Emergence 2.23 - Cutscene: Batman (Patreon)

The glow of monitor light caught every crease in Batman’s cowl as he leaned forward, eyes narrowed at the footage playing across his main screen. Six hours and forty-three minutes of analysis had left even his iron discipline showing hairline fractures – nothing obvious, just the slight tension in his jaw and the way his gauntleted fingers drummed once, then stilled completely.

The Bialyan compound collapse played in slow-motion across his center display – not the clean, simultaneous structural failure you’d expect from simple explosive damage. No, the thermal imaging showed something messier. Multiple heat signatures blooming in controlled sequence, each triggering the next in a pattern that was anything but random.

Genesis’s account was… inconsistent.

On multiple levels at that.

Batman’s eyes flicked to one of the auxiliary screens surrounding the massive larger one that took up so much space, specifically the one that held Genesis’s mission report highlighted in a bright blue text.

No, the boy hadn’t lied. Batman could spot deception in his sleep and that wasn’t even exaggeration, oddly enough, and Scarecrow had only helped him hone that particular skill in the particular way the gaslighting Gothamite could.

But no, everything the boy had said was accurate on a strictly technical level, but the omissions born of limited perspective and tunnel vision were understandable given the chaotic situation involving both live fire, the emotional aspect of facing a teammate in combat and the complication of two additional enhanced meta-combatants.Batman’s fingers tapped a command sequence, bringing up the last confirmed visual of Queen Bee. The satellite thermal imaging suggested something Genesis couldn’t have seen from his position – a survivable exit path through the east wing, utilized approximately 94 seconds after the boy had evacuated with his teammates.

Batman wasn’t questioning the moral decision of leaving an enemy behind. He’d had too much experience with this life for something like that, no matter what he said in public in front of the League and the Team. No, his concern was far more practical: what would it mean for his team of teenage operatives if the vindictive ruler of a sovereign nation had survived and was now nursing both physical wounds and a personal vendetta?

The sound of approaching footsteps registered. Alfred, descending the main staircase from the manor above. The butler’s arrival was nearly silent, detectable only by the slight shift in air current and the faint scent of freshly prepared coffee.

“I thought you might appreciate some sustenance, sir,” Alfred said, setting down a silver tray exactly eighteen inches from the keyboard’s edge. “You’ve been scrutinizing those screens for nearly seven hours.” The subtle emphasis on the word seven carried a hint of judgement that on Alfred could convey and only Bruce would catch.

As usual, he chose to ignore it. “Thank you, Alfred.” Batman didn’t even bother to look away from the screens as he took the ceramic mug. Black coffee, no sugar, with a small dish of lemon peel on the side — the specific preference he’d grown accustomed to over a decade of nighttime work.

Alfred glanced at Queen Bee’s file on screen six. “I see our royal adversary may have survived her encounter with young Master Armstrong. Rather inconvenient timing, considering the UN’s upcoming vote on Bialyan sanctions.”

“It complicates matters.” Batman took a measured sip of coffee. “The League can’t be seen interfering in sovereign politics.”

“Yet one can’t help but wonder what her survival means for a certain aspiring team of adolescent young vigilantes.” As usual, Alfred’s observation was pointed but delicately delivered.

Batman’s grip on the mug tightened fractionally, only loosening that fraction as he spoke. “They weren’t supposed to be in this position in the first place.” The choice to give them largely out-of-the way recon missions had only seemed to backfire as every single one of those missions immediately turned into something that would require League Intervention on a good day. It’s like they attract trouble.

“Children rarely find themselves precisely where they’re ‘supposed’ to be, sir.” Alfred straightened a silver spoon on the tray that was already perfectly aligned.

The conversation paused as Batman turned his head and Alfred followed, gaze focused on the path leading in from the mansion proper as they both registered a new presence. The secondary cave access echoed slightly with the quick tap of shoe soles against stone, followed by the distinct sound of a characteristically unecessary triple flip from the last stair landing.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dick called, already walking briskly toward the computer array. He wore his Gotham Academy uniform—tie loosened, blazer unbuttoned, hair slightly windblown from hurried travel. “Had to finish that chem lab with Barbara. But I got something interesting from monitoring Bialyan military channels.”

He dropped his school bag beside the workstation and moved immediately to a secondary console.

Batman shifted his attention seamlessly, dividing focus between the main display and Dick’s activities with practiced efficiency. “Excellent work. Show it.”

A slight hum from the butler of the Wayne family pierced through the air before Dick could do just that, the barely-there sound catching the attention of both the hyper-attentive hero in the room and his protege. “Would you prefer to take a meal as you work, Master Dick?” Alfred asked, unbothered tone suggesting he’d already anticipated the answer hours ago.

“Is that even a question, Alfred? Thanks!” The Boy Wonder grinned without looking up, the rapid-fire typing never faltering.“Mmmm,” one raised eyebrow turned towards Batman, the Dark Knight choosing to ignore his caretaker’s judgement as was usual for the both of them. Without another sound, Alfred made his way out of the cave.

Data cascaded across the main screen as Dick’s findings materialized: intercepted military communications translated from Arabic, showing signal origination points from three distinct locations – Bialyan Military HQ, the desert compound remains, and an undisclosed medical facility. The encryption level was classified as military-grade, but Robin’s annotation simply read: “Child’s play.”

Most notable was the 327% increase in communication frequency over the past 48 hours – a spike that couldn’t be explained by standard post-crisis protocols.

“Look at these troop movements,” Robin said, bringing up a tactical display. “Three layers of concentric security rings around the compound site, and they’ve pulled elite guard units from border positions. That’s not cleanup—that’s protection.”

Batman nodded once, cross-referencing with his earlier findings. “Medical supply requisitions?”

“Just getting to that,” Dick replied, bringing up another window showing specialized burn treatment equipment imports from LexCorp subsidiaries, alongside pain management pharmaceuticals and cosmetic reconstruction materials.

Batman’s focus shifted to the mission parameters. It had been authorized as reconnaissance only—identify the signal source, maintain covert status, non-engagement directive. The outcome had deviated significantly: telepathic attack resulting in Team memory loss, separation across the Bialyan desert, Aqualad’s capture and mind control, Genesis and Superboy’s rescue operation, and finally, the facility destruction.

“Dick… you do understand that what concerns me isn’t that Genesis left her behind,” Batman said after a moment of silence. “It’s that a thirteen-year-old was forced to make that decision at all.”

The thirteen-year-old looked up, surprised by the admission. “Wait, you’re saying his call was justified?”

Batman leveled a look at his adopted son. “What I’m saying is that the situation was nothing short of understandable. More than predictable, it was a human choice, rational or not, that very few would truly disagree with, especially given the situation.”

Dick’s expression tightened, white teeth gritted against each other. “I guess I must have missed a lesson in the Bat-Academy of Morals and Ethics, because I know you taught me better than leaving enemies to die.”

“This isn’t about what’s ‘okay,’ Robin.” Batman’s voice remained level even as he slipped into using codenames. “It’s about what happens in the field when plans fail. Young, inexperienced operatives placed in impossible situations will make imperfect choices.”

“But—”

“Tell me you would have made a different call, Robin,” Batman shut his protege down with one sentence, the Dark Knight turning his chair to face the thirteen-year-old directly, expression calm but eyes narrowed, expression both lessened and magnified with the cowle down. “With myself and Alfred at risk, you would risk our lives for Queen Bee’s. Tell me that.”

Robin hesitated, then exhaled sharply, that distinctive huff of frustration he’d had since he was nine as his voice hardened in the way that it did the more time he spent in the Cave. “I would have tried. That’s the difference.”

The unspoken accusation hung between them: You trained me better than that.

Before Batman could answer back and explain the differences, an alert flashed on screen three – international news feeds. Batman tapped a command, bringing CNN to the main display. The footage showed a Bialyan palace backdrop with increased military presence and a suspiciously uniform crowd of “supporters” that any trained eye could identify as staged based on formation patterns and demographic distribution.

Then she appeared.

The whole thing was clearly a theatre so calculated that Batman didn’t doubt the woman had a specific highly-paid (or highly-threatened) team to ensure it met the highest standards of cinematic glory. And it certainly was cinematic, as Queen Bee entered the view of the camera, said camera panning up and swooping to show her from the feet up as she walked across the luxurious carpet laid out for her and only her.The whole thing was dramatic enough to command attention but controlled enough to project strength. Even still, her regal posture showed signs of physical discomfort, extremely subtle yet detectable to those trained to read body language at Batman’s level. As expected.

Despite that, the transformation was unmistakable: Queen Bee’s face was now concealed behind an ornate golden mask with feminine features cast in precious metal, intricate detailing suggesting ancient royal iconography, eyes visible only through narrow slits that somehow enhanced rather than diminished their intensity.

“Bialya remains strong despite cowardly attacks on our sovereignty,” Queen Bee declared, voice carrying that familiar hypnotic quality even through electronic distortion. The system was already processing her speech, analyzing her voice pattern to verify identity and a few seconds in, Batman had his answer. 98.9% match to Queen Bee. “Those who brought destruction to our soil will face justice. Strengthened borders will protect our people from foreign interference. The face of Bialya may change, but our resolve is unbreakable.”

Mentor and protege exchanged glances as the camera feed came to a close, Batman muting the newsfeed as a talking head replaced the leader of Bialya.

“So she survived,” Robin said, arms crossed as he leaned back against the console, the pose making him look suddenly young despite his attempt at casual professionalism. “I’m guessing Genesis’s mission report didn’t say anything about that.”

“His report stated what he believed to be true based on his perspective,” Batman replied, pulling up additional feeds showing Bialyan state television celebrating Queen Bee’s “resilience” alongside international sources questioning the sudden change in her appearance. “Her positioning is strengthened by this ‘survival’ narrative. The perceived resilience enhances her political standing, both domestically and with certain international allies. The mask transforms her injuries into a symbol of strength.”

Robin shook his head, a humorless smile forming. “She’s pulling a Palpatine.”

“The comparison is apt,” Batman acknowledged after nearly two seconds of thought, damn near an eternity to the Dark Knight. “Using an attack to consolidate power and justify aggressive measures.”

Alfred returned, moving with that quiet efficiency that somehow never disturbed their work despite the silver tray balanced in his hands. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing something more substantial than coffee, sir. For both of you.”

As Alfred set down the tray of sandwiches cut into precise triangles, Batman brought up the most recent intelligence reports. “We need to consider what this means for the Team.”

“You mean besides the fact that we now have an internationally protected head of state gunning for us?” Robin asked, reaching for a sandwich from the tray. “Genesis is going to think he failed.”

“He completed his primary objective: team extraction without casualties,” Batman countered. “The responsibility for the mission parameters falls to me. I authorized a reconnaissance operation without adequate contingencies for escalation.”

The sandwich was clearly delicious, as expected of Alfred’s cooking, judging by the way Robin paused speaking to savor the single bite he had taken so far. Finally, he swallowed and looked over at Batman again. “So what’s the plan?”

The cave was rather silent for the next few seconds as Batman eased back, hands folded in his lap, and turned to face Robin. “First… we assess the immediate threat level and strengthen security protocols. Then we prepare the Team for the possibility of retaliation.”

“And Gen?”

“He’ll discover on his own soon enough,” Batman acknowledged the question and immediately dismissed it. “Telling him now won’t do anything that discovering it from an online news article wouldn’t.”

Robin didn’t appear convinced, but he nodded, turning back to his console. “I’ll start tracking Bialyan intelligence operations that might target the Team.”

“Focus on digital reconnaissance and communications monitoring,” Batman instructed.“Anything that could indicate preparation for cross-border operations.”

“Sirs,” Alfred said quietly from behind them, “if I may offer an observation.”

Both Batman and Robin paused, looking up from the security protocols.

“Young Master Armstrong is not you, nor is he Master Dick. His background, experiences, and perspective are uniquely his own.” Alfred straightened almost imperceptibly. “Perhaps the judgment that matters most is not yours, nor the Team’s, but the one he places upon himself.”

Batman considered this, then gave a single nod of acknowledgment.