[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/gjL0ofw.png[/img]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/186222-sensation-wonder-an-absolute-comics-roleplay-dc-marvel-one-universe/ic?page=2#post-5287206][b]Eighteen Hours Ago...[/b][/url][/center]
[b]Stately Wayne Manor
Gym, Southeast Wing
9:26 PM[/b]

[i][color=888080]"In a statement regarding the near-catastrophic crash of the Lexcorp shuttle Lillian and it's apparent rescue by Superman, President Ellis attributed the launch's success to CEO Lex Luthor's drive and talent while speaking on the death of Justice Hartw---"[/color][/i]

[color=7791d2][b]"Change."[/b][/color]

[color=888080][i]"---made headlines today, as The Boy Of Steel's overabundance in dealings with the opposite sex has been called into question by parental advisory boards across the---"[/i][/color]

[color=7791d2][b]"[i]Change[/i]."[/b][/color]

[i][color=888080]"---despite leaving no casualties, Freeze's attack on Wayne Biotech was nevertheless considered ruthless, with eyewitnesses describing the notorious criminal's motive as one of technological theft. It was thanks to the interference of the GCPD, Chief Renee Montoya tells GCN News, that the employees of the prestigious science center were rescued in---"[/color][/i]

[color=7791d2][b]"Change."[/b][/color]

[i][color=888080]"---other news, fourteen members of Temple Fugate's grand larceny outfit were arrested in the early morning hours following a supposed clash with The Batman. The perpetrators were said to be strung upside down via cable, just north of the entrance to the Industrial Bank Of Gotham, their alleged target in just the latest of a daring series of robberies hitting the Financial District. Fugate, known for his acts of time-themed felonies under the alias of The Clock King, remains at large after escaping from Arkham Asylum earlier in---"[/color][/i]

[color=7791d2][b]"Off."[/b][/color]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/7KrotXP.png[/img]

Practically every grain of sand within the leather bag flew wildly out of place, as billionaire Bruce Wayne threw concentrated hits at it in succession. His determination rose with every blow, causing the bag to swing out even further on it's suspended chain. Bruce been training around the grounds of Wayne Manor for close to three hours, having taken a six mile jog not long upon awakening from a mid-afternoon nap, following that up with push-ups, crunches, lunges, squats, and deadlifts of over 450 to 500 pounds. His body felt like it was on fire, but everything about his routine seemed to echo the exact same result: nothing had changed. Despite his momentary loss of strength while foiling the heist on IBG, Wayne seemed to be healthier than ever, with no apparent need to compensate for his age [i]or[/i] the sheer amount of physical duress he'd been put under over the years. It all felt as effortless as it did when he was ten years younger, which was part of what was worrying him. Feeling the slowness that naturally came with age would at least partially explain what had happened last night, giving him a logical conclusion to go with and a clear course of correction. 

But he felt more alive today than he did when he was thirty. Even now, he could recall the thrill that washed over him whenever he first donned the cape and cowl. That group of muggers that were threatening Leslie Thompkins' free clinic at gunpoint in Park Row. Their fear upon getting their first glimpse of him - the very first glimpse that anyone, aside from ever-loyal Alfred, had gotten of The Batman - and the sense that something about the outfit had struck a nerve with what had only [i]theoretically[/i] been a superstitious, cowardly lot before that night. He remembered the feeling being intoxicating, like a drug that had both enhanced his senses and tore away at any lingering doubts that he'd maintained from his early failed attempts at vigilantism. It was the greatest feeling in the world. As though apart of him had been unchained after years of trauma and aimless direction had beaten it back into the darkest corners of his soul. 

Now things were so much different. Being Batman hadn't been a thrill for Bruce for many years, despite his continued necessity in carrying out the mission. He learned early on that Gotham's contingent of criminals weren't apart of any game that he'd been playing, that the stakes were considerably higher than he ever could have imagined. So like with any drug taken for too long, Bruce eventually found himself sobering up. He began treating the responsibility of becoming Gotham's protector as what it was: a greater calling, perhaps even a great baptism by fire, rain, and blood. There was almost a spiritual need to continue the work that had kept him going, night after night, for the last fifteen years. 

Last night had been the first time that he could remember that need waning, even for an instant. Watching that young man slip out of his grasp so easily, plunging towards the streets so fast that he could barely react in time to save him - it would have been the end of him in so many ways. Even taking a life by accident wouldn't have been an acceptable loss, so the idea that he could falter in such a crucial manner had stuck itself to the forefront of his mind. Even on the drive home, with The Batmobile's speedometer reaching 300 MPH, he'd felt... numb. Traumatized, in all likelihood, by the idea that he wasn't good enough to carry on anymore.

With a final lunge forwards, Bruce struck the bag so hard that it hit the ceiling of the gym. A few scattered pieces of plaster came falling to the ground like grains of salt, signaling that it was time for him to rest. But Wayne merely stared, discontent, at his own reflection in the mirror ahead of him. He saw the face of a man that was tired, even if he didn't feel it. He noticed the gray streaks in his hair that had begun to form along his temples. He caught a glimpse of the crow's feet that were forming around his eyes, even as he toweled down the enormous amount of sweat around his face. And most evidently of all, the amount of [i]scars[/i] that ran down so many parts of his body. Some fully calloused over, others still in the midst of healing. His inner-self may have felt as beastly as ever, but his outer-self was starting to crack. And he didn't know what he could possibly do about it.

Throwing the towel around his shoulders, Bruce walked across the gym and exited into the long hallway that led him past the massive dining hall, the kitchen, the armory, and the entrance to the greenhouse. His heart was still regulating itself, but it hadn't reached the point of any extreme duress like it had the previous night. His breathing was steady. His ears weren't ready to pop from the altitude of the building; rather, all he could hear was an almost deafening silence. It was something that he still hadn't quite gotten used to after losing Alfred - the idea that at any given time, the elder British statesman wasn't awaiting him with either a remedy for his current ailments or some sage words of wisdom. All that was left in the butler's wake was a chamber of echoed beats, originating entirely from Bruce's footsteps.

Cassandra was the only one living with him now, and her room was on the second floor, on the other side of the house. Even if he went to check in, he'd wager she was already gone for the night. Despite being largely mute, the girl had a sense of solitude that made itself readily apparent. But she knew the risks just as well as she knew the rules: do not engage with any of Arkham or Blackgate's regulars without accompaniment. Do not make yourself known if you don't have to. And never kill, even if that's all your mind is telling you to do. Cassandra was troubled with the latter burden from years of conditioning by her twisted father, but Bruce was confident that there was a sense of good in her that was stronger than anything so morbid. It was why he had gone to convince Barbara to allow the girl to take up the long-abandoned mantle of Batgirl in the first place, and why she ultimately allowed it: an obvious spark of hope in there that couldn't be ignored.

As for the others, they had all left the nest. Dick had been on his own for years, having built an entirely new life for himself in Blüdhaven. He was a respected cop and an incredibly formidable force as Nightwing, single-handedly being the reason that one city could sleep at night. Bruce's enormous pride in him was only overridden by his sense of worry - something that all fathers had to go through. But he ultimately knew that of all of the men, women, and children that he'd trained, Dick was the least of his concerns. They talked once a week and were on much better terms than before Alfred passed. It was as if losing him had given them an excuse to finally hash out their differences and become the true father and son unit that had been lacking since Dick's graduation from the role of Robin.

Jason... was an entirely different story. Even after learning of his miraculous return from the Lazarus Pits, it seemed as if the news with him just got worse with every development. From trying to strike out on his own as the vengeful Red Hood, leaving plenty of bodies in his wake, to his internment at Arkham and the slaughter that he'd committed there. Bruce couldn't put into words how much he hated what Jason had become, but never once did he square the blame on Jason himself. Rather, he was the one that felt responsible. If he'd been a better father, there was a higher likelihood that when the earthquake hit Gotham and the family was stretched thin, Robin would have never ran off in defiance and tried to take on The Joker by himself. In truth, Bruce felt entirely lost as to what he could do to make things right.

The same could also be said of Damian. Despite training the boy under Dick's supervision and guidance, too much of his only biological offspring's mother and grandfather still reigned in his approach to everything. It had gotten them into plenty of heated arguments, not to mention more than a few reconsiderations of even allowing him to join in on this line of work. Bruce and Dick eventually realized that what he needed was a team's structure to work within, as it would force him to grow up among a group of his peers and learn the respect that was lacking from him within the team in Gotham. But there had been no communication since Damian left. Bruce had tried, but he guessed that the boy simply wasn't ready to accept that his father hadn't shuffled him off to be someone else's problem. And Bruce wondered when it came down to it, with Alfred being too bitter of a burden for him to carry ontop of his responsibilities as a mentor and a father, if Damian was right. 

Then there was Tim. Despite having to work hard to earn his place as Robin, Tim had excelled in every part of his role to a point that still astonished Bruce. An excellent detective, a brilliant technological mind, Red Robin was arguably as much of a force for good in Gotham as The Batman was at this point. He'd moved out of the mansion two years prior, but his endless nights of work ever since had not gone unnoticed. If anything, Tim was a prime example of how a son could surpass his father in many ways. Bruce had learned to trust in his own instincts whenever Tim first came to him to become the new Robin, and his instincts told him only one thing: that the young man was destined for greatness. Tim had yet to let him down for even a moment.

The others, such as Barbara, Duke, Stephanie, Luke, Kate, Helena, and Jean-Paul had never been his children, though Wayne cared for them each all the same. They were his extended family. Never having roles that owed Bruce their loyalty, they hadn't lived under his roof and were never forced to adhere to any of his rules, unless they were unlucky enough to break them. That had gotten him into plenty of clashes with Helena and Jean-Paul, specifically, both of whom didn't value the sanctity of life nearly as much as the rest did. But they had repented and changed their ways, earning themselves a second chance - though it was a tough road to get there. But they managed to overcome their demons, largely thanks to the help of Barbara's skills as a therapist.

It was all a little overwhelming for Bruce to consider. Some relationships seemed stronger than ever, while others were in desperate need of mending before it was too late. And that's what worried Wayne more than anything else, at the end of it - the idea that if his age was truly catching up with him and he'd eventually have to give up the cowl, that he would be forced to enter retirement without having accomplished building the bridges in his life that led to a legacy he could be proud of. The Batman wasn't simply a symbol for the innocents of Gotham to rally behind anymore. It was also a statement on the lives he'd been able to touch along the way, the souls that took it upon themselves to continue the fight, either directly under his guidance or otherwise. To have nearly let that thief fall to his death would have been an affront to that statement, and more than anything else, Wayne wanted to know why it almost happened.

Entering the library after that long walk of contemplation, Wayne grabbed a shirt and quickly began to button it up. There were some forensic files that he had yet to examine in The Batcave, either as a favor to one of his colleagues in The Justice League or as part of an ongoing case in Gotham. The Clock King was hardly the only one still at large, despite his best efforts, and Wayne knew that he had to put together the clues as to any of their whereabouts before he could embark on a proper search through the criminal database to see which threats needed to be taken off the board.

But before he could lift the false Shakespeare bust and scan his thumbprint to open the entrance to The Batcave, a rotary telephone in the corner of the room suddenly flashed to life with a crimson emergency beacon. Bruce's eyebrow raised, noting the timing of this particular call in conjunction with his plans. Evidently, Commissioner Gordon had other plans for him tonight. No matter, he thought to himself, as he briskly paced over to the phone, removed the glass dome over it, and picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear.

[color=7791d2][b]"Jim. I take it there's an emergency? I didn't see the signal."[/b][/color]

[color=a27e5e][i][b]"That's just it, Batman. You're about to. I'm calling because we need you to come down to the station as soon as you can. There's... a visitor here for you, among a few other developments that I need to touch base with you on."[/b][/i][/color]

[b][i][color=7791d2]A visitor?[/color][/i][/b]

[color=7791d2][b]"Can this visitor wait?"[/b][/color]

[color=a27e5e][i][b]"Christ. Can this visitor wait..."[/b][/i][/color]

The annoyance in Gordon's voice indicated that not to be an option. Whoever it was, they must have been important enough for the Commissioner to feel the need to forewarn him that the Bat-Signal was about to be lit. 

[b][color=7791d2]"I'm on my way now."[/color][/b]
[hr]Steve Rogers, better known to the world at large as Captain America, was a legend. This fact was indisputable. What was equally as indisputable was that despite his immense respect for Rogers, as the two had come across one another in the field a great many number of times before - through their alliances in The Justice League and The Avengers, respectively - was that Batman couldn't have asked for a worse time to receive a visit from an outsider to Gotham. As he watched from the adjacent gargoyle as Rogers leaned against the side of the gigantic, still-lit lamp emblazoned with his own insignia, The Dark Knight considered all of the reasonable possibilities for why Rogers needed to see him. Because in all likelihood, it wasn't for anything good. These types of meetings never really were.

Regardless, it wasn't long before The Caped Crusader had swallowed his pride and made his way over to the GCPD roof. Quietly, of course, to the point that Rogers hadn't noticed him take position on a perch directly above him. Still as stoic and unwavering as ever, Captain America wasn't likely to be taken too off guard by this approach. But he had to realize something. This was Gotham City - and in Gotham, there was only one authority that had to be recognized whenever that signal was lit. 

[b][color=6276a9]"Captain."[/color][/b]

Rogers spun around, immediately catching the eye of the silhouette in shadow above.

[IMG]https://i.imgur.com/sa1OKJg.png[/IMG]

[b][color=6276a9]"You're a long way from the Triskelion."[/color][/b]