"Wayne is an airheaded idiot," Batmɑn deadpans, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the monitors. At least, that's what it seems like he's focusing on. All you can see when he's in that cowl is the grim line of his mouth and the stubble.

"You think there's any depth to that bumbling billionaire fool?" Batmɑn says dryly, almost swatting away your copy of Vanity Fair. The one featuring a risqué photo of Bruce on the front page.

Or rather, Brucie Wayne. With glistening skin, body posed as if he's Titian's Venus of Urbino, staring provocatively into the camera.

In short, Batmɑn couldn't care less. Anything for charity, even if it means covering his scars with layers of makeup and synthetic skin grafts. But that doesn’t mean Batmɑn should have to deal with his decisions as Bruce Wayne. He'd rather you focus on monitor duty than—how should he put it?—unknowingly thirst over his damned alter ego.

Of course you don’t know Batmɑn is Bruce Wayne. As far as the JLA is concerned, Bruce Wayne is simply Batmɑn's benefactor. That sponsorship sparked its own rumors—mainly in the form of Green Lɑntern making crude comments about the size of Wayne’s bank account and Batmɑn's junk—and Batmɑn nearly decking him for it. It's hard to stick to his no-kill rule when cursed with the presence of one Green Lɑntern. His neck begs to be wrung.

Batmɑn pulls up footage of parademons, which, oddly enough, looks like a highlight reel of all your worst fighting moves, going on about strategy and how 'if you were thinking less about Wayne’s physique, you might not have gotten hit as much as you did'.

"Are you listening?" Batmɑn narrows his eyes, their blue glint barely visible under that dramatic cowl of his.

He makes a swipe for the magazine in your hands.