"How do you like this bike?"
On the way to Wayne Tower, Bruce brought up a topic that seemed entirely unrelated to the matter at hand.
"I spent six months turning it from a blueprint into reality. Every screw, every weld."
He spoke quietly, gradually twisting the throttle farther.
The Batcycle became an arrow, piercing the desolate streets.
"Putting it together helped me rediscover the joy in life. If I hadn't put on the mask, I might have become a mechanic who spent every day working with wrenches and engine oil."
"But life doesn't give us a choice. You seem to be caught in a similar predicament. We won't become comrades, but at least I hope I never have to cross blades with you..."
"Sorry, were you saying something?"
William leaned his head into the fairing.
Sitting in the back, he hadn't heard Batman's monologue. The howling wind had turned him into a shar-pei sticking its head out of a car window.
"No, I didn't say anything. You misheard."
Bruce once again suppressed his desire to connect with someone.
The Wasteland Cowboy had no friends. He needed only a can of hard liquor and a sidearm polished to a shine.
If fate wanted him dead one morning or evening, then let the vultures carry off his ribs.
Wayne Tower's outline gradually sharpened through the drizzle. With its automated defense system activated, every door and window had been sealed with heavy steel plates. Rioting crowds surrounded the plaza at its base.
People continued pouring in from every direction. Wayne Tower had become a lighthouse amid raging winds and towering waves.
The Batcycle braked at a street corner, and Bruce gazed at the distant crowd, which resembled a zombie horde.
At sixteen, he had once fantasized about dissolving Wayne Enterprises entirely and