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Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but it's the Bat phone.

You don't fancy, sir, that this famous desperado intends to stoop to the robbery of a lemonade stand?

Holy steam valve!

My duties do not include aiding and abetting thievery.

Very well, you have my word as a gentlemen's gentlemen, that no one will ever learn your secret from me.

It appears, sir, that you're suffering from a severe loss of memory. Fortunately, however, I packed the Recollection-Cycle Bat-Restorer for this little overseas trip.

Thank goodness, Master Robin. I despaired of ever seeing you again.

Bless my dustpan!

Mr. Wayne told me to tell you that he might be a little late.

I have no wish to fill my few remaining years grieving for the loss of old friends.
Or their sons.

Miss Vale called again. Dare I suggest that your present course of action might simply strengthen her resolve. She is quite tenacious.

And if I may say so, quite special. Perhaps you could try telling her the truth.

I thought champagne would be in order, ma'am.

Oh, I regret to inform you that master Wayne is going to be a little late tonight.

I will relay the message.

Let's not forget about repairing the Batmobile. There's certain security to consider. It's not as though we can take it to any old Joe's bodyshop, is it, sir?

It's vichyssoise. It's supposed to be cold.

Well, come what may. Merry Christmas, Mister Wayne.

Why are you still out? Are you concerned about that strange, heroic Penguin person?

Sir, shall we change the channel to a program with some dignity and class? The Love Connection, perhaps?

Why are you so determined to prove this Penguin is not what he seems? Must you be the only lonely man-beast in town?

I suppose you feel better now, sir.

Can I persuade you to take a sandwich with you, sir?

What do these riddles mean?

You really are quite bright, despite what people say.

Broken wings mend in time. One day Robin will fly again. I promise.

May I help you, Master Grayson?

Young men with a mind for revenge need little encouragement. They need guidance. You, above all, should know the consequences of the life you choose.

Is the young master leaving? Pity. I'll just toss this away, then. Perhaps the dogs are hungry.

The eight of us go forth, not back. To protect our king from the foe's attack.

We're going to need a bigger cave.

Perhaps the truth is you really don't trust anyone.

I expected you might find your way down here. I programmed my brain al-algorithms into the Batcomputer to create a virtual simu-simulation.

I anticipated you would, and took the liberty to create something in your size.

Yes, actually. Death and chance, stole your parents. But rather than become a victim, you have done everything in your power to control the fates. For what is Batman? If not an effort to master the chaos that sweeps our world. An attempt to control death, itself.

There is no defeat in death, Master Bruce.
Victory comes in defending what we know is right while we still live.

I must have dozed off. My sincerest apologies.


Why do we fall sir? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.

Took quite a fall, didn't we, Master Bruce?

The Wayne legacy is more than bricks and mortar, sir.

What is the point of all those push-ups if you can't even lift a bloody log?

Are you coming back to Gotham for long, sir?

I assume that as you're taking on the underworld, this symbol is a persona to protect those you care about from reprisals.

Actually, sir, I was thinking of myself.

Bats may be, but even for billionaire playboys, three o'clock is pushing it. The price of leading a double life, I fear. Your theatrics made an impression.

Strange injuries a non-existent social life, these things beg the question as to what exactly does Bruce Wayne do with his time and his money.

Drive sports cars, date movie stars, buy things that are not for sale... who knows, Master Wayne? You start pretending to have fun, you might even have a little by accident.

Well, I just couldn't figure the legal ramifications of bringing you back from the dead.

Quite so, sir. And you can borrow the Rolls if you like.
Just bring it back with a full tank.

I've prepared the master bedroom.

In the, uh, meantime, Sir, may I suggest you try to avoid landing on your head?

I thought this might be a good opportunity for improving the foundations.

It's not just your name, sir! It's your father's name!
And it's all that's left of him. Don't destroy it.

When you told me your grand plan for saving Gotham, the only thing that stopped me from calling the men in white coats was when you said that it wasn't about thrill-seeking.

It's a miracle no one was killed.

In the Civil War, your great-great grandfather was involved in the Underground Railroad, secretly transporting freed slaves to the North. And I suspect these caverns came in handy.

You look very fashionable. Apart from the mud.

Will you be wanting the Batpod, sir?

You crossed the line first, sir. You squeezed them, you hammered them to the point of desperation. And in their desperation, they turned to a man they didn't fully understand.

Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.

I suppose they'll lock me up as well. As your accomplice...

Oh, you have no idea.

Endure, Master Wayne. Take it. They'll hate you for it, but that's the point of Batman, he can be the outcast. He can make the choice that no one else can make, the right choice.

Did you get mauled by a tiger?

Why don't you hire them and take the weekend off?

I trust you don't have me followed on my day off.

You spat in the faces of Gotham's worse criminals. Didn't you think there might be some casualties? Things were always going to get worse before they got better.

I've sewn you up, I've set your bones, but I won't bury you. I've buried enough members of the Wayne family.

I am using the truth, Master Wayne. Maybe it's time we all stop trying to outsmart the truth and let it have its day.

It means your hatred... and it also means losing someone that I have cared for since I first heard his cries echo through this house. But it might also mean saving your life. And that is more important.

Remember when you left Gotham? Before all this, before Batman? You were gone seven years. Seven years I waited, hoping that you wouldn't come back. Every year, I took a holiday. I went to Florence, there's this cafe, on the banks of the Arno. Every fine evening, I'd sit there and order a Fernet Branca. I had this fantasy, that I would look across the tables and I'd see you there, with a wife and maybe a couple of kids. You wouldn't say anything to me, nor me to you. But we'd both know that you'd made it, that you were happy. I never wanted you to come back to Gotham. I always knew there was nothing here for you, except pain and tragedy. And I wanted something more for you than that. I still do.

You two should exchange notes over coffee.

At this point, I'd set you up with a chimpanzee if it'd brought you back to the world!

You hung up your cape and your cowl, but you didn't move on, you never went to find a life, to find someone...

I know, and you lost her. But that's all part of living, sir. But you're not living. You're just waiting, hoping for things to go bad again.

I'm so sorry. I failed you. You trusted me, and I failed you.

This city needs Bruce Wayne, your resources, your knowledge. It doesn't need your body, or your life. That time has passed.

If you're seriously considering going back out there, you should hear the rumors surrounding Bane.

Don't worry, Master Wayne. It takes a little time to get back into the swing of things.

You are as precious to me as you were to your own mother and father. I swore to them that I would protect you, and I haven't.

Is it really painful?

That is a man who fights with the power of belief.

Happy watching, thank you, sir.

One misses the days whens one's biggest concern is exploding wind-up penguins.

Oh, yes it has, sir. Everything's changed. Men fall from the sky, the gods hurl thunderbolts, innocents die. That's how it starts, sir. The fever, the rage, the feeling of powerlessness that turns good men... cruel.

But he is not our enemy!

You're gonna go to war?

It comes to us all, Master Wayne. Even you've got too old to die young, though not for lack of trying.

Thermal imaging is showing me two dozen hostiles on the third floor. Why don't I drop you off on the second?

I'm sorry for listening in but I've tracked the Russian's phone to a warehouse near the port. You're locked onto it.

I hope the next generation of Wayne's won't inherit an empty wine cellar. Not that there's likely to be a next generation...

Go upstair and socialize. Some young lady from Metropolis will make you honest.

No, Master Wayne. This is the team.


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