Chapter 4: The Rookie Batman
Author: Rowing Without Oars 233
As the saying goes, "Man is iron, food is steel." Miss a meal and you'll starve.
Batman was the only designated normal person among the founding members of the Justice League, a pure-blooded human. No matter how overpowered he was, he still had to eat. That much was perfectly reasonable.
However, seeing him in full combat gear, wearing that intimidating, pointed-eared mask while eating a box lunch... the sight was somewhat disillusioning.
Then, as Orin Vale's gaze swept to the side, he noticed a large bag under the Batmobile's passenger seat, stuffed to the brim with stacks of box lunches. He couldn't help but fall silent.
*Hmm... Has the Old Master been living in the Batmobile?*
But Orin Vale quickly deduced the situation.
Following the Old Master's line of sight from inside the Batmobile, Orin Vale soon saw a luxurious venue across the street. It had wide, imposing gates, with flowerbeds on either side blooming with colorful flowers. A stone-paved path led straight into the venue, where magnificent statues and fountains surrounded the building, all bathed in colored lights.
It was so opulent that it seemed out of place with Gotham's general aesthetic.
Under the night sky, a steady stream of luxury cars pulled up to the venue's entrance, a dazzling array of high-end models. Every man who stepped out was impeccably dressed in a suit and left a hefty tip for the valet. With women in deep-V, high-shouldered, zippered gowns on their arms, they strode toward the venue like proud roosters.
Orin Vale quickly realized this was the residence of Sal Maroni, one of Gotham's top drug lords. He was clearly hosting some grand banquet tonight, and Gotham's high-society elites had all been invited.
Maroni was one of Gotham's main bosses before the Old Master's debut. At this stage, his power was comparable to the infamous "Roman," Carmine Falcone, with each of them controlling roughly half of Gotham.
The famous villain from the later Batman series, Two-Face, also known as Harvey Dent, had half his face burned by Maroni. Furthermore, The Penguin, who rose to power in the post-Batman era after the former drug lords were taken down, originally started as a henchman promoted by Maroni himself.
The Old Master was surveilling Maroni.
Judging from the number of box lunches in the Batmobile, he must have been at it for quite some time.
Fewer luxury cars were arriving, and it seemed most of the guests had arrived. The venue closed its gates, and the night's high-society revelry began.
It was also time for the Bat to leave its nest.
The sliding door on top of the Batmobile opened, and Batman leaped out. The door immediately slid shut behind him.
He went to the base of a tall building in a deserted, shadowed area, opened his utility belt, and pulled out... a rope with a grappling hook attached.
It seemed the fledgling Old Master didn't even have his signature grapple gun yet. For now, he had to rely on a rope to scale walls.
Batman picked up the rope, swung it around a few times, and threw it with all his might. Propelled by centrifugal force, the grappling hook flew high toward the edge of the roof...
...and then it clanged against the wall, drooped down like a listless snake, and fell at Batman's feet.
He didn't make it.
Orin Vale: "..."
The air turned awkward.
Batman silently picked up the grappling hook, coiled the rope, and swung it like a windmill again before hurling it with great force.
*Clank.* The grappling hook successfully caught the edge of the roof. He tugged on the rope to test it, confirming the hook was secure.
Then he began to climb, pushing off the wall and grunting with effort.
Orin Vale: "..."
He really looked like he was struggling.
Indeed. Most comics readers only remembered Batman scaling walls and, as a mortal, slaying gods. Many tended to forget that when the Old Master first started, he was also a rookie.
Classic Batman stories like *Year One* and *Earth One* emphasized the difficulties he faced early in his career. Things like falling off a rooftop during a chase or his grapple gun jamming and failing to fire—all sorts of embarrassing incidents from his past.
Anyway, it was tough.
After finally making it to the top, Batman stood at the edge of the roof. A cold wind blew past, his cape fluttering like a banner. A pale blue bolt of lightning split the pitch-black night sky, illuminating his imposing figure.
"I am the night! I am vengeance! I am Batman!"
The iconic lines, etched into his DNA, combined with the perfectly-timed flash of lightning, were devastatingly cool.
*Click.*
Orin Vale snapped the perfect picture, extremely satisfied with the angle and lighting.
Years later, when Batman became famous, especially when he would scold new recruits in the Justice League, "No catchphrases! No posing!", Orin Vale had a premonition that the value of this embarrassing photo would skyrocket.
Of course, a lack of experience leading to accidents was one thing, but even as a rookie, the Old Master was still the Old Master. The infiltration went smoothly. Although there was a gap between him and the fearsome Dark Knight he would one day become, he still managed to slip into Maroni's venue across the street through the ventilation ducts.
After entering, Batman landed softly, lowered his center of gravity, and huddled inside his wide, black cape. He moved entirely on his knees, like a stealthy player sneaking up on the enemy backline in a video game.
Orin Vale, watching the whole time from the back row with a God's-eye, X-ray view, couldn't help but find it hilarious.
People usually only saw Batman appearing and disappearing like a ghost in the darkness. Criminals were dragged powerlessly into the shadows one by one and silenced, while those remaining had to face the encroaching darkness and the growing fear in their hearts.
From the victim's perspective, the sneak attack might look incredibly cool, but few would know how long one had to patiently crawl on their knees just to look cool for a moment.
The knees of the Batsuit probably wore out especially fast...
*Speaking of which, I wonder if it always looks this comical from Superman's perspective?*
He snuck out of a storage room and crept along the corridor toward the banquet hall. From a distance, Orin Vale saw two henchmen around the corner at the far end of the hallway, smoking and shooting the breeze.
"Batman? No way he's real," one henchman said with conviction. "Let me tell you, my family has been in this city for seven generations. I'm sure there's no such thing as Batman."
"But even Donald said he's seen him," said the second henchman.
"Oh, Donald? That idiot who's full of crap? Give me a break," the first henchman scoffed. "I'm telling you right now, Batman can't be real. And even if he is, there's nothing to be afraid of."
"He can only bully low-level thugs on the streets. If he dared to show his face to me, hmph, I'd hit him with an uppercut like this, followed by a right hook..."
He was so engrossed in his speech that he forgot to watch where he was going and *smack*, he slammed headfirst into someone around the corner.
"Hey! Watch it!"
The first henchman turned his head and took a good look.
A large, dark figure with pointed ears and a ferocious face...
The two henchmen's hearts instantly stopped.
*Holy crap! Batman!*
Of course, they never got to scream it out loud.
Because before they could, Batman grabbed both their heads, one in each hand, and with a *thud*, slammed them together, knocking them out cold.
Orin Vale watched and nodded slightly.
*Hmm, it's reassuring to see that even as a rookie, the Old Master is so proficient with this takedown.*
Orin Vale's gaze shifted, piercing through layers of obstacles to look into the banquet hall.
At that moment, Gotham's socialites were enjoying an exquisite dinner in Maroni's dining room. Even GCPD's Commissioner, Jim Gordon, was among them.
Everyone knew what kind of man Maroni was and knew about his dirty dealings. But there was no evidence, and no one cared. Even the Commissioner was chatting and laughing with him.
Maroni was speaking to him, "Been busy these past two days, Commissioner Gordon?"
He was obviously referring to Batman.
Jim Gordon didn't say a word. Instead, the Mayor spoke up with a chuckle, "No matter who he is, his methods are certainly effective. The street crime rate is dropping, and my approval ratings are rising."
"Ha, I think you should consider giving him a position, pay him a salary, and let him keep at it, before he suddenly loses interest and quits one day. What do you say, Jim Gordon?"
Commissioner Jim Gordon's face was ashen, and he remained silent. It was clear that from his perspective, he didn't like Batman, for several reasons.
Firstly, Batman's operations severely hindered some of his unsavory sources of income. Secondly, even from an official standpoint, Batman's existence was a huge slap in the face to the GCPD.
Every time this guy made a move and ended up in the newspapers, it was as if he were mercilessly mocking the GCPD as a bunch of good-for-nothing gluttons who just ate donuts all day.
Alright, on reflection, even Jim Gordon himself had to admit that sounded about right. But it was infuriating all the same.
"Don't worry, Batman won't be a problem."
Maroni revealed a sinister smile.
"If he just keeps on as before, keeping a few thugs off the streets, then it's fine. It's not necessarily a bad thing for the people of Gotham to have a hero; at least it gives them a sense of security. The safer they feel, the fewer questions they'll ask."
He paused, then his tone shifted.
"But if that guy doesn't know his place and dares to cross us..."
Maroni's eyes suddenly went black. Then, to the gasps of everyone at the dining table, a cloud of pitch-black mist emerged from behind him, which vaguely formed the abstract shape of a bat.
A cruel smile spread across his face.
"...he'll find out that he's not the only one with tricks up his sleeve."
(end of chapter)