2013.06.24 - Fearful Symmetry

Gotham city nights. They seem to attract the crazies, don't they? The Vigilantes often have to ask themselves, "Okay, after that. Things can't get any stranger." The knowledgeable ones know enough not to answer that question. Tonight its clear for the most part. Rain is minimal, and if you are very lucky you may just see a star. Not that you'd be able to see one under this much iron plate and concrete. The Wayne R&D warehouse is rather dark tonight. Even Lucius has gone home for the evening, and all is quiet...until the entire room is lit with a green flash and a tear in space-time opens up. Terry McGinnis comes tumbling out rolling on the ground and smashing into an older version of the Batmobile. The front crumples under the impact and the Tomorrow Knight falls to the floor coughing. "Ouch..." He says, taking in a deep breath. "Thank God for Ballistic armor."

The storehouse was one that was rarely directly connected to Wayne Enterprises for its housing of extremely sensitive equipment that could at one point be tied to Batman--it functioned as a kind of impromptu safehouse for storing equipment in the event the Batcave should somehow become unusable, buried at the bottom of a well of paperwork several miles deep. The reasoning is rather clear--the prototype cruiser that Terry crashes into would, with a bit of black paint and a creative eye, easily be identified as -a- Batmobile, if not -the- Batmobile.

However, there are certain penalties to having this level of sensitive equipment around.

One would easily imagine that the motion sensors would have detected Terry's presence--and with him in his current state, they do easily. One would also imagine a huge racket being stirred up as the audible alarms go off. Which is also a correct assumption--emergency caged klaxxon lighting strobes intermittently, harshly toning the room in shades of red and yellow. A clarion siren can be heard shrilly announcing Terry's presence to all. One would imagine that, in such a corporate building, the police would be called.

Unfortunately, that's where one would begin to be wrong.

The shrill alarm cuts out, only 20 or so seconds after it starts, leaving only the bright flashing lights in the warehouse to alert of an alarm state. It would be easy to think that the alarm was only being tested. Until one by one, the bright white overhead lights shut down. The place is as quiet as a ghost, and only visibility is provided by the dim glow of computer monitoring equipment and emergency lighting.

Terry might then notice where he actually is.

Someone was called.

"What the hell!" Terry calls as the sirens and klaxons begin going off. For a moment, he covers his ears and looks around. Then the lights go out. Terry's night vision kicks in with a quiet beep. "Where did all this old equipment come from?" He says quietly. Reaching up to his ear piece, he taps it gently. "Boss, looks like someone has been stealing some of your old equipment."

The message is relayed back to all frequencies that Batman is typically tied into. The Batcave certainly. If Batman was there, he would hear the message loud and clear. "In fact, I would wager a guess it looks like someone has..." Terry grows silent for a moment. "Batman to well...Batman. We may have a situation." At the Batcave beneath Wayne Manor, narrowband radio signals normally reserved for specific communications between the Dark Knight and the network are received with a unique identifier bearing specific transmission fingerprints of the same radio technology in use by Batman's cowl. They are received from a tower in the region tasked with bearing some of the local transmission modes, and are instinctively recognized by automated systems as Batman's. However, while the transmission would normally be decrypted and echo over the local network, the encryption keys used in the transmission, and even quite possibly the encryption method... have not been invented yet.

Terry's voice is nothing but static over the local network.

An automated cryptographic sequencer winks onto the Batcave's main screen, and a decryption process begins. In the meantime, the signal is triangulated between several receiving towers in the vicinity, and located as the same warehouse where the alarm went off. A small icon on the locator map indicates that the Batwing is out in the region, and heading towards the location fast.

But no one is at the Batcave to see the automated notices, or hear the transmission.

Far overhead, a microexplosive device punches a hole into the roof of the warehouse, scattering a rain of debris down into the dark, and allowing the full moon overhead to shine through. Until it disappears, and the form of a very old Batman indeed appears through the hole, landing on the ground in full armor and cape, the sound violent and brutal. He seems much like a stalking tiger in the wilderness, all muscle and weight, as he stands slowly to his full height, and peers into the dark, with bright white optics.

That boy has the advantage of being here first, and having a chance to hide if he so chooses. But if the intruder who seems to know his computer systems' frequencies whispers one more word or even if his heart beats a little too loudly, it's very likely that Bruce will find him instantly.

Tomorrow Knight reacts almost instantly to the explosion. A hop, skip, and a jump and Terry is in the shadows. He immediately engages the camouflage system built into the suit, and from his hand a batarang emerges. He waits quietly, watching for the intruder into his mentor's facility. As Batman makes his dramatic entrance, Terry watches him for a long moment. He's seen older Bruce in action before, but at this moment he can't help but feel a slight bit of awe at the masked vigilante.

For a long moment, all he does is watch....then detracts the batarang and turns off the cloaking. "I'm coming out," he says, trying to disarm the heavy tension of the situation. He steps from the shadows, gazing back at the white eyes of Batman with his own white lenses. "Dramatic entrance. I suppose you got my message...Batman." He stands with his hands by his side. A trained observer would note, while is posture is disarming and non-agressive, it is wire tense to be on the defensive side.

And Batman is a trained observer.

He turns slowly to look at the intruder with plain and visible hostility, a hawk staring from its perch. Every detail about the otherknight is taken in. It's not a large leap of logic to make that there's nothing in the young man's stance that suggests that he's ready to attack, but he's also not foolish enough to think that it wouldn't be a fight if he made even the slightest wrong move. He's smart. Smart enough to elude Batman's senses, even if only for a moment, and smart enough to try talking instead of fighting. Cautious and careful.

There is no expression changed between the two, as optics meet optics. Technology meant to obscure all but the most intimidating of expressions. Bruce's reaction is a matter of degrees, as he looks over the young man's outfit, sleek lines of technology entirely alien to him. All but the insignia on his chest that Batman sees underneath the pulsing flash of an emergency light. That symbol is one with aesthetics disturbingly similar to his own. He stares coldly, and it's hard to tell what his own body language betrays--with that floor length cape, he is completely mantled in the dark. He does not greet a kindred spirit warmly. Truthfully, there is no warmth to be given. He's not one to volunteer much.

Devoid of the signs of age, Bruce's voice is like a gravel-worn knife used to split mountains.

"I got something," he confirms, but wastes no more words.

"If I were you, I'd start talking. Before I lose my patience."

"You and I are both aware that statement is a logical fallacy," the Tomorrow Knight says, taking a step closer. "You are incredibly patient. You cannot afford not to be." He glares back, suddenly aware of the intensity and reality of the situation. "I sent you a message. However, my transmitter code must be too advanced. Fifty years will change all types of technology, which I am sure is why you don't recognize your own handiwork." He slowly gestures to the suit. "Ballistic armor mesh, based of the original Lucius Fox design, but coated in a flexible polymer. Fully utility belt. Batarang and grappling hook launchers. And this." For a moment, Terry seems to disappear into the background. He emerges after a brief second. "I'm sure you can put things together, detective. I would offer more evidence of our background together, but this area is too... sensitive. Even for Wayne Enterprises."

Batman frowns. Tomorrow's Knight steps closer to him, and in response, he turns fully towards the man behind the mask, seeming a little like a ghost, or ink given monstrous form. His method is all organic, visceral, and subtly inhuman, to contrast the sleek technological superiority of the younger man in front of him. Whoever this man is before him, he's got a critical eye to match his own, and therei s no doubt that when the young man begins demonstrating his equipment, that he has the Dark Knight's full attention.

He doesn't need any more clues. "You're saying you're from the future."

It doesn't seem to be set in stone in his mind yet. There were all kinds of technologies and abilities, even in the present day, to make such a leap possible. Batman knew that short of alien advancements, the technology demonstrated before him had very few parallels in the current day. At least, not with the level of accuracy and reliability that seems to be at play here. But in the present day, time travel is as rare as the technology on display for him. However, the detail that catches on Batman's attention the most is exactly how well aware he is, current location aside, exactly how close Fox--and Wayne Enterprises in general--is to the Batman. The implications are recognized instantly.

"You know," he echoes his own thoughts, coldly.

But technology and a convincing story don't sway his loyalities or his myriad suspicions, not in the slightest. Knight approaches knight, Batman's long cape floating ominously with the movement of stolen space. "There's a lot of reasons to think that you're involved with Wayne Enterprises--somehow. But there's very few reasons for me to think of you as anything but a potential threat. What if I said that I'm not convinced that your goals are altruistic?"

"And what if I said that it doesn't matter what you are convinced of or not?" the Tomorrow Knight says in response, his voice cold and measured. "It doesn't matter what you believe. What matters is that I am here. You are lucky I didn't just show up somewhere else. Here I'm on your territory. You hold all the cards. Arrest me, and my fingerprints will come back as no living person. I won't be born for quite awhile yet." His tone shows a level of respect for the other man, but also betrays his own training. He isn't scared. He meets the intimidation tactics head on, not letting Batman get into his own head. "I can list names if you like, or dates. I know many things. I had a good teacher." He allows himself a sardonic grin. "This is one outcome, you didn't predict however."

One will meets another will, arguably just as strong. Batman glares, a piercing soulless thing, as the bat from beyond counters his statements. It was a little bit like hearing the voice from inside your own head played back to you, a little higher pitched and a little more green. It was also a little bit annoying. He was well aware of the situation presented--and a few more details well past even that.

"Clever. But you also know that if I turn you over to Gotham PD, there's a chance that your suit will be confiscated, and compromise the timeline." Chances were, the futuristic knight wasn't talking about a conventional arrest, but Batman points it out because he knows exactly the same as his contemporary knows. If he's truly from the future, the technology he wears could be dangerous, even catastrophic, in the wrong hands.

That really leaves only one option.

The Batman squints at the other Batman. The sardonic grin Terry allows himself is returned in the faintest smirk expressed by the detective. It's the most emotion he'd ever show, but he says something very, very specific. Something he couldn't predict? "Do _you_ want to bet on that?"

For a brief moment, it almost seems like Batman might attack right then and there. A reasoned fight, no matter how brief, would determine exactly who taught the man before him, as surely or better than any fingerprint might. And it seems like Batman is willing to go that far. He seems absolutely willing, and though the hostility Batman displays in a single step forward is only momentary, the prevailing idea that he's still thinking about breaking a few of his self-proclaimed protege's limbs--thinking very loudly--doesn't actually go away.

It's not actually all that clear why Batman seems a little more temperate than that.

"You could list names. Or dates. But why don't we start with yours."

Tomorrow Knight looks back at him. There is a moment. His hands and fingers flex slightly. For a second, it looks like this Batman may just attack him. He doesn't back away, just tenses. "I'm Batman," he says with a growl, his eyes narrowing again. "And no. I'm not going to bet money on the fact that you didn't think of something like this." He holds the elder man's gaze for a long moment. THen there is a flicker of a memory. "'A hero can be anyone. Even a man doing something as simple and reassuring as putting a coat around a young boy's shoulders to let him know that the world hadn't ended.' Or in your case, allowing a young man to take up a mantle sorely needed in a city beyond saving, all because he lost a father to a punk with a gun. You want to interrogate me, do it somewhere without any eyes or ears. I may not be born yet, but your reputation is too valuable to waste here." The Batman bridles visibly at the young man's declaration. He was aware--painfully so--that the Batman was something that was meant to outlive him, something that was supposed to move far beyond his own physical constraints, and the idea that Batman is immortal is an idea that he has planned for. He's reasoned how to beat nearly every person he's ever come across, and has saved every plan and strategy, knitting them into a terse constellation of notes and top secret files on every metahuman and vigilante he's been able to investigate. The only person he has no file on is himself.

He's never had to.

He's spent every day of his life fighting himself.

Every day that passes is a day closer to him winning the fight.

The memory causes the most infitesimal crack in Batman's solid-as-the-earth visage, the faintest expression of recognition tinging his war-hardened face. It's like a knife in the back, and for a moment, the Batman is unreadable. Cold and dark, he may as well be a statue as he stares at the young man. Wayne knows, somewhere deep down, that the otherknight is right. The stakes are too high. Something deep and dark seethes in him, something that is very much still alive and vehement in this time period's Bruce Wayne. It's something umbral and insatiable. It is something terrifying. And it is something terrified.

"Leave," Batman starts, deadly calm.

He seems to be unwilling to interrogate the young man.

"Take off that suit, and seal it somewhere no one will ever find it.. not even me. If you are from the future, you'll go back, or I'll find a way to make you go back. So, forget about the Batman. You will not carry on my mission. It's too dangerous. Both for the timeline, and for you. I /will/ be watching."

There is a dire nature to him, cold and final like the toll of a funeral bell.

But to a trained eye, something seems a little off about what he says.

His glare is haunted and damning.

"And if you defy the name of the Batman... he will find you."

Tomorrow Knight stares back just as coldly. "Would you be able to do the same?" He asks, almost spitting the words. "You wouldn't rest. You couldn't. Not knowing that you were doing something." He takes a measured step forward, just barely out of reach. "I won't use your name. I'm sure that would just make things worse. You called me a different name before. I'll use that, and I won't watch this city..my--OUR city to sink any further than it has to." He reaches back, and unfurls his red glider wings. "I'm stubborn. Just like my biological father." He lets that word sink in. There is a roar, and smoke and fire eject from his boots. The Tomorrow Knight rises in the air, and soars upwards through the hole in the roof. For a moment, he is silhouetted against the moon. Then he is gone.

On the ground is a small red disc that beeps quietly. Obviously from the suit, but definitely not something that would have fallen lightly. General inspection would make it's function as a radio transmitter rather obvious. Something to call with, when the mentor is ready to talk again.

"Funny. I don't recall you being me."

He says it a few shades too dangerously for it to be truly be funny.

It stirs a unique kind of anger in Batman--a nature that goes straight through to his bones--to be defied so plainly. His supposed successor faces him with a defiant flash in his eye, and the kind of eminent but cavalier practicality that Bruce once saw in himself as a young man, lost, angry, and wandering. He could tell easily--the otherknight was a child of Gotham, the same as he was. What angers him the most--what causes the two to almost come to blows right then and there.. is that neither will back down.

The odd synchronicity of their statements hits his already infirm resolve like a hammer when that other man suggests something that Batman would never had thought. He brushes the idea aside, even as his mind latches onto it like an eel.

Batman shifts, and moves towards the Knight, even as he makes his exit, as if to stop him right then and there and tear the suit off himself. But ultimately, there's no strength in Batman's hands to destroy what may ultimately end up being a piece of his own legacy. Bruce allows that unknown Knight to leave, glaring up after him, mantled in the moonlight and the occasional flash of emergency lighting reflecting off of his enshrouding cape. He notices the device only a moment later.

He frowns, kneeling, his cape pooling about him, as he gathers the device, secreting it away for later assimilation.

"I'm not going to let it happen," he whispers. "Not again."