The massive study door swung open on silent, electromagnetic hinges. A figure who rivaled the door for mass leaned into the darkened room and said meekly,
"Bruce?"
"Here." The reply came from behind a desk that could have served as a respectable community theater stage. A small spotlight on the desk was the sole source of light in the room, illuminating a bewildering assortment of tools and electronics and sinister-looking blades laid out over the desktop. Clark Kent walked around to where Bruce Wayne was hunched over a circuit board mounted inside a black plastic disk. He delicately poked at the assemblage with a soldering iron.
"Just a minute," Wayne said as he continued to focus exclusively on circuitry.
Kent stood patiently, looking over the melange of items on the desk. On a coat tree next to it, there hung a vest made of some rubbery gray plastic. He picked up the vest and examined a cracked, flattened portion.
"Bullet?" he asked.
