Master of the Hunt, Part VI

All parts linked here.

I interfaced with the whole Bat Cave system far easier than expected. The nonviolent computer voice in my head narrated the process, just tastefully enough to spare my sanity. I was kind of beginning to like her – it. I mean it.

“And this, Bat-Butt,” I muttered, ” Will teach you not to slave every door in your secret lair to a single computer.”

The camera was still connected to the system after I smashed the visual receptor with one of the cups Cyborg had left. It took only a few moments for the wireless receptors in my hands to connect to the internal network on a secure frequency, and about forty-five seconds for the good cop AI to hack me in. What I heard Batman and his sidekick saying didn’t please me.

I hated to leave Cyborg, but Batman and Robin one-point-oh wanted to ship me off to supervillain boot camp. No way was I going in with those guys.

Not that I was scared. I’d done hand to hand with Professor Zoom in the “Brake Night” operation.

Fortunately I wasn’t the poor Huntmaster assigned to Barry Allen’s Flash. Apparently he got killed so many different ways that the autopsy was focused on finding what didn’t happen to him.

The also say that’s the second event that got Batman using guns, the first thing since the Superman-Doomsday incident that got him into a weaponized Batmobile. That was a terrifying sight to behold.

Then it hit me – the Batmobile was my ticked out of here, assuming I was where I thought I was.

I sent a quick series of impulses into the system. The first retrieved a map of the entire Batcave, as I expected. The second opened the door of the room I was in. The third shut off the alarm system throughout the cave. The fourth, and easily the most fun to watch the results of, locked the three League members in the safe room they were currently in. The fifth killed the lights.

I tore from the room, heading for the main floor, shedding my overcoat, shirt and practically shredded boots before I went. I grabbed my fake ID and my pocket-watch from the pockets of my overcoat as I did so.

As I rose through the levels, I could feel the pursuit. However, I had taken the liberty of blackening both the actual lighting systems and the perceived lighting on the cameras, which would buy me time.

I couldn’t help but feel admiration as I rushed through Batman’s trophy room. In spite of being dumb enough to leave Arkham relatively unfunded, he’d won some pretty impressive battles.

Another idea struck me as I passed Deathstroke’s sword, nearly identical to the one that had been used to attack me earlier.

I could easily equip myself with the best Gotham’s worst had to offer, and he’d likely not know until I was long gone.

The first thing that caught my eye was a suit of unmarked armour. Evidently the villain who had first donned it wasn’t enough for the history books. It wasn’t a full suit, just a chest plate, codpiece, boots, shin armour, shoulder pads, a left gauntlet, and a helmet, but it was good enough for me. It had a slightly baroque style to it, bit was obviously technologically advance, because thin wires snaked out of their own accord and connected each piece of the rest of the suit as I donned it. The gunmetal silver color of the armour matched my black cargo pants and undershirt nicely, and the AI set about hacking the suit’s on-board computers as soon as I got the helmet on.

The second thing I grabbed was a little more important in terms of history – one of Deadshot’s earliest wrist mounted guns. It fit my right arm perfectly, complimenting the armour’s left gauntlet.

The third and final item I snatched was a long black cape with a collar. It was unlabeled, shoved carelessly into a corner, practically out of sight. I connected the twin magnetic clasps to the front of the armour, and then could barely budge them.

I caught my reflection in a massive, polished coin.

I looked fantastic.

As I left the trophy room, again at full speed, the lights flickered back on. That meant that Batman had escaped the holding room and to a secondary Batcomputer terminal.

I redoubled my pace.

Fixing the camera feeds would take several more minutes at best, but I wasn’t risking being caught again.

Less than five minutes of running later, I reached the main floor. I could see the Batcomputer’s main terminal sprawling across one wall, bat themed vehicles parked across the open floor.

I briefly considered taking the Batwing, but decided that overriding its autopilot and slaving it to my own consciousness would waste valuable time after booting.

I shot out one of the Batmobile’s windows with my stolen wrist-gun instead and leaped through without slowing down. I immediately splayed my fingers across the on-board computer, waiting for the AI to hack and network with it.

In under a minute, the on-board computer was slaved directly to my mind. I tore out of the garage at top speed. As I flew around the corner, I caught a glimpse of the trio behind me.

Cyborg was clearly impressed by my efficiency, even if he didn’t approve. Nightwing stood to his left, trying to suppress a smirk. Batman stood in front of both of them both, his face an expression somewhere between rage and disbelief, evident even through his rubberized cowl.

I saved the shot to permanent memory.

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