Tuesday, March 8th, 2011, 11:20 PM
The Batcave
Wayne Manor
Bruce rubbed his eyes and leaned back from the massive computer screen. Hours of surveillance footage played across multiple monitors, showing Gotham's rooftops from every conceivable angle.
"Still searching for your mystery operative, Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice carried a hint of dry amusement as he descended the cave stairs with a cup of tea.
"Selina's apprentice. I need to know who he is."
"Ah yes, her 'Boy Wonder,' as she so eloquently put it." Alfred set the tea down beside the keyboard. "Perhaps you're seeing threats where there are merely possibilities."
Bruce pulled up a file on the main screen. Crime statistics from the past six months, cross-referenced with known criminal operations. "Look at these patterns. Surgical strikes, minimal collateral damage, targets that clearly suggest inside knowledge of both legal and illegal operations."
"Sounds familiar," Alfred observed. "Rather like someone else I know who operates outside traditional law enforcement."
"This is different, Alfred." Bruce enhanced a section of surveillance footage from three nights ago. Two figures moved across a Midtown rooftop with inhuman grace. One was clearly Catwoman. The other...
"There," Bruce said, freezing the frame.
The second figure was smaller, more compact than Selina. Dressed in a fitted black bodysuit that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Combat boots, utility belt, full head mask. But it was the way he moved that caught Bruce's attention.
"Run the movement analysis," Bruce commanded.
The computer tracked the figure's motion patterns, breaking down each leap and roll into component parts. The results made Bruce's breath catch.
"Acrobatic training consistent with circus performance or advanced gymnastics," the computer's synthesized voice reported. "Combat style incorporating elements of boxing, Krav Maga, and Escrima. Subject demonstrates exceptional spatial awareness and improvisation capabilities."
"Truly impressive.." Alfred leaned closer to the screen. "Rather reminds one of Master Dick in his younger days."
Bruce nodded grimly. The comparison was unavoidable. This kid moved with the same fluid grace that had made Dick Grayson such a natural acrobat. But there was something else in his technique, something more brutal and direct.
"How's Jason adapting to....everything?" Bruce asked, switching topics but not really.
"Master Jason...does his best," Alfred said diplomatically.
What Alfred didn't say was that Jason Todd was angrier than Dick had ever been. More willing to cross lines that Dick wouldn't approach. More like this mystery operative in temperament, if not in skill.
"I'm concerned about escalation," Bruce admitted. "If Selina's training someone who combines Dick's acrobatic skills with Jason's willingness to use violence..."
"You're borrowing trouble, Master Bruce." Alfred's voice carried gentle reproof. "Miss Kyle has always operated by her own moral code. Perhaps her protégé will do the same."
In which way though?
Bruce ran the footage again, studying the way the masked figure flowed through combat sequences. Multiple opponents, all taken down efficiently without permanent injury. Professional work.
"He's good," Bruce conceded. "Very good. I can see why Selina took a chance on him."
"Then perhaps you should trust her judgment, as you have in the past."
Bruce considered that. Selina had never been carelessly destructive. Selfish sometimes, certainly, but not cruel. If she was training someone, she was probably instilling her own brand of ethics along with the skills.
"You're right," he said finally. "I'll monitor the situation, but I won't assume the worst."
Alfred smiled. "Wisdom, Master Bruce. A rare commodity in your line of work."
"Still," Bruce added, unable to help himself, "I'm keeping files on both of them. Just in case."
"Of course you are, sir."
Thursday, March 10th, 2011, 8:30 PM
Fashion District
Selina's Apartment
Malik was sprawled across the couch watching some mindless cop show when Selina emerged from her bedroom dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket. Not her Catwoman gear, but definitely not staying-in clothes.
"Get dressed," she said, tossing him a black jacket. "Time for your next education."
"Ughh...What kind of education?"
"The kind that keeps you alive in this city." Selina checked her watch. "We're meeting Holly in twenty minutes."
An hour later, they were walking through the Bowery's industrial district, past abandoned warehouses and businesses that only operated after midnight. Holly kept pace beside them, her street-smart eyes constantly scanning for threats.
"First rule of networking," Selina said as they approached a nondescript door marked only with a small chalk symbol. "Information is currency. The person who knows the most gets to set the prices."
The door opened before they could knock. A thin man with nervous eyes looked them over before stepping aside.
"Selina. Been a while."
"Hello, Marcus. Need some introductions tonight."
Marcus led them through a narrow hallway into what had once been a machine shop. Now it was something else entirely. Workbenches covered with equipment that Malik didn't recognize, but the smell of chemicals and heated metal suggested forgery work.
"This is Marcus Bellini," Selina said. "Best document forger in the tri-state area. Marcus, this is my associate."
Marcus studied Malik with the attention of someone used to reading people quickly. "Kid's young."
"Kid's smart," Holly said. "And he learns fast."
"What do you need to know, kid?" Marcus asked, already pulling examples from various drawers. Driver's licenses, passports, social security cards, all perfect down to the finest details.
"Everything," Malik said.
For the next hour, Marcus explained the art of creating bulletproof identities. How to age documents, where to obtain the right paper and inks, how to hack into government databases to insert false records.
"The trick isn't making something that looks real," Marcus explained, holding up a passport that felt genuine in every way. "It's making something that is real, just with the wrong information."
Their next stop was a basement apartment in Robinson Park where a woman named Diana Volkov ran what she euphemistically called a "data management service." In practice, she was a hacker who could make people disappear from every database that mattered.
"Government records, credit histories, criminal backgrounds," Diana explained while her fingers flew across multiple keyboards. "I can erase your past or create a new one, depending on what you need."
"How long have you been doing this?" Malik asked.
"Since I was about your age, probably. Started when my family needed to disappear from some people back in Russia." Diana's accent was faint but still noticeable. "Turns out, making people vanish is a valuable skill in a city like Gotham."
Malik absorbed every detail, every technique, every contact name. By the time they reached their third stop, he was beginning to understand the vast network of illegal services that kept Gotham's underworld functioning.
The third stop was the most uncomfortable.
Stan Morrison operated out of a bar in the Narrows that smelled like stale beer and broken dreams. He was a thin man with dead eyes and hands that moved too much when he talked. Malik disliked him immediately.
"Well, fucking well," Stan said when he saw Selina. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"Stan." Selina's voice was ice cold. "We need information."
"Don't we all, sweetheart. Don't we all." Stan's eyes, taking in every curve on Selina's figure. His eyes slid over to Malik with uncomfortable intensity. "This your new boy toy?"
Holly stepped between them before Selina could respond. "Watch your fucking mouth, Stan."
"Just making conversation. No harm in that." Stan's smile was all teeth and no warmth. "What kind of information are we talking about?"
"Police patrol schedules. Ward rotations. Which judges are taking bribes this month."
"Oh Selina, that kind of intel costs extra these days. Market value's gone up."
Selina slid an envelope across the table. "Market rate."
Stan counted the money quickly before tucking it away. "Judge Morrison's been taking payments from the Calabrese family. Detective Rivera in Major Crimes is feeding information to whoever pays best. And there's a new task force being formed to investigate organized crime connections to legitimate businesses."
Malik filed every detail away while studying Stan's body language and speech patterns. This man was dangerous, but not in the way Ted or Selina were dangerous. He was dangerous like a disease was dangerous. Corrosive to everything he touched.
"Pleasure doing business," Selina said, standing to leave.
"Always is with you, kitten. Always is."
Outside the bar, Malik couldn't shake the feeling of being watched by something unclean.
"He used to be your pimp," he said. It wasn't a question.
Selina's jaw tightened. "A long time ago. Before I learned better."
"Why do business with him now?"
"Because he knows things other people don't. And because sometimes you have to deal with devils to get what you need." She looked at Malik seriously. "That's the reality of this world. Not everyone you work with is going to be someone you like or respect."
Their final stop was the most unexpected.
Robinson Park at midnight was a different world from the family-friendly space it pretended to be during daylight hours. Deeper in the park, where the streetlights didn't reach and the police patrols never ventured, they found a greenhouse that shouldn't have existed.
"Pamela," Selina called softly as they approached.
The woman who emerged from the greenhouse was stunning in an otherworldly way. Red hair that seemed to move with its own wind, pale green skin that suggested she was something more than human, and eyes that held the cold intelligence of a predator.
Poison Ivy. Malik had heard stories, but seeing her in person was different. She radiated danger the way flowers radiated perfume.
"Selina. Holly." Ivy's voice was like honey over broken glass. Her eyes fixed on Malik with uncomfortable intensity. "And who is this?"
"Someone I'm teaching," Selina said carefully. "He's family."
Ivy circled Malik slowly, studying him like a particularly interesting specimen. "Young. But not innocent. I can smell the violence on you, child."
"Is that a problem?" Malik asked, meeting her gaze directly.
Ivy smiled, and it was like watching a flower bloom over a grave. "On the contrary. I find it refreshing. Most children your age still believe in fairy tales about good and evil."
"I believe in protecting people who can't protect themselves."
"How wonderfully naive." But Ivy's smile had warmth in it now. "And how perfectly suited to this city. Sit, child. Let me tell you about the real monsters that live in Gotham."
For the next hour, Poison Ivy shared intelligence that no law enforcement agency could access. Which politicians were being blackmailed and by whom. Which corporations were dumping toxic waste in poor neighborhoods. Which criminal organizations were recruiting children.
"Information is life," Ivy said as their conversation wound down. "The more you know about your environment, the better you can adapt to survive in it."
Walking home through the early morning streets, Malik's head was spinning with names, contacts, and possibilities. In one night, he'd been introduced to an entire shadow economy built on secrets and services.
"Why tonight?" he asked as they climbed the stairs to Selina's apartment. "Why show me all this now?"
"Because you're ready," Selina said. "And because working alone only gets you so far in this city. Eventually, you need allies."
"Even allies you don't trust?"
"Especially allies you don't trust. Those are the ones who keep you sharp."
Malik thought about Stan Morrison's dead eyes and Poison Ivy's predatory smile. About Marcus Bellini's nervous energy and Diana Volkov's quiet competence. All pieces of a machine that turned information into power.