A Conversation Among Family

"The Invisible Jet landed soundlessly beneath Wayne Manor. Within the vast Batcave, the cold air and familiar hum of machinery announced the return of the new Demon's Head."

Bruce did not pause for even a moment. The instant he stepped out of the cabin, he shed the fitted clothes still carrying the scent of Nanda Parbat's wind and snow and changed into an understated yet expensive black cashmere sweater and casual trousers. The perfect muscle lines of his body, like those of a Greek sculpture, showed faintly beneath the close-fitting clothes, brimming with explosive power.

"Alfred," Bruce said through his internal communicator, his voice steady and magnetic, "prepare a less conspicuous car and park it in the old warehouse district on the edge of the East End. Also, sync all real-time intelligence regarding Red Hood to my personal terminal."

"As you wish, Master Bruce." Alfred's composed voice came through the communicator, without a single unnecessary question. The old butler had long grown accustomed to Bruce's decisive style, especially the Bruce of today.

A few seconds later, the latest information compiled by the League of Assassins' terrifying intelligence network appeared on Bruce's retinal display. The conveniences brought by becoming the Demon's Head went far beyond that.

[Target: Red Hood (Jason Todd)]

[Current Location: Iceberg Lounge]

[Objective: Interrogate Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin) and obtain Joker's whereabouts.]

[Predicted Success Rate: 98.7%]

"Iceberg Lounge... Penguin's territory. Jason, you were still as direct as ever." Bruce looked at the information on the screen, a complicated emotion rising in his deep eyes. He did not choose to put on the Batsuit.

"To him, Batman's identity had become a thorn. It represented the 'rules' he hated, represented my 'weakness' back then. Tonight, I didn't want to face him as a judge, but as... Bruce Wayne. As his family."

Bruce drove alone in an utterly unremarkable black Bentley, slipping into Gotham City's eternal night of crime and neon like a ghost merging with the darkness.

At the same time, on the top floor of the Iceberg Lounge, inside a luxurious office.

Oswald Cobblepot—the notorious Penguin—was lounging comfortably on an expensive leather sofa, holding a glass of 1982 Lafite as he admired the Gotham nightscape under his "rule" through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Ah, times really have changed." Penguin swirled his wineglass and could not help sighing as he looked at the unprecedented "peace" outside.

Ever since the Bane Riots had been ended by that "new" Batman in an almost brutal manner, Gotham's underworld had been completely turned upside down. Beheading Bane, slaughtering all his followers, driving Riddler insane, scaring Scarecrow witless... that series of actions had terrified every surviving crime boss out of their wits.

Penguin was among the smartest of them. At the first opportunity, he restrained every illegal act committed by his men. He had even begun investing in legitimate businesses, working hard to "go clean." He knew Gotham had a new king, one stronger and colder than any before him. Obedience was the only way to survive.

Thanks to his timely display of good sense, the new Batman did not seem to have set his sights on him. That let Penguin breathe a sigh of relief. He knew his existence played an irreplaceable "stabilizing" role in Gotham's underground order. As long as he did not cross the line, the new king would not move against him lightly. That delicate balance gave him a quiet sense of delight.

However, his comfortable mood was soon shattered.

Bang!

The office's heavy oak door was kicked open, and a tall figure strode inside.

"Fuck!" Penguin's hand jerked, spilling the precious red wine all over himself. He focused his eyes and saw that the intruder wore a crimson metal helmet and radiated violent, murderous intent.

Penguin's heart instantly sank to the bottom. He had heard of this fiend—Red Hood. A vigilante who had recently risen to prominence in Gotham, whose methods were a hundred times more ruthless than Batman's had ever been. Every shot was lethal, and he showed no mercy.

"Y-you... what are you here for?" Penguin asked, forcing himself to remain calm even as his fat body instinctively shrank backward.

Jason did not waste words. He strode forward, grabbed Penguin by the collar, yanked him from the sofa, and pinned him beneath his foot.

"I'll say this one last time, fat goose!" Jason's voice came through the helmet's modulator, cold and overflowing with killing intent. "Joker... where is he?!"

"I... I really don't know!" Penguin's fat body writhed on the floor as he let out a pig-like shriek. "That lunatic disappeared after the Bane Riots! No one knows where he went! Lord Red Hood, please show some mercy! Gotham belongs to Batman now. If you do this, he won't let you off!"

"Batman?" Jason gave a scoff full of contempt. He crouched down and viciously struck Penguin's head with the barrel of his gun. "You mean that coward who didn't even dare kill a lunatic? He'd only capture me, lock me in Arkham, then wait for me to get out and kill even more people! That was his ridiculous 'justice'!"

"Looks like you won't give up until you see the coffin."

Jason grabbed Penguin by the collar and dragged his two-hundred-pound body to the floor-to-ceiling window like a dead dog. Then he kicked through the reinforced glass, and a biting cold wind instantly poured in.

"Ahhh—!"

Jason held Penguin one-handed, suspending him hundreds of meters above the ground! Below them lay Gotham City's prosperous yet criminal nightscape.

"Let's try another question, Cobblepot." Jason's voice was like a whisper from hell. "Do you... want to fly?"

"I'll talk! I'll talk!!" The terror of death instantly crushed every last bit of Penguin's psychological resistance. Tears and snot streamed down his face as he screamed, "I don't know where Joker is! But... but Black Mask knows! Roman Sionis! He's been recruiting lately, and he seems to have been in contact with Joker! He has a secret hideout at a chemical plant in the East End! Please, don't let go!"

"You should've said so earlier."

Jason had gotten the answer he wanted. With a swing of his arm, he hurled Penguin back onto the office floor. Then, without looking back, he turned and leaped out through the shattered window. His grappling gun fired, and he vanished into the night.

Inside the office, only Penguin remained, sprawled on the floor in his own filth.

Across from the Iceberg Lounge, in a dark alley, Bruce leaned quietly against his car door. His deep gaze pierced through the night as he watched the red figure swing between the buildings before finally landing on a nearby rooftop.

He did not follow immediately. He simply waited in silence. He knew Jason was like a wounded beast now; any rash movement could provoke even fiercer resistance. Bruce needed to wait for the blood boiling from violence in Jason's veins to cool, if only a little.

A few minutes later, Bruce adjusted his collar, stepped out of the alley, crossed the street, and entered the stairwell of the decrepit apartment building.

Step by step, his footsteps echoed through the empty stairwell. They were neither hurried nor slow, yet carried an irresistible pressure.

On the rooftop, Jason leaned against the railing, his helmet removed to reveal a young face etched with hardship and hatred. The aftereffects of the Lazarus Pit made him look somewhat haggard, but unquenchable fury burned in his eyes. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag, trying to use nicotine to numb the pain embedded in his bones.

Just then, the iron door behind him creaked softly.

Jason's body tensed in an instant. He spun around like a cheetah, the gun in his hand already aimed at the intruder! His reaction was lightning-fast, every movement carrying lethal menace.

But when he saw the familiar face that made his heart ache, his entire body froze.

The muzzle trembled slightly. His face was filled with shock, rage, pain, and a trace of... confusion he had not even noticed himself.

"Bruce..." He forced the name out through clenched teeth, his voice unbearably hoarse.

Bruce paid no attention to the dark gun barrel. He merely looked at him quietly and walked toward him step by step. His gaze no longer carried the stern scrutiny and wariness of the past, but a deep, complicated emotion mixed with guilt and tenderness.

"Long time no see, Jason," Bruce said softly, his voice low and powerful, as though it could pierce the rooftop's cold wind and reach straight into the heart.