As soon as the Aston drove into the grounds of the estate, he could see workers in blue overalls scurrying back and forth, trying to get the garden to its proper state.
Well, I can wish them luck. Considering that it's winter and snow sometimes falls at night, this idea is initially doomed to failure. The moderately continental climate with a slight influence of subtropical climate, due to the close proximity of the ocean, does not save much here.
Hmm, why don't we get Abby to do some tinkering? It wouldn't be too hard for her, but Alfred could show off the coolest lawn to the other butlers.
I pulled up at the foot of the Wayne Mansion's main entrance, where several vans were parked, carrying the various appliances and furniture needed for the upcoming fundraiser.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Arkham," an older man greeted me politely as always, meeting me at the front doors.
"Hello. I see you've already started preparing for the charity event," I said, nodding toward the movers carrying some dark carved panels. - Do you need my help? With the garden, for instance. I have an acquaintance who can grow tropical trees for the envy of the neighborhood.
My words made the man perk up, though he clearly didn't want to show it, immediately assuming a nonchalant look.
"Hadn't Miss Isley already returned from Brazil?" He asked cautiously.
"I have another acquaintance with similar abilities.
"If it's not too much trouble for her," my companion decided, opening the door invitingly. - Master Bruce is waiting for you in his office, please follow me.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, my eyes caught sight of the large banners with the police emblem and the Wayne family symbol hanging from the ceiling. Then I noticed the modular closet being assembled by workers on the right side of the central hallway, and the maids shuttling through the many rooms, unpacking and cleaning.
Seeing all this bacchanalia, I began to realize what a sacrifice Bats had made to stop the dripping on his brains, and what a load the elderly butler had put on his shoulders.
That's fucking crazy. Who would like to have a bunch of strangers in his house? And it's all right if they're service staff, because it's hard to keep a huge area clean on your own (which I've already experienced firsthand when I helped Harley with the cleaning), but I don't give a shit about the people on the estate.
It is better to use a banquet hall in a hotel or even in "Iceberg" for such purposes. A penguin is not an idiot and is unlikely to crap where he lives, hmm, and will also provide decent security...
At the same time, seeing the scale of the future event, I'm beginning to realize that my hundred and fifty thousand looks like a dead poultice. WayneTech rifles with special electric cartridges alone cost at least a couple of million, and that's just the funds for the development of non-lethal weapons and the production of an experimental batch. Preparing a huge estate for the arrival of guests, similarly, cost a lot of money. Eh, under such circumstances, I think, it is possible to donate a million or two for the needs of the valiant police, or so it is not long to turn into the main defender of Gotham, who, instead of strengthening the guards of order, sets up a secret lair, buys wildly expensive equipment, and then in a latex suit chases after various criminal elements, hoping to set them on the path of truth with the fists of Love.
As we slowly made our way to our goal, passing through the numerous corridors and giving way to the workers, I was able to ask Alfred in more detail about the upcoming celebration, which would be in only nine days, of course, unless there was another major fuck-up. Still, there are two supercriminals roaming around somewhere in the city, and a very high quality copy of the Joker, who will now be after me as the sole survivor...
The last thought made me freeze right in front of the right door. Let's say I was the Joker, how would I deal with my main enemy?
In theory, it's easy to kill a man. Just find out his routine and ambush him or, if you have the money, pay someone like Deadshot. But this is the Joker we're talking about (even if it's not really him/herself)! A crazy psychotic clown is bound to make a whole show out of this event, and a show needs a good venue and an audience. Now, the million-dollar question: what is the event that is going to draw a large crowd very soon, and that I will definitely be attending?
"Mr. Arkham, are you all right?" The butler tugged gently on my shoulder, a concerned look in his eyes.
"Ah, yes... - I woke up from my brainstorming session.
"You stared at one point for two minutes and didn't react to anything.
"I'm sorry, I get like that sometimes. Is Bruce there?
"Yes," the concern was still audible in the older man's voice, and he looked around hesitantly. - I need to supervise the preparations for the charity event...
"It's fine, don't worry," I smiled reassuringly and quickly slipped into the office and closed the door behind me, or else Alfred would appoint another manager to oversee my condition.
Bruce was sitting at a huge oak desk, stacked with stacks of reports. It's good for me, I've got Mouse and Harley to do all the work, and I can go out and do stuff. Gloomy Mouse is too responsible a person to delegate his duties to others. Although the scale is clearly not comparable: a multi-billion dollar transcorporation, which requires careful supervision, and a small company that produces games for cell phones.
"Did you have time to talk about it?" The billionaire didn't greet me very warmly.
"Almost," I smiled, taking the chair across from me. - How's Selina doing?
"I see the wounds have healed.
"Ha ha ha, almost. We can spar tomorrow and you can try to punch me in the face. So how's Selina doing?" I wiggle my eyebrows playfully.
I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to fight the Dark Knight himself, so I decided to consolidate the result.
"She's doing fine," the man said with a sigh, realizing I wasn't going to let up. - Is that the only reason you're here?
"Of course not. I have a business proposition for you, as well as a brilliantly crazy plan that I guarantee you'll love!" my lips stretched in an anticipatory smile against my will.
But despite my desire to get to the fun part, first we got to the patents. And this... I don't know what to call him now, insisted that he was registering six images with Wayne Industries. Okay, I didn't mind giving Bats his own, that's kind of expected, but he also, as if on purpose, took Knight of Moonlight, Sylormoon, Batgirl, Joker and Harley Quinn!!! You big-eared bastard!
I've only gotten Superman and Wonder Woman as normal supers... Okay, I worry too much about this stuff. Hell, those two characters should be incredibly profitable, and Wayne Industries' legal department will handle all the registration issues. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't have agreed to such a generous offer. After we came to a certain consensus, it was time for the second part of the conversation, which, in the end, lasted almost an hour and a half.
"Bruce," a teenage boy burst through the door, interrupting the discussion of my brilliant plan to rehabilitate the main villain of Gotham. - I've managed to locate Zuko's whereabouts! Uh-oh.
The boy noticed that his foster father wasn't alone, and he stopped talking abruptly. Hmm, I didn't think the little guy would be able to come off the drugs so quickly.
"Hi," I waved my hand, "you hardly know me, but I remember you still like this," showing Richard's approximate height before the Court of Owls took over.
"And you...
"Jay Arkham, Bruce's business partner.
"Uh, the one.
"I don't know one or the other," I smooth back my green hair with a smile, "but I was released from the asylum relatively recently.
The kid hung back, contemplating the space.
"He knows," Bats said suddenly, turning to me.
"Hmm, I thought you were more secretive.
"He lives in my house, and he's also had to endure some not-so-nice memory recovery procedures.
"Then you can tell him about me.
"Bruce, what's he talking about?" Richard asked warily.
"Then..." The man shifted his scrutinizing blue eyes to me. - I admit your plan has merit, but how are you going to pull off the switch? I doubt you'll be able to master doppel magic in a week.
Doppel magic? Sounds very curious, but I'll get to that afterward.
"I have a good friend who can fill in for me, so I'll be fine.
"Hmr..." Grim Mouse rubbed his tired eyes. - I agree, but on the condition that we don't catch him before and you don't engage in sabotage," he finished firmly, emphasizing the last part of the sentence.
I nodded happily. Honestly, if I wasn't aware of the canon, I'd be sure that Bruce was a close relative of mine. The plan was really crazy, but it had somehow managed to get approval (with a dozen amendments, of course) from the Dark Knight himself!
In general, Bats is really struggling now. Moreover, both his basic personality and the image of a multibillionaire.
Most recently, Grundy killed a bunch of incredibly wealthy and powerful people who secretly run the city. So far, the consequences of this act have been subtle, but it won't be long before, if nothing is done, Gotham will be more feverish than when the psychopathic clowns performed in Blackport.
In order to avoid this and maintain some semblance of order, the Dark Knight must carefully intercept the threads of the suddenly deceased puppeteers, or their subordinates without wise leadership will surely begin to lose their way. Yes, it will be at least a couple of days until the workers get to the labyrinth with the pile of bodies, but there is no need to delay in such matters.
Simultaneously with solving the problems of the shadow world Bruce Wayne had to devote time to his new girlfriend, to help his adopted son and to engage in legal activities, looking for funds to buy out companies that suddenly lost their management. And this case is no easier than hunting for supercriminals.
At the same time, the city center that suffered from underground explosions was to the superhero's advantage, as now the billionaire, along with March Lincoln, will be able to implement his plan to rebuild Old Gotham without much trouble.
Naturally, Mysh wouldn't share all the details with me, but I can still be logical and managed to guess where everything was going. Well, I glanced at the reports on the table, seeing familiar names, while Bats was escorting Richard out of the office, eager to join adult conversations. Heh-heh-heh-heh, I probably shouldn't have stared so intently at the boy when it came to another switch during the gala, but it was too late now, as the young gymnast looked extremely intrigued by my proposal. All I had to do was convince Bruce to let the boy take part in the upcoming adventure, providing as much security as possible, and I was good to go.
But back to talking about the aftermath. Guessing what kind of shit the city would soon be in, and who would pull it out of it, during a leisurely trip to an island with mentally ill criminals, I contacted Alan to inquire about the possibility of buying shares in Wayne Enterprise. Minus twenty million from my main account, I was the proud owner of twenty thousand shares of the multinational corporation.
Soon the Aston crossed the bridge, and I found myself at a booth with a bored guard. A standard check at the checkpoint, a trip through familiar corridors in the company of another orderly, no less standard tests in the office of the head of the hospital, and there I was, standing in front of Fries's cell. The glass had been changed, and now it was insensitive to temperature fluctuations, allowing a normal view of the bald, blue-skinned man in the orange robe, as well as the interior of his temporary home. It was not much different from a standard cell, except for the subzero temperature inside and the large vertical cryo-capsule at the head of the bed.
"Guten Tag," the patient was the first to break the silence. - To what do I owe this visit?
"Good afternoon," I returned the greeting. - It's time to discuss your future fate, Victor.
This time the conversation with the scientist went more smoothly. Fryce, of course, did not like the fact that he would have to leave his beloved for a while, but he still decided to take this step, knowing perfectly well that hardly anyone could offer him better conditions. Naturally, there is still an option to escape and become a real supercriminal, but my frost-resistant interlocutor is not that desperate yet.
I would like to note that after a few days spent in Arkham, the scientist clearly became more docile and adequate, calmly telling and showing me how to provide his wife with maximum comfort. It still bothered me a little that at times he began to consult with Nora about his further actions (and she answered him, apparently), but the man was a real genius, who even sitting in a cell managed to optimize the work of freezing systems, and the updated glass was created in WayneTech, thanks to his advice. Having solved all the issues, I left the hospital, not forgetting to personally invite Jeremiah to the charity event, though the doctor said he was unlikely to be able to attend.
There were no other important things to do, so I drove home with a clear conscience, on my way to pick up Harley, who had managed to arrange advertising for our game. For some reason I was sure that it was quite easy, but as in any business, there were many pitfalls, from defining the target group to the avatar of a typical user. So my faithful assistant had to spend almost four hours in the advertiser's office trying to figure out all the nuances.
Listening to the girl's story, I could only admire her level of responsibility and moral fortitude. I had to stop at a restaurant as an incentive, and then we reached the manor. No sooner had our gorgeous couple reached the kitchen than Natalie called and said that the shelter was ready.
In ten minutes the manager was already standing at the entrance, as if she was just waiting for our arrival, on duty somewhere nearby.
"Hey. What's up?" I asked the woman, noticing her face was a little droopy.
"The management's problems were more serious than we had originally thought. Don't worry, it didn't affect the quality of work," she rushed to reassure me.
"I sure hope so.
I felt a little uneasy. I had already assessed the capabilities of the construction company, and I was one hundred percent sure that the VSO was capable of causing a global fuck-up if it wanted to. The only hope was that the company would move its squabbles to another dimension.
My gloomy thoughts quickly evaporated as the woman handed me the tablet with the plans for the shelter and led me deeper into the manor, to a secret entrance hidden behind a bookcase on the second floor.
A short descent on the elevator, and our friendly company finds itself in a huge room, similar to the lower level of the bat cave, but a little more modest. There are only five rather large levels-floors with everything necessary for superhero (or supervillain) activity. The excursion was not very detailed: after all, this place was almost personally designed by me and Harley. So, having received all the access codes and a wish of good luck, we said goodbye to the personal manager and proceeded to a more thorough inspection of the riches we had received.
My beloved immediately sat down in her personal chemistry lab, genuinely happy about the pile of reagents, but I continued to wander around the premises, carefully examining everything. There was a full-fledged workshop with a modular assembler, a normal garage, where you can even assemble an OCDR, a training ground, a couple of empty rooms, as well as the "entertainment" room, made in red and black colors. The heart of all this grandiose construction was the control room with the most modern computer in the set. Unfortunately, it was without the prefix "super" and could only boast a clean operating system for now. There was a lot of work to be done before it could be turned into a batcomp, but I wasn't sure it was worth it, given the recent debacle with the hacked cameras.
Before I could play with my new toys, I was distracted by a call from Mousey, who urged me to turn on the local news. There was internet downstairs, so I launched the broadcast without much difficulty.
After a couple minutes of watching the report, I turned off my smartphone, leaning my forehead against the cool wall.
Five minutes ago, Number One live-streamed the stabbing of Salvatore Maroni, one of the mob bosses.