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[sub][hr][/sub][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B][I]Gotham City, New Jersey
[/I] - [I]Midnight[/I][/sub][sup][right][b]Issue #1[/b][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub]

Bruce listened to the drips of water echoing in from the farthest reaches of the Batcave, the steady hand of time eking out the cave’s chambers and curves, as the cave’s inlets had done for a millenia, and might continue to do for a millenia more. These were some of the few nights he really [i]could[/i] hear the water anymore, usually instead there was always the clack of bo-staffs and the thunder of eight pairs of moving feet, his students stepping through their drills and exercises, pounding out their mark on the cave as much as the water’s flow behind every wall.

But tonight, there was quiet, but for the sluice of long-trapped cave waters and the whirring of the Batcomputer’s processors before him. The Batcomputer lived in the shell of its old self, a metal facade nestled into one of the cave’s corners, marked by screens of all shapes, sizes, and kinds, from the CRTs of days gone by side-to-side with high refresh rate digital monitors. The guts of the device had been torn out and reconfigured countless times over the years. It was retrofitted almost yearly with Waynetech processing units or anything of value other tech magnates had to offer. But, on the outside, it was still the same old Batcomputer, with thick clacking keys and hand-size buttons that had seemed almost futuristic for their time, but now sat heavily in their casing, thick with years of collected dust and wear.

Tonight, Bruce’s fingers tapped against the old keys, bouncing across his network, skimming GCPD data and what S.H.I.E.L.D. reports he could wrest from their crack cybersecurity team. More often than not, these were his nights as Batman -- hunched over his desk with a pot of coffee and braces for his hands that irritated his skin but kept his wrists firmly in place. He was piecing together those leads and intel that could give the rest of the Batman Incorporated team something to work from. Normally this would be Barbara’s job, but she was away, in the clutch of the stars on Bruce’s orders, working to ensure the success of his ‘Watchtower’ Program. He had determined that it would suit her, but since his talk with Jim, Bruce found himself glancing at the reflection of her first Batgirl suit in the dull screens of the Batcomputer. It was lit behind a glass pane at the far end of the room alongside the cavalcade of other defunct uniforms, left to collect nothing but dust and the ogling eyeballs of the young wards that passed the display case.

Most of the youths that came Bruce’s way were angry; loaded guns that needed direction and restraint, but Barbara was always different. Self assured and headstrong, ready to change the world by any means necessary, even if it meant a kooky costume and training from a nutcase dressed like a bat. Bruce thought that the Watchtower could give that to her, the world entire within her grasp. But there was a certain magic to the costume. The moments of weightlessness above the Gotham skyline, and the sight of the glittering beauty of the bay beyond. It was almost enough to distract from the muck and violence below.

[color=#72d6d6]“Access: A-004; Robin.”[/color] The Batcomputer’s mechanical voice chirped. Footsteps started down the Batcave’s long, stone cut stairwell that led from the broken grandfather clock in the manor to the fluorescent lights and sweat-and-oil smell of the Batcave.

[color=#c3d156]“Damian,”[/color] Bruce swivelled in his chair to face his visitor, his son: Damian wore the Robin suit differently than his brothers had. Gone were the bright reds and yellows of the costume’s youth, instead replaced with swathes of black and green that wrapped up and around his body, as tall and wide as Bruce was, culminating in the dark hood that hung over his brown features.

[color=#688546]“Father,”[/color] Damian’s fist thumped to his chest in greeting, hitting the gold ‘R’ symbol just over his heart, [color=#688546]“the children are ready.”[/color] Bruce cocked an eyebrow.

[color=#c3d156]“And are you?”[/color] Bruce asked. Damian stiffened, hiding his tension quietly as he had been taught, in the folds of his crossed arms and the gentle sway of his body from side to side. Sometimes, Bruce though, he looked less like a Robin and more like a bird of his own feathers, moving to whatever breezes suited him best.

[color=#688546]“As ready as ever,”[/color] Damian reported. Damian’s eyes were concealed behind his green domino mask, but Bruce knew he was already scanning the Batcomputer’s readouts, counting down the seconds until his pupil’s body camera footage began to wink onto the screen.

[color=#c3d156]“The kids will do fine,”[/color] Bruce said.

[color=#688546]“That is the hope, yes,”[/color] Damian said. He forced a smile as Bruce turned back to face the bulk of the Batcomputer.

Bruce keyed a blue button the size of his hand and static fizzled across the Batcomputer’s assorted monitors in a wave, static giving way to all angles of Gotham’s harbor district. Some were from rooftops, sequestered among cranes and warehouses, watching the streetlights flicker into the night. Others were lower to the ground, hugging corrugated shipping crates spray-painted in garish colors, keeping eyes on anything and everything that moved. Each readout came with a name, a number, and a biometric panel -- heart rate, blood pressure, and all assorted vitals were accounted for. For this mission, it would be the children’s main lifeline.

Bruce reached forward, and stopped just short of pressing his microphone and giving the go-ahead to his operatives, their pupils. Damian had arrived to observe his student’s progress, but…

[color=#c3d156]“Where’s Tim?”[/color] Bruce asked. In the reflections of his monitors, he saw Damian’s hand come up to stroke the beginnings of a beard forming at his chin.

[color=#688546]“[i]Red Robin[/i] said he had a ‘Hot Date’ tonight,”[/color] Damian grumbled, [color=#688546]“and insisted we go on without him.”[/color] Bruce tapped the frame of the Batcomputer for a moment, and looked into the middle distance, his eyes settling on the flickering corner of an older monitor, winking back at him. Perhaps this was his way of protesting, Bruce thought. He had always wanted more safety nets for the kids, not this, not a [i]real[/i] mission. Perhaps he was lying in wait out there, beyond the gaze of any of his students, waiting for the moment when they should need him. Once this was said and done, they’d need to have a talk. Bruce reached forward over the Batcomputer’s keyboard.

[color=#c3d156]“Batman to Signal. Give me a sit-rep,”[/color] he said.

[color=#e8ed45]“Signal to Batman,”[/color] a green light sprung to life on one of the monitors as his first student’s voice came from the Batcomputer’s speakers, weighed down by a thin layer of static, [color=#e8ed45]“both teams are in position around the diamonds. No sign of our thief yet -- only real movement out here has been dock workers and homeless guys.”[/color]

[color=#c3d156]“Let’s hope it stays that way. Signal, you have full operational control. Good luck. Batman over and out.”[/color] Bruce released the microphone and settled back into the arms of his chair.

[color=#688546]“Guarding against a super thief that will never come,”[/color] Damian remarked, [color=#688546]“you think that’s how it will go?”[/color]

Bruce steepled his fingers and let his eyes dart from monitor to monitor, listening to their radio chatter and watching every mite of movement. [color=#c3d156]“No,”[/color] Bruce smiled, [color=#c3d156]“not for a second.”[/color]