A luxurious mansion nestled on the outskirts of Gotham. The crown jewel of the city. An imposing, antique edifice—once solemn and silent all year—was now bathed in brilliant orange hues and brought to life in honor of Halloween. The ancient halls, shrouded in centuries of secrets and dust, suddenly buzzed with laughter, music, and the rustling of costumes. People had gathered from every corner of the city, and soon the mansion pulsed with cheer.

In the grand entrance hall, transformed into a cathedral of eerie delight, festivity reigned supreme. Each corner had been carefully decorated to capture the spirit of All Hallows' Eve. Ghastly figures crept in the shadows, lurking just where the light couldn't reach. In the dim recesses, the walking dead startled unsuspecting guests, drawing surprised gasps followed by bouts of delighted laughter. Fake cobwebs clung to everything, daring hands to pull and test if they were real. And the spiders—mechanized and suspended on nearly invisible thread—swooped through the air, brushing past curls and ponytails, igniting screams and startled giggles alike.

Cauldrons billowed with thick, aromatic fog that wafted across the floor, exuding the scents of cinnamon, firewood, and spiced apples. Pointy witch hats were set beside them, inviting guests to try their hand at a spell or two. If anything, these festive horrors looked convincingly authentic—hauntingly so, if one didn't peer too closely.

Darkness clung to the ceiling beams and corners, disrupted only by dense, orange-tinted light streaming from dozens of carved pumpkins, each featuring its own grotesque grin. Jack-o'-lanterns, those iconic Halloween symbols, had been artfully arranged throughout the space. Through the haze and shadows, one dazzling figure created her own glow—a person, more radiant than any decoration or prop.

At the very center of the hall stood a small raised stage. From its four corners rose sculpted stone gargoyles, their eyes watching the crowd below with eternal menace. On the platform, wrapped in shimmering fairy garb, stood Alison Blaire—director of Alritex Records, known to many as Dazzler.

A spotlight caught her mid-verse, her radiant wings of glimmering color illuminating the stage in brilliant magic. She performed one of her newest tracks from an unreleased album. The light show that accompanied her—powered by her mutant abilities—cast shimmering mosaics across the chamber walls. It was pure delight, and the crowd was hypnotized. With her charisma and magic intertwined, Alison transformed the mansion into an immersive fantasy.

She looked like a fairy godmother conjured straight out of the pages of a storybook—an ethereal creature weaving light and music into the hearts of the spectators.

"Alex!" a familiar voice snapped me from my thoughts. I turned to find two strikingly dressed women standing nearby.

Barbara Gordon and Vicki Vale had chosen quite fitting—if not provocative—costumes. On any regular day, their appearance would have turned quite a few disapproving heads. But tonight? It was Halloween. Subtlety had no place here.

"Barbara, Victoria," I greeted them. "Finally decided to grace the party? You both look incredible."

"Really? You think so?" Barbara did a playful spin, inviting my eyes to admire her outfit.

She wore a devil costume, complete with slick red latex that hugged her athletic figure perfectly. A pair of crimson horns peeked from her flaming red hair, and in her hand, she held a synthetic pitchfork, blood-red and menacing. A fiery temptress with a grin that could melt steel.

Vicki, on the other hand, had chosen the ensemble of a vampire. A dark cloak draped over her shoulders, barely masking the curves of her body. Two white fangs extended from her lips, a clear nod to her costume's inspiration. What caught me off guard wasn't the elegance of the outfit—but the historical weight behind her choice.

In the DC Universe, I remember all too well what had happened to Vicki. In the animated film Batman vs. Dracula, she had been kidnapped by the ancient vampire himself to be turned into his eternal bride. Thankfully, Batman had saved her from damnation. But the memory lingered.

A part of me worried. Maybe dressing like this was playing with fire—or fangs. The last thing I wanted was to summon more trouble to Gotham. One bat is quite enough, and I had little desire to see a second appear. If some lucky timing or mystical coincidence did awaken the Count at her appearance, well... he'd have to go through me first. I wasn't giving up Vicki Vale to anyone.

"Alex, where did you get that suit?" Barbara's eyes narrowed at my attire.

I gave a casual shrug, brushing imaginary lint from my shoulder. "This old thing? Whipped it up last night."

"Oh really?" Barbara raised a skeptical brow. "Funny. I could swear I've seen it before."

"Ahem," I cleared my throat theatrically. "Well... maybe I borrowed it?"

"Does he know?" she asked, voice dropping a tone.

"He'll be here any moment," I replied, watching a shadowed figure approach from across the room.

Two meters away, he stopped.

The tuxedoed man's eyes fixed on me, his glare seemingly penetrating flesh and soul alike. It felt like the ground opened and buried me under the Mariana Trench.

"Is that what I think it is?" Bruce's voice was slow and controlled—too controlled.

"You like it?" I asked, admiring my own outfit. "I think it's smashing!"

"You stole my suit."

"I borrowed it," I corrected with a grin. "Without asking. But I was going to return it."

Yep. There I was in the very first Batsuit. The original one Bruce designed back when he was just starting his journey as Gotham's silent guardian. Long since retired, it had been preserved in the Batcave—enshrined behind thick glass with the others, as Tony Stark did with his prototypes. And now, it was my Halloween costume.

Because what better way to celebrate Halloween than by cosplaying the Bat himself?

The look on Bruce's face?

Completely worth it. My soul practically purred in satisfaction.

"How the hell did you get the costume?" he snapped.

"Someone helped me," I said cryptically, crossing my arms.

"Alfred?" he guessed without missing a beat.

I gave a firm nod.

Grayson was out of town. Barbara was busy. I had to pull every ounce of charm I had to convince Alfred to grant me this one little indulgence.

Bruce's scowl deepened. "How'd you talk him into it?"

"Because," I said, throwing an arm dramatically into the air, "I am Batman!'

Barbara and Vicki laughed softly behind me, and Bruce groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man who had completely lost control over his domain.

"Let's talk about you for a moment," I pointed at him. "You're not even wearing a costume! This is a sacred night! You ignored tradition!"

He rolled his eyes. "I am wearing a costume," he retorted, tugging at his black tie. "Allow me to introduce myself—Bond. James Bond."

"You cunning devil!" I whispered with mock defeat. "Fine. That's fair. You wore a suit and gave it meaning."

The embodiment of Agent 007 existed in this world too? Interesting. And unlike Alice from the realm of fiction, this one wasn't necessarily needed to shape any character constructs. So why was Bond an exception? I had no clue. His existence here was a mystery, but it didn't faze me one way or the other. As far as I was concerned, there were stranger things in Gotham.

And tonight, under blood-orange lanterns and flickering shadows, among vampires and demons and ghosts, even nostalgia got to wander.

The Batsuit clung snugly to my frame, a totem of legend embodied by a man who, right now, just wanted me to hang it back up.

But that was for tomorrow.

Tonight?

I was the Bat.

And I planned to savor every second of it.

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Thank you for your support, it means a lot.

I was thinking of uploading some "What If" stories on p@treon.

It will be like, what if he did not have intuition and like what if his intuition was wrong.

You all can read extra 40 chapters on [email protected]/annihilator009