Batman Inc. #3

"I still can't believe you finally got around to finishing this."

Bruce jerked the wheel hard left, sending the compact Batmobile zooming off the main road and down a cramped alleyway.

"The Batmobile USV will be just one of the innovations brought in by Batman Incorporated's first joint business packages with Wayne Enterprises. Lightweight, all-electric and perfectly suited to urban manouevering. Every operative under the scheme will have one of these, as well as the facilities to keep it up-to-date with each new upgrade from Wayne Tech's labs."

"I still don't know how you managed to do all this publically. Your lawyers must be working overtime."

Bruce's gaze shifted briefly to a flashing GPS scanner, then flicked a switch, launching a cable from beneath the Batmobile. From the other end of the alley, where the main road resumed its course, an armoured car lumbered by, customized turret gun blazing at the pursuing black and white Tokyo Metropolitan Police patrol cars. The cable's magnetic clamp sounded with a metallic ringing as it latched on to the armoured car's side door, and Bruce turned sharply on the Batmobile's individually-motorized wheels as he rejoined the chase.

"Playing the corporate game is something I want you to get more experience with. I've sent a revised version of the 'Victim Inc.' scheme that I'd like you to look over. It's part para-criminal insurance, part rehousing and part social care. Batman Inc. isn't just cool cars, Dick. When you've got your head round it pass it on to Lucius."

"Great. You know I had dinner plans tonight?"

"I'll know if you get Tim to do it for you," Bruce warned, as the Batmobile lurched slightly, caught by the cable in the wake of the armoured juggernaut. The dense traffic of the Shuto Expressway beeped and blared in protest as the chase tore into the oncoming cars.

"I hear you," Dick sighed with mock-resignation through the car's speakers. "Have you found Mr Unknown yet?"

"I got side-tracked." Bruce swerved, kicking the Batmobile's high-powered engines into reverse. The turret atop the armoured car spun as it was jostled by the sudden resistance, the line of machine-gun fire cutting upwards and into the air.

"Didn't you work with him back in your first year? I thought you said he was old then, guy can't be all that sprightly now. Legacy successor?"

"Sort of. Jiro Osamu has been Unknown's body double for the last three years, taking care of the physical side of crime-fighting. I haven't determined yet the extent of Osamu's detective work, but since the original Mr Unknown was murdered last month..."

Bruce swerved again, then accelerated. Nipping out and around the armoured car, the Batmobile dragged it around, twisting it on the cable.

"...I'll have to find Osamu and evaluate his suitability for the job. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Bruce hit a series of flashing lights and the Batmobile jumped up, off the expressway and into the sunshine above. Beneath the glowing red canopy the tyres folded away behind humming aero-jet funnels, and the dark black fenders opened up like curved, stunted wings.

The armoured car baulked and bucked as it was flipped and lifted up, the fleet of patrol cars skidding to a halt below, the traffic rupturing and locking.

Bruce glanced at the camera feed from behind him and stopped the car, hovering above the road.

"High-ex precision caps, on my targets."

A small, cylindrical tube protruded from beneath the rear of the Batmobile and fired three whistling shots. There were pings! as the projectiles clipped on to their marks on the armoured car, and then a buzzing countdown.

The explosion tore the sides from the car, spilling out the skeletal chassis with its crew of five dazed techno-terrorist soldiers. Bruce released the cable and pushed the Batmobile skimming up into the clouds as the Metropolitan Police swarmed the group.






The rope creaked as Bruce scaled the wall, pulling himself up gloved hand over gloved hand.

He reached the window ledge and uncoiled the rope from his feet, moving himself across so that he stood outside the window, the dim sound of Tokyo's night-life masking the whisper of fabric as the cape settled across his arms.



Behind the thin lenses, Bruce narrowed his eyes, waiting for his vision to adjust to the gloom inside. He unclipped a thin capsule tube on his belt and drew out a snaking thread of wire, which he worked in underneath the window. The wire fed through the gap and Bruce manipulated it patiently until there was a slight catch. With a click the window's lock came open.

Slipping the wire away he braced himself against the window sash, bundling his hands up in the corners of his cape. Balancing cautiously on the narrow ledge, he eased the sash up, and slipped into the room.

Theatrics, Bruce reminded himself, moving his hand to a hidden cord behind his back. Can't forget the theatrics. I have to be the Bat.

He stepped further into the room, the shadow of the long, curved ears that stuck out at angles from his cowl casting devil's horns across the figure sat cross-legged on the tatami matting.

"Mr. Unknown..." Bruce growled. "It is time to answer to The Bat-Man!"

There was a rasping sound as his cape unfurled, the cord pulled, and the great black canvas was drawn suddenly taut over a hidden skeletal frame into the twisted shape of open bat wings.

The figure sat before him didn't react. The Bat-Man lunged, grabbing the sitting man by the shoulders and spinning him around.

The body fell limp in his arms, a snaking trail of blood rolling from the mouth over The Bat-Man's hands.

"Unknown..."

The Bat-Man turned and sprang back just in time to avoid the sharp crack of the revolver going off from behind the thin sliding door. Dropping the body, The Bat-Man moved his hands without thinking to his belt, unclipping another cylindrical cartridge and drawing out two glass vials.

As a second shot splintered through the door, The Bat-Man threw himself down against the floor, one hand raised, still clutching the glass vials. His ears rang with the reports of the gun, but he could still make out the shifting of weight in the corridor outside.

When the door slid open, The Bat-Man moved, kicking at the outstretched arm that came through. There was a yell and the gun went clattering across the floor. Grabbing the assailant's arm, The Bat-Man yanked it, sending the man falling over his shoulder in a rehearsed judo throw. As the man crashed into the tatami matting, The Bat-Man leant out into the corridor and threw the glass vials down.

There was a hissing and the narrow corridor outside began to fill with a thick, mustard-yellow smog. There was coughing and spluttering as the other three gunmen staggered into one another, their eyes streaming.

"Choking gas," The Bat-Man grunted, stepping back. "My own compound. It might not kill you."

There was a shout and then a series of gunshots from within the cloud of gas, and The Bat-Man threw himself to the ground as bullets tore through the paper Shoji between the room and the corridor. One of the men yelled and fell back, tearing through the paper wall and landing face down on the matting, his back riddled with bloody holes.

The man on the ground groaned and lumbered up, swinging wildly at the crouched Bat-Man. Through the torn opening, the other two men crashed, clutching at their eyes and doubling up with choking gargles.

Guns first. The Bat-Man ducked the first man's swings and seized the two revolvers in his hands, swinging them wide and jerking them out of the men's grips. He pulled back his fist just as the first man caught him from behind, arms twisting around his neck.

Straining, The Bat-Man jabbed backwards with his elbows, shocking the breath out of the attacker. They toppled, off balance, as the other two began punching.

His jaw clicked as a fist spun his head around. He bent, moving with a punch to his gut, and caught the man by the legs. He straightened, flipping the man over.

The Bat-Man staggered, one thug still clinging around his neck from behind, latched on to his back, the other throwing punches at his front. Fighting to get purchase, The Bat-Man closed his leather glove around the cord tucked underneath his cape. As blurred spots began to spatter over his vision, he clenched his fist and pulled.

"That's enough."

The skeletal frame that ran throughout the cape stiffened and stretched, throwing the black canvas up and out into the jagged shape of the Bat. The man hanging to his neck bucked and bellowed as the frame lifted him, creaking and cracking under the weight, then slid off, thrown up and back onto the floor. Turning, The Bat-Man sent the other attacker reeling as the raised wings of his cape broke against his head, leaving lines of red weals across his face.

Gasping and panting for breath, The Bat-Man pinned the floored men and tightened rope cords around their hands.

Finally, the attack subdued, he sank down beside the bloodied corpse, his cape torn and fractured and his jaw bruised and swelling.

There was a low whistle, and Bruce turned his head. A man in dulled greens sat perched at the window, a broad-brimmed hat covering his eyes.

"Mr. Unknown."



"You speak with such anger," Mr. Unknown warned, stepping down into the room. "I should caution against trying violence against me, for I am not without protection, and you look just about used up."

From the baggy green sleeves Mr. Unknown drew two short revolvers, training them on the scowling Bat-Man. He stood framed by the window, his gaze passing between the struggling men bound in the corner.

"I should thank you for dealing with these men for me. They are black-market smugglers, trying to muscle in on my control over this district. They were foolish to come to my home. As were you. What are you doing here, American? Your accent is good, but I have a fine ear for deceit."

"I knew the man who lived here," The Bat-Man grated. "He was a good man. He wanted to make a difference to this city, to drive out the gangs and crooks. To drive out people like you. When I found that his home had been taken over by a masked crime-lord, I decided a visit from The Bat-Man was in order."

Mr. Unknown stood, thinking. The guns held level, unwavering.

"Get up. The police will be here shortly and we need to talk. Do you do rooftops?"

The guns disappeared into his sleeves. The Bat-Man rose, and the two masked men disappeared through the window.





Jiro Osamu balanced the fishbowl carefully in his arms as his fingers carefully and laboriously twitched the keys into the lock.

He staggered into his cramped apartment, the bags, boxes and fishbowl all held tightly and cautiously in his arms. He strained with his elbow to flick the light switch as he kicked the door closed behind him.

The light switch clicked back and forth. The light bulb hanging overhead did nothing. Jiro paused. He kept his eyes wide, and gently crouched down, depositing his armful quietly onto the wooden floorboards.

"That light, always giving me trouble," he announced, shifting his body and bringing his hands up, assuming a tense defensive posture. He sighed, loudly, and opened the apartment door, then slammed it shut again. He waited a moment, and then walked quietly further into the darkness of his apartment.

When he reached where he knew his window to be, he reached his hand to the blinds and waited, listening. The throb of Tokyo's bustling traffic outside. Nothing more...

He pulled the blinds up, filling the apartment room with the orange glow of the street-lights outside.

No-one there...best check the bathroom...

Jiro dropped the blinds and stepped back into the darkness.

"Jiro Osamu"

He stumbled, colliding with the speaker just as a yellow oval of light lit up.

"Batman?" Jiro mumbled, as the yellow glow illuminated a stern mask before him.

"Mr. Unknown," Batman growled, bringing his face down to scowl at Jiro. The ethereal glow of the miniature bat-signal that seemed to be fixed to the Batman's chest cast stark black pools of shadows across his face. "Mr. Unknown, it is time to answer to Batman Incorporated."





"The only American who would know who Juro Iwai is or what he intended to do was a student who trained under Mistress Shao-La in a hidden dojo in the Qinghai Plateau."

"Juro?" Bruce said, surprised.

"I apologize, my friend," Mr. Unknown said. "There has been a misunderstanding."

"You used your training for criminal gain, Juro. To hurt the innocent."

"That is not the case at all." Mr. Unknown shook his head, and removed his broad-brimmed hat. Peeling the domino mask from his face he revealed himself as a man older than Bruce, with a thin moustache and watery eyes.

Bruce moved, removing a long, curved metal batarang from his belt and holding it ready, hidden in the folds of his cape.

"I have had to allow the criminal underworld here to think I am like them, another gangster with territory and rackets to protect. It has let me infiltrate their operations, learn their secrets. If they thought I was a crime-fighter, if they knew that none of them are safe and that I will not accept alliances with their kind, then their war on me would go on unceasingly, without rest. They still think they can reason with me, that I might be on their side, so they leave my territories alone for the most part."

The two masked men stared at one another from across the rooftop. Below them, the muffled sound of the police shouting orders could be heard, mingling in with the protesting cries of the bound smugglers.

"I did not think that you too would be doing this. We all thought you were a rich American tourist...spirited, maybe, but..."

"You thought what I allowed you to think," Bruce said. He slowly relaxed his grip on the batarang. "You use guns." The tone was accusatory, guarded.

Mr. Unknown shrugged. "I do not use them unless I have to. What criminal would believe me a threat if I did not carry guns?"

Bruce scowled.

"How long have you been doing this?" Mr. Unknown asked.

"Not long," Bruce admitted, rising. He examined the broken frame of his cape, the rods splayed and bent out of shape, the fabric torn and ragged.

"You came to help me? To help Juro Iwai, rather."

"I was in Japan on business," Bruce said, slowly. He tore away the remains of his cape, and began spooling out a rope from his belt, which he fitted to the batarang. "Heard that a Mr. Unknown was causing trouble where you...where Juro...used to live."

"Well, maybe you can help me," Mr. Unknown offered. "There's a strange case I'm working on, one that might be bigger than anything I've worked on so far. With the criminal act I have a hard time with the police here, so I can't look to them for help."

"I... know how that is."

Bruce began swinging the batarang around on the rope in long, looping circles. He scanned the rooftops beyond them, judging distances.

"Something is being covered up, something that stretches out to the gangs here in Tokyo. I've followed the trail as far as I can in the city, and everything points to an island chain out between Japan and Russia."

Bruce released the batarang, sending it sailing through the night sky. Gripping the rope as the batarang caught the edge of a distant ledge, he stepped backwards, measuring the room for his jump.

"Please, I think this case could be important, and it seems so far from the street level work that I have been doing. Do you work alone in America?"

"Yes."

"Then please... help me with this case, Bruce Wayne."

Bruce turned, the white eyes of his ragged cowl narrowing. He reached to his belt and threw something down.

The Bat-Man leapt from the rooftop. Mr. Unknown ran, reaching the edge in time to catch a dark shape swing into the night.

He fitted his domino mask back in place, and pulled his hat on again. Then he paused, and looked down. He bent and picked up the small, bat-shaped metal object The Bat-Man had thrown down.

The two-way radio in his hand crackled, and a voice like gravel spoke.

"Call me The Bat-Man."





Jiro coughed, nervously.

The cramped metal elevator rattled downwards, hidden between the walls of the specially-designed apartment building.

Batman stared at him, arms folded across his chest.

Jiro followed his gaze down to his own chest. He smiled, weakly. "Oh, uh...they sell these in all the shops now, I didn't think...you'd...uh..."

Batman stared at the bat symbol printed on Jiro's tee-shirt. Beneath it a disproportionate, child-sized Batman figure brooded with exaggerated menace, a range of excited exclamations scrawled about him.

"It's chibi Bat-san, it's really popular right... now..." Jiro's cheeks burned red and he stared blankly at the concrete walls as they went by.

Batman's stare narrowed.

"It's a Wayne Fashion design. Part of the Batman Inc. clothing range. Obviously a localized pattern."
Jiro blinked. He frowned. "Wait, what-"

The elevator doors opened and Batman stepped out into the dark secret workshop of Mr. Unknown. He looked around, noting the torn remnants of a dark cape pinned in a glass display case.

"Batman is a brand now. Everyone has to know it. Manipulating trends in youth culture is just one way of ensuring that everyone, everywhere recognises and understands what the Bat means."

Jiro looked down at his shirt again. In the centre of the workshop, Batman examined the chalk outline that had been etched onto the floor.

"You've solved his murder?"

Batman's voice was hard, strict. It was more a demand than a question. He's testing me, Jiro realised.

"Yes. Lord Death Man has been hunting Japanese superheroes. I tracked him down and brought him in with the help of the Super Young Team. Unfortunately I wasn't-"

Jiro stared at the chalk outline.

Batman looked up, meeting his gaze. "You weren't there when he found Juro."

"No," Jiro admitted. "I wasn't there." Jiro sank down, and folded his arms. "I've been over that spot countless times since he died. Over the last month I've had to replay what happened in my mind over and over. I didn't hesitate. I didn't let it stop my work."

"But you haven't been here since you solved the case," Batman said.

"No."

Jiro stared blankly. Batman moved to the computer bank that sprawled over a desk in the corner and began to cycle through the system.

"Do your Batman Inc. agents get to grieve, or should they all be as stoic as you?"

"Who said I was hiring you?" Batman said, without looking back.

"You have to hire me," Jiro said, indignantly. "I was trained by the best."

Batman clicked a key and a file opened up. The words 'ISLAND ZERO' flashed up on the screen.

"You get to grieve," Batman said, "but not until after you've solved Mr. Unknown's first and last unfinished case."

Jiro joined Batman at the computer. Photographs taken by an old miniature camera were cycling through on the screen.

"I never heard him talk about Island Zero."

"Consider it your first official Inc. assignment, Mr. Unknown. We leave in an hour."

"Not Mr. Unknown," Jiro said. "Mr. Unknown is dead. I was just his stand-in."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "Then I might have something for you."