I moved into the library when a signal on my watch face alerted me that the batmobile was making its final approach. The sensors Master Wayne had installed along an obscure forest path meant it had cleared the public area and eyes and should be allowed to access the subterranean tunnel. I clicked the subtle button embedded at the top of the watch and I opened the hidden alcove where an elevator had been installed to descend into the caverns that Wayne family documents affirmed had existed since before the family mansion had been constructed. This cavern had been a refuge for the young master as he processed his grief, and they had become a sanctum for him to clear his mind and exercise his vast array of talents and skills.

  I stomached a few fears; I would need to access a terminal to determine if the car was returning via remote pilot mode. There hadn’t been any drastic news for close to a week, but the good master had often come home with bruises, cuts, and strains on his physical constitution that would certainly raise suspicions if people were to seriously question Bruce Wayne and his off-hour activities.

  Composed and focused, knowing the medical bay was properly equipped, I stepped into the lift and smoothly proceeded into the depths.

  Upon arrival, I stepped up beside several large pieces of equipment as a sleek armored vehicle came to a stop. The engine purred and hummed and the dark outer shelled reflected the light from the large computer set into the wall over my right shoulder, and the string of lights that we used to navigate to different sections of the cave; a place for training, a garage for repairs, the dock for aquatic access, an archive and the armory.

  “Welcome back Master Wayne?” I said, as the boatmobile’s convertible shell retracted allowing the Batman to exit the vehicle. The menace factor in this iteration of his attire certainly hailed from the gothic fright of long-standing horror novels and films. I stand with square shoulders and my arms behind my back. “Were tonight’s adventures productive?”

  Master Wayne shook his head and removed his cowl, a fitted black cowl with intimidating narrow eyes and sharp black ears. I accepted the cowl and put it on the table to assess that it was “combat ready” and I followed Master Wayne to the computer terminal. He removed a cartridge from a sophisticated belt where he stored a number of armaments, investigative tools, and security measures. I watched him fiddle with the device and then he put it on an interface to store the data on the computer’s servers.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “The Riddler and his crew moved with military-level efficiency,” Master Wayne said; he managed the controls and projected a video on the computer screen. “They move under the radar, strike when authorities least suspect it, and up until now, their motives haven’t been clear. Tonight, though, they changed the game, and now they’ve put a scientist in the hospital.”

  “Those devils!” I said, “Their antics haven’t escalated to direct violence. Why would they hurt someone when they seemingly are involved in high-profile thefts.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Master Wayne replied, “and it's possible they did take a piece of equipment, but the scientist has me worried. Dr. Pamela Isley was a rising star as an expert in botany biochemistry with a focus on poisons. I find it unlikely that a thieving crew would attack a specific expert unless they wanted something from her directly.”

  He turned on the footage he had collected, and my experience had taught me how to keep my cool and collected but I had never hardened myself to the point where destruction didn’t make my skin crawl. I was pained to picture the scientist Pamela Isley when she was confronted by these perpetrators.”

  “What’s your next step sir?” I asked, with clenched fists.

  “I suspect that Riddler wants people to believe that it was an attack on the University,” Master Wayne replied, “So they may be threats, and misdirection to keep them from making the more uncertain choice that Riddler has a different target in mind.”

  “So, we should expect to fund the replacement,” I said, and I jotted a note on my cuff to make sure Mr. Fox was apprised in time to secure all the necessary orders, documents, and legal paperwork.

  “Master Wayne, I will monitor reports, and the University security team will log a report to the foundation’s representatives.”

  “Let’s do that,” Master Wayne said, “and meanwhile, I’ve got something else to worry about.”

  “What might that be sir?” I asked.

  “Get the limo ready,” Master Wayne said, “I’ve got a party to go to.”

  “A party?” I say, “I don’t recall anything on your schedule-”

  Master Wayne gestured to the computer where he had projected the front page of the Gotham City Times. The headline read: Somebody!!!! And there was an image of a theater’s stage where a woman wearing a tailcoat, fishnets, a corset, and a top hat stood atop a traditional-looking magician’s box.

  “Somebody?” I said, “Is that-”

  “The one and only,” Master Wayne said as he strolled toward the walkway leading to the armory. “You know their butler, don’t you?”

  I pursed my lips. “I do sir.”

  Stapleton! The fiend.