Gotham Goon Gacha (DC/Chaos Gacha): Chapter 69

Bruce frowned as he stared at the Batcomputer.

Barbara’s report did not bode well for his own countermeasures. Had Jean Valjean’s luck sent him to interfere because Bruce had requested them, or did the fault lie more with Doctor Fate himself? 

Zatanna had mentioned that she was working on something, but as much as Bruce respected her, he doubted she could match a Lord of Order. He had been counting on the Tower of Fate existing partially outside their dimension to counteract Valjean’s luck.

It seemed that hope had been futile as well.

Bruce knew several other magicians, but most fell short of either Zatanna or Doctor Fate. It would also be a cold day in hell before he willingly approached John Constantine for help. 

“Magic is no good, then,” Bruce grunted. “Perhaps a technological solution…”

His fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard as he recorded the incident in his files. Jean Valjean’s dossier had quickly become one of the largest he possessed, yet despite its size, there remained a distinct lack of concrete information.

It seemed as though every day Jean Valjean revealed some insane new trick.

Powerful opponents were nothing new to Bruce. Most of his enemies, however, at least had the decency to remain consistent.

Bruce’s leading theories about Jean Valjean’s nature included a champion of some potent magical entity, a Fifth-Dimensional being similar to Bat-Mite or Mister Mxyzptlk, or some anomalous type of metahuman.

The fact that all three theories remained plausible, and that none of them necessarily disproved the others, only added to his headache.

“I could use some of that luck right about now,” Bruce muttered as he rubbed his eyes.

“Perhaps what you need is some sleep.”

Alfred approached and placed a cup on the desk beside him.

Bruce offered no response. He simply accepted the tea and took a drink, already knowing exactly how the argument would unfold.

“The tea is wonderful,” Bruce said. “Is it—”

“Complimenting me will not get you off the hook, Master Bruce.” Alfred sniffed as he began organizing the papers scattered across the desk.

Bruce's lips thinned as he stared at the endless lines of data and reports displayed across the Batcomputer. 

“It taunts me, Alfred,” he said. “There has to be an answer somewhere, but I’m just not seeing it.”

Alfred continued gathering the scattered papers, seemingly unmoved by the frustration in Bruce’s voice.

“Jean Valjean’s luck is broad, but there is a pattern. Sometimes it creates opportunities. Other times it removes obstacles before he is even aware they exist. It can affect people, objects, timing, and possibly entire chains of events.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed as another file opened across the screen. “If I could create a predictive formula or even determine the mechanism behind it, I would be able to develop the proper countermeasures.”

“And I assume staring at the same information for another six hours will somehow change that?” Alfred asked.

Bruce ignored the remark. His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

“For all I know, his luck may already be actively preventing anyone from understanding it. I could be nearing an answer only to ‘luckily’ miss it because someone interrupted me at the critical moment.”

“That sounds deeply frustrating, sir.”

Bruce glanced toward him. “You don’t sound particularly concerned.”

“I am concerned,” Alfred replied. “Primarily about the man who has been awake for nearly twenty-four hours and believes exhaustion will somehow improve his deductive abilities.”

Bruce released a slow breath. “Alfred—”

“No.”

Bruce met Alfred’s stare. Neither looked away.

“As Batman, it is my duty to understand potential threats,” Bruce said at last.

Alfred’s expression remained unyielding. “And as Bruce Wayne, it is your responsibility to remember that you are still human and require sleep.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Fine,” Bruce relented. “Ten more minutes, and then I’ll come upstairs.”

“Very good, Master Bruce.” Alfred turned and began walking away. “Perhaps you will find more success once you remember that you are Bruce Wayne, not merely Batman.”

Bruce grunted and returned to the files, but Alfred’s words echoed in his head.

…That couldn’t possibly work.

Bruce frowned as he looked down at the Batsuit.

Still, it would hardly be the most ridiculous thing he had ever attempted. 

A few minutes later, Bruce sat in the manor’s dining room dressed in one of his business suits. The dossier remained open on the tablet before him as he continued combing through every report, now as Bruce Wayne rather than Batman.

Nothing happened.

No sudden revelation struck him. No miraculous answer appeared between the lines.

Bruce snorted. Of course not. The entire idea had been absurd—

A window shattered.

Bruce was out of his chair before the glass finished striking the floor.

An owl-masked intruder crashed through the broken window and landed badly on the polished floor. Both legs folded beneath him with a sickening crack before he collapsed with a strangled cry.

Bruce just stared.

The attempted break-in had seemingly been foiled by nothing more than the intruder’s own terrible landing.

No. No, that couldn’t be it. This was merely a— 

The assassin struggled to rise, dragging himself forward with one arm. Bruce stepped around the table, ready to subdue him.

A ripple passed through the air.

Barbara and Zatanna suddenly appeared midair.

“Surprise!” they shouted together.

Their expressions immediately changed as they saw what was beneath them.

“Whoa—”

They dropped directly onto the masked intruder, slamming him face-first into the floor.

Something flew from his belt and spun through the air.

Bruce caught it on instinct.

It was an old-fashioned papyrus scroll. Written across the outside were four words.

ORDERS. BURN AFTER COMPLETION.

Bruce stared at the scroll, then slowly looked toward Barbara and Zatanna. He opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say vanished when he noticed Barbara standing beside the unconscious assassin.

Standing.

“You can walk!?” Bruce blurted.

“Surprise?” Barbara raised her hands nervously. “I wanted to shock you, but… yeah. Jean might have given me some kind of healing potion.” She pointed down at the unconscious intruder. “Uh, Bruce, who is this, and were his legs already broken?”

Bruce looked down at the scroll, then at the unconscious intruder, and finally back at Barbara.

A long, exhausted sigh escaped him as he sat down and lowered his head into his hands.

Maybe… maybe some things were better left unanswered.—“Water…” I groaned as I dragged myself out of the impromptu plant bed.

God, my entire body hurt. Ivy and Harley really enjoyed playing rough.

Now, where was the—

[Feat Achieved! Wayne Wins, Batman Loses][+1 Gold Gacha Ticket]

“Hah! Serves him right.”

I couldn’t help the giddy grin that spread across my face as I imagined how my luck had fucked over the Bat. 

I’d call Mr. Wayne later. I bet he would love telling me all about his victory!