She saved my life with the Lazarus water, but I'm not dragging her any deeper into Gotham's problems."
"I was actually thinking of Master Dick's suggestion about remote surveillance support," Alfred replied mildly. "Though it's interesting that your mind went straight to Miss al Ghul."
Bruce ignored the implication, turning his attention to the suit preparations instead. "How long until the upgrades are ready?"
"About thirty-five minutes for the molecular bonding to complete," Alfred answered, letting the subject change slide. "The strength augmentation system will boost your baseline capabilities by roughly sixty percent. Though I should mention that the additional strain on still-healing tissue may cause further injury, accelerated recovery or not."
"Noted," Bruce acknowledged, though they both knew it wouldn't change his plans. "And the new armor plating for the Batmobile?"
"Installed this morning," Alfred confirmed. "Along with those enhanced electromagnetic countermeasures you requested. Should be proof against most conventional jamming or electronic warfare."
Bruce nodded, heading toward the shower area to get ready. As he passed the memorial case containing his parents' portrait, movement caught his eye again—this time resolving into the ghostly image of his father standing beside the case, face etched with concern.
"You're pushing yourself too hard," the hallucination said, speaking in the voice Bruce remembered from childhood. "The body can only take so much, even with chemical help."
Bruce closed his eyes, falling back on the mental techniques he'd learned in Tibet to separate reality from illusion. When he opened them again, the apparition had vanished. These hallucinations were getting more sophisticated, more precisely targeted at his psychological weak points. The Lazarus water wasn't just messing with his brain chemistry—it was somehow tapping into deeper parts of his psyche, turning his internal struggles into external visions.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice cut through his thoughts. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Bruce answered automatically. "Just thinking through contingencies." He continued toward the shower, refusing to acknowledge what they both knew was happening. Tonight's mission was too important for hesitation, whatever the personal cost.
Forty minutes later, Bruce stood before the Batmobile deployment bay, fully suited in the upgraded Batsuit. The new components had integrated seamlessly with the existing armor, noticeable only as subtle differences in the plating and gauntlet design. The strength augmentation system hummed almost imperceptibly, ready to kick in when needed, while the enhanced cowl sensors provided expanded capability for spotting structural weaknesses and combat vulnerabilities.
Two vehicles occupied the bay—the original Tumbler, built like a tank with overwhelming firepower and near-indestructible armor, and the newer model that prioritized speed and maneuverability without sacrificing protection. Bruce weighed his options, considering the potential scenarios for tonight's confrontation.
"Sir, given what we know about Bane's tactics, the Tumbler might offer better protection if things get ugly," Alfred suggested, echoing Bruce's own thoughts.
Bruce shook his head. "Too conspicuous for initial approach. The Tumbler's built for war zones, not urban operations near a police station. I need to get in quiet."
Dick, who had been monitoring the Batcomputer, wandered over to the vehicle bay. "What about taking both? I've been practicing with the remote control system. Maybe I could keep the Tumbler nearby as backup?"
Both Bruce and Alfred turned to look at him. Dick shifted under their combined gaze but pressed on. "I mean, I've been using the simulator. I'm getting pretty good at the driving parts."
"When exactly have you been using the simulator?" Alfred asked, eyebrow raised.
"Um... between homework assignments?" Dick offered, trying to look innocent but failing to hide his excitement. "Just for a few minutes here and there."
Bruce studied the boy for a moment. The remote operation capability did exist for backup scenarios, and Dick had shown remarkable aptitude with the cave's systems. But tonight's mission was too dangerous for experiments.
"Not tonight," Bruce decided. "The Tumbler stays here. This operation requires precision, not overwhelming force."
Dick's shoulders slumped slightly. "But what if you need backup? What if Bane has more guys than we think?"
"Then I'll adapt," Bruce said firmly. "The new Batmobile has sufficient capabilities for tonight's parameters."
"Okay," Dick accepted, though disappointment was clear in his voice. "Can I at least help monitor communications? Alfred showed me how to track the police frequencies."
"You can monitor," Bruce agreed, "but no active engagement with any systems. Observation only."
Dick perked up slightly. "Got it. Observation only."
Bruce turned to the newer Batmobile, running through the final systems check. The sleek vehicle balanced the Tumbler's power with urban practicality—less obvious than its predecessor but still packing serious defensive and offensive capabilities.
"Storm's getting worse," Alfred noted, checking the weather displays. "Visibility will be terrible within the hour. Maybe wait until—"
"The storm's an advantage," Bruce cut in. "Poor visibility affects everyone equally, and the rain will help mask engine noise during approach."
Alfred nodded, recognizing the futility of arguing. "Communications are synced with Commissioner Gordon's secure channel. He's implemented your suggested security measures, though Chief Loeb remains a wild card."
"Gordon knows not to trust Loeb," Bruce replied, sliding into the driver's seat. "He'll keep operational security tight regardless."
As the Batmobile's systems powered up with a low growl, Bruce did one final equipment check. The utility belt held gear specifically chosen for tonight—high-yield explosive batarangs that might disrupt Bane's Venom delivery system, reinforced restraints rated for enhanced strength, and sonic emitters tuned to frequencies that might interfere with the Venom compound's molecular structure.
"Remember," Bruce said to Dick, who had returned to the Batcomputer trying to look professional despite his obvious excitement, "you're on observation duty only. Monitor GCPD frequencies and alert me to anything significant, but don't try to access any other systems."
"I know, I know," Dick replied, attempting to sound mature. "Observation only. I'll keep an eye on things from here."
Bruce nodded once, then sealed the canopy. The Batmobile's engine roared to life as the cave's exit ramp lit up. With practiced precision, Batman guided the vehicle into the storm-swept night, leaving the relative safety of the cave for the uncertainty of the coming confrontation.