"I really should have a daughter someday," Iron Man suddenly said.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Damian said irritably. "You got a problem with me? I'll kill you!"
"Your son's certainly lively—"
"He's not joking. At this distance, he could kill you before you had time to put on your powered armor," Batman said.
"He barely comes up to my knee—" Iron Man's face twitched. "Does he have superpowers?"
"No, but appearances aren't the only thing that determines strength," Batman said. "Speaking of which, there's something about you that puzzles me. You don't seem particularly skilled at combat."
"I—mostly fight with my brain," Iron Man explained. "And the weapons I invent."
"I see." Batman thought for a moment. "I think I understand your approach. Let's talk about it later."
"Sure." Iron Man nodded. "I have a few ideas about your powered armor, too."
"In what areas?"
"Power supply and endurance, plus weapons," Iron Man said.
"Oh?" Batman's interest was piqued. "Sounds good."
Bang! A gunshot suddenly rang out upstairs. Iron Man frowned, and his powered armor covered his body.
"It's fine. That's the bell for the end of class." Batman was already used to it.
"—Just to be clear, are you using a recording of gunfire as the bell, or did someone actually fire a gun?"
"The latter," Batman said, watching Deadshot come downstairs with his children.
"The teachers here really are hardcore," Iron Man remarked. He sensed the bearing of a rigorously trained operative in Deadshot. Nothing about him looked ordinary.
"A friend of yours?" Deadshot asked Batman.
"Yes." Batman nodded and turned to Iron Man. "Those laser weapons of yours don't have guidance systems, do they?"
"No. You mean—"
"Little Floyd is a crack shot. You could get him to teach you."
"Hey, is this guy a