Minus eighteen

After a late breakfast, I helped the girls with the dishes, and, having stuffed my kit of a young fighter against evil into my pockets, I went to Alfred's place. I had only a couple of places to visit, but this was Gotham, and I had to be ready for any surprises, especially when one of my destinations was a mental institution for criminals, where every month since I'd arrived in the world, some kind of crazy thing had happened.

The Aston drove me quickly to the billionaire's estate, where they were waiting for me. As soon as I pulled up to the intercom and rolled down the window a little, the butler's polite voice invited me into the garage at the north end of the huge building.

I turned right, following the curve of the asphalt road, and soon found myself in a large underground parking lot. I turned right, following the curve of the asphalt road, and soon found myself in a large underground parking lot.

Inside I was met by a row of not cheap cars, and there were both vintage models and modern sports cars, although Bats may not even use them, but his status as the head of a multi-billion dollar corporation obliges.

At the far wall, where the green flashing arrows on the floor led, I found Alfred standing nonchalantly next to a plain folding table and several large metal cases.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Arkham," the older British man said politely as I left the transport and came closer.

"Kind. What can I get you?

"Please," he took one of the suitcases and, snapping the locks open, displayed its contents.

In small cells of foamy material rested miniature cameras and microphones of familiar design, as well as an induction charging station for all this splendor. Alfred lifted the substrate, revealing a laptop computer underneath. Surprisingly, it was without the traditional bat symbol and looked completely unremarkable, well, unremarkable for a machine protected to military standard by WayneTech.

As if catching my thoughts the man said:

"I didn't think the Batman sign would be particularly appropriate. Inside, the necessary programs and instructions for operating all the hardware are already installed. The operating system is from VSO, if that tells you anything.

"What's in the others?" I asked interestedly, feeling like a kid who'd found a bunch of presents under the Christmas tree.

"Repeaters," he opened another case that held strange pins and a horn of unusual design, "laser wiretaps and...

Placing the last, most voluminous, box on the table, Alfred slowed down.

"I took the liberty of calling Mr. Winslow's secretary to inquire about his master's plans," there was a quiet click, and I saw a spider drone with eight legs, eight eyes, and an imitation abdomen.

Man, that's a really good idea, though I wouldn't have been able to call and find out, but hacking into the secretary's phone, with Babs' help, of course, would have been quite feasible. I just gotta figure out what the spider's for.

"He wants to celebrate the eclipse on the outdoor terrace of the penthouse with his wife," the man continued as if nothing had happened. - So your plan of installing cylinders, which should go off on a timer and fill the room with gas, is unlikely to work. The same drone can safely get close and spray the potion. I advise you to put both targets to sleep, because not so long ago you demonstrated the effect of imaginary death on the bandit, and when the police respond quickly to the Knight of Moonlight may raise unnecessary questions.

"Hmm... Won't they freeze? Still, at least an hour outside in December...

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Winslawn likes comfort, so there will definitely be heat guns present.

"You seem to have thought of everything," I touched the case thoughtfully, looking at my companion suspiciously. - But why do I need the rest of the stuff?

Bats' butler averted his gaze.

"Alfred, why?" I asked firmly, getting closer.

As nice as he was to Harley and me, these gifts were a bit much. After all, just last night we raided one of Gloomy Mouse's hideouts with a bunch of gadgets!

"If you'll follow me, Mr. Arkham, we have a difficult conversation to have. - he turned around, heading for the elevator.

Complicated?

I had no choice but to follow. Contrary to my expectations, the end point of the route was not the Batcave, but the familiar living room, and, given the presence of a teapot and a couple of cups, the elderly Briton had planned it all in advance.

"Did you watch the news today?" The man asked as we settled into our seats.

"If you mean Babadook, it was because of bad lighting," I replied with a wince.

"No, I'm talking about the rumors surrounding Batman's disappearance.

"Uh, why would I do that? The girls were riding the Batmobile all night last night, and the gangsters didn't always notice me in time to realize whether Bats had beaten them up or not, they even invented a monster.

"To begin with, Master Bruce never allowed himself to stick his waist out of the hatch of a moving vehicle to swear and then shoot criminals with a TASER, unlike your companion.

"Ha-ha-ha," I laughed obscenely, picturing it. - Yeah, that's hardly the kind of thing he does.

"And as for your swift massacres, the medics and police know very well what kind of injuries are left after Batman's work, and there certainly should not be traces of a cane blow. By the way, the capture of Victor Zsasz is also attributed to you, thanks to the testimony of the only survivor.

"It's all just speculation. Besides, I told Jim and Harvey that Bats was busy with other things.

Butler shook his head.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. Batman is not just a man in a bat suit who can suddenly "take a vacation". Batman is a symbol. The spotlight on the roof of the police department is turned on for a reason. Its bright light in the night sky shows criminals that they will not be able to escape from justice, instills fear and doubt in their hearts. And for the second night it burns in vain...

"Shit, Alfred, do you realize that this situation is not normal?" I asked, looking at him carefully. - The bandits should be afraid of the police, not some man in latex.

"For the most part, the suit is made up of special nanofabric and lightweight metal polymers," the older man corrected me.

"You know what I mean.

He sighed heavily, dropping his shoulders.

"I get it, but this is Gotham. Too many corrupt officials, gangsters, mafia, supervillains, and secret organizations. You can't just snap your fingers and take them all out. There is only a long and painstaking work, of course, if you do not want to find yourself on the ashes of the destroyed city, or in the cemetery, when literally the entire criminal world will unite against you in a single impulse.

The room fell into silence.

"All right. What do you suggest?" I asked after a very long pause, during which I had successfully eaten all the cookies from the vase, eating away the stress. To think that the well-being of the city rests on a man who likes to cosplay a bat...

"You're going to be Batman.

"Are you serious now?" There was so much skepticism in my voice that it seemed to take on a material form.

"What's the big deal?" Alfred asked nonchalantly, taking a small sip from his cup. - You already have at least three images: the Joker, the Knight of Moonlight, and the Babadook. I don't see any obstacles to creating another one.

"The last one is just a fantasy of impressionable thugs... Let's say. Just say it. How do you envision it?

"I will take measurements and make a suit with special inserts to create volume, after all, you are more wiry than the master. You can use magic to disguise your face, or you can make a mask, but I warn you, it's not very comfortable to wear. Your voice will be changed by the modulator built into your helmet.

"Is that it?

"Of course not. You'll have to change your behavioral model a little bit: minimum talk and fight using kicks or punches, use gadgets as appropriate. That's it now.

Yeah, and it can really be enough to mislead people unfamiliar with the superhero, and acquaintances with a short conversation is unlikely to recognize the fake. I just have to figure out, do I need to do this kind of stuff?

Huh, but basically, what do I have to lose? A couple of glimpses in the right image, maybe the city will actually become calmer after that? Plus, the Joker literally replacing Gloomy Mouse. Huh, that sounds really fun.

"Okay. Okay. I'll fill in for Bats, but you owe me a favor.

"If it doesn't hurt Master Bruce.

"What about the common people?" I couldn't help but ask that question, knowing the Dark Knight's sensitivity.

Butler looked me in the eye with unwavering confidence.

"I trust you won't ask me to do such a thing.

"Yeah... You're right.

Alfred is literally the only person who treats Harley and I not just humanly, but with some kind of parental concern, so I don't really want to disappoint him.

Having received my consent to the forthcoming adventure, the elderly Briton obviously cheered up and, like a magician, took a measuring tape out of his sleeve to start measuring at once, but despite all the efforts of the man, I left the territory of the estate only after an hour.

Of course, I could have left right away, abandoning the mask, which took most of my time, but unfortunately, my illusions are intangible, and any missed punch to the jaw would reveal the deception. As I lay in the comfortable chair and waited for something like dense silicone to solidify, though, ideas for combining illusions and shields flashed through my mind. The only thing left to figure out was how to remove the conflict of charms, how to learn how to set multiple anchor points, and where to get the mana for all this splendor.

***

After loading boxes of equipment and a couple of cakes for Harley into the trunk of the car, kindly saved by Alfred, I went to the next point of the route, hoping that the reception hours in Arkham were not over yet. Fortunately, my fears were not confirmed, and the guard let me into the grounds after checking my identity and calling my superiors.

After passing the familiar corridors of the administrative building, where recently escaped lunatics had been partying, in the company of a silent orderly, I found myself in the office of the head of the hospital for mentally ill criminals.

The room, during my absence, has not undergone any significant changes, the same cabinets with worn spines of books, on the open shelves are various trinkets that catch the eye, a whole wall with a lot of awards and certificates, behind which hides the passage to the safe room, a soft carpet on the floor, muffling footsteps, crystal chandelier under the ceiling, a large oak table by the window and two comfortable leather chairs, standing in the center of the room and turned to face each other. In one of them sat the owner of the office, glittering mysteriously with his round glasses.

If he wore a starry robe, a glittered wizard's hat, and a long gray beard, he'd look like Albus Dumbledore. Hell, Hogwarts was somewhat of an asylum too, considering how much crap went on there every year. Ha-ha-ha, although there the scale was almost all over Britain, and here even the city doesn't always catch on.

"I see you still have catatonic stupor," the doctor asked, breaking the silence.

"No, I just remembered something," I replied, taking the empty chair. - Harley says hi.

"Thank you," he said with a satisfied smile. - You know, it's a very unusual feeling when former patients come to me on their own without threatening me with weapons. I've never seen anything like that before.

"Well, there's a first time for everything. By the way, if you approve my request, maybe one more person will join the "saying hello" club.

"Yes... I read your message," Jeremiah said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. - There are too many nuances to be resolved.

"That's why I'm here, because you have to start somewhere," I shrug.

"Hmm, I guess you're right," Arkham adjusted his glasses and pulled out a small notebook and pen from the breast pocket of his robe. - Then let's begin the tests, if you don't mind. I'd like to assess the dynamics, and afterwards you can visit the patient, if he wants to talk to you, of course. Mr. Fries prefers to ignore others. He's mostly talking to his wife, which I'm very concerned about, but taking her out of the cell would have much more dire consequences.

I had no choice but to nod. I'm sure the doctor would let me see Victor even without the tests, but why hurt a good man? Now I don't think it's a good idea to try to get Captain Icicle, who's a little leaky, on my side, but, frankly, I feel sorry for him, and I should at least talk to him. He's not doing everything for himself, but for his wife, and he hasn't killed anyone yet.

I couldn't say I was too tired, but the conversation was taking too long. I'd also stayed late at Alfred's, so by the time Jeremiah and the three stern guards and I got down to the lower floors of the cellblock, it was well past six in the evening, and I even had to call Harley to let her know I'd be a little late.

"Where are we?" I asked, noticing that the elevator hadn't reached the lowest level, where the supercriminal boxes were located, but had stopped on some technical floor, judging by the dim lighting and thick cables running along the walls.

"Mr. Fries requires special conditions," the man said, walking down the gloomy corridor, "so we've had to modify one of the levels of the hospital a bit.

I whistled softly as we stopped at a huge safe door, seemingly taken straight from WayneTech.

"And it's not...

"Yes, that's the same door as the freezer units. Mr. Wayne sponsored the whole thing," the head of the treatment facility answered the unspoken question, dialing the access code on the dashboard.

Inside, our friendly company was met not by another steel barrier, but by a huge frosted glass full wall, behind which some silhouettes were vaguely visible.

"The chamber is maintained at an optimum temperature of minus eighteen degrees. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to solve the problem with the ice, so communication won't be very comfortable," Jeremiah pressed the intercom button. - Now the communication system will warm up and you can talk.

"Who is it that's here to see me? It's an hour before dinner," came an annoyed voice with a German accent as the speaker beeped loudly.

"Mr. Fries, there's someone here to talk to you.

"I have no desire to talk to anyone until I get a proper lab. Get out of here.

The doctor looked at me, shrugging guiltily. Okay, I guess that's my cue.

"Victor, I wanted to discuss with you the possibility of leaving these hospitable walls.

"Who's that?" The silhouette moved closer to the glass, and now I could barely make out the blue-skinned man dressed in the patient's orange robe. Huh, that's a funny contrast.

"Jay Arkham, we saw you during the WayneTech incident.

"Ya... I remember.

"Victor, you attacked Boyle in a state of passion because he threatened to kill your wife. I know a lawyer who can help you stay out of jail, but you have to be found completely sane to do it.

There was a pause.

"Victor?" I asked, thinking the intercom had disconnected.

"I crippled that bastard, it can't be that simple.

"Well, there's a small risk you won't be acquitted, but you'll be released from the hospital.

"И?

"You'll end up in Blackgate or someplace worse, where you're unlikely to have the same conditions. They'll take your wife away for sure.

"I... I need to think. Leave me alone," he slouched a little, stepping away from the glass, heading deeper into his shelter.

"What next?" asked Dr. Arkham, who had been listening with interest to the conversation all this time, tilting his head a little to the side.

"Let him think about it for a couple days. Walk me out?

"Not without it," the man stepped back a little, whispering in a low whisper. - I'm very curious to see what will come of this.

*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qn9FkoqYgI4