Apologies for the delay uploading this!
Alfred Pennyweather half-carried, half-dragged the sexdoll - too clumsy in its own limbs to manage the stone steps - down into the sanctum of the Batcave, and laid it out on a workbench where it could see everything. With trembling hands, the ever-loyal butler picked up the autoinjector of nanites there. It was the dose of nanites that held the essence of Bruce Wayne - his DNA, his physique, everything that he was - intended for use in reverting the doll once its mission was complete. The nanites, once intended as a powerful weapon in the fight against crime, would now be employed to transform Alfred's aged body into an exact replica of the billionaire playboy.
"I just want you to know I'm doing this for your own good, Master Wayne," Alfred said. "Like this, you're completely helpless. If your enemies found you... well it doesn't bare thinking about. But with me taking your place, they're far less likely to suspect you." Yet the breathy tremble in his voice betrayed his less-than-noble intentions, and he was barely able to wait another moment before driving the syringe deep into the wrinkled, sagging flesh of his bicep and squeezing the trigger.
Alfred grunted as the nanites surged through his bloodstream, burrowing into each of his cells as they began to rebuild him.
Trapped within supple rubber flesh, Bruce Wayne could only watch in horror. Why was he brought here to watch this? he thought silently. To be further humiliated as his identity was stolen from him?
As the nanites flowed through him, a tingling sensation swept over Alfred, starting from the point of injection and radiating outward. He watched awestruck as his skin, once wrinkled and weathered, tightened with youthful elasticity. The aches and pains of old age melted away, replaced by a surge of energy coursing through his revitalized body, his tired muscles bulging and throbbing into the peak of human possibility.
With each passing moment, his reflection in the mirror shifted, morphing into an uncanny likeness of Bruce Wayne. His hair, gray and thinning, thickened and darkened, adopting the signature tousled style that had become synonymous with his employer. His face, once lined, transformed into a younger, more vibrant visage- a mirror image of the man he'd served so faithfully.
"I feel your strength surging through me, Bruce," Alfred gasped at the doll's vacant face, shuddering in pleasure. "... your youth. This feels incredible."
The nanites cannibalised his spectacles (no longer needed as his myopic eyes became as keen as a hawk), turning the matter into the famous cowl. But it was as the minute machines flowed into his brain that the real changes began.