5293/Private Bat-vestigations

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Private Bat-vestigations
Date of Scene: 03 September 2018
Location: The Batcave, Gotham.
Synopsis: Bruce investigates Natasha, but the need for sleep wins out before he finds any answers.
Cast of Characters: Shadow, Batman




Shadow has posed:
    It's quiet in the Batcave - or at least as quiet as it gets, between the soft hum of more computing power than the NSA has at its disposal, the quiet huff of air circulators and the occasional chitter of the cave's original inhabitants. All those sounds are so familiar to the cave's only human occupant that he barely notices them anymore, and right now his attention is on the array of screens in front of him.

    The level 2 investigation into Cranston Multinational and its slightly odd CEO has yielded several red flags and leads, but now Batman needs to decide which of them to follow up on...

Batman has posed:
    Although he doesn't keep a schedule written down anywhere, Bruce Wayne is a highly organised man. In his head, he's in the minutes alotted to investigate the curious case of Natasha Cranston. There are no real red flags as far as he's concerned. There is certainly more there than meets the eye, but that could be said of dozens of people leading double lives. His investigation is more for his own peace of mind. He wants to know because he must know. He must have it filed away somewhere in the Batcomputer. It is a compulsion he can never truly master. In his head, he rationalizes it as making sure that he is across any threat she may pose.
    Seated before the Batcomputer in the Batsuit sans the cape and cowl, he steeples his fingers before himself and speaks to its voice command interface: "Kent Allard."
    He begins the search. He has to start somewhere.

Shadow has posed:
    The Batcomputer responds instantly, putting a close-up of the man's face on the main monitor while historical information and known records start scrolling down one side monitor and Natasha's own details are relegated to the other.

    The exact genealogy is a little less straightforward than 'uncle', and not all the files are complete -- but that's regrettably to expected when some of the files involved predate digital records, but a quick craniometric comparison between Kent Allard and Natasha Cranston gives high confidence to genetic relation to the third degree or better.

    The Allard branch of the family tree isn't very wide and seems destined to end with Kent, given that he's past his seventies and a childless widower. From what the records indicate, he was a traveling salesman for most of his life, making a decent but not spectacular living; actual contact with the main branch was sporadic but present. He semi-unretired in 2006 after the death of Natasha's parents, taking on the role of guardian for the suddenly orphaned child, and got an advisory seat on the Board of Trustees of Cranston Multinational, then went back into retirement when Natasha returned last year.

    A note from Alfred indicates that this information was fairly easy to dig up, since the Board appears to have hired detectives to investigate the man three times, and all Alfred had to do was collate it.

Batman has posed:
    "Hnh," Bruce murmurs to himself, reading through all the information on the screen with exceptional quickness. He makes a few notes of his own on the file. Namely, to dig into the gaps in the record. It seems unlikely that there wouldn't be anyone else in the Cranstons' life able to take care of the orphaned girl. Bruce himself had uncles and cousins aplenty, even if none of them truly worked out as guardians in those early days. It isn't that much of a loose thread, but it's something to look into at least.
    "The boarding school," he commands of the Computer, "Curriculum." There's not a chance she spent all those years there - and what sort of elite private school leans that heavy into sport shooting?

Shadow has posed:
    Kent Allard vanishes, replaced by the front page of the school's website. It's a highly accredited boarding school in Switzerland, and its list of alumni reads like a Who's Who of the mighty and/or rich, and another note from Alfred states that both its physical and electronic security definitely attests to this, and to please not attempt to breach the latter without consulting with Miss Gordon first.

    The public pages wax poetically about the breadth and depth of the curriculum, promising that your child will emerge ready to take on any challenge and career this world has to offer, as well as making the kind of networking contacts that the business world thrives on. A slightly better buried part of the site reveals that this includes things like kidnapping/hostage training, but from the phrasing Bruce suspects the majority of it involves how to stay alive and unharmed until ransom and/or rescue arrives. It also offers a wide array of the more upper-class sports, ranging from swimming and horse riding to archery and rock climbing -- albeit with some disclaimers about the more high-adrenaline sports needing specific permission vouchers to indicate that the parents are aware that injuries can occur despite the best protection and precautions money can buy.

    There aren't any actual prices mentioned on the site, a clear statement of "If you have to ask how much this costs, you can't afford it". Still, a twelve-year stay would be well within the budget of the Cranston or Wayne fortunes, and that kind of money buys a /lot/ of discretion...

    Natasha's actual school records aren't accessible without some electronic skullduggery, but her diplomas and certifications are a matter of public record as part of her CV. Majors in business, management and economics, several minor electives in psychology -- not an entirely uncommon choice, as a lot of negotiations depend on knowing how people think -- and certifications for hang-gliding, shooting and mountain climbing.

Batman has posed:
    "Alright," Bruce says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. It's early in the day. Extremely late for him. He allows himself to yawn widely, taking advantage of nobody being around to see it, and climbs to his feet. He moves to a small kitchenette not far from the computer itself, flicking the switch on a coffee maker. As it begins to hiss and perolate, he leans back against the counter and thinks for a moment: "Run facial recognition through periodical database from 2003 to 2015. Look for any matches within the fifteenth percentile."
    As he waits for the slightly longer process to run, he fetches a plain black mug down from the cupboard.

Shadow has posed:
    The first hit is fairly quick - back in 2000 Kevin Cranston had donated a new children's wing to a hospital, and as such the entire family was present for the official opening in 2004. Nine-year-old Natasha was an adorable little moppet, albeit apparently more interested in the ball pit than standing around for the photo op. The official from the hospital is looking a bit scandalized at the disruption, but the Cranstons are just standing there holding hands and smiling fondly at their daughter's antics.

    The next photo is also official but four years after that -- a cutout from a news article with the title "POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL". It's a close-up of her face, wearing an expression Bruce is pretty sure he's seen in a mirror once or twice, or at times when he arrived too late -- the expression of someone who has shut down all emotional processing because they can't no longer deal with it. There's a footnote saying that the photo had been taken without permission by a trespassing journalist in search of a schoop, and Kent Allard sued the paper after they printed it anyway.

    After that, the well dries up somewhat -- possible hits, but in most cases the person is identified as someone else, with an existing paper trail. The boarding school does have field trips, but because of security considerations doesn't advertise where to and when they happen; however, there is a photo of a group of young women in 2014 wearing expensive looking clothes posing underneath the Eiffel Tower; the Batcomputer's algorhithms give a 95% certainty that the dark-haired young woman third from the left with the smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes is Natasha...

Batman has posed:
    Bruce pours the coffee as he looks through the photographs, returning to his seat with the mug full. He sets it down without a sip, leaning forward as the 2014 photo catches his eye. It's certainly a face he recognizes. One he himself sported several times before he learned to hide it better. He's not the only person who ever went down this road. He knows that. His own extended family all share a similar tale in one way or another, albeit shaped by him. It doesn't seem so unusual that Natasha might decide the world needed to be forced to make sense again.
    "Tri-State Area police reports on any masked vigilantes. Keywords - female, firearms."
    He frowns a tight-lipped frown as he can't think of much more to add there. Not a great start and it's more a stab in the dark than anything else.

Shadow has posed:
    As he'd already half feared, the list starts scrolling very quickly -- the Tri-State Area has far more than its fair share of the "capes and cowls" crowd. Fortunately, Bruce is aware of a large number of them already and can quickly start paring down the list by eliminating definite false positives -- Domino's identity is well known, she's the wrong age to be Batwoman, Rache's background in the US Marines is a known fact, Lara Croft is known to work for SHIELD... The list goes on and on, and in the end he comes up empty.

Batman has posed:
    Bruce rubs his eyes once again, standing up from the chair and shaking his head.
    "Old man."
    An admonishment of himself. All the same, he's tired and he can tell. He's been running off barely two hours of sleep in the wake of the Joker and the Riddler cropping up at the same time, and now it's coming back to bite him.
    "Save progress. Run a background scan for any news featuring any new arrivals that don't show up on the list already."
    He turns away, takes a few steps towards the stairway leading out of the Cave, then turns back: "Collate treatment schedule for Quentin Matthews at Arkham. Post to HUD."
    He'll sleep for now, but there's a lead right here in Gotham that might shed some light. He climbs the stairs and, as he disappears through the doorway into the Manor proper, the lights cut out with an audible thunk. Only the Batcomputer's screen remains illuminated, running one of a thousand background processes ...

Shadow has posed:
    The Batcomputer beeps a soft acknowledgement, the monitors powering down automatically after a few moments more while the system crunches away at its herculean tasks with inhuman patience.

    Some questions answered; more questions raised. A mystery unresolved, for now. But after all, who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?