I don't have a name yet.
I've decided I don't need one. Not yet. Not in order to begin my mission.
I am unformed, a work in progress. What I do have is an identity. I am a threat, a promise, a reality.
And I have an outward appearance. It is a variation on the clothes I have always felt most comfortable in: black pants, black shirt (a tight turtleneck), black shoes and belt and gloves--all of them made of specialty materials, heavily reinforced, developed for me by Alfred at B's insistence. I wear a black nylon mask that completely covers my head. I carry weapons designed to protect me and compromise the safety of my enemies.
I do not share B's taste for theatrics. Except for the mask, the uniform I have adopted is one I could wear in public without attracting undue attention.
Attention is not what I seek. What I seek are results.