\Yorktown City - District A/

The city was always full of promise.

It was the critically acclaimed "Best city on this side of the Great Falls," Always busy. A city that never sleeps.

During the day, that's mostly true. The streets are constantly busy with the hustle and bustle of people working their 9 to 5 jobs, students knee deep in their loan debt, and the occasional bouts of a Raging Bull blowing through through busy intersections as if a knife through butter.

Raging Bull is a rank B tanker type villain notorious with the black bull's head shape mask atop his head, and his body covered head to toe and thick metal armor that barely contained its thick, meaty host underneath.

At nearly 9 foot (2.7 meters) tall, he wasn't very hard to miss. He had actually just robbed a bank of its money from a vault.

Vaults are rare these days; they're kept around mostly to deter the common criminals.

Plowing his way through traffic, the Raging Bull appears to be making a clear get away, with no one in sight.
After all, it has only been five minutes since the call has been put out to deals with such a pest.

Normally, Ero, The Arachnid Hero, would be mobilized to deal with such a nuisance. But today, such a hero would not be available. The authorities called upon a different method opposed to catching the poor bastard.

They called upon a man known for brutality, his darkness, and his ability to take down enemies higher ranked than his own.

D Rank Hero, The Bat.
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.....
Sipping on his cold brewed coffee. Minor Entrepreneur Allen Vane prepared himself for another long executive meeting at a small corporation he held stakes in.

At the age of 42, he had seen quite a fair share of these same meetings. Many of which came from his teenage days when his father would force him to follow family tradition to make sure that his future generations would hold strong.

Heaving a sigh, he sat the cold brew down and proceeded to get dressed in his usual business attire of a navy blue dress suit with gray bottoms and simple gray tie.

As usual, he gazed a the stubble resting on his face in the mirror and then proceeded to tug his tie in the double Windsor knot style, gently positioning its length so that it would not overreach the boundaries of his pristine white dress shirt.

"Another boring day. And arthritis."
He couldn't help but grimace at the idea of singing several more piles of paperwork, first thing in the morning.

It could not be helped, however. This job was all he had left of times long passed. The cold brew, at this point, was merely habit. A simple homage to what once was.

Just as Bruce was about to grab his car keys and head out the door, a noise he hadn't heard in years entered his years.

The sound was the combination of an Amber Alert tone mixed in with strong vibrations. The problem is, however, Bruce does not own a smartphone.

Without a second thought, the 42 year old man started toward his dusty old dressing apparatus covered with various memorabilia of days gone.

One of said things was a slim, unassuming black flip phone given to him upon completion of his last gig for years. All due to complications that destroyed his public image that he cares very little for back then.

The words of that old man in his shiny silver suit after he tossed the phone still rank in Bruce's ears. "We'll call you, bud." He left no room for negotiation.

It's been a long time since the disaster that struck the city. Not once has Allen ever expected to receive a call from that day. And yet, every day, he keeps it off to the side, seemingly forever silent.

Long ago, Allen had already come to terms with never getting called to action again. And yet.. at this moment, the impossible still happened. The hardened older  gentleman grabbed the old phone and proceeded to answer.

"What do you want?" Growled Allen in a voice deeper than usual. There was moment of silence before the voice of a soft spoken individual pierced the quietness as Allen held himself mere seconds from hanging up.

"Is this The Bat? You're been deployed out of retirement, sir. We need your ability."

In response, Allen nearly let out a snarl. Retirement!? Is that why those bastards never even bothered to check up on him!!? They just sent him away like a dog to nurse his wounds and assumed he was done!?

"Listen here, you little bitch. I'm not going anywhere to do anything. Any threat you're facing right now does not concern me. Some other bright, young bastard in your employ can do the job, so piss off."

Again, there was silence. A long, dreadful pause that again nearly caused Allen to hang up. Only for the soft spoken voice to be exchanged with a monotone one.

"D-Class Hero Allen Vane, alias The Bat. I'm assuming you are wishing to act upon insubordination. Your employment records have been reinstated. Accounting for the corporation you currently head, by rule of Section 16-B of the Hero Corps Employee handbook, all blatant acts of insubordination shall be seen as treason to the State. Your assets will be henceforth forfeit and all accumulated collateral damages will be charged against you and your corporation. Furthermore, you will be promptly arrested and sentenced to lifetime imprisonment in maximum security. We at Hero Corps take threats of insubordination very seriously, mister Vane. Are you sure you wish to deny deployment?"

"Fuck.." Muttered Allen under his breath. Not that the phone couldn't hear him, of course. In fact, all retirement status heroes are monitored 24/7 unless their status is as high as A-Rank, with connections.

Allen chucked to himself. The usual board meetings? Work? Fuck that..

"You've always had your ducks in a row, huh? Alright, I accept this deployment up under official orders of the Hero Corps. Please file my outburst up under Minor Complaints and do your little marks for my employee assessment later."

He sighed as the monotone voice returned to the soft-spoken one from earlier. "Wonderful! Do you have any closing remarks or anything else you may need from this assistant?"

"Nah.. As long as you people pay for the damages, I don't have anything else say—"

Allen paused as something, in fact, did come to mind.

"Tell those bastards at HR that The Bat is back."

With that, the phone line swapped over to a robotic voice asking Allen to rate his call experience. Of course, Allen didn't answer. The phone would hang itself up in due time.

Shoving all of his memorabilia off the old dressing apparatus, Allen fiddled with its rear for a few seconds before successfully pressing a hidden button that released the hermetic seal on what truly lies inside of the bulky device.

With a hiss, two doors open widely to reveal a stark black jumpsuit reinforced with specially woven together kevlar and carbon fiber armor. Very few areas were exposed for the purposes of mobility and ventilation.

Atop the impressive suit sat a crossbreed of a tactical military helmet and a cowl. Of which was embellished with communications and visualization technologies which where quite advanced in its time.

Resting at where the hands would go were two armored gloves.

But what made Allen The Bat was not his costume's looks, but his iconic baseball bat made of high-impact polypropylene. It was nigh unbreakable; besting many a foe, it rarely ever left Allen's hands. But when it did, and the gloves came off, that was what retired Allen in the first place.

That aside, superhero costumes can be complicated to put on. Thus, taking them off isn't even an option for the flashier heroes out there. Those people are always in character.

By design, Allen's costume was fairly easy to slip in a out of. Very carefully, he pulled the hidden rear zipper down just enough for his legs to go in first, then tugged the suit up to his waist. , Immediately. Next game the upper half, which was an easy slide in but a tight fit.

A moment later, fully dressed in everything except for the helmet, Allen gave his muscles a good stretch.

"A good stretch. Always does the body right." He mumbled to himself. "Now for the finishing touch."

Perhaps the most surprising thing was that fact that Allen still kept his costume.

Maybe all this time, he wanted to see action again. One last time, just for good measures.

The helmet and cowl finally come on, cleanly fitting with the rest of the outfit.

"Welcome back, sir." Came a prim, proper voice as various electronics visibly powdered on as Allen made his way to his garage.

"Happy to be back, Archibald." Responded Allen as he came across a vaguely motorcycle shaped cover in the back of his garage. "Hey old man, When are you going to take a break. Don't tell me they rehired you too. You're so damn old at this point."

Promptly swiping the nondescript cover away revealed and an outlandishly armored black motorcycle whose CC's exceeded 1000 at the least.

"Sir, I will always be at your service. So long as you continue your career, I shall see to it that I assist you to the best of my abilities." Responded the unswayed Archibald.

With a smirk up under his cowl, Allen hopped unto his bike and fired it up for the first time in years. It came to life immediately.

He gave the throttle a good few revs, each one successively louder than the other as the bike peaked several thousand RPMs. Allen was crazy enough to install a turbo boost on it just to hear its spool along with the roar of the engine.

"This is why I have a human operator. Nothing can replace you, Archibald." Said Allen. "I'm the only one crazy enough to continuously drive Death Trap into battle. And you're the only one wise enough to keep me alive the entire time.. Fuck yeah, I'm back."

Who needs a motorcycle helmet anyway when you have a hero's body?
"Update me on my assignment. It's time to kick ass. The Bat style."

"As you wish, sir." Responded Archibald.

With a screech of the tire, The Bat shot off into the daylight. Garage door promptly closing behind him.
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