London, England:

James Bond removed a cigarette from the gunmetal holder he kept in his jacket pocket and quietly lit it as he stood on the front porch of "Quarterdeck", the official residence of Sir Miles Messervy, formerly known in the halls of MI 6 simply as "M". The cigarettes were of a low tar blend that he had personally made for him by Morland's and H. Simmons in London, and he had always felt a certain sense of pride that only he had the tenacity to badger the company to the point that they had agreed to produce the cigarette for him. In the past, he had smoked brands heavy in tar, but this was the 21st century, and one's health was all important. Nonetheless, he refused to give up the habit entirely. Bond breathed deeply of the scent of lilacs and perused the "eyes only" file before him as the former Admiral's steel grey eyes watched him like a hawk.

"Gotham City, Bond. In America. Ever been there?"

"Only once," Bond replied. "on leave when I was in the navy, years ago. Truly one of the most decrepit places on Earth."

Sir Miles lit his pipe and took a long draw on it before speaking again. "I'm not your superior any more, James," Bond noticed that the former M had used his Christian name, something he did only rarely. "The new M is a capable officer, even if she is a woman. But this Gotham business, it's something I have to handle myself. This business with The Wayne Foundation, I've heard reports through my old contacts that they may be producing a chemical weapon known as ZX-113 for terrorist organizations. It's a derivative of that horrid ZX gas created by the Americans, and it is far worse, I'm afraid. Should this prove true, and this ZX gas falls into the hands of someone like SPECTRE or The Union, the world as we know it may be in terrible danger."

Bond paused to sip at his martini, made in the traditional manner, by Sir Miles' houseboy. If a respected and well financed company like Waynetech Enterprises was indeed mixing toxic chemicals for terrorist organizations, it would have to be seen to immediately.

"May I ask, why is Her Majesty's Government involved?"

"Quite simple, really. ZX-113 has been used in two attacks on London, possibly by the some Arab extremist organization. There was less than a teaspoon full of the stuff used in either instance, but it was enough to kill fifty people. We suspect the IRA may have been given some of the gas as a real world test, so to speak. That makes it our business. You'll have full clearance from the Americans to work within their borders."

Bond took another sip on the martini. "When do I leave?"

"First, you visit Q branch, then you fly out this afternoon."

"And my local contact?" Bond asked.

"A woman," Sir Miles sneered, as if he were truly upset by the plethora of females in 'the business' these days. "Codenamed: Smitty."

Bond let out a coarse laugh. "A woman? Named Smitty?"

Sir Miles silenced Bond with a stern look. "She's your CIA liaison, Commander Bond. She comes highly recommended from Felix Lieter himself. Is that good enough for you?"

Bond cleared his throat and got out of the chair, feeling the Walther P99 nestled against his left arm in the custom made Berns Chamois shoulder holster he had used for years. Just knowing that it was there gave him a sense of comfort. If Felix Leiter was giving this 'Smitty' the go ahead, she must be good, indeed. Sir Miles then informed Bond that he they had arranged for him to attend a Wayne Foundation fund raiser in two days time, where he could officially make contact with the head man, one Bruce Wayne.

"He'll be attending with one of his many female friends, one Gina Ivy, as she calls herself. A horticulturalist of some sort and some kind of local celebrity. Apparently she's associated with that psychotic woman who calls herself Poison Ivy, a former co worker or something, obviously cashing in on the last name."

"Anyone else I should be aware of, sir?" Bond asked.

"Wayne has a new head of security. A rather smart chap, we can't find much data on him and know only his name, Josh Hill. We suspect it's a false identity, perhaps created by Wayne himself. It's rumoured he's far more intelligent than his public persona indicates, and I completely agree with the assessment. No one can be as directionless and stupid as he makes himself out to be. That's why I suspect my contacts may be correct. Perhaps Wayne is some type of sympathizer to some terrorist cause, and is using his company to support them while playing the part of the perfect idiot. What better cover? We've had a file on him for some time. It will all be waiting for you at the airport."

Bond stubbed out his cigarette in a large, clear ashtray and turned to face his former master. "Does the current M know about, and agree with, my new assignment?" He asked. It had taken some time for him to come to terms with the changing of the guard at MI 6. The new M, Barbara Mawdsley, seemed more of a bean counter to Bond than a chief of operations. Over time, however, she had proven herself to him, and him to her. As things stood now, Bond was just as dedicated to her as he had been to Sir Miles.

"Yes, James, she does. She thought it best that I brief you on this, as Wayne has been under my watchful eye for a few years now. He's something of a project of mine."

"Then, it looks like I'm off to visit Q branch."

Sir Miles rose from his chair and extended his hand to Bond. "Then, good luck Double-O seven."

In the cavernous areas beneath the MI 6 buildings, Bond found himself undergoing yet another series of lectures from Major Boothroyd, known throughout the secret service as Q.

"Now pay attention, Double-O seven, I want to bring you up to date on a few things..."

Bond remained perfectly still as Boothroyd handed him a silver Rolex watch. In the past, he had tormented Q desperately with puns and one liners, but the old man was getting up in years, and he had no wish to be the cause of Boothroyd's first heart attack.

"A simple Rolex watch..." He began.

"Nothing from you is ever simple, Q." Bond remarked.

"I'm more complex than you'll ever know, Double-O seven. Now, to continue; this watch has several features built into it. Among them, with a simple pull of the pin to set the time, you activate the magnetic repulsors I have had built into it. It can have a variety of different purposes, from deflecting thrown objects to attracting something that is out of reach."

"And it's activated by pulling the pin to set the time? What do I do if I actually want to set the time?" Bond asked innocently. Q scowled at him.

"It's British engineering, Bond. It NEVER loses time."

Bond inclined his head slightly in deference to the man who created such a fantastic gadget as Q continued. "Like the old belt buckle system, this watch will shoot out a piton, activate the retract button and it will pull you to wherever you need to be. I don't need to remind you that it is calibrated for you weight, and no more."

"Then I guess I'd better skip the cheesecake for desert." Bond quipped. Q merely shook his head as if he were dealing with a small boy who didn't know any better.

"Will I be forced to rent a local vehicle while I'm in America?" Bond asked.

"Fortunately for you," Q told him. "M has agreed to have your car transported over there with you. I do hope you will take into consideration that the `extras' I have built into it for you are not for dealing with grid locked Gotham traffic and must be used with the greatest of care."

Q was referring to the modifications Q division had made to Bond's Jaguar XK8. Among them was an Eaton M112 supercharger, voice activated phone, audio, and weapons systems, and a special armour coating over the body of the car (especially concentrated near the gas tank). As Boothroyd continued lecturing Double-O seven about the responsibilities that came with driving so powerful a car, Bond's mind began to wander.

No one had mentioned it yet, but Gotham City was supposed to be the haunting grounds of The Batman. Bond had never truly believed in such a person, assuming that the cities local authorities had created the fictional legend to help combat what was truly an embarrassing crime rate. However, it seemed that everyone in the MI 6 hierarchy was arming him to the teeth for what appeared to be a simple mission. Could it be, that secretly, they wanted him to be prepared should he run into the vigilante?

As James Bond disembarked from British Airways Flight 223 from London to Gotham City, he was immediately aware that he was being watched. It was an old intelligence trick, make sure you are among the last passengers off the plane. By that time, the crowd will have thinned out, and watchers will become far easier to spot. Although she was indeed watching him, Smitty was not the only one. From the second floor balcony which looked out on an atrium, four other women were watching Bond make contact as well. Each one was lithe, and dangerous looking in their own right.

"I like what I see. How about you Cyndi?" The woman known only as Kat asked with a wicked smile.

"I do. And you, Dannell?"

"Well, ah surely do sugah," Dannell responded. "And you, Noel?"

Noel's only reply was a brief smile. Beneath them, the CIA agent known as Smitty was approaching Bond.

It was the mysterious Kat who spoke next. "Should Mister Bond get to close to the truth, it will be up to us four to make sure he never leaves this country, unless it's in a coffin. Am I understood?" In response, the other three women smiled wickedly and licked their lips. Just because they might have to kill Bond didn't mean that they couldn't have some fun with him first.

"Mr. Bond," Smitty said with an outstretched hand. "I'm Smitty, head of station `A', America and your CIA liason. Welcome to Gotham City."

Bond regarded the young woman before him. She was perfectly fit and had long dark tresses that extended to the middle of her back. He caught a scent of Obsession from her as he shook her hand.

"Thank you. Do you have any information on this Bruce Wayne?" He asked as she escorted him to an office where his luggage, including his Walther, were already waiting for him, thanks to the CIA. Bond couldn't help but notice her athletic form as they walked together.

"Only what's in the papers," Smitty told him. "He's actually a very private man when you think about it. I agree with the assessment of your government, there is definitely more to Wayne than what is obvious. Just what it is, I don't know."

"I suppose we'll find out. When are we due at the party?"

Smitty informed him that they were expected within the hour, giving Bond only the minimum amount of time to check into his hotel and shower and change. Smitty waited in the bedroom as Bond showered, catching a glimpse of his silhouette in the shower door beyond. As he did to her, she also couldn't keep her eyes from roaming when she met James Bond. Dressed casually in a pair of khaki dockers and a black and white short sleeved pullover, Smitty was still impressed by the visible muscle outlines beneath his clothing. The dark hair framing the almost perfect face, and the sometimes cruel smile was instantly addictive for her. Were this not a mission, she would be sorely tempted to get into the shower with him. As it was, there was no time for such a thing. By the time Bond had showered, she had changed into an original Carrington dress, the color of icy blue. Bond changed into the perfectly tailored Armani suit she had arranged to be delivered to the hotel. They would arrive perfectly on time.

Bond considered himself well travelled, having been from China to Egypt, Scotland to Canada, he wasn't expecting to be impressed by The Wayne Foundation Building in the slightest. He was mistaken. The Wayne Tower seemed as if it were reaching for the sky itself, the highest building in the city and the dominant piece of architecture on the skyline. The building was comprised of much glass, huge panes of it allowed for fantastic views of the city beyond which may have looked ugly in the daytime, but was pure twinkling diamond lights at night. The inside was equally impressive, each floor was dominated, not by chrome and glass, but by dark wood furniture with plush material one could sink into forever, and much brass everywhere, from light fixtures to railings. Everything about the building gave the impression of pure class.

As he and Smitty rode the express elevator to the penthouse where the party was, Bond once again found himself admiring her form, Smitty said nothing, merely smiling as the doors whisked open to the sounds of light jazz, one of Bond's favorite musical styles. Once inside the penthouse, the pair produced their invitations. Bond's cover was that of a British investor, Smitty was his advisor in America. It wasn't long before they sought out the parties host, one Bruce Wayne - philanthropist, industrialist, and financial linchpin of the city. Bond had certainly run up across plenty of men and women who could have been described in just that way in the past, and they also happened to be truly malevolent people.

Bruce Wayne approached with a beautiful red head on his arm, the infamous Gina Ivy, no doubt. Although he walked with something of a slouch, Wayne was still taller than Bond by two or three inches, and thicker through the chest and arms, as well. Whatever this man did in his spare time, of which he was reported to have a lot of, he certainly kept in shape. In most other respects he was Bond's equal when it came to good looks, although Wayne gave off far more of a carefree attitude than did Bond. Still, with the equally dark hair framing a square jaw, icy blue eyes and the equally tailored black tuxedo, the two could have been related.

Gina Ivy eyed the newcomer hungrily as Wayne offered him a lop smiled smile. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Ivy said as she extended a hand to him.

"My name is Bond......... James Bond." he replied as he kissed the back of her hand lightly.

Wayne smiled even wider as he sipped at some clear drink, possibly bottled water, another sign to Bond that the man could be more than he appeared to be. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond. What brings you to out shores?" Wayne asked.

"With ladies as beautiful as these on your shores, Mr. Wayne, need you even ask?" Both Ivy and Smitty felt themselves blushing despite themselves.

For a brief moment, Bond thought Wayne's face became deadly serious, only to be replaced once more by that look of carefree happiness. "I'm serious, Mr. Bond. To what do we owe the honor?"

"I represent a group of investors who are considering Gotham City as a place to invest, you could say I'm the.... licenced troubleshooter for the consortium."

Wayne merely smiled once more and finished off whatever it was that was in his glass. Bond took notice as Wayne's security chief, Josh Hill, approached them. He took Wayne to one side and whispered something in his ear. As he did so, Wayne regarded Bond wearily. After a few more seconds, Wayne returned to the group and approached Bond once more.

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, Mister Bond, but everyone entering through the main doors is scanned immediately for weapons. I..." He paused as he searched for the correct words. "I have this thing about guns, they make me nervous, unless their on my security staff. Mister Hill tells me you are armed. Is that standard for someone working in your line of work?"

Bond nodded as if nothing was wrong. "Yes, when they're abroad."

"I'm going to have to ask you to go with Mister Hill for a moment, Mister Bond. He'll escort you to a secure room where you can give him your gun. Rest assured it will be returned to you when you leave."

Bond smiled congenially and allowed Hill to escort him to the elevator, telling Smitty to wait for him there. She gave him a worried look, but Bond reassured her with a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

The security chief was also dressed in a tuxedo, and although shorter than both Wayne and himself, he was built like a small tank. In closed quarters such as this, Bond would surely lose if he were to engage the man in a fight. He waited until the elevator stopped, two floors down, and Hill escorted him off the lift and toward a security door. When Hill produced a magnetic swipe card to unlock the door, Bond made his move.

Reaching out and grabbing Hill's wrist as he extended his arm to swipe the card, Bond stepped in toward the security chief and thrust out his hip. Before he knew what was happening, Hill was flipped quite neatly over Bond's hip. Unwilling to kill the man unless absolutely necessary, the Walther P99 remained in his holster. To his credit, Hill rolled with the impact of the fall and was on his feet within seconds. As Bond expected, the security chief reached for his weapon, a Heckler and Koch in a belt holster beneath his jacket pocket. Before he could extend his arm to aim the weapon, Bond reached for a nearby flower filled vase and slammed it into Hill's forehead. The security chief fell to the ground. Bond checked for a pulse and found it. He was a tough man, whoever he truly was. Now free to roam the building, Bond produced his Walther and attached the silencer. Should trouble arise, he didn't want to attract any more attention than was necessary with loud gunshots.

Eschewing the video monitored elevators, Bond entered the stairwell and began descending floor by floor. It took him some time before he reached the ground floor, but when he did, he found it nearly deserted. It only took him a few minutes to sneak past the two security guards to a second set of elevators, these would take him to the research facilities under the building. If Wayne was producing ZX gas, there might be proof of it there. Bond produced a palm pilot device, specially modified by Q branch, that allowed him to override the locks and scramble the security monitors. Seconds later, he was descending into the labs. Far above them, Bruce Wayne had excused himself from the party and had retired to his private suite in the penthouse. From a closed circuit camera only he and Oracle had access to, he watched as Bond descended in the elevator. Oracle's voice came over a mini speaker in the display.

"I've run a check on him. His credentials check out, in fact, they're almost too good."

"The way he handles himself, he has years of government training written all over him." Wayne said as he removed his tuxedo and pressed a button that revealed a hidden closet door, in which he kept a spare Batman outfit. Wayne's demeanor had changed considerably from moments ago at the party. Instead of the devil-may-care playboy attitude he exuded, he now possessed a dark intensity that rivalled even Bond's. By the time, the elevator had discharged Bond into the main labs, Bruce Wayne had become The Batman.

"I think it's time to for Mister Bond to meet his match."

Dressed inconspicuously as lab technicians, the four assassins that had watched as Bond arrived in Gotham pretended not to take notice as he passed them in a stolen lab coat of his own, pulled tight around him to conceal his tuxedo, the Walther hidden in his pocket.

"Looks like he's headin' for the bait, sugah." Dannell whispered.

"Like a mouse to the cheese." Cyndi snickered in hushed agreement.

"Then the trap falls shut and crushed his skull," Kat replied. "And Wayne Enterprises takes the blame for our scheme.

As usual, Noel said nothing, merely smiling and licking her lips as she watched Bond walk away from them.

Batman pressed another button on the panel that revealed his hidden closet housing the Dark Knight's spare uniform. At the rear of the small closet, the wall slid away to reveal a secret elevator that would take him anywhere in the building he desired. He was about to step into the elevator car when the intercom buzzed. Gina Ivy's voice filled the room and her image appeared on the monitor.

"Bruce? Are you okay? I thought you promised to dance with me until my feet were numb." She laughed musically as she recalled Bruce's words to her earlier. She couldn't gain access to his private quarters, as they were magnetically sealed, but he would still have to tell her something to abate her curiosity. He regarded her image on the screen, wearing a bright red sequined dress that matched her flame red hair. Were it not for the fact that he had sworn his allegiance to the mantle of the bat, he would have much preferred a destiny that involved dancing the night away with the beautiful socialite, rather than donning the ink black Nomex / Kevlar body suit with the visage of the Bat. Batman dashed for the intercom switch, but it was Bruce Wayne who spoke, not Batman.

"Gee, I'm sorry, Gina. I downed those last few drinks a wee bit too fast. Just give me a little while to get my wits back, and I'll be back down. I promise. I can't have the investors witness the CEO getting sick on the dance floor, can I?" He thought to himself that he couldn't allow a dangerous man like James Bond to run wild through his labs and assault his security chief, as well. Bond had no idea that it was standard procedure for Hill to contact Wayne after he had removed the gun from circulation around the building. He was unaware how opposed Bruce Wayne was to guns on his premises. He only grudgingly allowed his own security force to use them. When Hill refused to check in, Bruce retired to his private quarters and began to scan the building for Mr. Bond, beginning at the security area to which Hill was supposed to have escorted him. He had just caught the end of the short fight between the two. Josh Hill was a top of the line security specialist, and he had been dispatched by the British investor? Something was wrong with that picture. He watched as Bond descended the stairwell and used a palm pilot device to override the security features. Mr. Bond was, at the very least, an expertly trained industrial espionage agent.

Ivy's musical voice brought him out of his reverie about the British intruder in his building. "Why not let me in? I'm sure I can think of three or fours ways to help you feel better?" She said as she winked at the camera.

Wayne cleared his throat. "Thanks, Gina. But I'm a little indisposed right now. I'll come back as soon as I can."

Wayne switched off the intercom and Batman immediately reappeared. Seconds later he was darting into the closet and wrapped his cloak around himself. The doors hissed shut and the closet door slid back into place. The elevator silently whisked The Dark Knight down through the building toward his prey...

Double-O Seven was pleased that the labs were almost deserted this evening, it made his search that much easier. Once again he removed the palm pilot device from his pocket and activated it. He set it to scan for the chemical compounds that comprised ZX-113 and initiated the scan cycle. After a few moments, he picked up traces of the chemicals in a laboratory somewhere, though it was not nearby. Intelligence wasn't able to come up with complete schematics of the laboratories beneath this building, but they knew that there was a huge complex underneath the streets of Gotham. Bond swore, this could take longer than he thought. He hoped that Smitty would be able to keep Wayne's attention on her rather than on his missing security chief while he was gone.

When the voice from behind him caught his attention, Bond couldn't help but wonder how someone had snuck up behind him so quietly. The voice was a rough whisper, controlled and very threatening. "I don't think you have authorization to be down here."

Bond turned slowly and came face to face with a man larger than himself, dressed from head to toe in black, a yellow oval on his chest encircled the image of a Bat. It was true. Batman existed. What was he doing here?

"I'm sorry," Bond told him. "I seem to have gotten lost looking for the loo."

"And the gun you're carrying?" Batman replied, gesturing toward the Walther in his hand.

"You know how bathroom lines can be. Doesn't hurt to have an enforcer," He replied with a smirk.

"We'll see if Wayne's security force and the police believe your story."

"And are you Wayne's enforcer?" Bond asked.

"I don't represent Wayne. I represent justice." He replied. Bond had read the file on Gotham's Dark Knight, which was admittedly thin. There were only two pictures of Batman, and both were grainy and dark. The entire file was a mix of rumour and innuendo mixed with second hand reports and a few police statements. It was said on the streets that Batman was not truly human, but a demon force for justice, capable of appearing anywhere, at any time. Could it be that they were correct? Whatever the case, Bond had to act quickly. If indeed Batman was a demon force, which he highly doubted, then he couldn't be killed. If that were the case, two bullets wouldn't make much difference.

Batman had seen some fast draws in his time, but Bond beat them all. With an unerring quickness, Bond levelled his Walther P99 and fired twice, while at the same time running for cover. Batman found himself instantly thrown back by the impact of the two bullets. He had been completely unprepared for Bond's quickness, and that disturbed him. Batman rolled with the impact and came up on his feet in time to see Bond disappear around the corner. A quick glance downward revealed that the two bullets had impacted dead center in his chest. An impressive shot. Despite his hatred for guns, Batman admired the man's skill. Unlike most of the criminals he ran into that relied on clumsy gun usage for confidence, Bond used his weapon with practised skill. He took after Bond at full speed.

Double-O seven looked over his shoulder at the shadowy figure that was now chasing after him. For one brief second, he wondered if the rumors about this Batman character were true. Perhaps he couldn't be killed. He glanced back once more at his pursuer and then down to his own gun as the scenario replayed itself in his mind. The body suit this Batman wore, was obviously some kind of body armor, and under normal circumstances, the Glaser slugs he used in his Walther would have penetrated it. He forgot to take his silencer into consideration, however. Even the best silencer would slow down a bullet to some extent. Combine that with Batman's state of the art armor, and the bullets would not penetrate. Bond activated the palm pilot once more and initiated the scan cycle. He was getting closer to the chemical compounds he had picked up earlier. Batman was closing the gap between them.

Bond didn't enjoy killing, but he had always done so when he felt it was necessary. He knew he couldn't outrun Batman dressed in a tuxedo on grounds he was unfamiliar with, so he switched from defence to offense. Waiting until he had passed some oxygen tanks on an experiment table, Bond stopped running and whirled to face Batman. Once more, he levelled the weapon and took aim with unerring accuracy... at the exposed area of Batman's face. This time, Batman was ready. With a flick of his wrist, Batman filled the air with bat shaped throwing stars, one of which caught Bond's wrist and sent his Walther P99 clattering to the ground.

And then Batman was upon him.

Bond crashed to the floor as The Dark Knight's body impacted with his own. Well schooled in the art of self defence, Bond tried several attempts at out manoeuvring his foe. Unfortunately, nothing worked. His cloaked foe blocked every kick, punch, and gouge. Batman's knowledge of hand to hand combat was prodigious. He quickly realized that there was no way he could beat this man unarmed. As the two struggled - Batman doing his best to pin Bond to the ground while Bond did his best to free himself - Bond reached out and activated the special features in his watch. As he activated it, the small climbing piton shot out of the watch and embedded itself in the far wall. Batman was about to throw a knockout punch as Bond activated the retract button and slid out of Batman's reach, across the floor. Even Batman was amazed at the man's resourcefulness.

"You don't go down easily, do you?"

"I never say die," Bond returned as he was pulled across the fllor and away from his pursuer.

Seconds later, Bond leaped to his feet, a good seven feet away from Batman now. Once more, Batman filled the air with throwing stars, and it was time for Bond to surprise him once more. Activating the magnetic "repel" feature, his watch created a magnetic field which sent the razor sharp weapons in any direction except towards Double-O seven, some even flew back toward Batman himself.

"It's been said I have a magnetic personality," Bond chided. Batman kept his own council, except for a sudden realization that he had run into someone who made worse jokes in battle than Nightwing.

Taking advantage of the situation, Bond switched from "repel" to "attract" and aimed his wrist at the fallen Walther, some five feet away. Seeming to have a life of its own, the weapon leaped across the floor and into Bond's hand. Bond fired three shots blindly down the corridor as he raced off in the direction of the chemical weapons. Two of the bullets struck the oxygen canisters close to Batman, who threw himself to the ground and covered himself with his protective cape as the tanks exploded... while Bond made his escape. Inwardly, Batman fumed. This was getting ridiculous.

The explosion was as he had hoped, large enough to slow Batman down, but not big enough to get much attention from anyone above ground. Bond activated the palm pilot once more and found that the chemicals were nearby. With his weapon at the ready, he kicked in the lab door and surveyed the room as he entered. All around them were chemical baths and high tech instruments. Something dangerous was being produced here.

Two men and one woman regarded Bond with a poisonous stare. "Who the hell are you?" The woman asked. "Get out! This is a private lab!"

"I might very well ask you the same question." Came Batman's voice from behind Bond. "I don't believe you people are Wayne Tech employees." Bond wondered how Batman could know such a thing.

"Ummmm, my name is Amy," She replied, obviously shaken by the appearance of The Dark Knight. "We work for project Scythe." Both Bond and Batman noticed that the woman was backing up... towards a call panel.

"Don't move," Bond said.

The one who called herself Amy leaped for the call panel and hit a button, screaming for help. Bond fired twice, but the woman fell to the ground. The bullets caught her two companions instead and they fell to the floor, limp.

"That wasn't a wise move." Another voice, this one female, called from behind both Batman and Bond. It was the mysterious Kat. She was flanked by three other women, all of them dressed in a blue tinged skin tight body armor of their own.

"Ah must agree, Kat," another one said. " Such violence offends a woman of mah standards."

"Looks like we'll have to teach them a lesson." The third one agreed.

The fourth looked at Bond and smiled while licking her lips. "Kewl."

"You see," Kat continued. "It's quite easy to get lost in an organization as large as Wayne Enterprises. It's truly an unholy mess of red tape at times. When we of SPECTRE discovered that, it was a simple matter to place our operatives in an unused laboratory and take advantage of Wayne Labs unequalled equipment. Now that you two have discovered our secret, we have no choice but to kill you."

Bond and Batman looked at one another with the realization that they had been fighting the wrong people since they had arrived in the lab area. The duo, now allies, turned to face them. As fast as both Bond and Batman were, these women were equally fast. The ones who called themselves Kat and Noel leaped high into the air and, legs outstretched, levelled both men with kicks. As Batman and Double-O seven skidded across the floor on their backs, the ones known as Cyndi and Dannell produced AK-47 machine guns and began firing indiscriminately at the duo. Bond dove behind a lab experiment as beakers exploded and chemicals began spattering everywhere. Batman seemed to disappear. Cyndi and Dannell pummelled the lab with gunfire, hoping to kill Bond outright. For his part, however, Bond had crawled along the floor and to the other side of the lab, using the many pieces of equipment for cover, and after inserting a fresh magazine in the Walther, popped up to fire four shots toward his foes. Leaping for cover, both Dannell and and Cyndi were winged by the shots, but not killed as they were merely flesh wounds. The exchange of fire continued unabated.

"I'm going to have to spank you for that one, Bond." Cyndi called over the gunfire.

"Where in tarnation are Kat and Noel?" Dannell called to her partner.

Both of them looked over their shoulders into the hallway, only to see them engaged in hand to hand combat with Batman... and losing. Bond dashed between tables to find the scientist he had encountered earlier, the one who called herself Amy, hiding behind her lab table. He brought the weapon to bear on the young woman, who was obviously trained as a scientist only, not a fighter.

"Tell the truth and I'll let you live," Bond told her. "Is it true Wayne Enterprises knows nothing about your presence in this building?"

She shook her head in the affirmative. "It's true. We've been avoiding security checks for weeks. Only Wayne Tech has the lab facilities SPECTRE needed, and we arranged to infiltrate the building and use the resources right under their noses. Then if blame for the creation of the weapon was ever brought forth, it would fall on Wayne, not SPECTRE."

Bond saw in her eyes that she was telling the truth. She was too frightened to lie. A quick glance toward the hallway revealed that Batman had rendered the first two women unconscious and was now battling with the other two, drawing attention away from him. All this gunfire would bring security, and no doubt the police. He needed to finish this mission and get out of here. Once more, he removed the palm pilot and set it for auto destruct, attaching it magnetically to the ZX-113 production equipment. He then turned his attention toward the fallen scientist.

"I'd run for my life if I were you, and give Ernst Stavro Blofeld my regards."

"Who the hell are you?" She asked.

"My name is Bond... James Bond." He replied as he darted away as fast as his legs could carry him, past the battling trio outside and toward the nearest elevator.

Batman watched helplessly as Bond raced past them, smiling congenially to his former foe as he did so. The handsome tuxedo clad man was soon followed by the scientist they had encountered. The Dark Knight knew that Bond's retreat meant something bad was about to happen. No doubt he had placed an explosive of some kind in the room. By now, security would be well on their way to this location, and it wouldn't due to have Batman found on the scene. He knew that Josh Hill's men, Jim, Logan and Rod, would no doubt pick up the scientist as she escaped, but he doubted that Bond would be easily found.

"What are you?" Cyndi asked, amazed by the vigilante's fighting abilities.

"I'm Batman." Was his only reply.

"Goodbye, Batman." Dannell roared as she produced yet another weapon from her seemingly endless arsenal and aimed at him.

"Yes," Batman replied. "Goodbye."

Batman fell to the ground once more, wrapping himself in his protective cape as the room behind them was engulfed in an explosion. Glass, steel, and pieces of furniture blasted outward, followed by a deafening sound. After a few moments, Batman removed his cloak, only to find that all four women were lying on the floor. Some were bleeding, but all were alive. Good. He wanted them alive for questioning. Batman took off at a run as he heard the shouts of Hill's men racing down a nearby corridor to their position. By the time they had arrived at the scene, Batman had ducked into one of his secret elevator ports and was being whisked back up to the penthouse.

By the time Bruce Wayne had emerged back at the party, James Bond had also rejoined the crowd, telling Smitty that it was time for them to leave. Smitty asked him if he had accomplished his mission, and he nodded. "More or less, with a little help... from Batman."

Smitty stopped in her tracks and looked at James with some trepidation. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious."

Just at that moment, Wayne emerged from the crowd, Gina Ivy on his arm. The two men never spoke, they merely exchanged a glance. Ivy was the first to mention it.

"What's wrong Bruce, darling?"

"Nothing, Gina. Nothing at all. In fact, I'm feeling much better, now. How about that dance I promised you? I may have to go out later this evening on business, so let's just enjoy the moment, shall we?"

"Why of course." She giggled, leading him to the dance floor.

"Another time, Mister Bond." Wayne said under his breath.

By the time Bruce Wayne had emerged back at the party, James Bond had also rejoined the crowd, telling Smitty that it was time for them to leave. Smitty asked him if he had accomplished his mission, and he nodded. "More or less, with a little help... from Batman."

Smitty stopped in her tracks and looked at James with some trepidation. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious."

Just at that moment, Wayne emerged from the crowd, Gina Ivy on his arm. The two men never spoke, they merely exchanged a glance. Ivy was the first to mention it.

"What's wrong Bruce, darling?"

"Nothing, Gina. Nothing at all. In fact, I'm feeling much better, now. How about that dance I promised you? I may have to go out later this evening on business, so let's just enjoy the moment, shall we?"

"Why of course." She giggled, leading him to the dance floor.

"Another time, Mister Bond." Wayne said under his breath.

"The evening is still young, James. What shall we do with the rest of it?" Smitty asked as the elevator door closed, cutting off Bond's view of the wealthy philanthropist he had just met. Their gaze remained locked on one another until the elevator had whisked them from view. Finally, he turned his attention to Smitty.

"After everything that's happened, I could really use another shower, myself." He told her with a wicked grin.

"Oh, James!"