"Just a little more… I'm almost there," Alfred thought as he leapt upward from the ground, landing on the side of a building. His body dangled for a moment, holding onto the edge with the precise, ghost-like grace of a trained assassin. His cloak fluttered in the wind, but he didn't mind. From this vantage point, he could see the orphanage just a few miles away if he took the direct path.
But as he looked out across the city skyline, he felt it. That strange heaviness in the air. He was being followed. He was about 80% sure of who it was… and that alone was enough to make him slightly irritated and confused.
How was he being tracked? he wondered, eyes still locked on the sky. Behind the veil, his gaze narrowed, and his grip on the ledge tightened.
There was one thing he could do to be absolutely sure but he wasn't certain if confirming his suspicion was worth the risk of drawing even more attention.
"Curiosity killed the cat," he muttered with a smirk, still staring at the sky.
"But satisfaction brought it back," he finished the quote just as he pushed off from the side of the building.
His body vanished mid-air in a flicker, reappearing a good distance away, landing silently on a rooftop. Then, once again, he flickered out of sight vanishing and reappearing like a phantom dancing through the city.
"This should be far enough," Alfred muttered to himself as he reappeared near Gotham Harbor, quite a distance away from the orphanage. If his suspicions about who was following him were wrong, then at least this isolated spot would keep nearby civilians safe. And all his running had all him to this location far gave him time to recover a bit of core energy, just enough to use a few tricks like the substitution jutsu from Naruto.
Now, standing still and looking down at the wet, glistening asphalt road below, he knew there was nothing more to do… except wait. Wait for the one who had been tracking him to finally show themselves.
The person who had been following Alfred didn't waste any time. Within minutes of Alfred arriving at the harbor, his pursuer was there too.
The silence was broken by the low, sharp sound of a jet descending its engines humming like a predator in the dark. Alfred stood near the gray ocean, his back to the crashing waves, watching as a sleek, black, bat-shaped jet touched down nearby.
The Batwing.
He didn't need to see the pilot to know who it was.
As the cockpit of the Batwing hissed open, Alfred raised his hand into a combat stance. A soft blue light illuminated his right palm, forming a small dagger from pure energy. It was entirely black, etched with intricate glowing designs runes that pulsed like anger given form.
His red eyes shimmered with anticipation. This was it. He was about to face one of the most iconic characters in fiction Batman himself. He was excited… and curious to see how the Dark Knight would react.
But then, the man who stepped out of the Batwing wasn't Batman.
At first glance, anyone might have been fooled. The suit was right. The silhouette was perfect. To the average observer, it was Batman.
But Alfred wasn't average.
After all, Alfred had gacha an ability unlike anything this world had seen. And the characters he had drawn weren't just for show. They were specialists masters of subtle perception, deception, and adaptation. He had inherited their instincts, their powers, their attention to the smallest details in human behavior.
He didn't just look at appearances he read people like a code. Body language, presence, energy signature. And this man? His height didn't match. His movements were just slightly off. No... this wasn't Bruce Wayne.
Someone was impersonating the Bat.
"How are you?" the Batman impostor said in a voice that was almost perfect almost. It carried the signature gravel and calm command of the Dark Knight, but to Alfred, it was just slightly off.
After all, Alfred had spent a good amount of time researching every single member of the Justice League in depth—analyzing their mannerisms, voices, and behavior patterns. This impersonation was good. Really good. And Alfred had to give credit where it was due: the voice was close. Closer than most could ever manage.
But not close enough.
A faint smile played behind Alfred's mask as the energy blade dissolved from his hand. He tilted his head slightly, amused.
"You should work on your voice, Nightwing," he said coolly.
Then, without warning, he turned and fell backward plunging into the ocean behind him, vanishing beneath the surface without a trace.
Left stunned, Nightwing stood frozen for a moment, shocked that his identity had been exposed. Then, without hesitation, he ran toward the edge of the platform and stopped, staring down into the ocean below. His expression was unreadable there was no sign of the man had in the water blow, and jumping in now could only put him in a dangerous position.
He lingered there for a moment, eyes fixed on the dark waves beneath him, before turning away and heading back toward the Batwing. Clearly, the city needed his attention somewhere else.