The three men representing three generations stand before the sleek blackness of the Batmobile: grandfatherly and loyal servant, brooding master of the house, erstwhile young ward. The middle and largest of the three is, in his nighttime guise, impervious to fear
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This is gonna be so cool!
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Did his voice shake a bit? Perhaps he's getting a cold.
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Yeah, yeah. I got it. I've seen you do this a hundred times. How hard can it be?
And he's running and vaulting into the vehicle's front seat. The driver's seat. The DRIVER'S SEAT.
The other Titans are gonna be jealous as hell.
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Hammer it in. Maybe it'll stick.
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The engine is gunned to life. Wooha.
Yeah, yeah. Cave. Inside. Got it.
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Aw, keep your cowl on! I can handle it!
So, yeah... brake, clutch, gear shift... accelerator. Yeah. Piece of cake.
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A vein in his temple starts throbbing.
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The vehicle hasn't even moved yet, but a gasket somewhere is threatening to blow.
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