Gotham

After the black-out caused by Superman, I began to investigate the possible source. An investigation of the scene turned up a transparent bullet. I took it back to the cave and began to run some tests on it. Sure enough, just as I thought, the properties are identical to that of transparent kryptonite.

Kryptonian cells absorb ambient solar energy. It's the source of Clark's powers. But the transparent kryptonite transforms those cells, increases their scope and range. So instead of simply absorbing ambient solar energy, Kryptonian cells altered by the transparent kryptonite leech all energy within a large enough radius.

Now, I was beginning to regret ever pursuing this project. Perhaps Superman is meant to have a weakness and my attempts to try and find a solution to it are only causing far more trouble than I ever expected.

I looked into the background of the man Clark told me the sniper targeted. Nothing spectacular at all, he's just a regular accountant, went into the hospital to get some tests done. Happily married, no children, no enemies to speak of. At least none who could afford a hit man. The kryptonite bullet and the hospital location tell me that someone wanted to use Superman as a means to kill someone inside the hospital.

“Any luck, sir?” asked Alfred, approaching with a cup of steaming coffee.

“The only people who knew of the transparent kryptonite and its effects were employees of Wayne Enterprises,” I said, taking the cup. “Whoever did this, it stands to reason they wanted someone in that hospital dead.”

“Either that, or someone in your employ has a rather big mouth,” said Alfred.

He had a point. People talk, but right now, this is my only lead. “I'm cross-referencing the list of employees who worked on the kryptonite project with the hospital's patient list to see if anyone could benefit.”

“And...?”

“And we have a hit,” I said. I sipped the coffee and brought up the profile. “Richard Campbell. His uncle was a patient in that hospital.”

“Are you sure about this, sir?” asked Alfred.

“No, but it's the only lead I have. If Campbell could benefit from his uncle's death, it's something I should look into. He lives in an apartment in Gotham. Not far from here.”

I stood from the computer, walking towards the Batcycle. “Superman is waiting out his change down south. If you hear from him, let him know that I'm on the case.”

I threw my leg over the bike and pulled on the black helmet, similar in design to my own cowl. My foot lifted the kickstand as my thumb hit the bike's starter. The cycle roared to life and I slid the lens over my face, revving the engine and firing out from the Batcave.

Richard Campbell lived in one of the better parts of Gotham. He was well-to-do, upper middle class, living alone in a spacious, one-bedroom apartment. I was able to enter the unit from the balcony and once I set foot inside, the odor struck me.

My hand instinctively went to my utility belt, drawing a collapsed batarang. With a flick of my wrist, the batarang expanded to its full size and I moved slowly through the apartment, following the stench of death. The unit was silent, save for an occasional dripping sound.

Rounding the corner of the living room was a short corridor that led to the bedroom. The corridor was broken only by a single door which the drip came from—the bathroom.

That was also the source of the stench.

I moved towards the bathroom, light pouring from the small crack in the door. I pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside, lowering the batarang with a sigh. Water dripped slowly from the faucet into a full tub. The water inside the tub was obscured with red and lying in that pool was a naked man, his eyes shut and his wrists slit open.

I moved towards the body and lifted the hand, examining the cuts. They were deep and on a strange angle. On his left wrist, the one I held, the cut began on the right just below his palm and extended across his arm to the left. It was the opposite on his other wrist. Judging from the state of his body and the scent, he had been in here for a few days.

I set his hand back inside the water and moved back to the living room. There was a desk scattered with papers, but not one of them was a suicide note. That and the angle of the cuts suggested to me that this was not self-inflicted. This was staged to look like a suicide.

Among the papers, however, I find a letter from the First Bank of Opal City, confirming a safety deposit box at their vault. Possibly the location of the missing kryptonite, might even be more. Perhaps Campbell's associate got greedy, killed him and took the key for the box.

I left the way I came, through the balcony. Taking a dive off the rail and firing a jump-line, swinging from it into a nearby alley where the Batcycle waited patiently. I opened the seat compartment and removed the helmet, sliding it over my cowl. Once it was in place, I activated the transmitter in the helmet, placing a call to 911 complaining about the smell emitting from Campbell's apartment. I disconnected the call before the operator had a chance to ask my name and address.

Climbing back on the Batcycle, I started it up and headed out. I would return to the cave, pick up the Batwing and make it to Opal City within the hour.

Antarctica

The massive, crystalline structure had a mysterious power source I have yet to discover. Whatever it is, it's powerful enough to run the Fortress of Solitude without any effort on my part and somehow, the Fortress is able to resist this new energy draining.

I came here after what happened at the hospital and it was here I put in a call to Bruce to inform him of the situation. He told me to let him take care of this. Lately, it seems like he's been doing a bit too much of that for my liking. I understand I am vulnerable given the nature of this investigation, but sitting around and doing nothing hardly makes me feel productive.

Instead, I sat here in the Fortress, watching newscasts from all over the world. An earthquake here, a hurricane there. A terrorist attack, a hostage situation, a bank robbery—all over the world, there are things I could help with. People I could save. But because of the potential damage, I had to sit these out. I forwarded everything possible to whoever I could reach—the Justice League, the Justice Society, the Titans, Young Justice, Task Force X... but it didn't seem enough. I wished I could be out there doing this myself.

I opened a communication channel to Bruce. After a few moments, I heard Alfred's voice on the line. “Wayne Manor,” he said in his sophisticated accent, still as pristine and as authentic as always after spending such a large portion of his life in Gotham.

“Hello Alfred,” I said.

“Ah, hello sir,” he greeted without a hint of hesitation. He recognized my voice instantly. “Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that Master Wayne is out right now.”

“Has he found anything?” I asked.

“He discovered a connection between a patient at the hospital and one of his employees who worked on the project. He went to investigate and then returned here just briefly enough to obtain the Batwing and inform me that he was en route to Opal City.”

“Did he say why he was going to Opal City?” I asked.

“He mentioned something about a bank, but I'm not sure.”

“Alfred, can you track the Batwing?” I asked.

Opal City

Getting inside the bank had proved easier than I imagined. It was no wonder so many incompetent criminals attempted to rob them—the security in them was nothing short of embarrassing.

I went to the vault services desk and searched through the records for Campbell's name and box number. Then I went to the vault. A strong electromagnet caused the bolts to open without hesitation.

Once inside, I found Campbell's box and picked the lock effortlessly. Far, far too easy. Made me glad that I kept my valuables locked up in the cave. Keeping them in a place like this was practically an invitation for them to be stolen.

I slid the box from its holder and heard footsteps. I cradled the box under my arm and was about to peer around the corner when a burly hand grabbed my cape and yanked me from the vault. He threw me ten feet, easily. I jumped to my feet and faced the security guard,  if he was one. The man was wearing a suit and tie, and appeared to be in his sixties with a head of white hair and lines of aged fighting weariness. Right away I recognized him, Jake "Bobo" Benetti, and old strong thief who went straight protecting Opal City banks.

Benetti loosened his tie and undid the buttons of his suit jacket. "No real point in a costume if you're sneakin' around. But your almost not there and I'm looking straight ahead. Style over function. You'd almost be clever if you weren't in Opal."

“If you think some costumed creep is gonna scare ol' Bobo Benetti, you got another think comin',” said the guard.

Cradling the box, I reached into my utility belt with my free hand for a few collapsed batarangs. With practiced ease, I expanded them and threw them at Benetti in the span of about a second.

He was fast, I had to give him that. Able to evade all three of them and before long, he was on me again, those burly hands trying to grasp my throat. "Not a talker either. Me, I never liked those mugs would explain everything as they nnn."  I drove my knee into his stomach, hoping to put some more distance between us. With my arm across my chest, I activated a hidden trigger in the palm of my glove. Contrary to popular belief, the scalloped gloves aren't simply for decoration, barely anything on my suit is.

The three fletches fired from the glove, striking Benetti in his chest. He recoiled in pain and just as I had surmised, his skin was tough enough to prevent them from being anything other than an inconvenience and annoyance. But at least it separated us for the moment.

One of the fletches had gone in a bit. Benetti plucked it out and crushed it with two fingers. "Fancy. If this were the old days I'd guess you were a chink. But I'm told everybody learns that stuff nowadays."

I jumped over his head, several smoke pellets flying from my hand as I did. As soon as they struck the ground, they clouded the air, making it impossible to see. Benetti flailed through the smoke, trying either to clear it or to get a grip on me—perhaps both.

I jumped at him from behind, driving my feet into his back and knocking him to the ground. He swung up and grabbed the arm that held the box. "You want to skeedo, fine. But not with this." As I tried to pull away, he pulled first, his strength enough to overpower me and the box fell from my grip. When it struck the ground, it opened and the faded green kryptonite sat there on the ground, its pale glow illuminating the room.

"All this for some rock? I'd have done a hold-up, collected some scratch and misdirect...hnn."

Almost immediately, Benetti began to weaken and that's when I noticed I was similarly feeling tired. What was once simply tiring was now turning into fatigue. I could barely move and a glance to Benetti showed he seemed to suffer from the same condition. This kryptonite proved to be deadly to humans and I found I could barely move my limbs. My arms, legs, and head all felt like they were chained down. Even summoning the strength to reach my belt turned out to put me through excruciating pain.

A blur of blue and red came flying through. Powerful hands scooped the kryptonite back into the lead box and closed it once more. I felt my strength beginning to return and as I found the ability to move once again, Superman helped me to my feet.

“Maybe I wasn't the target after all,” he said.

I looked at the box. “Let's get this back to the cave. I have some tests I need to run."

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