Six hours after Bruce's death, Tim was still awake. It was now 2 am. Alfred recommended that Tim go to bed. And Alfred also urged Tim to not go out to search for Bruce. Alfred knew that if something really did capture or hurt Bruce, Tim wouldn't stand a chance. Alfred still believed that Bruce was coming home. He trusted the idea that Bruce was out there; and that putting Tim out there would simply make things more complicated. But Tim disagreed. He ignored all of Alfred's advice and took the Batpod into the city.
The black sky hung over the city, like a dome of darkness haunting the people. The city was overwhelmed with crime and filth. Still, tall and strong buildings stood on the ground. Yellow lights from the buildings attempted to illuminate the air. To distract from it all, rainwater was pouring down harshly from the clouds. The place smelled of mildew and gas. The sounds were of cars he was speeding past. He maintained the speed limit just barely. Tim believed in always following the law. But it was easy to get carried away with the Batpod.
The Batpod was a vehicle like a motorcycle, but more advanced. The Batpod wheels could roll against their axes. This made the vehicle more maneuverable than a normal motorcycle. And the chassis on the vehicle could elongate, which helped Tim pass low hanging obstacles. The bike lacked protection when compared to Bruce's other forms of transportation. To compensate, the bike was equipped with machine guns and grappling hooks.
Tim's favorite thing about the vehicle was the way it was controlled. While most transportation is manipulated using the human hands, this one was controlled by the shoulders. This left Tim's hands free. And Tim needed at least one hand free.
He sped through the city while holding a remote control in his left hand. The remote he was holding was supposed to be tracking the Batsuit. It was supposed to be giving Tim the coordinates of the armor. He was pressing the tracking button over and over. It repeatedly told him that the signal was lost. The signal was never supposed to be lost. Something was very, very wrong. And it was scaring Tim. Tim rebooted the remote. Little did he know, Eddie turned off the tracking Tim was desperately searching for. Months of researching and now having individual access to the tech gave Eddie the power to counteract Tim's method. But what Eddie failed to realize was that he was unable to directly disable the tracking. He had only turned it off.
Tim groaned frustratedly and started to gain speed. He was growing more and more nervous. He swiftly pulled over towards the side walk. He put one foot on the ground and stood. He gazed down at the remote. He pressed the restart button. He waited a few moments. And suddenly, a signal was found. The tracking was turned back on. And finally, Tim was given the exact location of the Batsuit. And it wasn't far from where Tim was. Tim's hope increased as he began to speed once more.
The Batsuit currently resided in Eddie's closet. In his apartment, at this moment, Eddie was almost done bandaging his hand.
Just three hours ago, Eddie found himself on the floor. He was covered in blood, shards of glass, and tears. He passed out after crying for so long. It had taken him a while to get up. But now he was sitting in a lounge chair, in the living room of his apartment, and ripping out the last piece of glass remaining in his hand. He winced with pain as the small piece of glass became free of his skin. He sighed with relief. But he knew he wasn't finished yet.
He grabbed a disinfecting wipe and rubbed it all over his hand. He let his head fall back in agony as he yelled. Eddie always had a low pain tolerance. He took the wipe away from his hand. He began to pant. He groaned. He knew he had to keep going.
He put a patch of cotton on his hand to soak up the blood. Then he tightly wrapped the gauze around it. He exhaled in relief once he was finally finished. He kept panting. He closed his eyes. He allowed his hands gently fall onto his knees. He rested his head on the chair. He was overwhelmed with the amount of change he had sprung upon himself. Killing Bruce Wayne was an impulsive decision. It wasn't planned at all. Eddie wasn't used to being impulsive. Usually he'd plan all his attacks for months. Everything had to be completely perfect in his eyes. But his illness was getting worse. The number of months he had was decreasing. He knew he didn't have the time to act the way he normally would. Yet at the moment, Eddie wasn't ready to face those consequences. He was too tired. He needed to sleep.
