But as expected, they came up empty-handed. Whoever had orchestrated this attack knew better than to leave behind obvious traces.
Bruce and Avery left the station not long after and took time to personally compensate the owners of nearby cars damaged by the explosion.
When Harvey Dent, still recuperating in the hospital, heard about the incident, he assumed Bruce's misfortune was due to his offer to cover the costs of Harvey's reconstructive surgery. Feeling a pang of guilt, he apologized to Bruce.
Bruce reassured him on the surface, but privately, his expression was somber. Even he had been unable to trace the source behind these attacks—a disturbing déjà vu. He remembered feeling something similar after his parents' deaths, sensing a hidden hand behind the tragedy, though every investigation he pursued had ultimately dismissed his suspicions.
First, there had been the acid attack on Harvey. The person responsible had claimed retaliation because Harvey had "cut off their income stream," but even that investigation turned up suspiciously little.
Now, with this most recent attack targeting him, and still no culprit in sight…
Perhaps there was an unseen force operating in Gotham's shadows, hidden even deeper than the usual criminals.
It was a suspicion that stayed with him—until, not long afterward, a new thread emerged that would finally connect the dots and confirm Bruce's worst fears. And the trigger was an attack on Avery himself when he ventured out alone one day.
3:00 PM.
Avery arrived at the school on time, stepping out of the car and standing by its side as the late afternoon breeze stirred around him, waiting for the young master of their household to finish his day. Leaning casually against the car with his arms crossed, his right index finger tapped lightly as he gazed up at the few wispy clouds floating in the deep blue sky, lost in thought.
With a creak, the school gate slowly opened.
Avery's eyes shifted to watch the students pouring out, some with backpacks slung over their shoulders, others unburdened, all wearing wide smiles, the joy of release from school lighting up their faces. Before long, the entrance was bustling, filled with lively voices and the innocent clamor of children.
Avery stood immovable, his eyes fixed on the gate, waiting for Dick to appear.
Yet, as the crowds thinned and only a few stragglers remained, Dick's face was nowhere to be seen.
Avery's eyes darkened slightly. He dropped his arms, straightened his stance, and was about to head inside to inquire with a teacher or staff member when a young man approached him. Dressed in a black suit, with an unremarkable face and an expression curiously devoid of emotion, the man walked directly toward him.
"Are you the guardian of Richard Grayson?"
Avery's gaze quickly but subtly assessed the man before giving a slow nod.
The young man showed no reaction to Avery's cool demeanor, continuing flatly, "He was injured at school just now. He's in the nurse's office having his wounds dressed. Please follow me inside to see him."
Injured?
"Alright, let's go." Avery's gaze sharpened for a moment upon hearing this, but it quickly shifted to one of concern as he nodded and agreed. Without a word, the young man turned around and began leading the way. Avery followed, stepping forward as they made their way into the school.
They passed the empty playground and continued to the front doors. The young man opened the door and led him inside, bringing them into an empty lobby. He then took a right turn, leading Avery down a dimly lit corridor that was shadowed by the lack of sunlight.
In the silent hallway, the only sounds were their footsteps echoing with each step. They walked all the way to the end, where they arrived at a door marked with a sign reading "Infirmary."
The door was open, and Avery stood in the doorway, his eyes falling on Dick. The young man was dressed in the clothes he had worn that morning, sitting with his back to him, head lowered on the white hospital bed, leaning against the wall. He sat still, almost as if there were no sound at all.
"You didn't even try very hard, did you? Anyone with half a brain could see something was off."
After a long silence, Avery's voice, cool and detached, broke the stillness, immediately exposing the false pretense they had tried to maintain.
The man beside him subtly shifted his eyes, a stiff smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "But you still followed, didn't you..."
He paused before finally letting the word slip.
— "Batman."
Almost at the same moment, Avery's eyes widened slightly, and he finally understood why these people had gone to such lengths to deal with him.
Because, just like the old Dick, they had mistaken him for Batman!
Are you all joking? How could you get this wrong?!
Avery restrained himself from voicing this thought, his movements swift and precise, unaffected by the sudden, chilling murderous intent that surrounded him. He quickly shifted his body and dodged the blade that had been aimed straight for him.
The strike was clearly meant to end his life, sharp and direct, aimed at a vital point with speed, precision, and deadly force. But after missing its mark, the assassin did not rush but calmly altered the trajectory, redirecting the blade towards Avery's heart.
By now, Avery realized that he had been surrounded. The corridor, once quiet, was now filled with several figures dressed in tight black suits, their faces masked with owl-shaped helmets. Each of them held a weapon, and though their round goggles obscured their eyes, the murderous intent in their eyes could not be concealed. It poured out like a flood, all directed at Avery.
From their technique to their agility, it was clear that these were highly skilled assassins. Their speed, strength, and dexterity were far beyond the average person's capabilities, leaving anyone else in the dust.
Avery quickly retreated as the blade came at him, narrowly avoiding the strike.