He went to the locker room and changed quickly, wrapping each of his hands in white gauze and dusting them with powder, and then took a pair of slim aviator goggles from his locker and pulled them on.
The facilities were impressive, but what made the gym so expensive was the technology behind these goggles. With them over his eyes, Bruce could now see labels—MATS and RING and POOL—hovering over each area of the room. A central panel showed him a carousel of rotating landscapes he could set himself in while he trained.
Bruce scrolled through them until he found his preferred setting. He reached out in midair to tap the option, and the world around him darkened into blackness.
In a flash, it reset—and he found himself standing on the edge of a tower that disappeared into a bank of sunset clouds, staring out at a sea of glittering skyscrapers all connected to each other with cables in such a way that he could do a run between them. Stairwells curved around the outside of each building in spirals. Overhead hung a virtual night sky. When he looked down, the height seemed so realistic that he felt his head spin.
The skyscrapers and obstacles all matched up with the layout of the gym itself, the mat formations and the octagon fighting ring and so on, the virtual stairwells syncing up with real, physical steplike mats laid out in circles. Bruce could select a mode on this landscape, too; if he wanted to run between the skyscrapers and up and down the stairwells, then the cables and stairwells would be highlighted, turning bright white to make it easy for him to see. If he wanted to scale the sides of the buildings, then footholds along the sides of the buildings would be highlighted instead, all matching up with the rock-climbing walls.
Bruce chose the option to highlight the cables and stairwells. They lit up in white, startling against the sunset scene. He stretched in relief, ready to shed the image of Arkham’s dark halls from his mind and let himself stare down the dizzying side of the skyscraper. Then he jumped.
He landed on a cable that ran between him and the nearest skyscraper. Instantly, he began to run it, his balance unwavering, footing accurate from years of practice. When he reached the end, he took a flying leap to grab onto the bars of the building’s outer stairwell. In real life, he hooked onto the metal monkey bars hanging over a series of blue mats, and his wrapped hands sent up a cloud of white dust. Bruce pulled himself up in a single motion, his arm and back muscles wound tight, then rolled onto the stairwell and continued running. Up a stairwell, then a flying leap, then another cable line. Sweat beaded his brow. With each passing minute, the warm-up exercise calmed him, and he could concentrate on nothing other than the steady pounding of his heart.
“Bruce!”
Bruce paused the simulation, then pulled his goggles up to see Coach Chang emerge from his office down the back hall to wave at him.
Bruce smiled. “Coach.”
The man nodded at the greeting. His hair was shaved short on the sides, tapering into a fauxhawk on top, and when he folded his arms, his muscles bulged. His ears were scarred, hinting at his wrestling past. “Nice work on those runs.”
Bruce was about to respond, when a second figure followed Coach out onto the gym floor. Richard.
Richard forced a smile. “Hey, Bruce,” he said, flexing his wrists once.
“Richard told me he’ll be out of town the night he usually trains,” Coach said. “I hope you don’t mind that I have him here tonight. The pair of you can partner up like you used to.”
Like you used to. It’d been years since he and Richard had wrestled together as friends. So much for a relaxing workout session, Bruce thought.
Richard nodded. “Like old times.” Bruce heard the note of exaggeration in his voice, the sarcasm.
Their coach seemed oblivious to the tension between them as he dropped a bunch of equipment on the floor. Then he glanced down at his phone. “Warm up a little, loosen yourselves up. We’ll get started on a routine in a bit.” He held his phone up to his ear and stepped away, leaving them alone in the room.
They moved to a sparring mat, where Richard started circling Bruce.
“Heard you left the benefit early,” Richard said. “Did I really bother you that much?”
“I just needed to clear my head.” Bruce searched for an opening, his eyes fixed on the other boy.
Richard let out a humorless chuckle. “Please. You think I don’t know you well enough to tell when you’re lying?”
Bruce flexed his hands open and closed. He remembered circling Richard around this same space when they were young, the way they’d laugh and throw challenges at each other. How different it’d felt back then. “If you’d said that years ago, I’d have believed you,” he replied.
“Not my fault we stopped hanging out.”
“Then why?” Bruce scowled. “Was it something I did?”
At that, Richard’s expression darkened. “Maybe someone’s head got too big for his brain.”
Bruce could feel his temper rising. “Why—because I stopped letting you cheat off me all the time? Because you couldn’t use me anymore?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
So that was it, Bruce thought, resigned. Richard wanted a fight, was itching for one. He narrowed his eyes as he saw Richard shift into an offensive stance, then pulled his goggles back on. Both of them connected on the same channel, and the ring around them transformed into a helicopter pad on a skyscraper’s rooftop.
Richard lunged, one bandaged fist aimed at his head. Bruce brought his shoulders up instinctively; the blow struck his upper arm, and he immediately countered. Bruce circled his opponent, holding back, waiting for him to attack again. Defense first.
Another lunge—another exchange of blows. Bruce had always been lighter on his feet, and he dodged Richard’s attack, but he could tell that Richard had been practicing. Well, he wasn’t the only one who had changed. One, two hits—Richard barely managed to block Bruce’s second strike.
Richard’s face showed his surprise. He skipped forward and shoved Bruce hard enough to send him stumbling back. An illegal move. Before Bruce could recover his balance, Richard aimed a vicious kick at his knee. Pain exploded through Bruce—he clenched his teeth in an attempt not to cry out, but his leg still gave way, and he nearly fell. He caught himself at the last second, stumbling.
Bruce’s dark hair fell across his forehead as he glared at his opponent. That wasn’t a move learned here from their coach.
Their strikes turned faster and more frequent. Richard had a weight and height advantage over Bruce, but he was also slower, and Bruce could see him starting to tire. Bruce seized the moment to strike Richard twice in rapid succession against his side. The boy doubled over with a grunt.
As Bruce swung at him again, Richard grabbed Bruce’s wrist and twisted his arm around in one gesture, flinging Bruce toward the edge of the ring. Bruce stumbled, but this time he was ready. He used his momentum to swing back around, striking Richard hard in the stomach.