Across town, in a nondescript hotel room with a clear line of sight to City Hall, Floyd Lawton methodically assembled his custom rifle. His movements were precise, economical—each component inspected before being fitted into place with surgical accuracy. The weapon, like its owner, was a precision instrument designed for one purpose: to deliver death at extraordinary distances.
"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb," Lawton hummed softly, the childhood rhyme incongruous against the deadly work of his hands. It was Zoe's favorite—his daughter's smile flashing briefly in his mind as his fingers danced across carbon fiber and steel.
The suite at the Gotham Royal Plaza wasn't the most expensive in the city, but it offered three critical features: a southern exposure with unobstructed sightlines to four key locations, a service entrance with minimal security coverage, and management that accepted cash without asking questions. The kind of practical luxury Lawton preferred—comfortable enough to maintain focus, anonymous enough to disappear from when the job was done.
Lawton—better known in certain circles as Deadshot—had arrived in Gotham thirty-six hours ago with two contracts. The first, a standard political elimination: Councilman Peter Grogan, crusading anti-corruption advocate whose proposed legislation threatened to expose the Falcone family's financial networks. Standard fee, standard parameters.
The second contract was anything but standard. Seven million for Batman, delivered alive. The highest bounty Lawton had ever seen for a non-lethal capture.
"Seven million," he whispered to himself, fitting the custom scope onto his rifle with a satisfying click. "Seven million means Zoe never worries again."
His daughter was eleven now, living with her mother in Star City, unaware that her monthly "trust fund" payments came from the blood money her father earned. The college fund, the private school tuition, the medical insurance that had covered her heart surgery three years ago—all of it paid for by Floyd Lawton's unerring aim. Her mother knew, of course. Hated him for it, but accepted the money nonetheless. Principles were easier to maintain when your child's future wasn't at stake.
Lawton gently placed a photograph on the nightstand—Zoe in her soccer uniform, grinning with the unself-conscious joy of childhood. The only personal touch in an otherwise sterile operation space. He never left evidence behind, but during setup, he always kept her picture nearby. A reminder of why precision mattered. Why failure wasn't an option.
He returned to the window, continuing the assembly process while reflecting on his meeting at the Iceberg Lounge the previous night. Alberto Falcone—a far cry from his father's blunt brutality. Educated, refined, calculating. The kind of client who understood the value of quality professionals rather than cheap muscle. But there was something else beneath the polished exterior—a desperate ambition, perhaps, or something more personal. Falcone had been particularly emphatic about the timeline: seventy-two hours, non-negotiable.
"Everyone wants the Bat," Lawton murmured, fitting the custom suppressor onto the barrel. "Funny how a man in a costume gets the whole underworld tied in knots."
Unlike some of his competitors from last night, Lawton had encountered Batman once before—a brief, chaotic clash during a high-profile assassination in Robinson Park two years ago. He'd managed to escape, but only barely, and not before witnessing firsthand the urban legend that most criminals still discussed in whispers.
"Not human," one of his less professional colleagues had insisted afterward. "No human moves like that."
Lawton knew better. Exceptional, yes. Formidable, absolutely. But human—with all the vulnerabilities that entailed. Flesh and bone that could be broken. Blood that could be spilled. Consciousness that could be extinguished with the right chemical compound delivered at the right velocity to the right location.
"Always thought you were more than a myth," Lawton said conversationally to the empty room, as if Batman himself might be listening. "Even before that business in Metropolis with Superman and the metal man. Criminals don't fear ghost stories the way they fear you."
The incident in Metropolis had changed everything, of course. Superhumans fighting on live television had dragged the world's vigilantes from shadow into spotlight. Batman, operating alongside Superman and Stark, had become undeniably real to the public. The mystique remained, but the plausible deniability was gone.
Lawton finished assembling the rifle and began calibrating the scope, accounting for wind velocity, temperature, and humidity with mathematical precision. Through it, he could see Grogan's office on the third floor of City Hall, currently empty. According to the councilman's schedule (obtained through a well-placed bribe), Grogan would return from lunch meetings at precisely 2:15 PM.
"Could take him now," Lawton mused, finger hovering near but not on the trigger—a habit of discipline instilled during his military days. "Clean shot through the window. Payment processed by dinner."
But tonight would be the better opportunity. The Wayne Enterprises charity gala at the Gotham Royal Hotel would draw Gotham's elite, including Councilman Grogan. More importantly, it would draw Bruce Wayne himself—and where Wayne appeared, Batman often followed, investigating threats or protecting high-value targets.
It was a pattern Lawton had noticed in his research—Batman's peculiar interest in the billionaire's social functions. Some had theorized Wayne was a major financier of Batman's operation, which would explain the vigilante's state-of-the-art equipment. Others suggested a personal connection. Whatever the reason, Wayne's charity galas had a statistically significant correlation with Batman sightings.
"Two birds, one stone," Lawton murmured, reaching for the specialized ammunition case on the bed.
The case contained two types of custom rounds. The first, designed for Grogan—a unique hollow-point that would fragment upon impact, ensuring lethality while minimizing the risk to bystanders. Collateral damage was unprofessional, and Lawton prided himself on his professionalism.
The second set of rounds represented the culmination of years of research and development—specialized tranquilizer darts with titanium-ceramic alloy tips capable of penetrating Batman's body armor at the joint seams. The tranquilizer itself was a proprietary compound developed by a former ARGUS scientist now working in the private sector—powerful enough to drop a man of Batman's size and conditioning within seconds, but calibrated to keep him alive. Unconscious, helpless, but breathing.
"Nothing personal," Lawton said to his reflection in the window glass. "If you're good at something, never do it for free. And I'm the best at what I do."
It was just business, after all. Another day, another contract. The only thing that distinguished this job from dozens before it was the payout—seven million reasons to succeed where others had failed.
Lawton loaded a specialized round into the chamber, the motion smooth as silk after thousands of repetitions. The mathematics of ballistics, the chemistry of propellants, the physics of trajectories—these were Lawton's true religion. In a world of unpredictability, he found comfort in the absolute certainty that came with perfect aim.
He glanced at Zoe's photo again. Seven million would secure her future completely. Private university, postgraduate studies if she wanted them, a home in a good neighborhood, startup capital for whatever passion she might develop. A life untouched by the kind of desperate choices that had shaped her father's path.
His phone vibrated once—a message from his handler confirming Grogan's attendance at tonight's gala. Perfect. All pieces were falling into place.
Lawton smiled thinly as he loaded a specialized round into the chamber. One shot for Grogan during the cocktail hour, timed precisely to create maximum chaos. Then position for phase two—the specialized tranquilizer rounds designed to penetrate Batman's armor.
The bounty specified alive, but not unharmed. And Deadshot never missed.
His phone vibrated once—a message from his handler confirming Grogan's attendance at tonight's gala. Perfect. All pieces were falling into place.
—
"Absolutely not."
Bruce's voice, though quiet, carried a steel edge that silenced the boardroom. He set down the military contract proposal that Earle had been advocating for the past forty minutes. The leather-bound portfolio contained hundreds of pages of technical specifications, budget projections, and military applications—all couched in the sanitized language of corporate bureaucracy, but Bruce had read between the lines immediately.
"This 'enhanced soldier program' violates every ethical standard my father established for this company. Wayne Enterprises develops technologies to protect soldiers, not transform them into weapons."
General Ross's white mustache twitched with irritation. The career military man had spent the better part of an hour outlining the "tremendous opportunity" for Wayne Enterprises to partner with the U.S. Army's Special Weapons division. Now he straightened in his chair, shoulders squaring with the rigid posture of a man accustomed to having his orders followed without question.
"Mr. Wayne, with all due respect, you don't understand the threats we're facing. After the incident in Metropolis two years ago, we're dealing with a world where gods walk among us. The military needs advanced countermeasures."
Bruce maintained his carefully cultivated expression of bored disinterest, but behind it, his mind was cataloging every nuance of Ross's presentation. The general had been careful to frame the proposal in terms of "defensive capabilities" and "strategic advantages," but the core technology was unmistakable—a program designed to enhance human soldiers beyond normal physical limitations. Bruce had seen similar research before, during Batman's investigation into underground pharmaceutical operations in Gotham's East End.
"Then develop better shields, not bigger swords," Bruce countered, meeting Ross's glare without flinching. "Wayne Enterprises will continue its defensive technology development—body armor, medical supplies, non-lethal crowd control. But we will not participate in creating super-soldiers."
Ross leaned forward, his weathered face flushing with barely contained frustration. "This isn't about super-soldiers, Wayne. It's about giving our men the tools they need against threats that conventional forces can't contain." He glanced around the table, seeking allies. "We've had... incidents. Classified incidents that demonstrate the need for specialized containment and response capabilities."
"What kind of incidents, General?" asked Jessica Chen, one of the newer board members who'd been recruited from STAR Labs during Bruce's absence.
Ross hesitated, clearly calculating how much to reveal. "Let's just say there are... individuals... with capabilities that pose significant national security concerns. One particular subject has evaded conventional capture methods for nearly five years now. Extremely intelligent. Extremely dangerous when provoked."
Bruce maintained his mask of casual indifference, but his attention sharpened. Ross wasn't just talking hypothetically—he was hunting someone specific.
"Stark has refused to provide us with his Iron Man technology," Ross continued, his tone bitter. "Claims it's not 'ready for deployment' or some such nonsense. Wayne Enterprises represents our best alternative for the specialized equipment we need."
"Equipment specifically designed to track and capture enhanced individuals," Bruce clarified, his tone making it clear this wasn't a question.
"To protect American citizens from threats they're not equipped to understand," Ross countered sharply. "My daughter was nearly killed during an incident at Culver University that the public never even heard about. A scientist's lab accident turned him into something that demolished half the campus."
Several board members exchanged concerned glances. This was considerably more detail than Ross had provided during his formal presentation.
"And you believe hunting this person with militarized versions of Wayne technology is the solution?" Bruce asked, allowing a hint of his genuine skepticism to show through his playboy façade.
"I believe containing the threat before civilians get hurt is my job, Mr. Wayne." Ross's eyes narrowed. "And I believe that your company's radiation tracking systems, impact-resistant materials, and sonic crowd dispersal technology could be adapted to help us bring this fugitive into secure custody."
Bruce had heard enough. The general wasn't just proposing theoretical applications—he had a specific quarry in mind and wanted Wayne tech to hunt them. Whether this enhanced individual was villain or victim remained unclear, but Bruce had learned to be skeptical of military assertions about "threats" that required extreme measures.
Earle cleared his throat. "The board should consider the financial implications. This contract represents—"
"I've considered them," Bruce interrupted, sliding forward a folder of his own. "And I've provided an alternative. The Wayne Urban Renewal Initiative. Infrastructure investment across Gotham's most neglected districts. Clean energy implementation. Expansion of the free clinic network my father started."
He looked around the table, making eye contact with each board member. "Profitable, sustainable development that creates jobs and rebuilds communities rather than weaponizing them. That's the legacy of Wayne Enterprises."
Ross scoffed quietly. "Noble sentiments. I wonder if you'll maintain them when something like that thing in Metropolis decides Gotham is its next playground."
"If that happens, General," Bruce replied smoothly, "I suspect neither your enhanced soldiers nor Wayne technology would make much difference. But in the meantime, we can make a real difference in people's daily lives."
Lucius Fox, who had remained silent throughout most of the exchange, now leaned forward. "The Urban Renewal proposal projects an 18% return on investment over five years, with significant tax advantages and public relations benefits. It also positions Wayne Enterprises at the forefront of sustainable urban development—a market that's projected to reach $2.5 trillion globally by 2030."
The business case was compelling, but Bruce could see several board members still wavering, their eyes darting between him and Earle. The military contract would mean guaranteed government money—always an attractive prospect to shareholders.
"There's also the matter of Thomas Wayne's original vision," Bruce added, his tone softening slightly as he mentioned his father. It was a calculated move—reminding the senior board members of their personal loyalty to the Wayne legacy. "My father believed Wayne Enterprises had a responsibility to Gotham beyond profit margins. The Urban Renewal Initiative honors that commitment while still delivering shareholder value."
For the next hour, the board debated both proposals, with Ross growing increasingly agitated as support visibly shifted toward Bruce's initiative. The general's frustration manifested in increasingly explicit references to the "subject" he was hunting.
"This individual can withstand ammunition that would stop a rhinoceros," he said at one point. "Without specialized containment technology, we're looking at potential casualties every time we attempt an extraction."
"And you think sonic weapons are the answer?" asked Miranda Tate, one of Bruce's strongest allies on the board.
"We believe certain frequencies may incapacitate the subject without lethal force," Ross admitted. "But we need Wayne's proprietary sonic technology to develop a functional prototype."
Bruce's suspicions deepened. Ross wasn't just after general technology—he was specifically targeting Wayne Enterprises' sonic innovations, which had originally been developed for non-lethal crowd control but could theoretically be weaponized to devastating effect against the right target.
When the final vote came, it wasn't even close: 11-3 in favor of Bruce's plan, with only Earle and his two closest allies opposing.
As the meeting adjourned, Bruce noticed Ross pull Earle aside, their conversation heated but too quiet to overhear. The general's face had darkened to an alarming shade of crimson, his finger jabbing at Earle's chest as he spoke. Bruce made a mental note to have Alfred investigate Ross's other corporate connections. The general's interest in "enhanced soldiers" aligned too closely with rumors of experimental programs that had crossed Batman's radar recently.
Bruce was heading toward his office when Lucius Fox intercepted him in the hallway.
"A word, Mr. Wayne?" the older man asked, gesturing toward the private elevator that would take them to the Applied Sciences division.
Once inside, Fox's demeanor shifted from corporate to conspiratorial. "I've completed the modifications you requested. Thought you might want to see them before your meetings with our... competitors."
Bruce nodded, recognizing that Fox was offering more than just new equipment. The Applied Sciences division had become his de facto armory, continuously evolving Batman's capabilities to match the increasingly sophisticated threats emerging in Gotham.
"What've you got for me, Lucius?"
The doors opened to Fox's workshop, where various projects in different stages of development covered specialized workstations. The laboratory hummed with the quiet efficiency of cutting-edge technology—centrifuges spinning experimental compounds, 3D printers constructing prototype components, and holographic displays projecting molecular structures that would eventually become the next generation of Wayne Enterprises innovations. Or, more accurately, Batman's arsenal.
Fox led Bruce to a sealed display case at the far end of the room, positioned away from the main workspace where other R staff occasionally ventured. He entered a complex security code on a hidden panel, followed by a biometric scan of his retina. The reinforced glass barrier slid silently into the floor, revealing a new Batsuit that looked significantly more advanced than Bruce's current version.
Bruce paused, immediately noticing the change in coloration. The new suit featured a distinctive gray main body with dark blue-black elements for the cape, cowl, gloves, boots and trunks. The stark black bat emblem stretched prominently across the chest, larger and more defined than on his previous all-black tactical suit.
"The color scheme is... different," Bruce observed, his tone neutral but questioning.
Fox smiled slightly, running a hand along the suit's armored plating. "I thought it was time for an update. Your current all-black approach was designed for pure stealth, but this blue-black and gray provides better visual distinction in urban environments. With Batman's more public profile these past two years, particularly after that business in Metropolis with Superman, visual recognition has become more important."
Bruce considered this, circling the display. "More recognizable means more intimidating to criminals. But it also makes me an easier target."
"Precisely why I've focused reinforcement in the areas most likely to draw fire." Fox tapped the prominent bat emblem on the chest. "This larger symbol gives criminals something specific to focus on—and aim at. Which is why I've reinforced this section with the strongest armor in the entire suit. Three layers of titanium-dipped carbon fiber with an impact-dispersing gel layer beneath."
Bruce ran his fingers along the gray sections of the suit. "The lighter color will be more visible in the shadows."
"True," Fox acknowledged, "but the material is treated with a light-adaptive polymer coating. In low-light conditions, the gray portions darken substantially—not completely black, but enough to maintain stealth when needed. In full darkness or bright light, the contrast between the blue-black and gray becomes more pronounced, creating that distinctive silhouette that's becoming synonymous with fear in Gotham's criminal community."
Fox guided Bruce to a workstation where technical schematics of the suit were displayed on a monitor. "Reinforced Kevlar bi-weave, sandwiched with titanium-dipped tri-weave fibers. Flexible where you need mobility, rigid where you need protection." Fox ran his hand along the suit's chest plate. "I've incorporated some of the experimental armor plating originally designed for special forces operating in high-risk extraction scenarios."
Bruce examined the suit, noting the subtle differences in design and material. "Weight?"
"Three hundred grams lighter than your current model, but with 15% better ballistic protection in the primary impact zones." Fox highlighted areas on the schematic. "The chest, upper back, front of thighs, and forearms can withstand most conventional firearms at close range. The cape's memory cloth has been upgraded as well—stronger tensile strength for gliding, with improved response to the electrical current for deployment."
Fox gestured to seams along the suit's joints—knees, elbows, shoulders. "I've reinforced the armor around the articulation points, but there's a trade-off. The added protection reduces your full range of motion by approximately 5% at maximum extension. You won't notice it in most combat situations, but extreme gymnastics may require adjustment to your technique."
Bruce flexed his hand, mimicking a grappling motion. "Any impact on speed?"
"Minimal. What you lose in maximum range, you gain in recovery time. The new fiber weave provides better energy return, which should actually improve your efficiency in extended combat scenarios."
Fox's expression grew more serious as he highlighted several areas on the schematic in red. "However, I should point out the vulnerabilities. To achieve the weight reduction and improved flexibility, I had to sacrifice some armor thickness in non-critical areas."
The display zoomed in on the side panels beneath the arms, the back of the legs, and the area where the neck met the shoulders. "These sections have approximately 40% less protection than your current suit. They'll still stop most conventional blades with a straight-on strike, but a determined attacker with knowledge of the suit's weaknesses could penetrate these areas with sufficient force or the right angle of attack."
Bruce frowned, studying the highlighted sections. "The sides are particularly vulnerable during grappling."
"Unfortunately, yes. It's the classic armor design problem—complete protection versus mobility. The underarm area requires flexibility for your combat style and grapnel deployment. I could reinforce it further, but you'd lose significant range of motion in your shoulders and upper arms."
Fox tapped the area behind the knees. "Similarly, these sections need to remain relatively flexible for your acrobatic movements. The material here will stop most slashing attacks but could be penetrated by a determined thrust from a combat knife or similar weapon."
He moved to the neck section. "This is perhaps the most concerning area. The articulation between the cowl and the suit body creates a natural seam that's difficult to fully armor while maintaining your ability to turn your head. I've improved it compared to your current suit, but it remains a potential vulnerability—particularly to small-caliber gunfire or sharp implements."
"Noted," Bruce said, committing the vulnerabilities to memory. "Every suit has weak points. Better to know them than to discover them in the field."
Fox nodded, appreciating Bruce's practical approach. "There's one more significant vulnerability you should be aware of." He highlighted the blue-black sections that formed the lower sides of the torso. "These panels use a more elastic material to allow for better breathing and torso rotation. They'll stop most conventional blades, but a bullet striking this area at close range could penetrate, particularly hollow points designed for expansion on impact."
Bruce studied the schematics carefully, mentally calculating angles and techniques to compensate for these vulnerabilities. "What about temperature extremes?"
"Another good question." Fox pulled up additional data. "The suit performs optimally between minus 20 and plus 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Beyond those limits, you'll experience degradation in both the protective elements and the electronic systems. Extreme cold will reduce the flexibility of the joints and slow the response time of the memory cloth cape. Extreme heat could compromise the adhesive bonds between the armor plates, potentially creating new vulnerability points under stress."
Fox moved to the cowl displayed beside the suit. "The most significant improvements are here. I've redesigned the cowl with a new graphite composite. Lighter, stronger, and with improved communications integration."
Bruce picked up the cowl, noting how the dark blue-black material caught the light differently than his previous pure black version. "The eye lenses?"
"Multi-spectral imaging capacity now—infrared, night vision, ultraviolet, all toggled through subtle jaw movements. And I've added a sonar mapping function that interfaces with your detective vision mode. Should help with situational awareness, particularly in environments where visibility is compromised."
Bruce nodded appreciatively. "The armor along the jawline?"
"Reinforced, as requested. Seems to be a favorite target." Fox's eyes flickered briefly to the concealed bruise on Bruce's face. "I've also improved the armor around the ears—they're no longer merely aesthetic. The pointed extensions now contain directional microphones capable of isolating conversations up to 200 feet away under optimal conditions."
Fox pointed to a subtle ridge along the cowl's edge. "The trade-off here is that the additional sensory equipment adds weight to the helmet. I've balanced it as much as possible, but you may notice increased strain during prolonged wear. The neck armor compensates somewhat, but there's no getting around the physics of supporting more technology on your head."
He tapped the back of the cowl. "This section is also potentially vulnerable. I couldn't add as much protection here without compromising the weight balance and your ability to move quickly. A well-placed blow to this area could cause concussive effects even through the armor."
Bruce turned the cowl in his hands, testing its weight distribution. "Nothing I can't manage. The tactical advantages outweigh the discomfort and risks."
"I thought you might say that." Fox reached beneath the display, producing a pair of gauntlets in the same blue-black coloration as the cape. "I've completely redesigned these based on your combat telemetry. The armor plating extends further up the forearm now, with enhanced shock absorption for blocking bladed weapons."
He demonstrated a subtle movement along the wrist, causing three serrated blades to extend from the outer edge. "The forearm blades are now deployable rather than fixed. Carbon fiber core with a diamond-edged titanium coating—should cut through most conventional materials without difficulty."
"Including body armor?" Bruce asked, thinking of Deadshot and the other mercenaries likely hunting him.
"Standard police and military issue, certainly." Fox retracted the blades with another gesture. "But the primary defensive upgrade is here." He tapped a nearly invisible seam along the gauntlet's palm. "Micro-filament taser mesh embedded throughout the glove surface. On activation, delivers a 50,000-volt charge to anything you're in contact with—enough to incapacitate even enhanced individuals."
"Power source?"
"Miniaturized high-density capacitors along the forearm. Good for three full-strength discharges before requiring recharge, with an emergency reserve for a fourth at reduced effectiveness." Fox looked directly at Bruce. "However, the electrical system creates new vulnerabilities. A sufficiently powerful counter-charge could potentially overload the system, temporarily disabling your gauntlets or, worse, causing feedback damage to your hands and arms."
Bruce examined the subtle circuitry visible along the gauntlet's inner lining. "Other vulnerabilities?"
Fox's expression turned serious. "Water immersion will temporarily disable the electrical systems—they'll reset after draining, but you'll have approximately thirty seconds of reduced capability. And while the suit itself is insulated, concentrated EMP attacks could still disrupt the more sensitive electronics. I couldn't shield everything without adding prohibitive weight."
"The suit's increased electronic components mean greater vulnerability to electrical attacks in general," Fox continued. "Someone like Electrocutioner or Livewire could potentially cause catastrophic system failures if they made direct contact with the suit. I've incorporated surge protectors throughout the design, but there are physical limits to what I can shield against while maintaining mobility."
Bruce set the gauntlet down, moving to examine the rest of the suit. "The utility belt?"
"Completely redesigned." Fox indicated the striking yellow belt with its series of specialized compartments. "Each section now has biometric locks keyed to your specific fingerprints and body temperature patterns. No one else can access the contents, even if they manage to remove the belt."
He opened one compartment, revealing a series of miniaturized devices. "I've reduced the size of most of your standard equipment by about 30%, allowing for greater variety in what you can carry. Smoke pellets, grapple hooks, trackers, flashbangs—all miniaturized without sacrificing effectiveness."
Fox closed the compartment and pointed to the belt's central module. "The main buckle houses an emergency beacon that activates automatically if your vital signs indicate severe trauma. Broadcasts on a frequency only Alfred's systems can detect."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall requesting that feature."
"Consider it a personal addition," Fox replied, unapologetic. "Even Batman isn't invincible, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce continued his examination, noting the subtle improvements throughout the design. "The boots?"
"Reinforced impact absorption in the soles and ankles. You can now fall from up to four stories without risk of serious injury, assuming proper landing technique. The treads use a new compound that adapts to surface conditions—better traction on ice, less noise on metal or glass."
He pointed to nearly invisible seams along the boot's outer edge. "I've also incorporated retractable crampons for scaling ice or smooth stone surfaces. They won't replace your grapnel for vertical ascents, but they provide backup if your primary equipment fails."
Fox tapped the back of the calf section. "However, the ankle articulation creates another vulnerability point. The material here is necessarily thinner to allow proper movement. A blade inserted at precisely the right angle could penetrate to the Achilles tendon. Not likely in random combat, but a knowledgeable opponent specifically targeting this area could potentially disable your mobility."
Bruce nodded, mentally cataloging each vulnerability alongside its corresponding advantage. Every design choice represented a trade-off between protection and functionality. The key was understanding these compromises and adapting his tactics accordingly.
"This is exceptional work, Lucius. The vulnerabilities are acceptable given the advantages."
"Well, you provide exceptional field testing, Mr. Wayne." Fox's expression turned more serious. "There's something else. I've been monitoring police frequencies and international intelligence channels as you asked. Haly's Circus arrived in Gotham this morning."
"The circus? What's significant about that?"
"Perhaps nothing. But three of our flags were triggered in the past 48 hours. First, an unusual number of known mercenaries entering Gotham, including one matching Slade Wilson's description near the circus grounds. Second, Alberto Falcone making large cash withdrawals from accounts we've been monitoring. And third, a secured communication between the Falcone organization and someone within SHIELD."
Bruce's expression darkened. "SHIELD? Are you certain?"
"The encryption was military-grade, but distinctive. I'd stake my reputation on it."
"Send everything you have to the cave system. I'll review it tonight after the gala."
Fox gestured to a reinforced case on a nearby workbench. "One last item. Those specialized EMP devices you requested—for disrupting electronic targeting systems. Finished them this morning. Effective range is fifteen feet, with a discharge cycle of approximately three seconds."
Bruce took the case, understanding the implied purpose. Deadshot's targeting technology was known to be state-of-the-art, possibly even military prototype level. These EMP devices might prove essential if their paths crossed.
"Thank you, Lucius. For all of this."
Fox smiled slightly. "Just doing my job, Mr. Wayne. Though I do sometimes wonder exactly what my job description entails these days."
"Making the world a little safer," Bruce replied, his playboy persona momentarily replaced by something more authentic. "One night at a time."
As Fox turned to leave, Bruce called after him. "Lucius, one more thing. How soon can the new suit be ready?"
Fox paused, considering. "For tonight? I'll need to make some final calibrations, but it should be functional by 8 PM."
"Do it. I have a feeling I'll need every advantage I can get."