When Batman returned, he didn't look like he was coming home—he looked like he was going to war.
The Dark Knight was absolutely loaded. His batsuit was riddled with scratches from heavy machine gun fire, and he had twin stun batons strapped to his belt. Bat-grenades dangled inside his cape like some kind of doomsday Christmas tree. He didn't look like Gotham's silent protector. He looked like a full-blown, masked vigilante out for blood.
Batman kicked open the front door of Wayne Manor with both hands gripping twin Tommy guns, bursting in like he was ready to take down an entire terrorist cell—or maybe be one.
The scene gave Max (aka Tian Xiaoban) the shock of his life, nearly making him choke on his sandwich.
What the heck? Who's Batman trying to kill?!
Wait, is he loaded up with guns?! Don't tell me... this universe's Batman doesn't have a no-kill rule?!
Is this... Crookman?!
The murderous aura coming off the guy was so intense, Max's bread slipped right out of his hands.
(To be fair, this was kind of Alfred's fault. He'd sent Batman a voice message with no helpful notes or clarification…)
(Then again, maybe Alfred was still mentally rebooting after Max's info-dump earlier. The poor guy had probably short-circuited and forgot to explain properly.)
So, Batman assumed the worst—that his dear butler was under alien siege—and had armed himself to the teeth to come to the rescue.
…
"Sir… what on earth are you wearing?" Alfred's voice was laced with disbelief.
If it weren't for the iconic bat-cowl, Alfred might've assumed this was a different costumed lunatic breaking into the manor.
He stared blankly at his boss, who looked more like he was about to raid a cartel compound than come home for dinner.
"I got your message, Alfred. Where's the alien?!" Batman growled, eyes scanning the room like he was about to shoot first and ask questions never.
Seeing Alfred unharmed made him pause—but then his sharp gaze zeroed in on Max, still sitting at the dinner table like a deer in the world's angriest headlights.
Max: "…Oh crap. He really is here to kill me."
Max's brain offered a rapid montage: him trying to fight back, getting instantly wrecked, transforming with the Omnitrix, only to be blasted to dust by sheer firepower.
"Me? Fight Batman one-on-one? Are you nuts?!"
Max threw his hands up in surrender.
"Whoa, whoa, I'm not an alien! I mean, I'm human! Fully Earth-born! No freaky hybrid DNA, I swear! You can run a blood test if you want!"
But Batman wasn't convinced. The kid was sweating bullets under the twin barrels of Tommy guns.
Batman squinted, eyes narrowing on Max's left wrist.
"That weird watch… You're the kid who can transform into aliens?"
"Yup!" Max nodded quickly, already plotting how to someday jump Batman with a sack over his head and teach him a lesson.
…
Under the cowl, Batman's brow furrowed. Not out of anger at Max—but at whoever did this to him. (He was still under the impression Max was some poor kid used as a test subject by alien mad scientists. He hadn't actually listened to Max's earlier explanation.)
He clenched his fists and asked in a low, restrained growl, "Were you captured for genetic experimentation? Can you describe the alien that did it? Do you know where it is? I'll make them pay."
Max raised an eyebrow. Whoa, calm down, bro. Did you just invent a whole trauma arc for me?
Yup. The Bat-family were all drama kings. Batman loved jumping to conclusions, and apparently, so did Alfred.
Max sighed and launched into an explanation—again.
"Okay! Let me clear this up. This isn't some freaky gene experiment. The watch? It's called the Omnitrix—it's supposed to let me turn into alien species. That's literally its job."
"This is the cosmic device known as the Omnitrix! And I, Max, am its chosen wielder! Future savior of the universe!"
"Those 'creatures' you saw? Just other sentient species out there in the galaxy."
"Not all aliens are bad, okay? Ever heard of discrimination? I'll sue for intergalactic profiling!"
"…"
Batman looked to Alfred.
He was starting to feel like an idiot for even entertaining this conversation. This had to be a side effect of trauma. Clearly the kid was delusional. Probably fried his brain from too much gene-splicing.
If Alfred hadn't seen Max transform back into human form with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed any of it either.
But now, he nodded solemnly. "Master Bruce, the young man is telling the truth. He does, in fact, transform into… er… beings not native to Earth."
He couldn't help but picture that bizarre creature from earlier—how did something that fat fly with such tiny wings?
"Oh, and just so you know, Alfred, the Omnitrix might have some Earth DNA stored in it too. Who knows, maybe I'll turn into a pigeon next!"
"…"
Batman finally holstered his guns, though his voice remained cold. "Fine. Let's say I believe you. What do you want from me?"
"Team-up! Or rather—I'm here to ask for help!" Max puffed up his chest dramatically.
To Batman, he just looked like a cocky kid who needed a timeout.
"You're asking me for help?"
"Yup! Aunt Selina's planning to investigate the Court of Owls, and I need backup."
Batman's frown deepened.
"Selina? The Court of Owls? That's just an old Gotham myth."
"Nope. Very real. Penguin told us himself."
Batman raised an eyebrow. "You spoke to Penguin?"
"Yup. Two nights ago, he kidnapped me and Aunt Selina, held me hostage, and forced her to steal files on the Court of Owls!"