The sun began to rise over the Wayne estate near Gotham city. A sleek black automobile turned off the highway and slid into a hidden garage. The car’s engine shut down and its door opened.
Sharp clacking steps echoed off the walls of the cave-like garage as a black-clad figure walked from the car to an elevator that traveled upwards to the mansion overhead.
A little while later, after the sun was up, a young man mounted the front steps of the house. He was well known to the staff, and a maid let him in without trouble. He moved quickly, something obviously on his mind. Upstairs, the man encountered an elderly butler.
“Good morning,” said the older gentleman in calm British tones.
“Hello Alfred,” said the young man, commonly known as Robin. “I need to see Bruce.”
“I’m afraid Master Wayne is currently asleep,” the butler informed him. “He had a long night.”
Robin paused for a moment. He was about to say something that sounded crazy, and he knew it. “That’s the thing, I’m not sure we’re dealing with Bruce Wayne.”
Nodding, Alfred said, “There have been some changes recently.”
The younger man stared at him seriously. “He turned into a magenta horse.”
“Well Master Grayson, I believe the color is actually closer to lavender,” said Alfred. “Also, the stature is more reminiscent of a pony. The voice sounds female, as well.”
“This doesn’t…trouble you?” demanded Robin.
Alfred shrugged. “Between the antics of all the superheroes and villains out there, I think Master Bruce can be forgiven for this unusual, but relatively harmless, eccentricity.”
“Harmless?” said Robin, nearly shouting. “What will become of Gotham without Batman?”
“Batman is still around,” explained Alfred patiently. “Despite what may or may not have happened to Bruce Wayne himself.”
Robin stared at the butler. “How does that even work?”
“If Master Wayne—or the pony—wishes us to know, he—or she—will tell us,” said Alfred, placidly.
In the end, Robin deferred to the older man’s judgment. He left the mansion, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation.
The day passed uneventfully. As the sun began to set, Cheerilee the pony awoke. The former schoolteacher, now crime fighter, yawned and sat up.
The bed was quite large and plush, and the room was furnished much more lavishly than her own home in Ponyville. It was a mystery to the mare how she had ended up in the position she currently found herself in, but that was of little importance for the moment. There were criminals to apprehend.
The pony geared up with cape, cowl, armor, and utility belt. She exited the manor the way she had entered hours before—through the Batcave. The place was full of really impressive technology, and had she bothered to think about it, it would have seemed very strange that she intuitively knew how to operate it all. Fortunately, the world of superheroes bore little resemblance to real life, and through an incident involving the author of the story not giving a buck, this was not a problem.
The Batmobile’s engine started on the first try and the car shot out of the cave. The pony behind the wheel didn’t have a destination in mind, but figured she would know it when she got there.
Miles away, Police Commissioner James Gordon stared at a few reports that had been received the previous night. It seemed that Batman wasn’t anymore. A man, that is. Gordon sighed tiredly. His civil servant salary was not nearly high enough to compensate for the stress of his job. Was it asking too much to get a job that didn't involve dealing with people who dressed up in costumes for various purposes?
The desk phone rang. Gordon picked it up. “Yes?”
“Sir, the Joker and one of his cronies have been spotted robbing a bank on Main Street!” said an excited voice.
“You don’t say,” muttered Gordon. It was always something. If it wasn’t the Joker involved in a crime, it was the Penguin, Poison Ivy, or another one of the suspiciously high population of supervillains in the city. Well, time to call someone—somepony?—who cared. He flipped a switch on his desk that powered up that great beacon of justice, the Batsignal.
Batman, or perhaps Batmare, spotted the distinctive searchlight. With a hoof, she poked the touchscreen inside the Batmobile and it automatically downloaded information from the police database. Ah, the Joker. She smiled. This was one class clown that was going down.
Shortly thereafter, the car slid to a stop in front of the bank. The Joker stood jauntily outside, leaning on an comically oversized sledgehammer that he'd been using for one of his possibly-insane schemes. He’d worn his best wig and makeup for the occasion. Next to him was Harley Quinn, costumed in her customary red and black garb.
“Oh, Batman, I see there’s something different about you,” cackled the Joker. “Are you sad? Why the long face?”
Harley Quinn giggled. “Nice one, Mister J. I get it, Batman got turned into a—”
“Shut up Harley,” said the Joker. He stared at the figure dressed in black that had exited the Batmobile, waiting for something to happen. Usually, he would be on the receiving end of at least a few punches by now.
“I think you just need to be shown some love and attention,” said the pony. “You probably had a rough childhood. We all need some help sometimes. There’s always the option to return school and learn how to be a functioning member of society.”
“I…um,” the man in makeup awkwardly looked at the ground and scratched the back of his head.
“I’m sure you’ll love it,” the mare went on happily. “Nothing puts a smile on your face quite like learning.”
“I don’t—” the Joker started, but the pony cut him off.
“There’s no need to worry that you won’t be able to pay for it,” she insisted. “Grants and loans are widely available for the pursuit of higher education.”
“It’s true,” put in Harley. “That’s how I got my college degree.”
“I guess I could go back to school,” allowed the Joker.
The pony in black smiled. “That’s the spirit!” She jumped in the Batmobile and took off down the street with a screech of tires.
The Joker turned to his assistant. “I think I liked the old Batman better. Not so…cheerful.”
Harley nodded. “I always wondered why he was so serious. So are we going to rob this bank or what, Mister J?”
There was a sudden cacophony of sirens as a dozen police cars converged around the building. Quite a few guns were pointed at the two criminals. The Joker sighed. It wasn’t the first time he’d been arrested, and probably wouldn’t be the last.
Several blocks away, the pony in the Batmobile congratulated herself on a job well done. By stalling long enough for the police to arrive, she hadn’t had to resort to physical violence at all. In addition, the two criminals were now in an ideal place to achieve their goals. Gotham Prison and its subsidiary Arkham Asylum both had a continuing education system to help inmates better themselves. It was win-win!
She smiled to herself. Being a caped crusader was a very rewarding job. It would never compare to the thrill of teaching young foals, but elementary school didn’t come with a Batmobile.
Author's Note
This story started out as a joke based on a hastily photoshopped picture by Kitsunehero (which is now the cover art). In the spirit of hastiness, I only spent about an hour writing it. Hope it doesn't show too much.
Thanks for reading.
Plounge Karaoke on MLP subReddit has done a dramatic reading!
