This Is Fucking Batman?

At three in the morning, Dares woke with a chill.

The curtains and balcony door stood open. The cold wind swept yellowed leaves into the room, sending them scraping and rustling across the floor.

He remembered closing the door and curtains before bed.

Had getting electrocuted scrambled my memory?

Thinking back to yesterday, his lawyer had finished the paperwork, but Gordon had forcibly detained him for another twenty-four hours under the pretext of helping with an investigation.

Yet Gordon had asked him nothing during that time. He had merely sent a cup of coffee into the interrogation room.

Then the air conditioning had been turned up to full blast.

Dares had nearly passed out from the cold. After his release, he had started shivering all over, his nose running.

But he welcomed that outcome. It meant Gordon had no way to punish him through the law.

The only problem was that he had botched such a simple assignment. Perhaps "Mister Harold" would never entrust him with anything important again.

People often received only one or two great opportunities to change their lives, and Dares felt he had already squandered his.

Where would the next opportunity come from?

He pondered that question as he stepped barefoot onto the cold floor.

But the instant he pulled the balcony door shut, he began trembling uncontrollably.

His pupils dilated, and the blood in his body seemed to freeze.

In the reflection on the glass, he saw a towering black figure.

He stood hidden in the bedroom corner, silent and deadly.

Calm down. You're an experienced former special forces soldier. You know how to handle this.

He drew a deep breath and spun around.

In that instant, a complete strategy had already formed in his mind.

Duck low and grab the legs, pin his opponent with his weight, then hammer him with fists and elbows until he stopped resisting-or even breathing.

But reality was often cruel.

Air roared toward his face. The black figure rapidly expanded beneath the moonlight, like enormous wings spreading wide.

Dares lost consciousness before he could even make out his opponent's outline.

When he woke again, his head swaying, he was already tied to a chair.

Ahead lay the outskirts of Gotham in the predawn darkness, a gravel-lined railway track stretching into the distant mist.

A faint horn sounded within the fog.

Dares thrashed wildly until the zip ties cut through his wrists and sank into his flesh.

Suddenly, a hand reached from behind, seizing his hair and forcing him to look ahead.

The thick fog gradually brightened, the round outline of a train's headlight emerging within it.

"Tell me who's behind this!"

The low threat exploded beside his ear, like a lion's growl.

"Who are you? I don't understand what you're talking about!"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to answer a question with a question?" The large hand tightened, nearly tearing his scalp off.

Blood ran down his forehead and into his eyes. Dares squinted in pain.

"I don't know... I have a mental illness..."

That excuse could exploit loopholes in the law, but it was useless against an interrogator.

"The train's getting closer. You're running out of time."

"Heh heh..."

True to his special forces background, Dares still had no intention of talking, even as the locomotive burst out of the fog.

"I know you, Batman. You never kill. You're a coward who won't get blood on his hands. You wouldn't dare kill me... You wouldn't dare kill me... You..."

The shrill whistle cut off Dares's words.

With a piercing crash, the locomotive crushed his body to pieces.

Blood splashed onto the jaw of Stuart's mask. He extended his middle finger and slowly wiped it away.

"What are you doing!"

William, wearing a hood over his head, poked out from behind the bushes.

"You promised me you wouldn't kill anyone!"

In truth, he had no objection to Batman killing. He was only worried that Stuart would regret what he had done today once he recovered Bruce's memories.

"Stop nagging me like an old woman! It's because I never dared kill before that these scumbags act with impunity. You heard him just now. He called me a coward."

Stuart had no interest in arguing. He turned his gaze to the second target.

A Black man tied to a chair.

He was the temporary butler William had encountered during his earlier visit to Wayne Manor.

The young man dragged him onto the tracks with one hand, then slapped him viciously twice to bring him back to his senses.

The man had only been pretending to be unconscious. Before Stuart could even speak, he spilled everything.

"Mister Harold, Harold Wayne! He ordered me to keep watch over Wayne Manor and report any suspicious people who visited Bruce Wayne during that time..."

"Why?" Stuart grabbed him by the collar.

"I don't know... I was just carrying out Mister Harold's orders!"

Stuart looked up toward William's hiding place and shot him a triumphant look that said, See? Look how well my method works!

Then he knocked the butler unconscious again with a personality-switching punch. The two left the outskirts, dumping their hostage into the trunk.

Settling into the driver's seat, Stuart deftly began connecting the ignition wires.

"Promise me you'll return the stolen car afterward, okay?"

"Are you serious? Shouldn't we sink this guy in the Gotham River along with the car?"

"Listen, Bruce... All right, Stuart," William corrected himself when he noticed the displeasure on Stuart's face.

"If you keep doing this, eventually nobody will be willing to tell you the truth. They'll think, 'I'm dead anyway if Batman gets his hands on me.' Why would they tell you anything?"

Stuart fell silent and worked faster on the wires.

He actually thought William had a point, but his personality meant he would never swallow his pride and admit he was wrong.

It was already light by the time they returned to the rented apartment. William gave his face a quick wash and put on his police uniform.

His sick leave was over.

As for Stuart, he peeled off the Batsuit, tossed it into the bathtub, and gave it a quick rinse before changing into a hoodie and running shoes.

To keep his body in peak condition, he ran five kilometers every morning, then found a gym and lifted weights for two hours.

Though he had lost his memories, his disciplined habits were already etched into his bones.

Stuart moved quickly. By the time William had finished dressing, he had already vanished into the morning rain and mist wearing an oxygen-restricting training mask.

Gordon, who had come to drive William to work, parked downstairs and gave the horn a light tap.

"Hey, new car?"

William made the casual remark as he climbed into the passenger seat, only to notice that the interior was practically coated in years of grime.

"Twenty dollars a day. Gas not included."

Gordon shifted gears, his voice laden with a middle-aged man's particular brand of resignation.

Then he asked how the first Batman operation had gone, and William could only invent a few answers to brush him off.

If he told Gordon that Stuart had killed someone on his very first day, Gordon would most likely grab a gun and hunt him down across the city.

Now William only hoped Batman would recover his memories as soon as possible.

This city was already on the brink of collapse.

This was William's first visit to the police station. He had barely passed through the security scanner when two officers emerged from hiding with confetti poppers and gave him a little surprise.

Glittering foil drifted down. For a moment, William was dazed, thinking it was his birthday, until Chief Norman took his hand with a smile. Only then did he realize this was a celebration of Victor Zsasz's capture.

Apparently, Zsasz's arrest had truly boosted morale. Every detective in the station had gathered at the entrance, and a young female officer even wheeled over a cart of cake before hugging him with a blush.

After William had enjoyed the celebration, Norman Steele patted his shoulder, leaned close to his ear, and whispered.

"Come to my office. I have a secret assignment for you."