BRUCE: You still working? You’re getting slow
in your old age, Alfred. Comes to us all, Master Wayne. Even you got too old to die young. And not for lack of trying. (IN DEEP VOICE)
Funnel-ferry butterbar. Funnel-ferry butterbar. Funnel-ferry… There’s nothing wrong
with the microphone. It’s this new layer of armor. I’ll just have to rewire. So, last night was productive? No. He’s too low-level. He knew nothing. This is the man who knows things. Anatoli Knyazev. He’s Russian. Contracts all over the globe, but he’s based out of the port of Gotham. Weapons and human trafficking. ALFRED:
So the White Portuguese
is a Russian. That’s the theory. No. The theory is that the Russian
will lead me to the man himself. If he is, indeed, a “him.” You don’t even know if he exists.
Could be a phantasm. One that wants to bring
a dirty bomb into Gotham? Ah, high-stakes round. ALFRED:
New rules. BRUCE: We’re criminals,
Alfred. We’ve always been criminals.
Nothing’s changed. Oh, yes, it has, sir. Everything’s changed. Men fall from the sky. The gods hurl thunderbolts. Innocents die. That’s how it starts, sir. The fever. The rage. The feeling of powerlessness. It turns good men cruel.