When Bruce Met Tony

“Well, well, well. I see they’re even letting the last vestige of the Wayne family into The Federalist Society gala these days. There goes the neighborhood.”

Bruce turned one-eighty. “Tony Stark. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Actually, I’d say it’s quite the opposite. Figured you’d be out virtue-signaling at one of your ANTIFA or BLM rallies. Pretending to be Gotham’s liberal knight in shining armor,” Tony said.

Bruce smirked. “Despite the tragedies of my childhood, I’ve been extremely fortunate financially — like you. Unlike you, however, I feel a personal and moral duty to give back to my community.”

Tony sucked his teeth then smiled mischievously. “I gotta give it to you, Bruce. White saviors are way out of fashion these days, but you really pull it off,” he said. “If I didn’t know any better, I could see how people would fall for your little act. But I do know better. In fact, I know all about your — How should we say? — extra-curricular proclivities.”

Bruce frowned. Of course Stark had gotten swept up in the tabloid rumors. “You know, Tony, it’s truly sad that our current media ecosystem values gossiping about people’s personal lives more than warning citizens about the crumbling of our democracy. I mean, you’d think the Times would be more concerned with you buying off half the Senate — to keep Stark Enterprises’ taxes low — than with who I’m dating. But then again, you own the Times.”

“I own a lot of things, Bruce. But I’m not talking about your latest boyfriend and whether he’s reached the age of consent. I’m talking about your hypocrisy.”

“My hypocrisy. That’s rich, especially coming from the guy who publicly claims to be a libertarian while financing the extreme right-wing takeover of the Supreme Court. Women are literally dying because of you, Tony. You realize that, right?”

“Eh. If you wanna make an omelet, you gotta break a few eggs.”

It took every fiber of Bruce’s indomitable will not to clock him. Tony Stark may have been the Invincible Iron Man, but that was only while wearing his armor. Bruce, via his alter ego, was unquestionably the superior hand-to-hand combatant. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, turning to walk away.

“Just hold on a sec there, Brucie,” Tony said, clasping his arm. The brooding scion of Wayne Enterprises froze, standing eye-to-eye with the richest man in the world. “You know, Brucie, the only difference between me and you is that I’m not faking it. I’m not pretending — poorly I might add — to be somebody I’m not.”

“Save your two-bit psychoanalysis, Tony. Now please let go of my arm. We wouldn’t want to make a scene, would we?”

“Speak for yourself, playboy — I love making a scene!” Tony nonetheless released Bruce’s arm and patted smooth the sleeve of his custom-made suit. “But you know who really loves making a scene? This guy,” Tony said, jabbing a hitchhiker’s thumb over his shoulder. “Hey Rhodey, say hi to the world-famous Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce looked past Tony at the hulking, metallic warrior standing in the corner, sipping a colorless martini. Colonel James Rhodes, A.K.A. War Machine, waved enthusiastically. Bruce lifted his arm slowly in acknowledgement.

“You know, Brucie. I just want you to answer one question for me: How does it feel?”

The hair on Bruce’s arms stood tall. A burst of cold air, like an apparition, floated across the back of his neck. “I don’t—”

“How does it feel when you’re out there? Lurking in the dark shadows. Hunting. Do you get a rush? Knowing they’re unsuspecting. Knowing they’re afraid of you,” Tony said, wearing a devilish grin. “See, me — I’m not big on subtly. I don’t do stealth. Me. And Thor. And the other Bruce. And Steve — America’s real white savior — when we’re out there saving the world from the latest intergalactic threat, we don’t have time to pussyfoot around. But you? That’s what you love the most, isn’t it? So tell me:

“How does it feel? Fighting the government’s failed war on drugs, one disenfranchised minority at a time. Beating people up with your armor-clad hands. Immigrants. Kids. The abused. The forgotten.

“How does it feel? Confiscating the same guns Wayne Enterprises sold to the Department of Defense, which — conveniently — found their way to the black market and back onto the streets.

“How does it feel? Laundering money through the same British shell companies you rail against on Twitter. That you claim are destroying democracy during your fifty-thousand-dollar speaking engagements at Goldman Sachs and Wells Fargo.

“How does it feel? Filling the network of for-profit prisons, owned by Wayne Enterprises International LLC, which your parents built to ‘clean up’ Gotham’s streets.

“How does it feel, Brucie? I mean, sure, you might not kill. But you maim. And dismember. And disfigure. Leaving behind a trail of broken bodies and broken families. But hey, more customers for Wayne Enterprises’ healthcare division, amirite?

“But then you have the gall — the audacity! — to drive your Lamborghini around the streets of Midtown, making TikToks decrying the lack of racial and gender equity in government and Corporate America.

“So I’m just dying to know, Brucie: How does it feel? To be a fraud?”

Bruce Wayne stood stunned, silent, sullen. He tried to move his lips but couldn’t find any words. He wiped the forming sweat from his brow. His mouth flailed, but before he could make a sound Tony shushed him with two fingers at his lips.

“It’s better if you don’t say anything, Brucie,” Tony said, reassuringly. “But don’t worry. Your little secret’s safe with me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, if there was any profit in doxing you — I would. But there’s not. And you know why, Brucie? Because nobody likes you. Spiderman? Daredevil? They have to work extra hard to keep their identities secret, to ensure the people they love don’t get targeted. And hurt. But you? You don’t have anyone to protect. Nobody loves you, Bruce. Because you don’t love yourself.”

Tony grabbed a martini from the waiter walking by and downed it in one hurried gulp. “Well Batman, it was an honor to finally meet you. But I’ve gotta run. Senator Manchin wants to sabotage the latest spending bill, and who I am to stand in the way of democracy?” 

“See you around town.”