Preparation

It wasn't just simple, unfeeling negative emotions anymore nor was it the primal instincts of a dinosaur, craving raw flesh and the echo of prehistoric rain on leaves.

Nor was it the memory of the Joker's righteous-yet-maniacal, circus-like glee, or the muscle-building regimen of Bane-Batman.

It was pain.

The raw, empty scream of severed nerves as a hand was ripped away morphing into wails as blood gushed forth.

The sensation of powerful legs, poisoned by the venom of the Azrael, being torn apart by brute force.

Muscle groups and fibers rupturing one by one, joints popping as they were ripped from their sockets, tendons snapping.

A spine shattered and elongated, life-support tubes inserted. Every midnight dream plagued by phantom limb pain, the severed nerves sending confused signals to the brain, unable to comprehend their disconnection.

Batman had endured this agony for thirty years. And as Adam synced with the Broken Bat, all that accumulated pain was thrust into his mind.

Adam's temples throbbed, but this time, he couldn't transform into the silicon form of a car to quell the physical spasms.

He felt like the Little Mermaid, her fishtail transformed into legs, each step a torment – an odd metaphor, perhaps, but undeniably fitting.

His brain, lungs, and heart remained human, but the rest was all dark, grey-black nanobots.

Exhaling sharply, Adam released the transformation. The intense pain receded like a tide. Silver-white particles swarmed, dispelling the black and grey, revealing his scarred, muscular body.

Adam's form flickered again in the training ground. Silver-white particles converged, the Joker's face painting the Bat-Dinosaur's green scales a stark white. The next moment, the metallic structure of the Batmobile exploded outward, reforming into the dinosaur's body once more.

Bane-Batman's venom appeared behind him, only to be swallowed by the metallic form, protected by layers of exhaust pipes and rubber tires. Then, Adam synced with the Broken Bat, and the assembled forms shattered into a swarm of black nanobots...

Several minutes later.

Adam, now dressed in casual clothes, ascended the stairs from the training room and returned to his seat in front of the Batcomputer.

"Alfred, are we still tracking Clark Kent in Metropolis?"

He took the drink and sandwich offered by Alfred. "Have we found him yet?"

Alfred paused.

"I'm afraid not, Master Bruce."

He continued, "Lois Lane has been promoted, and a new photographer named Jimmy Olsen has joined her team. The young man was assigned to her just yesterday."

Alfred paused again. "We've been monitoring Lex Luthor's movements, but Clark Kent remains elusive."

"And Diana Prince in Boston, forget it."

Adam knew there was no point in asking further. If anyone he'd tasked had found them, Alfred would have informed him immediately. His inquiries were a sign of weakness.

And Batman shouldn't be weak.

Adam slapped his face, his expression hardening.

Even if he wanted to retire, he should do so with the respect of his peers, enjoying his golden years, not fleeing like a coward.

"I'm Batman," Adam thought. "Before I hang up this cowl, I need to finish what I started – what Batman should do."

The silence lingered for a moment.

"Master Bruce, about the nuclear weapon... you needn't worry excessively."

Alfred added, "Whoever has the bomb, unless they plan on detonating it in secret and turning Gotham into a mushroom cloud, they'll undoubtedly use it as leverage. Like a million-pound bank note."

"As long as they make a move," Alfred said, "we'll find them and neutralize the threat."

Adam nodded in agreement.

Scarecrow, Court of Owls, Bane, Lincoln March – the detonator had to be in the hands of one of his enemies.

And he intended to take them down, one by one.

"Give Mad Hatter's hat to Lucius," he instructed Alfred. "Have him decipher Tetch's mind control tricks as quickly as possible. He doesn't need to fully understand them, just ensure Tetch can't use them against us."

...

"You got what you wanted Penguin. Our agreement still stands."

Oswald Cobblepot gazed at the corpse before him with a satisfied smirk. The man had peculiar blue skin, and golden hair grew from his forehead to the back of his head, resembling a crown – a fake crown.

This was the Emperor Penguin, Cobblepot's former protégé, who had nearly inherited his vast criminal empire if he hadn't foolishly betrayed his mentor.

After being defeated by Batman, he was deemed mentally competent and sent to Blackgate Prison instead of Arkham Asylum.

Penguin had struck a deal with Bane to retrieve him, and Bane had promptly snapped his neck upon regaining custody.

"Of course it stands Bane. You may be a killer, but you're a man of your word."

"I intend to repay Ogilvy for what he did to me years ago," Penguin declared. "And you and I, we're birds of a feather, my veiny friend."

"The merchandise you requested is ready."

Penguin patted the hulking figure beside him, his fleshy palm slapping against the metal with a resounding clang.

"I went through great lengths to acquire over twenty M1A2 Abrams tanks, along with more than two thousand M4 carbines, as well as M249 light machine guns, M240 machine guns, M136 anti-tank rocket launchers, M203 grenade launchers, and M2A3 Bradley Fighting Vehicles."

His beak-like nose spat out a rapid-fire list of weaponry, boasting about the difficulty he had procuring them:

"I dare say there aren't five arms dealers in the entire country who could supply you with this much firepower in such a short time frame, and I'm the only one who could get you tanks."