The construction drones buzzed with mechanical precision as they carved through solid bedrock fifty feet beneath the abandoned warehouse. Batman 47-X stood on a hovering circur ptform, watching the floating cubes work with choreographed efficiency. Each drone was roughly three feet square, their surfaces gleaming chrome interrupted by arrays of cutting sers, drilling assemblies, and molecur welders. They moved through the air like metallic fish, swooping between the carved stone columns as they hollowed out what would become his base.

  The space was roughly half complete. Foundation walls had been cut and reinforced, the basic infrastructure for power conduits and ventition systems was already in pce, and the main chamber stretched nearly six hundred feet in length. Not bad for three weeks of round-the-clock construction.

  A gentle vibration pulsed through his suit's integrated systems, followed by a soft chime in his earpiece. The air in front of him shimmered, then resolved into a full holographic projection of another man.

  The figure wore a bck robe with the hood pulled back, revealing a face that was identical to 47-X's own—the same sharp jawline, the same intense eyes, the same calcuting expression. The only difference was that the figure was older, with a bit more gray in his hair.

  "Hello, 67-Q," Batman 47-X said.

  "Greetings, 47-X," the hologram replied, his voice carrying the slight electronic distortion of long-distance transmission. "Let's get to business. The energy weapons—my science department says it can be done based on the information you've provided, but it will take time to adapt the technology. You can't just use our standard energy weapons wherever you are. It sounds like you must be in some sort of alternate dimension or parallel universe."

  Before 47-X could respond, Batman 67-Q held up a hand. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask where you're located. We Batmen have our secrets, but we're also not stupid. The physics readings alone tell me enough." He paused, studying something off-screen. "We can manufacture what you need, but it's going to require time to adjust the modutions to work within your local physical ws."

  "How long?" 47-X asked.

  "Maximum of three months. Possibly less if the initial prototypes test well."

  "That's acceptable."

  Batman 67-Q nodded. "Good. But there's the matter of our arrangement. I'll need an additional ten percent of the crystalline ore shipment to cover the research costs and prototype development for these energy weapons."

  47-X considered this. The crystalline deposits he'd discovered in his quadrant were virtually limitless, and 67-Q's technology was invaluable. More importantly, Q quadrant's entire infrastructure depended heavily on the monthly crystalline shipments. An extra ten percent would be significant leverage for future deals. "That sounds reasonable. In the next shipment, I'll make sure we send you the extra ten percent."

  "Sounds acceptable," 67-Q said. His expression grew curious. "Whatever you're doing over there must be really worth it. This is quite expensive, even by our standards."

  "Some things are worth it," 47-X replied simply.

  "Understood. 67-Q out."

  The hologram flickered and disappeared, leaving 47-X alone with the construction drones once more. He watched them work for several minutes, their cutting sers carving precise channels for fiber optic cables.

  That was the problem with being one of multiple clones, he reflected. No matter how much time passed or how much they diverged, the baseline remained the same. They were all Batman, and they all thought the same way to a certain extent.

  His mind drifted back to how it all started—the Great War that had ravaged his universe a thousand years ago. The conflict had wiped out fifty percent of Earth's popution and destroyed the entire Justice League. The progenitor—the original Batman—had been the only one left standing when the smoke cleared, and he'd implemented the protocol that would clone dozens of Batmen to serve as protectors of the recovering world.

  Over the centuries that followed, each Batman had been assigned a quadrant of Earth to govern. Yes, they'd been elected by the people, but 47-X found the resulting utopia boring and sterile. He'd never wanted to be a ruler. A Batman was meant to be a protector, a detective working in the shadows—not the benevolent president or king of millions of citizens living in perfect harmony.

  But that's what the people had wanted from them. Sometimes you did a job too well, or maybe you were simply too good at something you were never meant to do.

  He shrugged, the motion barely visible beneath his suit's armored pting. Maybe this Gotham would be different. Maybe this decaying, crime-ridden city would provide the answer he'd been searching for.

  At least Bruce had given him time to figure out exactly what he wanted to do with this opportunity.

  Above him, a construction drone carved another perfect path through solid stone, its work as methodical and precise as everything else in 47-X's perfectly ordered world.

  ---

  Commissioner Gordon set the phone back in its cradle with a soft click.

  A sharp knock at his office door interrupted his thoughts.

  "Come in," Gordon called.

  Harvey Dent pushed through the door, his usually pristine suit slightly wrinkled and his tie loosened. The District Attorney looked like a man who'd been beating his head against a brick wall for weeks.

  "Jim, I'm losing my mind here," Harvey said, dropping into the chair across from Gordon's desk. "Every case I build, every prosecution I put together—it's like they know exactly what we're pnning. The Maroni case, witnesses disappeared overnight. The Falcone money undering investigation, evidence was contaminated in the b. Every time we think we've got someone, something happens."

  Gordon leaned back in his chair, nodding sympathetically. "I understand, Harvey. These criminals are smart—they're a real challenge. But we'll get them eventually. We always do."

  "I hope so." Harvey ran a hand through his hair. "Speaking of challenges, are you going to the Mayor's fundraising ball next week?"

  "Yeah, I'll be there," Gordon replied. "You know how it is."

  "You really need to put the pressure on those Gotham elite with all their money," Harvey said, his frustration evident. "They could really help us out. I mean, the money they spend on one less private jet could help us hire more officers, get better equipment. We could actually help the people in Gotham."

  "I understand completely," Gordon said. "I hate going to these parties, but sometimes you gotta py the game. Hopefully, these upper-css people will see how important it is for us to be able to handle the crime problem."

  Harvey shifted in his chair. "Also, word on the street is there's a new pyer in the game. We don't know if it's a new criminal or some kind of viginte. I mean, this is Gotham—could be anything."

  Gordon's expression remained neutral. "Yeah, this is the worst time for that to happen. Another criminal or viginte is the st thing we need when we're trying to do our jobs."

  "Exactly!" Harvey threw his hands up. "Like we don't have enough problems already. I'm just trying to put bad guys behind bars, and now we might have some loose cannon out there making everything more complicated."

  Gordon nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I have faith in you, Harvey. Between you and me and the Gotham PD, we're going to fix this problem."

  Harvey stood up, straightening his tie. "Thanks, Jim. I needed to hear that." He headed toward the door, then paused. "Sometimes it feels like everything we do is just a flip of a coin, you know? We might win, we might lose—it's all chance."

  "I hear you," Gordon replied. "But that's what makes it worth doing."

  After Harvey left, Gordon turned back to his paperwork, already thinking about the long day ahead.