BATMANthe return

the calm(Batman #43)

Writers, Charlie Wilkins, Alex Vasquez and Imari JadeCover, Nathan Kilburn

first blood(Detective Comics #42)

Writers, Alex Vasquez with Charlie Wilkins and Imari JadeCover, Alex Vasquez

the ties that bind us(Nightwing #42)

Writers, Imari Jade with Charlie Wilkins and Alex VasquezCover, Paul Johnson

whispers...(Batman #44)

Writers, Charlie Wilkins and Alex VasquezCover, Nathan Kilburn

check(Detective Comics #43)Writers, Alex VasquezCover, Alex Vasquez

the reckoning(Nightwing #43)

Writers, Charlie Wilkins and Imari JadeCover, Paul Johnson

the final night(Batman #45)

Writers, Alex Vasquez and Charlie WilkinsCover, Nathan Kilburn

the calm(Batman #43)

Writers, Charlie Wilkins, Alex Vasquez and Imari JadeCover, Nathan Kilburn(From Sept. 11, 2009)

The Following Story Takes Place After DC2 Nemesis #7

...

WAYNE MANOR:

Time hadn't stopped. The world-- none of it has stopped moving. Nekron came to the world, and civilisation was brought to the brink of survival. Some died. Some survived. That was the way things went on Planet Earth. Gotham City, surprisingly enough, had come out relatively unscathed. Dick Grayson was entertaining the crowds for the yearly Wayne Enterprises dinner party, where the rich, the business-minded, and the press all gathered to bask in each other's glow. He smiled and waved at people he recognised, and nodded at those he didn't. He knew how Bruce felt, when he'd host these parties... and he understood why he'd sit down in the Cave and go over police reports and criminal psych profiles. This was horrifying! He suppressed a smile, and continued about his host-duties...

"Mr Grayson! Mr Grayson!" Dick turned, and a microphone was shoved into his face, "You've taken a major step in making our City safer by taking a controlling stake in Arkham Asylum-- you donated a monumental amount of money to charities across the country-- and the world-- and as such you were able to secure the assistance of the Justice League in building a new, stronger 'New' Arkham! Do you have more plans for Gotham?"

"Well, I intend to secure a haircut in the next few days," he said, running a hand through his hair, "and maybe go shopping for some new suits, but no, questions regarding business, and not, say, my love life-- which I find so much more easy to answer: 'No, yes, yes, only if you have photos!'-- are best directed at the Director of Wayne Enterprises, Lucius Fox." Dick smiled, and then put up his hands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check on the hors d'œuvre..." He excused himself, and headed through the crowds of well-dressed celebrities and business-men from across the world, and dove into the kitchen, where Alfred Pennyworth was directing the staff. "Alfred! How are we doing?"

"Brilliantly, sir. The wine is flowing freely and we've yet to have any trouble from the paparazzi roaming the halls. Might I say, it was a wonderful idea to have security ensuring that the upstairs are kept out-of-bounds? Mr. Dempsey has reported three incidents of our respected 'guests' attempting to access the bedrooms for, erhem, 'frolicking'."

"We don't need anyone roaming the halls unescorted, Alfred. Undoing all the wonderful cleaning you put in day-after-day. That, my friend, would be a travesty."

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm peppering your dialogue, Master Richard?" Alfred replied with a shake of his head.

Dick shrugged, and then broke into a broader smile. "I'm going to go speak to Tim, is he still in his... erm, his 'room'? Reading?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yes. He is, how you say, 'still in his room'."

"Great, Lucius and the other guys from WE are here, they can handle the, you know, business." He headed through the hustle and bustle of the staff as they ferried full and empty champagne glasses, and trays of hors d'œuvre in and out of the room.

Before he got too far though, he heard Alfred shout, "Don't soil your suit, Master Richard," and couldn't help but smile.

Life was good.

"...Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win." - Stephen King

GOTHAM CITY:

"Heh... heh... heh... heh..." Jackson Reynolds had been a junkie for a bit too long. The newspapers called him and his 'Jokerz', because of the garish way they dressed, because of the make-up they had smeared across their faces in

celebration for the greatest anarchist terrorist to ever touch American soil. Jackson Reynolds could no longer distinguish right from wrong, and all that mattered to him were two things. One) The next hit. He loved the feeling of freedom the watered down Smilex gave him, how it felt like he was mainlining adrenaline and sex, every movement a wonderful eternity of movement from point a. to b. Two) The unbridled chaos that the drug allowed him to commit, and the fact that doing wrong felt so right. So, when the strangely-dressed guys broke up their violence and vandalism party, he knew he had to speak up on behalf of his brethren. "I got to say, I'm not laughing at you, sirs, I'm laughing with you, and before you say that you're not, heh, laughing, you need to know that everyone's laughing on the... on the... on the inside," he broke into a fit of hysterics, doubled over, and then sprang back up, "anyways, who do you think you are, ruining our fun? Why would you do that, hey? Hey? Why would you come down here and--"

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Jackson Reynolds looked down at his chest, and then at the smoking gun the newcomers had aimed at him and the other Jokerz. Blood oozed out of the thumb-sized holes that had appeared in his body, and Reynolds' laugh became a wheeze, until he keeled over.

The perpetrators, dressed in their fine grey suits, loaded up their Tommy-guns, and looked around for any witnesses. This was a victory for the Gun-Moll. Wiping the dirt and the grime from her soon-to-be pristine criminal empire. "Come on boys! We got another block to peruse, another load of them smiley-boys to fill full o' lead!"

"Excuse me?" came the voice from the darkness. "Are you serious?"

Weapons were aimed wildly. The leader of the group felt sweat dribble down his temple. "Who's there? Who the £$%^ is there?" A batarang flew from the darkness and dug into the man's hand, the razor sharp blade jutting through soft tissue and severed muscle. "Gnnnarrrghhhh--!"

Jason Todd landed in the middle of the thugs, fists raised. "Me.”

WAYNE MANOR:

...

THE CAVE:

"Not enjoying the festivities then, Tim?" Dick Grayson arrived in the Cave by way of the service elevator, juttering down from the top floors where no guests were present. They'd temporarily sealed the Grandfather Clock entrance, to make sure no one accidentally stumbled into the secret of Wayne Manor, and things were going well. Tim Drake, on the other hand, was training, taking the opportunity to spar alone in the Cave whilst the world above enjoyed themselves. He'd worked up a sweat, pushing himself to the limits of his endurance, and he was soldier on.

"Aha," said the Boy Wonder, glancing up at Dick as he threw an R-shaped batarang at a target that popped up in the range he was moving through. Dick almost thought that Tim was dancing-- he'd come so far in the years since he'd first entered this house. He was a worthy successor of the mantle of Robin, that was clear enough. "I'm not really... comfortable... being in the spotlight like that. I'd rather not take part, you know?"

"Oh, I understand completely," Dick leaned over the railings and looked down on his partner. "What danger level you on? Seven?"

"Nine-- ooohhtt--" Tim sprang up, dodging a barrage of rubber bullets, and causing Dick to jump. "I started at five earlier. Working up. Trying to get a better time."

Dick continued to watch Tim's progress, and then finally spoke up. "... Are you OK, Tim?"

Tim didn't look up this time. "Yeah, sure. Just, y'know, trying to get a better time."

"Right, well, be safe. Don't go higher than ten."

"Wouldn't dream of it," replied Tim quickly, as he somersaulted into the air and back down again, landing feet first on another target. "Hhff!"

GOTHAM CITY:

"Do you have the list?" Hush was flexing his fingers, pulling on the gloves that allowed him a better grip on his dual pistols. He had two strapped to his hips, and two shoulder holsters just in case. He had a spare one on his back, and a smaller pistol at his ankle. His knife was strapped to his leg, ready to be unsheathed and unleashed at a moment's notice, and he was perfectly willing to use it if the moment called for it.

"My Kill-List? Checked and double checked, my susurrous comrade. I know who I have to kill to complete the mission I was given all those years ago." Constantine Drakon was practising Tai-Chi opposite his friend-in-arms. "A... decade... in a coma... induced by that bastard ... oh, it'll be such a sweet delight to slit his throat from side to side, and watch him bleed out as his city falls to chaos." He gave up his exercise. "Hh. Can't relax when I'm thinking wicked thoughts like that. How about you? Are you ready?"

"Batman will know the pain he put me through." Hush's bandages shifted as he smiled. "Gordon will rue the day he chose not to join me in my crusade against that child-killing bastard."

The smile faded.

Drakon could tell that much.

"We'll have his life, friend," Drakon placed a hand on Hush's shoulder. "For your lost son. And for my lost decade. His life, and our revenge."

WAYNE MANOR:

...

DOWNSTAIRS:

Alfred Pennyworth was talking to Lucius Fox about Wayne Enterprises. The company stock had plummeted in the wake of Bruce Wayne's death, but with Fox's savvy, and Dick's ideas, they'd ridden the wave. Lucius was impressed. New Arkham was not only good for the safety of Gotham City, but it was a PR triumph. Their stock had gone up in the past few months, and they were once again the biggest company they were before Bruce's death. "How is your family, Lucius? They haven't been up to the Manor since... well, since Bruce passed... you should know they're always welcome."

"Things have been hectic, Alfred, I'm sorry, we'll be sure to visit soon," replied Lucius.

"Good, good, don't feel pressured, Lucius," said Alfred.

"I promise. Oh, and mentioning my family, there is my beautiful wife-- if you'll excuse me..." Alfred smiled as Lucius made a beeline for his wife, and then turned his attention back to the beautifully decorated ballroom they were all now stood inside. This was one of the lesser used rooms in the house, one where Martha Wayne would host one of her many marvellous soiree. Bruce had never much liked using this room, and as such, when Alfred came to cleaning it... his heart was never truly in it. But Dick had, in his infinite wisdom (Alfred thought, with a smile) decided that such beauty

must be shared with the world. And so, when it was time for Wayne Enterprises yearly dinner and dance, instead of booking out one of the many buildings in Gotham itself, they set it in their home, and the Manor was brimming with life because of it.

"Hey Alfred," said Dick, as he walked up behind his faithful retainer, placing his hand on the manservant's shoulder. "S'a good night, don't you think?"

"Very much so," said Alfred in response. "...Oh."

"What?"

Alfred turned slowly to Dick, and arched an eyebrow. "...Excuse me?"

"Pardon?" Dick said, groaning.

"The door." Alfred stated, with a sense of finality.

Dick swivelled his head around, and saw what Alfred had seen. "Oh."

Barbara Gordon, on the arm of her father, the Commissioner, had just entered the ballroom. She was wearing a long, sleek dress that was the deepest blue, one strap hanging off her left shoulder. James Gordon, on the other hand, was wearing a Tuxedo. It was new, and Dick could tell that the Commissioner was uncomfortable in such attire. Grayson headed for them, and then took James' hand in his own. "Commissioner Gordon! Always a pleasure."

"Richard," replied James, nodding his head. "It's been some time since I've stepped foot in this house of yours."

"Shameful, absolutely shameful," said Dick with a smirk, before turning his attention to Barbara. "Babs, you look... absolutely... amazing."

"Why thank you," said Barbara.

She knows it, Dick thought. She knows she looks amazing. Oh. Oh, crap.

The Commissioner sighed, and then smiled, shaking his head as he looked around the ballroom. "Oh. Look. There's someone I know." He leaned in close to Barbara, and whispered something in her ear, before nodding his head curtly at Richard once more, and joining the masses that had culminated in Wayne Manor's ballroom.

"So," Dick said, glancing around.

Barbara smiled. "So. How's the night gone?"

"Quietly."

GOTHAM CITY:

"Mother..." Jason Todd was watching a robbery-in-progress. No alarms had been triggered by the fact that these men and women had punched their way through a brick wall, and in fact, he'd simply stumbled across the crime on his nightly patrol. It was a fascinating crime to watch, and Jason had to pull himself out of said fascination before he plummeted from the looming darkness up above, and trash-talked the scum. He looked at them-- they didn't look at him-- and he saw that their hands were bloody messes, bone was scraped and exposed, and thick, congealed blood was caking their wrists and dribbling down where they'd pounded-- again and again-- the harsh concrete walls.

"Baby want a band-aid?" The Dark Knight took a batarang from his belt, and threw it hard, the metal shrieking through the air and colliding brutally with the back of one of the criminal's heads. That got his attention. The man was dressed all in black, like he had just come from a funeral, and his pale skin and unintelligent look in his eye made the word 'zombie' flash in Jason's mind.

"...Huh."

The punch came fast-- Jason dodged, slammed his elbow down hard on the man's own, and heard the bone shatter. The creep didn't even wince. Instead of favouring his other side, the broken limb was swung into Jason's face, and the Dark Knight was thrown across the alley, and into a garbage heap. "Don't say a word," grunted the vigilante, before climbing back to his feet. Jason had heard rumours about these guys, living automatons traipsing about the city, not feeling pain, committing incredible feats of criminal excellence. He'd heard whispers and cries-- depending on who he asked-- about the identity of their boss, but had nothing concrete yet, just a load of mumbo supernatural jumbo, and he didn't like relying on such illogical bull£$%^ery if he didn't have to.

"Sorry," he said, as he dodged the next punch thrown. "I got distracted." The batarang drove through the man's flesh, and blood oozed out slowly. Even with a metal blade hindering his movements in his once-good arm, the man was still coming at Jason, and it was beginning to feel very eerie. "...This is disgusting."

The man didn't say anything. The only sound in this alley was that of their movements, and Jason's voice. It was at that moment that the Dark Knight noticed that the others had vanished away into the shadows, but before he could track them, he'd need to take down this guy, and that wasn't going to be easy. "Make a deal with you." Jason smashed his elbow into the man's face, shattering his nose. "Fall down." The man said nothing, instead, he thrust his head forward, attempting to bat the Dark Knight aside with his forehead. The move failed, and Jason broke the man's jaw. "That's all I've got. Fall down. This... is a one-way street."

"Hhhk." The man suddenly fell to his knees. Jason took a step back, ready for anything. The man's body shook with an unholy fury, and then he fell face first, his blood congealing with the sticky residue of the alley floor.

"What the £$%^...?" From the man's bloodied and shattered mouth, a stream of darkness, moving like ants, swarmed out, and into the gutter nearby. The man was dead. Jason looked around, and realised he'd just been beating on a cadaver. "What a monumental..." he looked around the alley, slowly, and saw the small girl watching him. "...waste..." she wasn't caked with blood like she had been before. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, her ruby red hood was over her head, and the big white wolf with his crimson caked lips was nowhere to be seen. "... of time..."

'Time', she whispered, seemingly repeating the last word out of Jason's mouth. She'd never spoken before, had she? He couldn't remember. His life, these past few weeks, had been a mess of fighting a darkness that threatened the world and the universe, of angels and superheroes and capes and magic rings, and this... his madness... it had eluded him for some time. But was it back?

"Time? Time for what?" Jason stuttered. his hands were shaking. He felt weak, the pit of his stomach screamed. He hadn't felt this way since his last confrontation with The Wrath. The man who had stolen his life away from him. "Time for what?!"

'It's time...'

WAYNE MANOR:

...

DOWNSTAIRS:

"My God," whispered Dick Grayson, a smile playing on his lips.

"What is it?" replied Barbara Gordon, into his ear.

He laughed softly. "You're teasing me. I can't believe it, you're teasing me."

They were dancing in the middle of the ballroom, one of a few couples who had taken to the floor. The music throbbed and ebbed and flowed, and they were close together-- bodies scant centimetres away from each other, hands clasped

tightly. Dick's hand was on the small of Barbara's back, and she was leaning oh-so close to him... "Oh, I don't think so, Dick."

"You don't?"

"Completely," she purred, "what would I have to gain?"

Tim Drake readjusted his tie as he found Alfred Pennyworth's side in the audience. "Are they at it again?"

"The dance is a metaphor, I do believe, Master Timothy."

WAYNE MANOR

...

UPSTAIRS:

Mickey Fynn paced the floor. His laptop was buzzing in the darkness, glowing a serene blue and allowing his shadow to dance behind him like a court jester. They'd given him his own room in the Manor.

Which, he realised, was like being given an entire apartment, when it came to these guys. The Manor was so big that he had actually called Alfred Pennyworth for directions when he got lost, a few days before.

He didn't dare go home.

The Wrath might be waiting for him.

His emails were routed through the computers down in the Bat-Cave. "Big Brother you can trust," he had whispered to himself when Alfred had broached the idea to him. The Wrath sent him untraceable IMs every few hours now. Batman-- Richard Grayson, that is-- wouldn't let him see them. Instead, he was hosting one hell of a party downstairs, and even though he'd been invited to join, he didn't feel like it. Instead, he was working on a story.

It was coming to him in dribs and drabs, but it was coming none the less. He had thought, with his alcohol problem hitting him so hard in the recent months that he could barely walk, that he'd lost the touch that had made him one of the best, all those years ago, but all it took was a bit of fear-- and yes, being forced by convenience to give up his bottle of whiskey a day habit-- to regain the itch.

He sat down in front of the laptop once more. He hadn't made it far, but it was a start, at least.

Under The Hood

By Mickey Fynn

I have lived-- survived-- in Gotham City all my life. From the streets of my youth, to the heights of my adulthood, and I have seen this place change. Change, not for the better, but into the disgusting cesspool of crime and deviancy that we live in day-after-day. Back in the old days, it was the Families. Maroni, Falcone... anyone who's lived in Gotham City for more than a year knows the names. There are others, of course, but that's not what's important. This city has always been crooked. A crooked little town built on crooked little foundations. But "But... but..."

"Mr Fynn?" Mickey turned from the computer screen and toward the door.

"Hullo?" he said, to the faceless voice. He recognised it, none the less. It was the Drake boy, adopted son of Bruce Wayne before the incident on Gotham Dam. Alfred and Grayson had their lawyers on the situation straight off, and as such, Drake stayed at Wayne Manor.

"Ah, Alfred wanted to know if you wanted to come down and join the party? He said you could, heh, use the excitement."

Fynn opened the door, dressed in a white shirt, pulling on his jacket. "I ain't wearing a tie."

"We'll see about that," winked Tim Drake, motioning down the hallway down to where the party was still going on. "Well, Alfred will."

Gotham City:

...

Gotham Central:

The streets were running red. Things were going from bad to worse. 911 calls were rampant across the board, and Batman was nowhere to be seen-- well, not the Batman they were used to. There was a Batman on the streets, wreaking his own brand of havoc, leaving a mess for the cops to clean up. He was destroying criminals, leaving them in broken piles.

Harvey Bullock was looking at a map of Gotham City, red pins where crimes of a gang-related nature were taking place littering the map.

"S'weird," he said, Sarah Essen turning at his voice. "The city... it ain't itself."

"What do you mean, Lieut?" asked Essen, as she approached the board.

"Well, Ess," started Bullock, "the city is a mess. The crime stats are spiralling-- we got some new players on the scene, and they're making a mess of all our good work."

"That's obvious. Our CIs are falling like nobodies business, Lieut. Guys are realising they got holes in their gangs and they're plugging 'em faster than we can punch new ones back in. The Underground is becoming watertight, and if it continues on like that... then we're lost. We need to take these bastards down."

"Preaching to the choir, Ess. Gordon's already authorised over-time on an unprecedented level. Cops are on the streets, putting out fires where they can, but these bastards, as you so eloquently put it... they ain't scared. They've come to Gotham, and they ain't scared. Batman ain't what he used to be... Christ."

"Tell that to his face," shrugged Sarah, before heading back to her office. She hesitated at her door. "You've been here for over twenty-eight hours, Bull. Go home. Grab some sleep."

"Yeah." Harvey grabbed his coat. "I'm gonna' do that."

"Sweet dreams," Essen called after him, as he pulled on his hat and left the building. "Sweet dreams..."

* * *

Harvey Bullock's key clicked into the lock as it turned, and he smiled as the familiar smell of home hit him hard in the nostrils. Not just home, but-- he pulled his service weapon-- there was something wrong with his house. There was a

foreign smell, and he didn't like it. "Who's there? Who the £$%^ is there?"

tap

tap

"It's the cigarettes, isn't it? They're not your brand. You're a good cop, aren't you?"

The voice was one foreign to him. The apartment was dark, there was no light to illuminate the dark recesses of his home. "The best. Get out of the shadows, mother£$%^er. Hands high."

tap

tap

"That isn't going to happen."

shrrp

Harvey Bullock's gun fell from his fingers clumsily-- the weapon dead weight in his hands-- and he clutched his throat as globules of blood dripped on through. "Gghhuuuhk"

Constantine Drakon stepped out of the darkness, the blade he held in his hand dripping with Harvey's blood. "This is my message. Tell Gordon that I'm coming for him."

"hhhgggghhh"

"Not that you'll be up for speaking." He crouched down, kicking the weapon away from Harvey. "Or anything much else." Drakon smiled, a job well done, and then moved toward the door. "Hh?" He looked back into the foyer of the house, and at the window that had slowly been pried open during his assault. "Oh my. He's all yours."

Harvey Bullock looked up at the newcomer in his home, and then prayed silently. "Hhhhgghh"

Wayne Manor:

...

The Cave:

"Jason's been busy," said Dick as he trawled through the raw data from the night he'd been without his mask. He was dressed in full costume, though his cowl hung around his neck. "Across the city, acts of vigilante violence. The good kind though, apparently." Dick shook his head. "I'm going to have to talk to him, aren't I?"

"Do what you have to, Master Richard," said Alfred, as Robin somersaulted toward the two of them. "Master Timothy, what have I said about excessive gymnastics?"

Tim grinned from ear to ear. "That I'm acting just like Master Richard?"

Alfred suppressed a smile. "Hurm. Now, boys, if you'll excuse me--"

"Oh." Batman blinked as the photo loaded up on the computer screen.

"Oh?" Alfred turned, curious as to what would spark such a quiet reaction in the Caped Crusader. A live video feed was suddenly streaming in the computer. "What is this?"

"I'm hooked into the Gotham Central database. Let's me keep abreast of... goings-on." The camera was across the street

from Gotham Central. What was going on? "This feed... it's hacked into all the GCPD computers." A blur of red was visible on the steps of Gotham Central. As the camera focused, Batman gasped. The Wrath was tied to the GCPD sign above the door to the precinct. Officers were already swarming toward the murderer, weapons raised. "What's..." An officer climbed onto the shoulders of a detective, and then pulled the mask away from The Wrath-- and Harvey Bullock's lifeless head lolled down, causing the police officers present to scream and shout in surprise. Dick could see them shout 'ambulance!', again and again, 'paramedic!', and they rushed to get the pale Lieutenant down from where he was strung up, dressed in The Wrath's cape and mask. "My God."

"What... what does that mean?" Robin whispered.

"We're needed." Batman pulled on his cowl, and looked to Robin. "Gotham needs us. This is a declaration of war."

first blood(Detective Comics #42)

Writers, Alex Vasquez with Charlie Wilkins and Imari JadeCover, Alex Vasquez (From Oct. 1, 2009)

Gotham City - Secret Location

"So, what are we waiting for?" The blonde gangster known as the Gun-Moll said impatiently, flanked by two of her best men, both wearing double-breasted suits and fedoras, holding tommy-guns while she twirled one of her many guns on her finger.

"Boss Synth's people insist that we wait until after midnight," The Flesh Monger said, sitting down at a large circular table. A large, leather-clad man stood behind her. He wore a mask with zippers for the eyes and mouth and had a chain connected from his throat collar that the Flesh Monger had wrapped around the arm of her chair.

He stood at attention while she gleefully ran her fingers through the hair of Milo Vesuvius, who responded warmly to Flesh Monger's touch simulating the nerves in his scalp. "They say he's having a bad day." She said.

Flesh Monger turned her attention to the Prince of Lies, who sat two chairs away from her. She gave him a big, toothy grin. "He is so adorable," she said, as she ran a long, black, manicured fingernail under Milo's chin. Little puffs of fire manifested around Milo as he leaned into Flesh Mongers' touch. "I need to get me one of these."

The Prince of Lies let loose a low, ethereal growl of disapproval and began to scratch the table the three were sitting at, carving deep crevices in the wood with his own needle-sharp fingernails. The sound seemed to knock Milo out of his trance, causing him to whimper while he regretfully peeled himself away from the Flesh Monger and sat down next to his master.

"Okay, its 12:01," Gun-Moll said as she holstered her gun and sat down. Her long red dress cascaded around her legs at the slit, gaining the attention of the Flesh-Monger, who licked her lips at the sight. "If this mook doesn't show his mug..."

"Relax, I'm here." Boss Synth said, adjusting his tie as he emerged from his locked room, flanked by two of his men. "Now, we can get down to business. I want to thank you all for coming to this meeting and while I'd love to exchange pleasantries, I'm assuming that we all have very important business to attend to and I'll just get to the point." .

Boss Synth walked around the table as he continued: "I think it's pretty safe to say that in the aftermath of the destruction of Gotham's traditional underworld infrastructure, the four of us have emerged as the crème de la crème and, while we all have different motivations, modus operandi and fetishes that do not naturally incline people like us towards an alliance, I propose we form one; not to obtain wealth and power, but to prevent our destruction at the hands of Batman and his allies..."

"I do not fear destruction because I cannot be destroyed," the Prince of Lies said. "I am far beyond humans as they are beyond the animals they hold dominion over. This mortal Batman and his allies pose no threat to me."

"See, Prince, it's that kind of thinking that put our predecessors in the place they are now, dead or at the bottom of the food chain," Boss Synth said, placing his palms of the table and looking at his three contemporaries. "All it takes is a look at the Gotham Gazette or even the Daily Planet archives to see how resourceful these people are. They were instrumental in repelling the invasion from Apokolips from while back, those alien starfish, and most recently fighting that thing from that came from the black sun. Now, while no one here is going to argue your place on the evolutionary ladder, Prince, a mere mortal, a man, who has caused so much trouble for gods, is something we need to recognize and deal with.

“And for the rest of us, all you need to do is take a survey at Blackgate or look at the old Arkham inmate list to see how dangerous this guy can be to our ambitions. Or you can ask Ra's Al Ghul, or what's left of him."

"Ra's Al who?" Gun Moll asked.

"Just a real powerful dude who is now taking up personal residence at the bottom of the Gotham Reservoir because of Batman," Synth said. "Now, there are reports of two Batmen, a Robin, and a Batwoman. Let's not forget about their connections in the GCPD, his helmeted buddy in the hood and on top of all that, the Justice League is possibly waiting on reserve. All of that available to someone who will stop at nothing to make sure all of us fail. While determination is certainly a trait to admire, this is obviously not good for business..."

"So Mr. Synth," Flesh Monger said as she stretched languidly in her chair. "What do you propose we do about him?"

"Use our advantage in numbers to spread the bat-people thin and wear them out," Boss Synth answered as he

unbuttoned his jacket and finally sat down. "There are nests of doped-up Jokerz all around the city, people still loyal to the old guard, the inner-city gang bangers and ambitious fellows who think this is their opportunity to get a piece of the pie. If we make exterminating these cockroaches a big enough spectacle, and pretty much do it at the same time all over the city, it should have them running ragged and make them easier to pick off."

"But what if he decides to call in for help and have a few of his cape wearing friends help clean up?" Gun Moll asked.

"While that's definitely a possibility, I don't think it's very likely," Boss Synth said. "History has shown that Batman is a very stubborn fellow. During that whole Ra's Al Ghul débâcle, where the Justice League? He's too proud. He's got too much of an ego. He'd probably use the League card as a very last resort... I'm confident that if we stick to the plan and don’t stab each other in the back yet, we'll be able to kill him and his friends before he gets to that point. So, what does everyone say?"

Boss Synth looked around the room and was met with a unanimous nod of approval. "Great," he said. "I'd say that the first meeting of Gotham's new costa nostra is a success. Now, let's go raise some hell."

The Hill

"Yo Darion, you holdin?" Tyronne Davis asked, nervously scratching the ashy patches on his skin, as he walked up to the corner Darion Kemp was stationed on,.

"Sorry man," Darion answered. "I don't do that stuff anymore. Boss' orders."

"Come on man, I know you gotta have something left of your stash," Tyronne pleaded. "I'm not asking for much and they won't sell to me down on 8th Ave where dealing is still allowed."

"Look, Tyronne, get the hell out my face," Darion said, noticing a black 1950's Ford coupe pull up on the corner across from him. "I ain't in the mood to get a 12 gauge slug pulled out of my leg…again."

"Come on, dawg," Tyronne said stamping his feet, but Darion's attention was focused on the car as the door opened and four men wearing double breasted suits, fedoras and spats exited the vehicle and made their way to Darion.

"You in charge here?" The man in front of the pack asked, pointing his finger at Darion.

"Yo, I don't know who the #%*£ you are, but you better realize where you are and come correct," Darion replied.

"Oh, I should come correct?" The mobster asked as he pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket and shot Darion in the foot while the man behind him killed Tyronne with a head shot.

"What were you saying again, you #%*£," the mobster said, grabbing Darion by the collar of his shirt and stuffing his revolver down his mouth. "Not much? Thought so. Now I want speak to the #%*€£ that runs things around here, and I don't mind killing you and every other #%*€£ until I do."

"Why don't you just be chill for a second," a voice said from behind the mobsters. They turned and saw a man in a black trench coat with a helmet on his head walk out of an alley and point a shotgun at them. "You want me, so here I am. Let him go."

The mobster took the revolver out of Darion's mouth and threw him to the ground, giving him a kick in the stomach for good measure. "So you're him, the famous Orpheus?"

"I hear that's what people call me," Orpheus said as Darion crawled over to him. "And you are?"

"Jake Feldman," replied the man, as all four pointed their weapons at Orpheus. "And I come here with a message from the Gun-Moll, so you better listen up, bucket head."

"I'm listening," Orpheus replied.

"The Hill belongs to the Gun-Moll now, so you and your crew got one hour to get out of dodge or they'll be finding you at the bottom of the Sprang River wearing concrete boots."

"Just like that?" Orpheus asked.

"Yeah, just like that," Jake said in agreement. "So you and the rest of your #%^*£ crew better to get the #%*£ outta here if ya value your lives."

"Jake, let me ask you a question," Orpheus said. "If I wouldn't back down and take #%*£ from an #%*£¥ like the Black Mask, what makes you or your boss think I'm going to back down and take #%*£ from her?

Shots fired from above before Jake Feldman could answer, dropping his three colleagues. Jake saw a blast from the muzzle of Orpheus' shotgun and afterwards felt an intense burning sensation in his chest before he fell back and collapsed.

"Oh yeah, mutha #%^*£," Darion yelled as Orpheus helped him to his feet. "Who's comin' correct now #%*£"

"Shut the #%^£ up, and get to a doctor before I have the snipers switch to lethal ammo and cap you." Orpheus walked towards Jake Feldman. "You, on the other hand, will live-- it's only rock salt. And your friends have enough tranquilizer in them to knock out a gorilla. I want you alive to tell your boss that the Hill is off-limits." Jake Feldman just smiled at Orpheus.

"Boss, look," Darion hobbled over to Orpheus, who turned around and saw a caravan of Ford Coupes heading toward them.

Orpheus gritted his teeth. "#%^£"

Jim Gordon stood on the roof of Gotham Central, adjacent to the shining bat signal. He cupped his hand over his lighter, protecting it from the wind, and lit a Marlboro Light, savoring the burn of the smoke as it entered his lungs. He held it for a moment and closed his eyes before he exhaled, secretly hoping that when he opened them, that all of the panic, shock, anger and dread that had washed over his city and the bloodlust that was running in his precinct would dissipate into the wind as would the smoke he let out of his lungs.

The Commissioner opened his eyes. Looking at the bat signal in the sky, he couldn't blame the people of his city for feeling how they did, with the Joker bombings and Ra's Al Ghul's invasion fresh in their mind. He couldn't blame his officers for wanting to make someone pay for the attack that lead to Detective Harvey "the Bull" Bullock being in surgery for the past few hours. He wanted first dibs. But what really worried him was the same thing that had worried him over a year ago, and he hoped that this time, the decision to trust Batman wouldn't burn him as it did in the past.

"Hey Jim." The commissioner turned and saw his second-in-command, Sarah Essen, walk onto the roof towards him.

"Sarah." Essen took the cigarette from in-between his fingers, and he smiled as the muscle memory overcame her-- she placed the cigarette in her mouth and leaned back, looking up at the sky. "Something on your mind?"

"The same thing that's on everyone's here," She said as she took a drag of Gordon's cigarette. She exhaled and looked at Jim while a tear rolled down her cheek. "I was the one that sent him home Jim, I sent him into that trap... it's my fault."

"Sarah, don't beat yourself up for that," Jim placed his arm around her, "what's important is that Harvey's still alive and we're going to find this bastard and make him pay."

"Why does it feel just like it did a year ago," Sarah asked, leaning into Jim while pressing the cigarette to his lips. "Like all hell's about to break loose?"

"Believe me Sarah," Jim said, exhaling the smoke and looking at the bat signal. "It's something I've been thinking

about."

"You think you can trust him this time?"

"The appearance of that other Batman is a little disturbing, but if the main guy is who I think he is, then yeah," Gordon said. "I just worry about the rest of the department, how they would react."

"Believe me, Jim," Sarah took the final drag and tossed the cigarette. "They believe in you, Jim. They'll follow you." Jim Gordon lowered his head and Sarah Essen raised hers and puckered her lips, but they were interrupted by Detectives Renee Montoya and Crispus Allen.

"Commish... oops," Renee said, and then turned her back.

"It’s alright, Detective." Gordon smiled, careful not to sound disappointed. "What is it?"

"The Hill-- there's a massive shootout between the local gangs and those 50's inspired mobsters," Detective Allen said. "It's getting real bad."

"Stay here, Jim," Essen pulled her service weapon and checked the magazine. "I'll take care of this."

"You be careful, Essen."

The Bat-signal shined brightly in the sky, while the Batmobile raced down Aparo Expressway towards Gotham Central. The Detective Bullock incident seemed to set off a tidal wave of violence the city hasn't seen since Ra's Al Ghul's invasion. Even the affluent areas weren't immune when all hell broke loose. Batman knew that he needed to be on the same page as Commissioner Gordon to quell the violence.

"Batman," Robin pointed to a small monitor on the dashboard from the passenger seat. "We're getting an alert."

"Orpheus," Batman said looking over, then pressing a button on the steering wheel activating the Batmobile's two-way intercom. "Alfred, have we been able to get a hold of Jason yet?"

"Negative, sir," Alfred replied.

"Alright, call Barbara and have her head over to the Central to meet with her dad. I'm sending Tim there, too." Batman said. "And make sure you get Fynn to one of the safe houses."

"Yes, sir," Alfred said, then cut the transmission.

"Where are you going?" Robin asked.

"To help Orpheus. I know you didn't like the idea of me reaching out to him for help while I was gone dealing with the Black Sun business,"

"Yeah, I kinda don't warm up to people who shoot at me and give me a concussion."

"I gave him my word,” Batman said bringing the batmobile to a stop. “And considering what we are probably up against, we could use all the help we can get."

"Be careful, Batman," Robin asked as the passenger door opened. He stepped out of the car and reached for his grapnel gun.

"Be careful, Tim," Batman said. Robin shot his grapnel and gave a thumbs up as he swung into the night.

Wayne Manor

"Hurry, Mr. Fynn," Alfred yelled from the bottom of the staircase. "We must make haste."

What the devil is taking him so long? Alfred thought as he looked up the stars. He thought about going up to check on Mickey, but his attention was drawn away by a sudden and loud banging on the door of the main entrance. As he walked from the staircase to the foyer, the knocking grew rapid and more frantic. Alfred looked through the peep hole of the large oak door and saw a cloaked woman.

"Who is behind the door," the woman said. "I can see your shadow. It's imperative that I speak with Richard immediately."

"I'm afraid Master Richard is not available at the moment," Alfred said. "But if you leave me your name and number, I'm sure that he will give you a call once his social calendar opens up."

"Is this the servant?" She asked.

"I prefer the term ‘a gentleman's gentleman’, Miss," Alfred said, laying on the snobbery extra thick. "Now, if you don't mind..."

"Listen, I need to speak with him now, so either get him or take me to the cave so I can contact him."

What the bloody... since when did the Batcave become public knowledge, Alfred thought. "Miss, I don't know what you seem..."

"Enough prattling," the woman said, reaching underneath her hood and pulling it back, revealing to Alfred a face he never met personally, but knew from the files in the cave. "And while I would love nothing more than to chat with my Beloved's surrogate father, time is of extreme essence and I must speak with Batman."

Mickey Fynn ran into his room in Wayne Manor and fumbled through the garbage bag of clothes he had brought from his apartment. He pulled out a large shoe box, which he used to hide a revolver, some bullets and a bottle of Dewars that was a quarter full.

After loading the gun, he cracked open the bottle of single malt whiskey and swallowed it's contents. He threw the bottle on the bed, placed the revolver in his waistband behind his back and went to the desk to get his laptop computer. He touched the mouse pad to shut it down and found that all of his work had been erased and replaced.

Little friend, it is time for the Great Work to continue. You've done a good job spreading word of the Great Work and for that, she has decided to reward you by making you Chosen. Be glad, Little Friend, this is a great honor. I shall see you shortly.

Oh #%*£, Fynn though as he left the laptop and raced to the door. Upon opening, he was met with long crimson robes and a distinct hissing sound that he knew all too well.

The Wrath drew a dagger from his robes and motioned for Fynn to come closer.

"My goodness," Alfred said as he opened the door. "Miss Talia Al Ghul, I presume?"

"Alfred," the brown haired beauty replied. "Forgive my curtness. Under any other circumstance, I would be thrilled to finally meet you, but lives are in danger."

"What is it?" Alfred asked. "What's going on?"

"My father's organization still exists and continues his work, despite his demise," Talia explained. "They are coming to Gotham, if they haven't arrived already."

"Master Richard has gone out to diffuse the high gang activity that had sprung over Gotham," Alfred explained as he led Talia to the staircase where he left his bag. "We should be able to reach him with the portable..." Alfred was interrupted as blast of three gunshots came from above.

"Who's up there?" Talia demanded as she and Alfred dashed up the staircase.

"--Mickey Fynn, the journalist--!" As soon as Alfred said his name, the aforementioned Fynn appeared at the top of the stairs, holding his revolver in his right and clutching his stomach with his left, while blood seeped through his fingers and spread over his white shirt. He took two steps down and tumbled, stopping only when Talia caught him. Glancing up the stairs worriedly as she grabbed Mickey's wrist, she pursed her lips in dismay.

"He's alive," she said. "But not for much longer."

“Come, help me get him to the car,” Alfred said, bending down to help her lift Mickey off the ground. They descended the stairs as fast as they were able while carrying Fynn, glancing around to watch for the intruder. At the bottom they both froze as they heard it: a loud, chaotic hissing. Talia whirled around to see the Wrath standing at the top, ominously holding a bloody dagger.

The fleshless face of the Wrath hissed, every breath an apparent labour. He leapt from his position, somersaulting in the air and landing behind the trio.

Talia threw her cloak back and unsheathed a sword she had hidden beneath her cloak. "Get the drunkard out of here and try not get killed at it." she said.

"Madam," Alfred said, picking Mickey Fynn off the floor. "You should know that I am very capable of defending my..."

"Then grab a weapon and do something," Talia screamed as she charged the Wrath, who discarded his dagger and pulled a sword from his robe. Talia attempted a two-handed slash, aiming for the Wrath's throat, but the telegraphed move was parried by the scarlet villain’s counter attack of a back-handed slash to the face. Talia ducked, spun around and caught the Wrath with a rising side kick that staggered. The Wrath stumbled backward, hissing violently.

Talia loaded for an overhead strike, but the Wrath recovered in time and blocked the attack high and followed up with a low slash to the thigh, cutting Batman's old lover, causing her to drop to her knee. Using the momentum from the slash, the Wrath in one smooth motion, placed a spinning heel kick to head of the Demon's daughter, causing her to corkscrew to the ground.

The Wrath towered over Talia, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling back her head, exposing her neck. He raised his sword high with a hiss, and came down to deliver a killing blow, but his sword was stopped by another in the hand of Alfred Pennyworth, who had returned from the main hall with his weapon. With the loud, metallic screech, Alfred pushed aside the Wrath's blade and followed with a trust to the abdomen. The Wrath dodged the attack, releasing his hold on Talia.

"You, sir... are... trespassing," Alfred said as he unleashed a furious offensive at the crimson cowled fiend. Slashes from the left and right, from above and at angles, the former British special forces agent made it difficult for the Wrath, who was blocking each strike slower than the previous. Alfred followed through with another thrust, that the Wrath was too slow to block and it found a home inside of the long red robes the villain wore.

Alfred felt it pierce something and tried to pull his sword out, but the Wrath had grabbed his arm and held it in place. It was a trap. Alfred had been played, the Wrath had lured him in, played easily, and now Alfred was paying for his naivety-- Alfred struggled to get free from his grasp, but the Wrath held on. The villain pulled him closer, closing distance, but also sinking the blade deeper and stepped through with a strike, hitting Alfred in the temple with the hilt of his sword.

The butler folded like a table and fell to the ground. The Wrath grabbed Alfred's sword and pulled it out of him, discarding the blood-soaked blade and dragging Alfred to where Talia lay unconscious.

The Wrath dropped Alfred next to Talia. He once again, knelt down and grabbed a handful of Talia's hair and pulled her head up. He placed his cheek near hers and opened his mouth. His tongue snaked out and licked the side of her face.

The Wrath suddenly let go of Talia's hair and began looking frantically around the room, before he fell to one knee, murmurs joining the breathing that was taking place under his mask. Then, as abruptly as he dropped to his knee, he stood up and looked at his would-be prey-- and sheathed his blade.

The closer Batman got to the Hill, the more it resembled an urban war-zone, better suited for some war-torn country overseas than a major American city. He could see rooftops on fire in the distance, falling debris from recent damage caused to the infrastructure, overturned cars and bodies littering the streets. GCPD had arrived shortly after the shooting began and it seemed to have only escalated the situation.

Before he went to find the Ray and fight against Nekron, Dick made a deal with Orpheus and supplied him with non-lethal weaponry in return for his help in keeping order in the Hill and the surrounding areas. And for the most part, Gavin King kept his end of the bargain— though in ways Dick didn't really approve of.

Orpheus had all the heads of the gangs located in the hill arrested, some by planting evidence or framing them for other crimes, and consolidated them under his command. He then outlawed all drug dealing, except in certain areas and corners and divided his kick back among the gang members he now controlled. The only rules were no killing and no dealing to kids. The switch to non-lethal weaponry didn't do anything to hamper Orpheus's reputation, as almost everyone fell in line with the new status quo. It wasn't ideal, but it did reduce the overall crime rate in the area and it was something Dick could live with for now.

Batman pushed a button sequence on the dash board computer to open up the roof of the Batmobile. He unbuckled his seat belt and pulled the lever next to the seat, launching him in the air, and causing the Batmobile to power down. He opened his cape and sent an electric current through it to activate the memory cloth, forming wings out of his cape, allowing him to glide until he saw where he wanted to land, a group of Jokerz shooting in all directions at GCPD.

Batman cut the current to the wings and began a free fall, feet first at the back of a shirtless Jokerz. Once the Caped Crusader connected, he drove the lunatic down into the ground with all of his weight, feeling the crunch as his bones gave. Simultaneously, Batman grabbed his grapnel gun, shooting it at the ledge of a nearby building and ascending upward, drawing the gunfire of the mob. During his ascent, Batman brought his knees to his chest and when he hit the wall of the building, he cut the cord and spring boarded off the wall, with gunfire trailing him as he somersaulted.

Batman grabbed three batarangs from his utility belt and fired them on his decent, disarming the three Jokerz in front of him as he landed adjacent to the groaning body of the first person he had taken out.

He grabbed two collapsible eskrima sticks from the back of his utility belt and began to mount an offensive. He swung upward and connected the end of the stick with the underside of one jaw, and windmilled the other arm, connecting against the side of another. He aimed both sticks and threw them concurrently, disarming the last two Jokerz with guns and countered the one behind him, who tried to surprise Batman with a rear choke. Batman hip tossed him over his shoulder and pounded his head against the pavement. He rushed the last two standing, connecting with a thrust kick to one, a spinning back fist the other, knocking them both out.

"Batman!" Dick turned around to see Deputy Commissioner Essen motioning to him from behind an overturned SWAT van. He crouched low and quickly made his way to her, and saw she was not alone, with Detective Allen and a couple

of vice officers with them.

"Essen, are you alright?" Batman asked as something exploded in the distance.

"I'll be alright," she replied. Her hair was matted down with sweat and blood. Her face was bruised and her clothes covered in dust. Detective Allen and the other officers likewise had their share of cuts, laceration and dirt all over them.

"How did this happen?" Batman asked as he heard an explosion up the street.

"Started as a turf war," Detective Allen explained. "But as soon as we arrived, those Jokerz came on scene and escalated the situation, bringing in some heavy artillery and heavy numbers."

"I didn't see any groups of the Hill's gangs or the mobsters when I dropped in," Batman said, as another explosion rang in the distance.

"They didn't stand a chance," Essen said. "There might be some survivors up ahead, but a group of those monsters armed with rocket launchers are up ahead, keeping us at bay."

"How far ahead?" Batman asked.

"About a block," Crispus Allen answered.

"I’ll take care of it," Batman prepared his grapnel gun, shot it to the nearest rooftop and ascended up. He hopped over the ledge, and pressed a button on his belt, remotely activating the Batmobile auto pilot and instructed it to meet him at his current location. Using a batarang, Dick pried the GPS circuitry the Batmobile was using to find him out of his belt and attached it to the end of a grapple and prepped his gun for one more shot.

He moved from rooftop to rooftop, keeping himself low and out of view until he reached where the Jokerz were holed up. There were three of them jovially shooting rockets at cars and buildings as if they were playing a game of Grand Theft Auto. Batman knelt at the edge of the roof and aimed his grapnel gun, waiting until he heard the batmobile turn the corner. It was one of a few contingencies he had in mind in case--

--bullets strafed across his position. They had a bead on him. He moved across the rooftop, but the bullets followed and he was showered in brick and dust. For junkies, these guys were tenacious. Their laughter filled the air, gunshots and twisted mirth coalescing into a haunting chorus...

"Heat seeeeeker!" screamed one of the more lucid Jokerz, and Dick's eyes opened wide.

"Oh, heck."

The building beneath him exploded, and the foundations shook. He could hear windows shatter and glass collide with the concrete below, but the building didn't collapse. Another would knock it down, there was no other way--

No choice, can't get closer-- I hate to do this, Dick thought. I loved that car. He shot the grapple towards the Jokerz, leading the Batmobile to them. Seeing it in the distance, they emptied their caches the vehicle, causing it to spectacularly explode. The forward momentum of the debris caused them to duck for cover. Before the smoke could clear, Batman flew down and made quick work of the Jokerz, before motioning Lt. Essen and her crew that it was safe.

While Dept. Commissioner Essen and the GCPD searched the streets for survivors, Batman remotely activated the beacon in Orpheus's helmet and started to look for him. The Caped Crusader stepped over corpses and rubble, following the signal to an abandoned house that was not as badly damaged as it's neighbors. Batman entered the house. It would've been completely dark, but the burning debris outside illuminated the building adequately.

He turned on the scanner in his cowl and found two bodies up ahead, one of them alive. After determining that there were no threats, Batman switched off his scanner and made his way to the bodies. He recognized the survivor as Gavin King.

"Orpheus, can you hear me?" Batman asked. "Are you conscious?"

"They... killed them all," Orpheus groaned.

"You're hurt." Batman noticed Orpheus clutching his stomach, covering a gaping hole.

"Don't take me out there," Orpheus pleaded. "They'll arrest me."

"Hang in there, Orpheus," Batman said as he remotely called for the Bat-plane. "Hang in there."

James Gordon still waited patiently by the bat signal, hoping for an audience with Batman or one of his allies. He was getting reports it seemed every five minutes about the increasing criminal activity around Gotham, each report worse than the last, culminating with the massacre at the Hill.

He's probably busy, Jim thought. But I can't wait here all night. He started to turn the signal off when he heard it.

Tap.

"Batman, is that you?" Jim called out.

Tap.

"Robin?" Gordon walked to the other side of the signal and saw nothing.

Tap.

Gordon heard the door to the rooftop close slowly. He reached into his holster and pulled out his standard issue. He scurried back to the other side of the roof and pointed the gun towards the door when he saw a figure in the shadows. "Who's there? Who are you?"

"Just a professional, Commissioner," a voice said. "A professional who strives to do a good job, and who's very angry that the opportunity to do that good job was taken from him."

"Drakon," Gordon said as the figure stepped into the light.

"Ten years of my life were taken from me, while your life was extended for ten years," Drakon said. "So the way I see it, Commissioner, you owe me a few years and I plan on collecting it in your blood."

the ties that bind us

(Nightwing #42)Writers, Imari Jade with Charlie Wilkins and Alex Vasquez

Cover, Paul Johnson(From Oct. 9, 2009)

Gotham Central:

James Gordon was a cop, and because of this, he did what automatically came to him to do when facing an enemy: he reached for his gun. He let out a pained grunt as Constantine Drakon neatly sliced his arm with a blade he pulled from nowhere-- clutching his right arm and cradling it to his chest, he glared at his attacker.

“My blood?” He spat. “I’m not the one who put you in a coma, Drakon. But you know what? If I had the chance--” He barely managed to stifle a scream as Drakon cut his arm again. How did he move so fast?

“Batman will have his turn,” Drakon said placidly, balancing the bloodied blade on the tip of his finger. “But for now, Commissioner… it’s yours.”

Sarah Essen grimly checked the bodies that littered the streets. She and her men had seen plenty of corpses so far, but no survivors. Gotham was a war-zone. "Damn," she mumbled to herself, checking pulses and finding nothing but the dead.

A ways off, she could see Batman standing over someone on the ground, but she couldn’t make out who the other person was. She picked her way through the rubble and debris, over scores of bodies, and was stepping over one when she felt something grab her ankle. Essen whirled around, but was yanked down, landing hard on the ground, awkwardly colliding with a dead gangster. Jerking her leg hard, she pointed her gun down by her side, looking to see what had brought her down.

“Help… me…” A bloodied man groaned. “Oh… hel… help…”

Essen lowered her gun and pried the man’s fingers from their vice-like grip around her boot, then looked around for someone to come help. “Officer Parker!” She shouted, and on cue, a uniform made a bee-line for her.

“Yes, Deputy Co... oh…” His face turned an interesting shade of green as he saw the mess the man was in, and he would have vomited if he had eaten today. "Guhh..."

“Get him to a medic, Parker,” she ordered, getting to her feet. The officer moved to comply, and she took a moment to look around. Batman was still where she’d seen him moments ago, and she continued to head in that direction. “Found something, Batman?”

The Caped Crusader turned his head slightly her way, and then looked back down. She could hear him talking now, and she recognised the prone form that was lying at his feet. “Orpheus…! Is he...?"

“He’s alive,” Batman replied. “But barely. He needs medical attention.”

“I’ll call a medic,” Essen said, grabbing the radio from her hip.

“Don’t bother,” Batman muttered. “I’ve taken care of it.”

“What are you--?“ She stopped as she became aware of a humming sound. “Oh.”

The Bat-plane soared overhead, and Batman busied himself with helping Orpheus board when it reached street level. He slid into the pilots’ seat and glanced up, noticing the Bat-signal was still shining.

"Damn," he mumbled, glancing at Orpheus. The man groaned, Dick gave one last look at the Signal, and then headed straight for the Batcave.

The Narrows:

'Jason,' she said, her face hanging off her skull by strands of ragged muscle, 'it's time.'

"--Shut up!" Jason snapped, as he was thrown across the room, and collided hard with a wall, causing him to fall to the floor with a loud clatter. He looked up with a worn expression, and spat the blood that had been collecting in his mouth onto the dust covered floor below. He climbed to his feet, and looked at his attackers. "I am not having a good day," snarled Jason Todd, as he picked up an iron rod from the warehouse floor. "So I'm going to ask you nicely, before I break your faces, stand down. Now."

He'd tried to block it out. He'd tried so hard to block out the things that haunted him in the night, but it was an uphill struggle. The girl whispered to him incessantly, drawing him closer and closer to the brink, and she was distr--

"Hhhfff!" The punch was thrown hard, and he slammed the iron bar down on the man's elbow, shattering the joint. He jammed his hand against his attacker's chest, and his eyes opened wide. "You're dead."

They were the silent, pale monsters that he'd faced earlier on in the night-- the same gaunt expressions, the same bloodied knuckles and faces. It was like they didn't care that he was chasing them down into the night, these night-zombies, these shadow-lurkers. Almost as if it was some kind of "...trap. Oh, £$%^."

'Run,' whispered the girl, again and again.

"Batman," said the man that appeared from the shadows. The undead creatures receded away, leaving the newcomer face to face with the battered Jason Todd. He was tall, with piercing eyes that shifted colour from green to black as he stepped forward. Bone-white hair drifted slowly behind his back, and he wore the black-and-white of a dead man. "You have caused me too much trouble this night."

'...It's time.'

"Yeah?" Jason took three batarangs from his belt, and threw them hard, only for the weapons to be caught with apparent ease by the stranger. "And I can tell you're going to cause me some trouble. You're under arrest."

"You are in no position to give orders." The man crushed the batarangs, shattering the metal and allowing the shards to fall to the floor. "I think I will be giving orders. My name is the Prince of Lies. The last face you shall see before you die."

Jason simply smiled. "I could not be that unlucky, you ugly sonofa--!!"

Wayne Manor:

"No..." Talia winced as she stood up, and started to follow after the Wrath.

“Wait,” Alfred said from behind her. She looked back and saw him kneeling beside Mickey Fynn, trying his best to stop the bleeding. Talia went on anyway, stepping into the darkened hallway the Wrath had disappeared into. That face... that feeling of helplessness she felt... she shuddered, then turned back to Alfred. He saw her face and knew.

“Call an ambulance,” was all he said to her as he checked Fynn. She went into the kitchen quietly to do as he’d commanded, and when she came back, Alfred nodded at her. “Master Richard just radioed in and will consult with you when he arrives. Go down to the Cave. I shall handle the proper authorities.”

The Narrows

"They are all so scared of you, are they not? But I can tell you are nothing, Batman. I can hear your mind whispering in self doubt... I can hear the voices convalesce and collide. You are weak."

Jason grunted, backing away slowly. He began to tick things off in his head, making a list of abilities this freak of nature had. Enhanced strength. Enhanced speed. Enhanced healing-- invulnerability? He'd been able to shatter a batarang with ease, and his hand was no worse for wear. What else? Low level telepathy?

The crimson mouthed wolf padded behind the Prince of Lies, and Jason tried to shut the image out of his head. Why was he haunted by this thing? Why was that girl, that poor, bleeding girl, haunting his waking and sleeping moments?

"You suffer. I can help put you out of your pain." The Prince of Lies arched his neck back to where the wolf would have been, and smiled. "Give yourself to me." The Prince's mouth began to grind open. Flesh that should have torn stretched-- his throat cracked as it widened.

"Holy £$%^," was all Jason managed to whisper before the swarm of darkness shot out from the jaws of the Prince.

Gotham Central:

Gordon assessed the situation he found himself in. He knew he couldn’t reach his gun-- he’d feel Drakon’s cold steel blade before he could reach the holster. He could do something crazy, something Drakon would never expect… maybe rush him? He tossed that idea out the window at once. With a massive amount of luck, Gordon would be able to take one step before Drakon neatly slit his throat.

Gordon mentally shrugged. He knew the case-file from Drakon's spree a decade ago. Drakon would kill him, after putting him through the most extreme torture imaginable. Drakon wanted ten years’ worth of blood, but not all at once-- no, a drop at a time would be oh so much more satisfying.

Gordon wasn’t interested in giving him that satisfaction.

Mentally preparing himself for the pain he knew would follow, he steeled himself.

But before he could throw himself forward, something caught his eye-- behind Drakon, he saw a shadow.

It’s about time you got here.

A piece of metal flashed as it passed through the beam of the Bat-signal’s light before landing in Drakon’s shoulder.

"GAH!" Drakon whirled around to face his attacker, but found none-- "What..?!"

Gordon took advantage of the distraction and stumbled behind the immense spotlight. He slowly slid against it to the ground, squeezing his arm. Ripping off part of his shirt, he wrapped the shreds tightly around his arm to stop the bleeding.

"It'll do." Gripping his gun, he peered around the spotlight-- “Yaaugh…!” He screamed as something sharp cut his back. He fell to the ground, his revolver falling from his grip. Before he could grab it again, he was kicked into the shadows. Rolling over, he stared up into Drakon’s face as the blade came down.

The Cave:

Batman laid Orpheus on the table next to where Alfred had the medical supplies waiting. His patient groaned in pain. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Orpheus moaned.

“You’ll live,” Batman said, sincerely hoping that what he said was true. "I have to sedate you." After administrating a cocktail of drugs, Dick began work cleaning the wound, assisting Alfred to the best of his ability.

“I’ll finish here, Sir, if you would like to check on your other business,” Alfred said quietly. Batman nodded and headed to where Talia was waiting impatiently.

“Richard…” She began. He pressed his gloved hand to her lips.

“Shh…” He hushed her, glancing back at Orpheus.

She nodded. “Batman,” she amended. “I came to warn you.”

“About what?”

She pursed her lips. “The League of Assassins is coming.”

He froze. “To Gotham?”

She nodded. “Yes. In fact, they may already be here.”

“Oh. Great.” Talia still seemed uncomfortable. “...What is it? What aren't you telling me?” Batman questioned. She looked up at him, as if deciding how to answer. He read it in her face.

“…Oh. Great.”

The Narrows:

The Prince of Lies watched as his onslaught subsided-- the darkness seeped into the cracks across the concrete, and the Dark Knight was on the floor, twitching. "You are mine now. Rise."

Jason Todd shifted, his gloved fingertips digging into the ground and trying their best to support him as he attempted to bring himself up off the ground. "...Hhhhh."

The Prince of Lies smiled. "I said rise!"

The Dark Knight's head twisted to face the Prince, and the villain's expression contorted. "Gotcha," hissed Jason, his mask completely closed off and immune to whatever the Prince was trying to infect him with. "I'm not ready... for this..." He took a grapnel from his utility belt, and shot it into the air.

The Prince of Lies' nails began to stretch out of his fingertips, razor sharp and deadly, and his mouth was shifting once more-- this time his teeth were turning into daggers, ready to bite a chunk out of Jason's hide. "You dare resist me--?! No-one--"

"Bye." Jason shot into the rafters, and clambered out of the warehouse. He made it across three rooftops before pausing for breathe-- he wasn't being followed. He knew that much. "God... God damn..." He needed back up. He needed help. He knew this. He knew that he needed someone to have his back, but he couldn't....

'Run', she whispered. 'run!'

"What?" managed Jason, before being shot in the chest and falling to the ground.

"Strange," whispered the bandaged man, as he levelled the shotgun at the writhing body of the Dark Knight, "you're not the one I want. But you'll do."

"£$%^," cursed Jason, as his eyes met those of Hush. I am not having a good day.

Gotham Central:

Gordon thought he was done. Drakon’s blade hovered over him for an instant before coming down. He could see the gleam of the metal as it flashed coldly in the night. It was fascinating, actually. A long stick suddenly appeared out of nowhere, blocking the blade, and Gordon saw Robin standing over him.

Gordon rolled out from under the crossed weapons and raised himself to his knees. He could hear Robin’s grunt as he struggled against Drakon, and watched the teen take a step back, still pushing against Drakon’s blade. Drakon unexpectedly turned his weapon, causing it to go in toward the teen--

Gordon winced automatically, but was pleasantly surprised when Robin backpedaled quickly out of the blade’s reach, navigating slightly toward Gordon. Drakon, holding his blade out with one hand, used his other to rip the metal out of his shoulder. Gordon could now see that it was an R-shaped weapon and not the Batarang he had thought it was. Draokon leaped nimbly toward where Gordon was still kneeling in pain only to be stopped by Robin once again.

Drakon’s eyebrow raised-- the boy was better than he had thought. Oh, well, he thought. All the more satisfying when I slit his throat.

The Cave:

"The Demon's Head started something. When a vendetta is brought up before the League... they're duty bound to complete it. And Ra's Al Ghul... my father... his vendetta against Gotham because of Bruce Wayne... my... my beloved... because of his betrayal, is one of the grandest he has ever raised."

Talia was shaking now. Dick saw her hands quiver in the stale light of the Cave, and he reached out to her. "Talia... what happened to you?"

She looked up, and Dick finally saw her. The dark rings beneath her eyes, her pale skin. She was drained, well and truly, of the life she had once exhibited. "The Joker. The Joker happened to me."

Dick froze at the words. The Joker had happened to him once too. Was this what he looked like, all those years back? Was he a wreck? "Talia, I..."

"He hijacked my plane," continued Talia, "killed my bodyguard. The pilot. He drugged me. Thought me paralysed. At his... tender mercies... his face... his smile... God..." Her weakened expression shifted to that of sheer defiance. "But I'm the daughter of the Demon's Head. From an early age, I was trained in the art of war, of defiance, of resistance. I... remember flickers..." The fire faded from her. "The pilot... did I... did I kill the pilot? Or was it the Joker? The plane went into a nosedive, I grabbed a parachute... leaped out..." Her eyes met Dick's. "I'm here now. And I want to help."

Batman smiled, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Any help you offer will be wholeheartedly appreciated and accepted."

--DRRRRRRRR!

"What's that noise?" Dick span around, and saw the Cave floor shift-- a staircase revealing itself leading deeper into the gigantic cavern they called home. A red light flashed down there, and then the grinding noise finally faltered-- replaced by a quiet ringing. "What's... what's that?"

The Narrows:

"You're not him." Hush placed the shotgun back behind his back, and took out his twin pistols, firing two rounds into the Dark Knight's chest. "You're one of the... boys."

The Dark Knight said nothing. Each gunshot was like a jackhammer being pressed against his chest, and he was struggling to think for the time being, let alone unleash a scathing quip.

"You're the problem." Another shot, another groan leaving Jason's lips. "Batman is a scourge upon this city, but you perpetuate his name." Another two shots, and Jason grunted. "Inspire him toward greater evils."

"Hey... £$%^wit..." managed Jason, as his hand found the edge of the ledge.

"Bravado. I'm not amused." He was about to fire again, when Jason swung over the side, and Hush cursed, rushing over to see his foe fall. "Uhhh--"

Jason grinned from where he hung, and fired a batarang at his attacker's bandaged face, causing him to reel back in pain. "Gullible? I'm pretty amused, bitch." The Dark Knight climbed back onto the rooftop, and readied himself to break this guy open with his bare hands. "Fight back. I'm asking you nicely. Let's make this fun."

"This is not a game--!" Hush fired recklessly, come rounds catching Jason as he trudged forward. Jason swung back, his shoulder going dead on impact. "Your... master... or whatever he positions himself as... took everything from me! He stole away my whole life!"

"That's what all you bastards claim," shrugged Jason, raising his fist. "And look. You've stopped whispering."

Hush's skull collided against Jason's, and the two of them staggered away from each other. Hush looked up first, his eyes wide and manic. "That bastard stole my son! He killed my son!"

The Dark Knight took a moment before replying. "... Uh, yeah, that one's new."

whispers...

(Batman #44)Writers, Charlie Wilkins and Alex Vasquez

Cover, Nathan Kilburn(From Nov. 7, 2009)

The Narrows:

"Batman doesn't kill!" said the Dark Knight, backhanding Hush and sending the masked villain sprawling. "So you can take your lies and shove 'em up your--"

Hush pulled a grenade from his belt and held it high. "Not lying."

"Oh @#$%--" started Jason, as Hush dropped the grenade and leaped over the edge of the building. Jason was dazed, weakened and ill-prepared for this fight. His fights with the Prince of Lies and his minions, and now this? He barely moved before the grenade went off, the concussive blast sending him flying across the sky. "Hhhrrrghhh!" He slammed into a brickwall, and slumped to the ground. Ribs were bruised, not broken, he thought, he'd know if they were done in. "Daaaamn," he slurred, climbing to his feet.

"You would support him," said Hush, climbing up, and levelling his pistol once more. "Boys given a mask and a cape. It killed my son. That bastard--" Hush holstered his weapon, and began to lay into Jason Todd, his fists barreling down into Jason’s ribs. "--Steals lives!"

"Nurgh," spat Todd, as he threw up his forearms to protect himself. "Gerrofff," he kicked up at Hush, and the villain backed off, but didn't relent.

"I don't need my guns to kill you. I'll make a point to murder you with my bare hands!"

"Bite me," replied Jason, punching Hush in the face and breaking his nose. "You ain't going to win this, chump."

"Nnngggh! Bssstard..." Hush rammed his elbow at Jason's collar bone, and the vigilante slid down with the blow, landing hard on the concrete, and driving his foot up between Hush's legs.

"Well, even if you had a kid before, you ain't gonna' have any in the future!"

"This isn't funny!" screamed Hush, blood staining his bandages. "You don't even know, do you?"

"I know that you're going to spend the night, and many nights to come, in Blackgate. In whatever condition is dependent on you... chump."

"Whatever." Hush whipped out a gun, and shot Jason in the head. The vigilante screamed as his mask absorbed the blow, redistributing impact all across his mask. The bulletproof material serving as a shock absorber too-- the bullet fell to the floor with a clink, but Jason was left screaming. "You're not so scary when you're out of the shadows." Hush then grabbed the mask, sparks flying from the collar seam, and yanked hard, dragging it off of Jason's face. His mouth was caked with blood, his nose too. His eye was bloodshot and swelling over, and his forehead was an open wound. "Wait..."

"Guh... guhh..." Jason blinked with his good eye, and groped at his mask, but Hush aimed his pistol at his exposed face, and looked from the mask to Jason's face. "Give..."

"You don't know. You really don't," said Hush, slowly. "I was a special forces operative. Overseas most of my life. When I came back... my wife and I conceived. But I had a duty to this country. I... I..." Jason struggled to his feet, but Hush kicked him back down. "Don't." He dropped the mask, but kept the gun aimed. "I left. She had the child, and when my tour of duty was coming to an end... I was captured. Made a POW. I was saved, but it took years. Nearly a decade. A decade of being trapped in a tiny cell, and just... thinking about my family. About my wife and my son, and knowing that they thought I was dead. When I came back home, my wife had died. And my son... my one and only son, was dead as well. And I investigated it as best I could, but you know what? Everything lead me to the Batman. And his partner. Redwing. Redwing was my son, and Batman killed him."

"No," snapped Jason, "no, that... no. Impossible. No."

"Shut up!" screamed Hush, as he pulled away his bandages, "I'm not lying, and you know why?" Hush revealed his face to Jason-- he was the spitting image of the Dark Knight, but older, flecks of grey in his otherwise dark hair, lines around the eyes and a lifetime worth of hurt lurking beneath them. "Because you're... you... oh, Jesus..."

"No," screamed Jason, “No! NO!”

"Ggghhhhh!" Mickey Fynn jerked up from the bed, and then clutched his chest. "Oh, God. Oh... God."

Lucius Fox smiled, and patted him on the shoulder. "You're doing good, Mickey. You're at Gotham Mercy General, and Commissioner Gordon has got an armed guard at the door. He's not getting in here."

"The... the Wrath... won't stop," mumbled Mickey, as his head fell back down on the pillow. "Oh, I'm dead. Dead. No no..."

The Cave:

"Stay back--!" Dick Grayson pulled his cape close to his body, and searched the darkness-- only to find that the once shadowed caverns of the Cave had receeded-- and in the centre, past the giant pennies and robotic dinosaurs... was a spotlight, burning red.

Talia looked to him, and he simply nodded at her to back away, and she did so.

"I thought this Cave was yours, Batman," she cried out, a mocking undertone to her words, "did you not know of the intimidating spotlight that was installed amongst the stalactites?"

"I'd appreciate your sarcasm being kept under wraps, Talia," replied Dick, as he saw what the spotlight was revealing-- a stairwell leading down into the darkness. "What the heck is this?"

Talia watched as Dick looked once more around the Cave, and began to walk down the stairs. The cave fell silent-- the roaring sound of rock parting to reveal this mystery subsiding as only Dick's footsteps remained. "Batman?" she called out, watching the darkness morph and shift, "Batman," this time a whisper, until, minutes later... Dick Grayson appeared from the hole in the Cave, a wry smile on his face. "Richard... what was that?"

"Nothing," he said with a smile, "a surprise Bruce left me." He flexed his fingers, and then looked back up to the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul. "Let's get back to work..."

Talia said nothing.

Gotham Central:

"Enough," snarled Drakon, "is enough."

Robin threw another batarang, and Drakon caught it. "Uh-oh," whispered Tim Drake, as he narrowly dodged the projective being hurtled back toward him.

Before he could straighten back up, Drakon grabbed him by the throat, and the Boy Wonder choked. "You. Are trouble. You sought to have me captured again. You and your boss. How will he react when I gut you, little boy? Will he shed some tears for little boy lost?"

Bang!

Drakon dropped Robin, and turned. His arm was a bloody mess, and Gordon's shaking hands held his service weapon. "You... should have... killed me..."

"'Fraid you've knocked me around quite a bit, you sonofabitch... I was aiming for your head."

Robin didn't hesitate, and quickly scurried to Gordon's side within a second. "Thanks, Commish."

"Get out of here," replied Gordon, not taking his eye of the diminiutive assassin standing before him. "Get out of here right now. You're a kid, and--" Drakon threw a dagger at Gordon's weapon, and the blade lodged itself in the barrel with ease. "--sonofa--!" Gordon knew he couldn't risk firing his weapon, and discarded it. "Fine. Fine, you want me dead, then come and do it, you bastard. But you better finish the job, because if you don't, I'm going to crawl back out of whatever grave you put me in, and choke you to death with my bare hands--!"

"I like you, Commissioner," replied Drakon, moving slowly toward Gordon and Robin. "Spunky."

THROOM!

Dust and brick exploded at Drakon's feet. "Back away from the Commissioner," was all that was said, as the majority of the GCPD stood ready for Drakon, their weapons all drawn. Sarah Essen emerged from the crowd with a shotgun in her hand. "You sonofabitch, Constantine Drakon-- you're under arrest." She said passing the shotgun to Gordon.

The Commissioner cocked it with a smile. "I suggest you put your hands up, punk. Or we'll blow you away."

Gotham City:

"Now, I've fought some crazy sonsofguns in Vegas," said Batwoman, as she peered down at the men and women who were fighting below. Jokerz clashed with inappropriately dressed gang-members, wearing leather and other BDSM gear. "And I wouldn't be surprised if I've arrested these chumps before. I recognise a few of them-- Black Mask's old crew. Who's running that show now? Roman hasn't been sighted for a good long while."

Alfred's voice whispered into her ear-piece. "I'm sorry I cannot assist you with your query, B. We've got our hands full over here, do you require assistance?"

"No worries, A, I'll handle this with style." Batwoman plummeted down between the Jokerz and the garrishly clad members of the Flesh-Monger's gang. "Alright. Who wants to surrender first?"

"Hee," giggled one Joker, as he ran toward the heroine-- she kicked him in the chest and he flew back, and he fell unconscious on impact with the floor.

"Then bring it, you creeps, I need a good work out," replied Barbara, as she threw herself into the fight. "Make my day!"

The Narrows:

"I don't believe you," said the Dark Knight, maskless, bloodied and beaten, but still defiant. "You're insane."

"Am I?" asked Hush, his face revealed. "You... you're him, aren't you? Redwing? Jason? Jason, it's your pa, I'm here now, I... oh, God, you don't believe me..."

"My father is dead," Jason managed to say, blood bubbling from between his lips.

Hush cocked his head to a side. "You don't believe me. That's fine," he whispered, "then I guess my son is still dead too." Hush brought his pistols up again, and Jason leaped forward, moving between the man's defenses, and punching him in the face. "Hhhhgghh!"

The Dark Knight grabbed his mask, and pulled it back on, kicking Hush whilst he was down. He then grabbed the bloodied bandages that Hush had removed, and sprinted off the edge of the building, leaving the villain alone on the rooftop.

"My boy," managed Hush, as he watched the Dark Knight go. "My boy!"

Gotham City:

Dick Grayson swung through the streets, his cape billowing behind him. His friends fought across the city, Barbara battling gangmembers in her impeccable style-- he wished for a moment that he could watch her, the way she moved, the way every action was weighted and measured and so powerful-- and Robin was supporting the GCPD members on patrol. The gangs were mobilising on every corner, but he wasn't scared, he wasn't afraid.

"No," he whispered, as he somersaulted down at a group of Boss Synth’s cronies, dressed in Black trench coats and glasses, wielding high-tech guns that were apparently designed by their genius leader. "How are we doing today, children?" He landed in the middle of them, and went to work. "I don't care who you are, or why you're dressed like some Matrix rejects, but I'm afraid you're going to have to spend the rest of the night in lock up-- or the rest of the year in traction--!"

The rolled over through the streets, Batman punching and kicking anything that threw him a malevolent look of violent intent. The fight suddenly faltered, as Dick saw where he had ended up-- Batwoman looked across the street to him, and he could have sworn, even with the road between them, she winked, and then they went to work. Snyth’s people started to clash with the Flesh Monger's people, and the Jokers continued to irritate everyone in between. Within minutes, the fight was over, and Batman breathed in deeply, and turned to his partner-in-crime.

"More of them off the street. And more to interrogate. Looks like the GCPD Rogue Profilers will have a field day working up a brief on the new scum in town."

"Completely," replied Batwoman. "I..."

"Yeah, I... and..." Batman took a moment. "Head back to the Cave. You need a break. I'll take it from here."

"You sure?"

"Completely," nodded Dick, as he shot a line off into the sky as police cars came into view.

The Narrows:

"I know he's lying," Jason Todd whispered to himself, as the little girl in the red hood looked over his shoulder. "And this'll prove it. Proof. Yes."

'You're sure?' she whispered into his ear. He could almost feel her blood fleck his cheek.

"Yes! I am sure! Of course I'm sure." He began to run the DNA comparrsion inside the satellite cave, and then he began to remove his uniform. He was covered in black and purple welts, and he knew that half his ribs needed strapping up. Bones were broken, damage was done, and this... would just be the icing on the cake. "...Dammit."

Gotham City:

Batman landed above the city, and breathed in sharply. The shadows across the building shifted and moved, but he didn't care-- the city played foul tricks on people not knowing of it's dirty secrets, and he knew them all. Everything was going to be ok.

"'Batman'," whispered the voice, and the Caped Crusader span around, batarangs held high, ready to be unleashed. "Such an easy name to take upon one's self, is it not? Have you not just done that yourself, 'Child'? Desecrated the corpse of the great Detective for a title and held it high, like it was your own?"

Dick Grayson's blood ran cold. The shadows shifted and became men-- all clad in black, all wielding weapons that could slice through stone. And he recognized the man who mocked him from amongst the hordes. The League of Shadows split down the middle, and one man emerged from the assassins.

Batman said one word through gritted teeth. The name of a man he had thought dead... "…Ra’s."

check

(Detective Comics #43)Writers, Alex VasquezCover, Alex Vasquez(From Nov. 18, 2009)

Gotham Central:

“Surrender now, Drakon,” Commissioner Gordon said, aiming his shotgun at the assassin. He was flanked in this standoff on the roof of Gotham Central by Sarah Essen at his right, Robin the Teen Wonder at his left, and backed up by a few dozen heavily armed GCPD officers, each with the Constantine Drakon in their cross-hairs. “No need to make this harder on yourself. You’re outnumbered, outclassed and out armed…”

“Literally,” Robin joked at Drakon’s busted arm. Robin’s smile faded away once the Commissioner gave him a wide-eyed glare.

“I’ve taken out more men…better men than this-- with less. So you should ask yourself, Commissioner--” Drakon began holding his injured arm, not losing an inch of confidence or bravado despite his current situation, “--Are you prepared to live with the guilt of knowing you just signed the death warrants of all of these people?" Drakon began to smile. "Not that you’ll have much time to live with said guilt.”

Gordon was seething. Robin imagined that he could hear the Commissioner's teeth grinding, and he could understand why. “Every day I assign a new detail in this city, promote someone or hire a new officer, I’m potentially signing someone’s death warrant. It's part of the job and something I’ve been living with since I took it. But that's not going to stop me doing it. Not going to stop me trying to stem the tide in this place. We're not going to let scum like you continue to cause havoc and spread fear in our city,” Gordon stated. “And that’s something we are prepared to stop at any cost, so you’ve got the count to five to surrender... or not. It doesn’t really matter, because one way or another, you’re going down HARD."

“So, five…” Gordon stared his countdown. The remaining officers who haven’t cocked their weapons began to do so, creating a cascading sound. “Four…” Drakon shifted into a fighting stance, keeping the arm that was shot earlier by Gordon close to his chest. “Three…” Robin shifted into a fighting stance in response to Drakon, expanding his retractable Bo staff and grabbing a handful or R-shaped shurikens. “Two…” Gordon continued.

“You’re time will come, Gordon,” Drakon said, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a handful of smoke pellets. “And you can believe I’m going to make it slow and enjoy every moment of it.” Drakon threw the black spheres on the ground as the Gordon led a charge towards him, enveloping the roof in smoke. Once it dissipated, Drakon was gone.

“Dammit!” Gordon screamed.

“Easy commish,” Robin said with a smile, pulling out a modified iPhone from one of the pouches on his utility belt. After pressing a few buttons on the touch screen, he activated a map application which showed a blinking dot moving away from their current position. “I managed to sneak a tracer on him. He’s done.”

Secret Location:

Boss Synth was hard at work in his workshop, designing and building new high tech weapons for his foot soldiers for the escalating war that was raging in the streets of Gotham. The truce that he brokered between the new gangs was beginning to deteriorate, which didn’t surprise Synth at all. In fact, he was surprised it lasted this long. But it was only to buy him time to enact his ultimate plan, one that would make him the undisputed king of Gotham’s underworld and completely untouchable.

“Boss,” Randal Kennedy, Synth’s main henchman walked into the workshop, holding out his flip-top cell phone. “The Lab is calling; apparently, they are having some difficulty with your ‘assistant’.”

“What kind of trouble?” Synth asked, not taking his attention off of his task of wielding machine parts together.

“Two more of her handlers committed suicide and Jones is on the phone with a gun in his mouth.”

“@#$%,” Synth muttered under his breath as he put his acetylene torch down and lifted his goggles. He grabbed the

phone away from Randal. “Jones… get the gun out of your mouth, I can’t understand you… get over it, she’s important to the whole operation… I don’t care if she’s driving everyone crazy; get a set of ear plugs…Jones wait…” Synth pulled the phone away from his ear as a loud bang rang out of the ear piece.

“Get some more people over there asap,” Synth told Randal, who took back his phone and put it in the pocket of his black trench coat. “That operation is too important to let her go unsupervised.”

“No problem, boss.” Randal said putting on his sunglasses.

Synth looked at the wall-mounted clock and saw it was about one hour until midnight. “Make sure I’m not disturbed for the next 24 hours. I feel a bad day coming…”

Before Randal could respond, another of Boss Synth’s henchmen walked into his workshop. This one was sickly pale, with what seemed to be small black bugs crawling around his face from the corners of his eyes, ears and mouth. He reached out with his right hand towards Synth, before he collapsed to the ground. Standing behind him, wearing a pinstriped sports coat and his eyes smouldering was Milo Vesuvius, the Prince of Lies loyal aide-de-camp.

“Boss Synth,” Milo said as his blue hair began to smoulder. “My master, the Prince of Lies, requests your immediate presence at an emergency meeting. It seems your plan is faltering and further action needs to be discussed.”

Boss Synth looked at the clock and adjusted his silver mask. “I’m unable to attend any meeting at this moment, but in 24 hours…”

Before Synth could finish, Milo Vesuvius extended his hand towards Randal Kennedy who immediately was engulfed in flames so intense, he had no opportunity to scream and was quickly reduced to a smoking pile of ash. “I’m afraid that your reply is unacceptable,” the pyrokenetic said.

The Narrows:

Jason Todd slumped in his chair, staring at the keyboard of the computer in the satellite bat-cave that had served as his base of operations for the past few weeks. He couldn’t feel any of the cuts, bruises, broken or crack bones he suffered from earlier in the night. He did feel a growing lump, starting in his chest and expanding into his throat, making him want to throw up. He felt rage welling up in his temples, flooding his brain, grinding his teeth and squeezing his hands around the arm rests of his chair so tight, the molding began to crack and crumble.

Jason looked back up at the screen, which displayed the results of the analysis on Hush’s blood. Hush’s real name was Willis Todd, a highly decorated Special Forces operative with several letters of commendation and a purple heart which he received after he was released from a P.O.W. camp and had been off the grid ever since. His wife Catherine gave birth to their only child shortly after Willis was deployed on the mission that resulted in his decade-long capture. It had taken all of the Bat-computer's power to locate this information. It wasn't on any of the public mainframes, and he had to delve deep into the government computers to even scratch the surface of Hush's identity.

Everything Hush said was true, he was Jason’s father.

“It can’t be true. It’s impossible.” Jason muttered to himself, looking up at the computer screen one more time, hoping that this time, the results would be different. “I can’t be…”

'Bruce had to know.' The little girl in the red hood said to Jason. 'He must have kept it from you.'

“No way!” Jason quickly dismissed. “He wouldn’t have kept something like that from me. He was declared dead by the army. Bruce couldn’t have known… could he?” Jason buried his fingers into his sweat soaked hair and held his head. “Did he keep it from me? Did he tell me that my father died in the home invasion that took my mother, or was it something that I just told myself? I can’t remember.” Jason stared at the picture of his father. "Why can't I remember?"

'Bruce could’ve saved him from that camp,' the girl said, creeping behind Jason.

“He would have if he knew,” Jason responded with a snarl.

'Or maybe Bruce kept it from you because he knew what you were,' the girl whispered into his ear. 'a failure...'

“That’s not true,” Jason yelled as he spun the chair around. “I did my best, I do my best… I’m trying!”

'What you call effort, most people would call recklessness,' the girl mocked, again behind him. 'Did that work for you when you went against the Wrath? All it got you was tortured and killed many times over the years.' She looked at the computer image of Jason’s father. 'Something, that apparently runs in the family, but that doesn’t change the fact that you know, deep down, that Bruce had to know. He always knows and he didn’t do anything. He created Hush.'

“He didn’t know, he couldn’t have… could he?”

The Cave:

“Alfred, are you down here?” Batwoman asked while exiting the Batcave garage, where she had just parked her motorcycle. The bats above began to stir as she walked into the medical bay. She saw Orpheus laying down on a cot, unconscious and sporting a nasty wound in his stomach. Next to him was a tray with blood soaked gauze, instruments and a freshly pulled out slug. She checked his vitals. They were weak, but steady, so he should be alright. What else should I expect? She thought to herself. Alfred’s the best.

“He went upstairs for some supplies,” a chill went down Batwoman’s spine from hearing that voice. She grabbed a couple of batarangs from her belt and turned, ready to fire.

“I’m not here as an enemy, Batwoman,” Talia Al Ghul, daughter of the centuries old eco-terroist Ra’s Al Ghul said. Talia lowered the hood of her green and white cloak and put her hands on her hips, showing Batwoman the hilt of her sword, before crossing her arms.

"I know, Batman filled me in on what’s going on,” Batwoman said, placing the batarangs back on her belt. “Looks like I’m your new bodyguard for the time being.”

“I don’t need to depend on you to protect me,” Talia said with a smug undertone. “And if I did, I would be better served committing seppuku for the trouble.”

“Well, I see you’re not doing anything to bely your reputation as a bitch,” Batwoman said as she walked out of the medical bay and towards the batcomputer. She immediately noticed there was a new staircase, one she had never seen before. “What’s that about?”

“Richard wouldn’t say,” Talia answered, following her. “All he said, it was a surprise Bruce left him.”

“Bruce?” Barbara said with her heart jumping in her chest as she looked down the stair way. “I suppose you went down there to check out for yourself after Dick left.”

“Of course I did.”

“Well…”

“There was a phone,” Talia said.

“A phone?” Barbara asked.

“Yes, a red phone.” Talia answered. “And it was dead.”

“That was all?”

“If you don’t believe me, go down and see for yourself.”

Barbara thought about it and took one step down before stopping. She looked towards the trophy room and saw that the

glass case memorial where they kept Bruce’s costume was empty. “What happened to that costume?” Barbara pointed in the direction of the case.

“What costume?” Talia asked, looking where Barbara was pointing.

“Bruce’s costume? “ Barbara turned her attention back to Talia. “Did Dick take it or wear it?”

“No,” Talia said as she surveyed the area.

“Then what happened to…” Barbara began but stopped when she saw Talia get wide-eyed and her lower lip began to quiver. Barbara looked back in to the trophy room and she saw it, just outside of the lighting’s range, but just enough to see a broad shouldered figure, the pointed ears of the cowl and two glowing white eyes staring back at them. Soon, Barbara Gordon’s lower lip began to quiver like Talia’s and her heart was trying to escape from her chest.

“Beloved?” Talia whispered.

“Bruce?” Barbara followed.

The Narrows:

“No. There’s no way Bruce would’ve allowed that.” Jason said, pacing back and forth in the satellite cave. “He would’ve told me and we would’ve searched the world for him.”

'Jason, it pains me… it pains you that you keep yourself in denial about this,' the girl in the red hood said. 'Jason… Do you remember the day you were abducted by the Wrath?' Jason stopped in his tracks and clenched his fists. 'Well, do you?' The girl asked again.

“Yes,” Jason said through his grinding teeth.

'Say it.'

“No.”

'Tell me.'

“You already know,” Jason raised his voice. “You’re in my head.”

'Bruce…' The girl began.

“STOP!” Jason yelled.

'He fired you,' the girl said laughing.

“NO HE DIDN’T! HE DID NOT FIRE ME!” Jason screamed. His breathing became ragged and choppy as he tried to control his anger. After a few deep breaths, he was finally in control of himself. “He told me that I was suspended from active duty and that I needed more training before he would let me go back on the streets.”

'Was that all?'

“He told me…” Jason began to quiver as he took a breath to finish the sentence. “He told me that I was to reckless and I was going to get myself…killed.”

'And you didn’t agree with him, did you Jason?' The girl asked. 'But as we know, history proved him right, over and over and over again.' The girl giggled while Jason sat back down in his chair and held his head. 'Now, let’s go back to that rebellious teenage boy playing superhero, that boy who kept a picture of his parents under his pillow. Imagine that he just found out that his father, a war hero, is imprisoned overseas. What do you think he would’ve done?'

“My head hurts,” Jason said.

'Jason, it was the first thought you had when your test came back. Do you remember that Jason?'

Jason looked up at the computer screen, still displaying the picture of his biological father in his military dress uniform. “I could’ve saved him.”

'Now you don’t think that boy, who just got fired off of his sidekick gig, would’ve run off to some god-awful Middle Eastern country, find the terrorist camp his father was imprisoned at and risk everything to save him and probably get killed in the process? When you think of it like that, then maybe Bruce was right to keep the knowledge of your father from you.'

“No.” Jason said with sternness in his voice. “He wouldn’t. We would’ve gone to save him… together… as partners... like always…”

'The partners’ thing? Again, Jason? The man erased all evidence of your existence and did such a good job at it, that your replacement, who would become his replacement, didn’t even know about you until you came back to Gotham a few months ago. You still view him in that same light, after all these years, after everything you’ve found out? We know why he did it, you know why you did it, but not admitting it is what’s driving you crazy.'

Jason spun the chair away from the girl in the red hood and grabbed two fistfuls of hair. “Just… shut up.” He said with a whimper.

'Just say it Jason, 'I’m a failure'.'

“Shut up.” Jason began to pull his hair to the point where it was about to be pulled out by the roots.

''I’ll never measure up.''

“Shut up!” Jason yelled, letting his hair go and grabbing the arm rests of the chair.

''I’ve let one daddy down.''

“SHUT UP!” Jason screamed.

''And now, I’m about to let another.''

“I SAID SHUT THE @#$% UP!” Jason screamed at the top of his lungs as he jumped out of his seat, grabbed it and whipped it around, smashing it into the computer console. He took the remains of the chair and hurled it as the screen, screaming while it cracked the surface. Jason walked over to the makeshift lab table and flipped it over, causing microscopes, test tubes, Bunsen Burners and beakers to crash and shatter on the floor. He grabbed his homemade, leather Batsuit that he wore before finding the satellite cave off of its rack and tore it down the middle. Holding pieces of the suit in both hands, Jason fell to his knees and let out a roaring primal scream, before covering his face in the leather and lying down on the floor, in a fetal position. The room started to spin, his breathing was getting difficult and what felt like a tidal wave of blood rushed to his brain.

“Why is this happening to me?”

Secret Location – 11:41 PM

“Did you call Mulholland?” Boss Synth asked Jared Duncan, his new second in command. Synth adjusted his grey mask, finding it uncomfortable at the moment.

“He said he would be here.” Duncan said as they reached a staircase. “With all of the crazy @#$% going on out in the streets, he’s probably running a little late.”

“That’s not going to compare to the crazy @#$% these freaks are going to do to us if he doesn’t get here within the

next 19 minutes.” Synth whispered into Duncan’s ear.

A small ball of fire careened between the two of them. They looked behind them at Milo Vesuvius, the loyal servant of the Prince of Lies. “Keep it moving.” He warned as his hand was enveloped in flame.

Boss Synth checked his jacket pocket to see if the red syringe was still there. Once he confirmed it, he and his henchman climbed the staircase and opened the large door at the top. Inside, sitting like they were in their first meeting, were the new heads of Gotham’s Underworld. Gun Moll, with a couple of her men, dressed in their trademark 50’s motif. The Prince of Lies sat across from the Synth’s empty seat, and scowled at the sight of Synth. Flesh Monger sat to his left, and had another leather clad man, wearing a choke chain and a leather mask with zippers standing behind her. She had her eyes closed and head tilted towards the ceiling, moaning softly, but Boss Synth couldn’t see any reason as to why.

“Have a seat,” Milo said. Boss Synth did and Milo walked over to his seat, next to the Prince, before he continued. “Gun Moll, Flesh Monger and my master have already spoken. My master made the contents of their conversation was made available to me, so I will be speaking for them. We are not pleased. Your plan is not going as promised. All of us have used a lot of man power and resources to combat these Bat-people and the Jokerz. The results have been disastrous. The Bat-people’s resolve seems to be strengthening and the Jokerz are causing more problems than before. Now, these ninja-clad men have appeared on the scene…”

“Look, I admit I didn’t anticipate the ninjas,” Synth interrupted then looked at his watch. It was 11:45. “But from what I’ve been hearing, they are mostly going after Batman and his allies, so all we need to do is let them battle it out, take out whose left and we’re back to business as usual. This is probably the best thing for us. Give us a chance to re-gather some of our lost resources. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get…”

Gun Moll pulled out a magnum from a holster she had hidden underneath her red trench coat and interrupted Synth by shooting his henchman in the head. She immediately turned and pointed the cannon at Synth. “Sit down. We ain’t finished by a long shot.”

“There’s also the issue of the presence of your gang,” Milo continued as Synth sat down. “Or should I say lack thereof. It has not gone unnoticed that your people have not been engaged with our enemies as we have.”

“You guys knew that my territory has the least amount of Jokerz activity,” Synth said on the defensive.

“Yeah, but ya got as much to gain as everyone else if we win this thing,” Gun Moll jumped in, still pointing her Magnum at Synth. “And considering your mooks got all this high tech doodads, going on the offensive would be good for ya, but for some reason you ain’t.”Gun Moll leaned closer to Synth and cocked the hammer of the gun. “And I think its cause you’re a rat.”

“That’s bull #$%&,” Synth yelled, standing to his feet.

“No, what’s bull #$%& is when Jokerz, with high tech whoseamawhatitz that got yer stench on them, slaughtering my boys, who were taking out those hoods on the Hill.”

“Impossible,” Synth said. “I wouldn’t go in league with them. They’re animals. If they got a hold of my weapons, they either stole them or killed my men for them.”

“We know everything,” the Prince of Lies said, pounding the table while Flesh Monger’s moaning began to get louder. “Denial is futile. We have already divided up your territory and our people are raiding your safe houses, slaughtering your men and stealing your munitions.”

“Impossible,” Synth said as he looked at his watch, it was 11:53.

“Oh yes,” Flesh Monger screamed. “That’s my cue.” She grabbed the choke chain tied around her henchman’s neck and pulled it down, bringing him to one knee. She got out of her chair and began to unzip his mask.

“Mulholland?” Synth said after the mask was removed.

“I’m sorry boss,” Mullholland apologized. “It’s just that…” Before he could finish, Flesh Monger wrapped the extra slack of the choke chain around her hand and punched Mulholland in the face. She followed it with a back hand, cutting Synth’s former lackey before he could finish.

“You speak, when and only when I give you permission to speak. Is that understood?” Mulholland did not say a word. The Flesh Monger smiled. “You may speak.”

“Yes Mistress, I’m sorry.”

“Good boy,” Flesh Monger said, lifting her foot on his knee. “But unfortunately, my boots now have your blood on them. I want them cleaned… now.” Mulholland silently grabbed Flesh Monger’s foot as if it were some artifact of antiquity and began to lick every inch of her thigh-high leather boots.

“So, why am I still alive?” Synth asked.

“Project: Changeling,” Milo answered.

“Of course you would be interested in that,” Synth looked at Milo, then his master.

“Fleshie’s slave over there was tellin’ us stories about this top secret lab you got. Working on bioweapons, called it Changeling…” Gun Moll explained. “Unfortunately, he’s as dumb as an ox and don’t know where it is.”

“And no one else will. I’m the only person who knows where it is,” Synth said, leaning back in his chair. “Your stoolie,” he said, looking at the Prince and pointing at Milo. “Killed the only other person that knew and I ain’t talking.”

The Prince of Lies and Milo stood up from their seats. Gun Moll followed and Flesh Monger joined the group, with her clean boots. “Fortunately,” The Prince began. “We don’t need you to.” The Prince opened his mouth wide, like a snake eating a rodent. A thick, black swarm flew from his mouth and enveloped Boss Synth.

But all they could hear was Boss Synth laughing and the swarm immediately dissipated. “You don’t think I know what you are? You don’t think I would’ve inoculated myself from you?”

“Well, maybe we should do this the ol’ fashioned way,” Gun Moll took a deliberate shot over Synth’s head.

“What are you gonna do, kill me? Then you’ll never find Changeling and you’ll never be protected from him,” Synth stood up and pointed at the Prince.

“Sweetie, there are worse things than death,” Flesh Monger warned him and licked her lips.

“Go ahead. Make your bed with him. But I know what he is, where he came from and who’s eventually going to come after him, so keep your alliance with him if you don’t mind dying relatively soon.” Synth reached into his pocket and grabbed his red syringe, making sure his thumb was on the plunger and held it up. “This will kill him and his little partner.”

“You dare challenge my master’s divinity?” Milo said, with his eyes glowing bright orange.

“Divinity my ass, your boss is nothing more than a…” Boss Synth was interrupted by his watch alarm, indicating that it was midnight. Boss Synth fell back into his chair and slumped down. His head tilted to the left and began to sag.

“What the #$%&, did you do something to him?” Gun Moll looked to Flesh Monger.

“No, I can’t do anything unless I’m touching flesh,” she responded.

Gun Moll walked to the other side of the table, still pointing the gun at Synth. All he could do was follow her with his eyes. She reached his chair, grabbed his mask and pulled it off to reveal a man in his forties, with his tongue sticking out and drool escaping from the corner of his lip.

“Ewwww, that’s gross,” Flesh Monger said, hiding behind the Prince of Lies.

“We took advice from this thing?” Gun Moll asked, walking back after throwing Synth’s mask in his face.

“Flesh Monger, perhaps your servant can shed some light, if you don’t mind.” The Prince said.

“Awww, only cause you’re so polite,” Flesh Monger grabbed Mulholland’s choke chain and dragged him over to the group. “Now,” she addressed him. “Mr. Prince is going to ask you some questions. And you’re going to tell the truth.”

“What is wrong with your former Master?” the Prince asked. Mulholland did not respond. The Prince looked at Flesh Monger who was full of glee.

“He’s such a fast learner. It makes me so happy. You may speak, and speak as much as Mr. Prince needs you to.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Mulholland replied. “I don’t know why he does that, but it happens every 24 hours. One day, he’ll be a super-smart, criminal mastermind. The next day, he’s that. We called them good days and bad days.”

“Might as well get rid of him,” Gun Moll suggested. “He’ll only cause trouble.”

The Prince looked at Flesh Monger who nodded in agreement. “Milo…”

Milo Vesuvius extended his hand and Synth was swallowed up in flames. A few seconds later, nothing but a charred skeleton was left of the former super-genius.

The Cave:

“Bruce?” Barbara Gordon whispered to herself as she and Talia walked cautiously over towards the trophy room. As they got closer, they could see that it wasn’t a ghost, or some prank of putting Bruce’s costume on a mannequin or something. It was a man, they could see him breathe. As they passed the glass case that had contained Bruce’s costume, Barbara glanced at it. No broken glass, no cuts made, looks normal, she thought to herself. Could it really be him?

Batwoman heard the bats above beginning to more restless than usual. She looked up and saw they were moving towards the medical bay, away from her current destination. She looked once again at Bruce; every slow step she took seemed to take an eternity. She could see that he was holding his left side. He began to reach out with the right, before he collapsed.

“He must be hurt,” Talia said as she sprinted forward. Barbara followed and they found him, huddled on the ground, clutching his side. Both ladies reached down to help him up, and Barbara could tell right away that something was amiss. It didn’t feel like she was touching body armor, or muscle. It felt soft and flimsy like a robe. Barbara’s keen ear picked up a low level hissing sound coming from the body.

Within the blink of an eye, Talia grabbed the hand that was cradling his left side and pinned it to his body. She followed through with a lunge punch that dropped the creature and unsheathed her sword. “Batwoman run. Get Alfred and that injured boy out of here. That’s not him.”

“I can’t leave you here. “Batwoman said, grabbing her batarangs, holding them between her fingers. The cowl wearing person got up and Barbara could see his sword glisten as it was unsheathed. He stepped forward with an overhead attack that Talia parried. She used her forward motion to spin into her attacker and hit him with the handle of her sword. He stumbled towards Batwoman and tried a forward thrust, but she parried it with her batarangs and side stepped him. She loaded up for a thrust kick and connected, sending the attacker into the trophy room light with a loud hiss.

Talia and Barbara could see long, flowing Crimson robes from underneath the cape. He turned around and brandished his sword at them with an ear piercing hiss. It was the Wrath, wearing Bruce’s cowl on top of his skull like face

The Narrows:

I must have passed out, Jason Todd thought to himself as he opened his eyes, sat up and leaned against a wall. He

looked at all of the carnage he caused earlier. Broken glass, equipment and leather were all over the floor. He looked up at the computer screen, cracked like a spider web, but the picture of his father was still displayed. The room started to spin a little. Jason needed to take a few deep breaths to get composed. He took another look at the picture of his father, former war hero Willis Todd, now the supervillian known as Hush. Jason was a spitting image of him. Jason leaned his head back against the wall and smiled. He then began to laugh, slowly and to himself at first, but then he started getting louder. He held his head in his hands for a moment and continued to laugh.

'What’s so funny, Jason?' the voice of the girl in the red hood asked.

“I’m just thinking how funny life is. I turned out exactly like my father, and I never knew him.” Jason got up and gathered his Batman equipment and started to suit up.

Jason was about to put the cowl back on, but stopped. “On second thought, no, I didn’t.” He turned to look at the girl. “I’m nothing like my father. He’s dead. He died at the Gotham Reservoir a year ago trying to save Gotham. This guy,” He looked at the picture of Willis Todd one more time, and then turned the computer off. “He’s just another loser, looking to blame someone else for his #$%^, using it as an excuse to #$%& with my city. And he’s going to get a beat down, just like all the others.” Jason put on his cowl and exited his cave. The little girl faded away and the Dark Knight was on the prowl again.

the reckoning

(Nightwing #43)Writers, Charlie Wilkins and Imari Jade

Cover, Paul Johnson(From Dec. 3, 2009)

...Batman landed above the city, and breathed in sharply. The shadows across the building shifted and moved, but he didn't care-- the city played foul tricks on people not knowing of it's dirty secrets, and he knew them all. Everything was going to be OK.

"'Batman'," whispered the voice, and the Caped Crusader span around, batarangs held high, ready to be unleashed. "Such an easy name to take upon one's self, is it not? Have you not just done that yourself, 'Child'? Desecrated the corpse of the great Detective for a title and held it high, like it was your own?"

Dick Grayson's blood ran cold. The shadows shifted and became men-- all clad in black, all wielding weapons that could slice through stone. And he recognized the man who mocked him from amongst the hordes. The League of Shadows split down the middle, and one man emerged from the assassins.

Batman said one word through gritted teeth. The name of a man he had thought dead... "…Ra’s."

“Th-- that’s impossible.” Batman said when he found his voice.

“What’s impossible?” Ra’s asked with a smile. Ra's Al Ghul. The Demon's Head. Draped in a green cape that drifted in the night air, his arrogance plain for the whole world to see if they knew where to look. He laughed as he watched Dick Grayson react to his being. He was enjoying this far too much, and Dick was too shell-shocked to see it.

Batman shook his head. “You--! You are. You can’t be here.”

“But I am,” Ra’s replied, still smiling. Taking some imperceptible cue from his leader, a ninja leaped in front of Dick, sending him flying back by a kick in the chest. Dick sat up and looked around. He couldn’t tell which ninja had done it-- they were all back in perfect order. Ra’s stepped forward, smiling as he fingered the hilt on his blade.

“Proof enough?” He asked, looking down at Dick as the Caped Crusader gasped for breath.

Ra’s expression twisted. “You’re pathetic. Just like Bruce. You have so much potential, but you waste it, just like he did.”

Dick felt a smile form on his lips. “I’ll consider any comparison to Bruce a compliment.”

“Bruce is nothing,” Ra’s spat. “He’s dead. He missed his chance. I offered him the League, boy, and he rejected it. I won't bother to make you the same offer. You're nothing. You're half the man he was. And I'm going to enjoy making an example of you for the whole world to witness. The League shall parade your corpse to anyone who challenges me. A dead bat. Harrowing, no?”

“Bruce always was a smart man.” Batman said. He quickly rolled the side and flipped backward, a batarang in hand. “And he taught me everything he knew. So bring it, Ra's. And see how far it gets you.”

Ra’s blade flew in front of Batman’s face, narrowly missing slicing his cheek open. Batman back-pedaled, tossing one batarang and reaching for another. With his left hand, he threw a handful of smoke pellets behind him, hoping to create at least a minor diversion for the ninjas.

“Ugh!”

Dick flew back as something-- Ra’s foot?-- caught him in the head. His neck hurt. A lot. He was lucky it hadn’t snapped, but luck didn't have anything to do with it-- the neck brace in the cowl was built to protect, that's why Bruce designed it, and that's why Ted Kord had built it. No two ways. Bruce Wayne had just saved his life. Again.

He rolled with the impact, tossing a batarang to where he suspected Ra’s was. He heard it hit flesh, but was convinced it wasn’t Ra’s when the Demon’s Head himself was behind him, wielding his blade. Batman ducked, then back-flipped to a safer distance. The smoke was beginning to dissipate. The ninjas surged forward, baying for the blood of the bat. Dick smiled at that thought. Probably an inappropriate thing to do, and Ra's seethed at the expression.

“Bruce must pay for his rejection,” Ra’s hissed. "And as he's dead... your sacrifice will suffice!"

“You sound like a clingy ex-girlfriend,” Dick said. “Disturbing.” Something swished past him, catching his shoulder. He sucked his in breath in pain, choking down on the sudden agony.

“He’s dead,” Ra’s said. “Which leaves you to pay for his crimes. You and the rest of the pitiful 'Bat-family', is it? Ha! How ridiculous a concept. Bruce Wayne never cared for family! All he cared for was his crusade! His vendetta against what he perceived as injustices across the world! He used me to further his agenda, he used you, that child Jason Todd, that whore Barb--”

Ra's was on the floor before Dick even knew he'd thrown the punch. He'd gone on pure instinct, and caught his opponent squarely in the face, and he was pushed back and prevented from pushing his advantage by another flock of ninjas. They were beginning to become an irritant.

"Touch a nerve, did I?" Ra's wiped at his face with his sleeve and looked for blood. "You didn't even draw blood. Shame. The things I taught Bruce, he could have killed me with that one blow."

"He wouldn't want to. He'd want you behind bars!" Batman flipped forward, faking another blow but spinning it into a kick. Ra’s caught it easily and leaped back, losing no ground.

“Pitiful,” he said in derision. “I thought Bruce would have taught his little orphan brat better. His little pet gymnast.”

Batman ducked Ra’s blade, taking several long steps back. The smoke was completely gone now, revealing once more the still, silent ninjas. Not the most supportive audience.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Batman muttered. He moved quickly, surprising Ra’s and catching him off guard once more. To the Demon’s Head’s immense surprise, his head was suddenly caught in the crook of Batman’s arm, a lethally-sharp Batarang pressed against his neck. “Just try and come back from the dead this time.”

He didn’t have time to say anything else. The silent audience that had been content to watch earlier suddenly moved as one towards one central location--

--Him.

“Daaaang.” Dick muttered. He pressed the batarang more firmly against Ra’s flesh. “Anyone moves, and he’s-- ugh!”

He flew forward as something slammed into his back, the batarang knocked out of his hand. He grunted in pain as

something flew across his face, tasting blood. Before he could get off the ground, a ninja’s foot connected with his ribs as another struck his head. He vision blurred to black, and he felt the tip of a blade against his neck. Blood slowly trickled across his throat.

Ra’s. His vision returned, still blurry, and he saw Ra’s demonic visage grinning above him gleefully.

“This is the end, boy.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Then I’m going after your friends. One. By. One.”

"That... that... bastard!" Drakon was pacing the dank apartment that Hush and himself had used as their base of operations. Hush entered slowly, a bloody mess, and Drakon hesitated for a moment. "Success?"

"No," was the masked man's reply. "Nothing of the sort. And you?"

"Gordon had back up. Thought I could isolate him. Thought I could break every bone in his body before those cops of his found him. I was wrong. And then there was Robin. He's on my list now. I'm going to kill him slow and smooth."

"Gordon was never on your list, Constantine. Think back. Your affairs were corporate in nature. Bruce Wayne is already dead. But what of his CEO? What of Lucius Fox? Remember the original brief. And complete that before adding children to your death-list."

"Lucius Fox," Constantine Drakon repeated slowly. "You're right. I'll kill him. Slit his throat from left to right. You keep me sane, Hush. Thank you." He pulled on his jacket, and checked to see if he had all his knives in place. "What about you? What are you going to do now?"

"Think," said Hush, "I need to think. And decide whether my enemy deserves to live or die."

Batwoman lunged to the side, landing heavily on her shoulder. She glanced up to see Talia rush towards the Wrath, parrying a blow. Batwoman grabbed a batarang from her hip and tossed it with deadly accuracy toward the Wrath. He anticipated her, surprising Talia by grabbing her arm and jerking her to the side. The batarang caught Talia’s side, and she doubled over in pain. Batwoman didn’t take the time to check on her, but while Talia was bent, she tossed another batarang that caught the Wrath’s mask. The Wrath hissed, shoving Talia out of his way and heading toward Barbara. Batwoman scrambled quickly to her feet, taking a few steps back before attempting a kick. The Wrath batted her foot away, responding with a kick of his own. Batwoman twisted to the side, avoiding the brunt of the blow. She ducked low underneath his fist and rolled to the side. A batarang in her hand, she slashed at the Wrath. He screamed in pain, then swung at her side, sending her flying. She took a second to check on Talia.

“Talia!” She called. Talia was on her knees, grabbing her sword.

“I’m fine,” she said, wincing in pain as she stood. She wrenched the edge of the batarang from her side, her face twisted in agony. Batwoman leaped to her feet, reaching Talia’s side. The Wrath came over, furious and in pain.

“Ready?” Batwoman didn’t wait for a reply, she grabbed a batarang, tossing it at the Wrath even as she threw herself forward. The Wrath dodged the batarang she threw, but quickly grabbed another from the ground. He couldn’t avoid Batwoman’s double-fisted blow to his chest, however. Batwoman back-pedalled quickly as the Wrath flew toward her, wielding the sharp metal.

“Now!” She screamed. Talia’s blade drove through the Wrath’s back. The Wrath howled in agony, dropping the batarang to the floor as he collapsed. Batwoman and Talia were still for a moment.

“Is it dead?” Batwoman wondered aloud.

Talia knelt down beside the Wrath and checked him. “I think so,” she said grimly.

Batwoman let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Well, then.” She stopped. “How’s your side?”

“Just fine, no thanks to you,” Talia muttered. She peeled away the fabric around the wound, examining it.

“Let me wrap it up for you,” Batwoman said, heading for the supplies Alfred had left out when nursing Orpheus.

“Thank you, but I think you’ve done enough. I’ll take care of it myself.” Talia grabbed a roll of bandages and disinfectant and crossed the Cave. “You check on the boy,” she ordered.

Batwoman frowned but checked on Orpheus. He was still unconscious, but didn’t seem to be doing any worse. She re-bandaged his wounds, then glanced once more at the empty costume case, wondering…

"Wait--" said Batwoman, as she turned-- The Wrath was climbing to his feet, and his hand was behind his back, fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade shoved through his body. There was a horrific noise as flesh and muscle split, blood pouring from the monstrosity's front and back. "How...?" The Wrath reeled back, and tore off what was left of the cape and cowl, his skull-mask gleaming in what little light there was being projected down onto the Cave floor. "...When will this stop?!"

Mickey Fynn drifted slowly back from unconsciousness. The world was a haze, brought on by the simple fact that he was hooked up to the city's best medical machinery, and filled with it's best painkillers. He lifted up his hand, and tried to focus on how many fingers he was holding.

"You're awake," said a voice he recognised, but couldn't place. "We were beginning to get worried."

"Llllucuiusss," he slurred, "took me a sssecond, Goddd." He tried pulling himself up, and Lucius Fox supported him. "They've stitched you back together, inside and out. Your sober, aren't you? Must be a weird feeling."

"Drop it," said Mickey, the world suddenly clear. "Where's my coat?"

"On the door," said Lucius. "I haven't touched it. Why?"

"Bring it over?"

"Fine." Lucius left the seat beside Mickey's bed, and picked up the coat. He paused for a moment, and felt the weight of it. He shook his head, and handed it to Mickey. "Alfred wanted a familiar face to be here when you woke up. With the others about the city, doing their thing, it turned out that it was my turn. Alfred's headed back to the Manor, your expenses have been covered."

"And the con continues, fantastic," said Mickey, rifling through his pockets. He found what he was looking for, and then leaned back into his pillows. "Thank God."

"What?"

"Lucius Fox." The two of them looked to the door, where Constantine Drakon was cradling the broken face of the police guard that had been behind the door. "You're the last one I have to kill before I feel I can leave Gotham. I'll be back, of course, but that'll be for other reasons."

Bang!

"Whhhh?" Constantine Drakon looked down at the hole in his chest, blood dribbling out, and to Mickey Fynn, who held a smoking gun in shaking hands. "Howww?"

"You're not The Wrath," whispered Fynn, "b-but you'll do? I guess?" Drakon fell to the floor, and Mickey dropped the gun into his bed sheets, his eyes wide. "Oh, God."

Dick saw Ra’s arm move slightly upwards, preparing to drive the blade into his throat. Ra’s screamed and hit the ground three feet away from Batman, the edge of his blade drawing across Dick’s throat. Batman’s hand instinctively grasped his throat.

“Augh!” He screamed. A minute later, he opened his eyes and saw Jason looking at him, concerned.

“Y’okay? Talkin' to yourself?” Jason asked, his foot on Ra’s chest. Ra’s blade was pressed to his own throat.

“Fine.” Dick said. “Just a cut.” Jason gave him an unconvinced glance before turning back to Ra’s. “You could have come a little earlier,” Batman said, as a ninja ran toward Jason. His foot flew and caught the ninja with an audible thump.

“Eh, I thought a big boy like you could handle it,” Jason retorted. “Guess I was wrong.” At the last minute, he removed the sword tip from Ra’s throat, sweeping it in front of an approaching ninja. Blood drenched the ninja’s black clothing from the gash across his chest and arms. “Heads up!”

Dick caught the blade Jason tossed him, backpedaling so that his back was close to Jason’s. Jason knelt and grabbed

Ra’s other blade from his hilt as the Demon’s Head grabbed at it.

“Nice try, moron.” Jason said in a bored tone. He wielded the new blade in front of him, swishing it in the air. “Excellent workmanship,” he approved.

“Only one way to tell for sure,” Dick replied. Another ninja fell back as Dick tried the sword. “Yes,” he agreed. “Seems to be working just fine.” He half-turned, slamming his fist into the side of a ninja.

“Hey, that one was mine!” Jason complained.

“There’s plenty more where that one came from,” Dick said. He grunted as ninja landed a blow. “You’d better hurry. I’m already up to seven.”

“Not fair,” Jason retorted. “I just got here.”

“I wasn’t counting those,” Dick replied, grinning. He heard Jason grunt behind him and saw his foot connect with a ninja’s head out of the corner of his eye. Jason stepped further away from Dick. With one last blow to a ninja, Batman back-flipped, landing behind Jason as a ninja ran at him, dagger poised. The hilt of Dick’s blade came down on the ninja’s shoulder, causing him to lose grip on the dagger. Jason turned and did a roundhouse kick to his attacker's chest, Dick ducking just in time. Rolling to the side, Dick brought his blade around, catching a ninja aiming for Jason’s exposed back.

“That one counts as mine,” Dick complained. Jason grinned, spinning into a kick to a ninja’s head, his back again moving close to Dick’s.

“There’s plenty more where he came from,” Jason replied. “Hckk!”

Dick whirled around, his blade automatically whirling with him. His blade pressed against Ra’s neck as he saw that the Demon’s Head had a small dagger pressed against Jason’s throat.

“Drop the blade, boy.” Dick didn’t move. “Now!” Ra’s commanded. A thin stream of blood appeared at Jason’s throat.

“Just kill him!” Jason yelled. Dick stared at Ra’s for a second, his cold blue eyes locked on Ra’s. Another ninja pressed a blade against the small of Dick’s back. It was too late now.

Ra’s worked to control his fury. “Destroy th-- ugh!”

The sword dropped from his grip. It never hit the floor. Batman’s gloved hand caught it as he leaped away from the ninja’s blade, grabbing Ra’s blade and pressing it to his chest.

“Checkmate… again.” He glanced at Jason, but Jason wasn’t even looking at him.

“Jase…” He stopped.

Jason stepped forward, oblivious to the ninjas around him. “Bruce?” He whispered.

Dick said nothing, but turned back to Ra’s. The villain’s face twisted in rage. “You survived!” He screeched.

Bruce Wayne, once more wearing the cape and cowl of Batman, stepped forward, ignoring the ninjas that backed away as he approached. “Yes.”

Jason was still in shock. “B-- Bruce?”

Bruce ignored him for the time being, focused only on Ra’s. “You’re finished, Ra’s. It’s over. You’ve lost. Order the League to stand down.”

Jason stepped forward, numb. “Bruce, I-- “ Ra’s hand reached out and grabbed the former Redwing’s ankle, yanking him to the ground. Dick instinctively moved the sword to keep Jason from falling on it and felt it get snatched from his hand. A ninja slammed into him and he landed on the ground several feet away. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he looked up and saw Ra’s blade pointed toward Bruce, a few feet above Jason. Bruce had Ra’s other blade in his hand and stood ready as Ra’s grinned demoniacally. Ra’s swung his blade, and Bruce blocked it. Jason was still in shock as the blades crossed over him. Ra’s eyes gleamed madly.

“You survived once-- but you won’t this time! I’ll make sure of it…”

"You couldn't kill me before-- what makes you think this time will be any different?" said Bruce Wayne-- Batman-- a look of sheer determination on his face. "Let's do this."

the final night(Batman #45)

Writers, Alex Vasquez and Charlie WilkinsCover, Nathan Kilburn(From Dec. 9, 2009)

"Welcome home, Detective."

"Ra's," said Batman, flexing his fingers inside his gloves. It felt good. "You're under arrest."

"You're in no position to give orders, Detective," Ra's said, admiring the glint of the moonlight against the cold steel of his sword. "If anything, you should be begging me not to kill you."

Bruce Wayne smiled. Ra's froze. "Begging?"

"Yes, Detective, begging. Begging me not to slaughter here, on the eve of your triumphant return to this decaying husk of a city. Begging me not to slit your thoats, and the throats of the boys and girls you have running about, preaching your work as if it were some grand mission. Yes, Detective. Begging."

"Here's how I see it, Ra's. You're here. I'm here. Both risen from the grave like Rasputin. But here's the thing. You think yourself immortal. Untouchable. But you're grip is failing. The League of Shadows is crumbling all around you. Sleeper cells compromised, Lazarus Pits expunged mysteriously. Resources being cut off, supplies dwindling. This is your last gasp."

"You really believe that?" Ra's shifted his stance, ready to fight. "I could have had your soldiers murdered in their sleep. I know you Bruce Wayne. I taught you everything you know."

Batman's hand shot ot the ground, and before Ra's could strike, metal clashed, and Bruce Wayne and Ra's Al Ghul were face to face, separated only by their two swords. "I know more than that. I travelled the world when I was first able, and I travelled the world this past year. Your influence and training is a drop in the sea that is my ability," Batman kicked Ra's back, but Al Ghul rolled with it, preparing himself once more for another attack. "I've spent the past months destroying you from the inside out."

"And I you and yours," snarled Ra's, driving forward and parrying sword stroke after sword stroke against his rival. "I've had my men in place for months now, breaking down your last line of defence. torturing the Boy there," he motioned to Dick Grayson, whose expression contorted into one of contempt, "making them suffer in your name. Beautiful."

"Brimstone?" said the former-Robin, "he was nothing. You're going down."

"Painfully," spat Jason Todd, as he climbed back to his feet. "Enjoyably."

"You believe that, don't you?" Ra's back was suddenly had by his League, dozens of men wielding weapons capable of cleaving through flesh like a hot knife through butter. "Then fight me. Fight me, and I'll still win. I made a formidable mistake when I last visited this festering wound upon the world. I sided with madmen. Lunatics. This time I'll do away with the taint, strip the city clean, and you'll simply sit back and watch."

Dick looked to Bruce. "What does he mean?"

"He's going to rectify his previous mistakes," replied Bruce, "bombs."

"Bombs," smiled Ra's, "you're catching on. Across the city. I wonder, Detective, can you stop them all?"

Batman's expression didn't shift. "Yes."

The Cave:

Talia cried out as The Wrath kicked her in the gut, sending her sprawling across the cold stone floor of the Cave. Batwoman leaped back to her feet, and batarangs clashed against sword-metal, The Wrath's unrelenting attack driving her to her knees. Talia looked at the combatants, and then around the Cave-- she needed an edge, she needed to end this, but she didn't know, she couldn't think... what could she do?

Talia's eye was caught by a weapon left on the side, ready to be examined-- Orpheus'?-- and grabbed it, checking if it was loaded, and then levelled it on their attacker. The Wrath's head jerked around and his skull-mask seemed to twist

and contort, but Talia had her target-- and she fired the weapon, catching him squarely in the chest and sending him clattering ot the floor.

"Talia," whispered Barbara Gordon, staggering over to the female Al Ghul, "you... you..."

"Saved your life?" gasped Talia, struggling for breath, "You could at least thank me."

"That was the gun is Orpheus', Talia..." said Barbara, as all the while, The Wrath rose from the ground, his cape gathering around him. "It's non-lethal! Look out--!"

Talia brought gun back up but The Wrath barrelled into her with his shoulder, body armour striking her hard and sending her into the back of the display case she'd previously broken into. "--Uuuhnnf!"

Barbara went to defend Al Ghul, but The Wrath grabbed her by the wrist and twisted, her bones screaming, but she kicked up into his face, his mask snapping off and flying into the darkness. The Wrath released his grip and backed off, clutching his face, and holding his curved knife in his spare hand to stop the women from pressing their advantage. Barbara gripped her arm, the pain fading fast as adrenaline continued to rush through her veins, and she could hear his breathing, heavy and laboured, the husky sound of air crawling through lungs plain for all to hear. "Stand down!"

"hhhhhhffffff," whispered The Wrath, turning to face Batwoman, his dagger flitting about in the darkness. "Thhhhhhe wwwwwwwooorrrrrrkkkkk.... neeeevvvverrrrrr..." He reeled his head back, his hood falling off behind him, and Barbara would have screamed as his visage twisted into one of sheer rage and fury, but before he could strike, before he could take that one last step before driving the blade through her chest--

"No more," said a voice.

Batwoman recognised it instantly, but The Wrath had no chance at all to think about it. An explosion engulfed his head, sending him clattering to the ground, nothing but a gaping crimson void above his shoulders. Alfred Pennyworth wiped his brow, and dropped his blunderbuss to the cave floor, then turned to Barbara and Talia, both of them pulling themselves together after the vicious battle came to an end.

"Ugly business," whispered Alfred.

Batwoman's eyes opened wide as she saw the mess that was now red across the ground, and looked back to Pennyworth. "Alfred... you... you killed... you killed him..."

"I did not see any other option," Alfred said quietly, "Barbara... he was going to kill you. If this life was to take another loved one away from me, I could not live..." He looked at the smoking weapon at his feet, and then to Barbara, red-eyed and shaking his head. "I could not sleep soundly knowing he was out there, lurking in the shadows waiting to strike against us. He knew who we were. He took so much from us... I could not live with myself if he hurt you, or Master Timothy... Richard... we have all lost so much already. I would not sleep soundly... nor... nor will I now, I do not think... I..."

Barbara Gordon saw Alfred Pennyworth, at that moment. She saw hold old he looked. How tired. He'd held his head high, this past year, supporting the weight of the world whilst the rest of them soldiered on, mourning in their own ways, whilst he was silent, stoic, there for them. the lines beneath his eyes dug deep and dark, and his face, usually straight and serious, was sullen. She wanted to reach out to him, and hug him, but instead, he turned, and shook his head.

"I shall get a mop."

Gotham City:

"The city will die before morning," said Ra's, as he vanished into the crowd of assassins, "rendered lifeless, ready for nature to reclaim and heal. I won't see you again, Detective."

"What do we do," grunted Jason Todd, eyeing up the ninjas ready to tear him limb from limb.

"We're going to stop Ra's. We're going to the save the city. All before sunrise," replied Bruce, as the three Batmen stood back to back. "I've spent the past year dismantling his operation. I know the materials they use for bombs, and I know they're supplies are low, so I know what they'd use in a situation like this. I also know that the bombs have a specific scent that our suits can track down."

Dick nodded, "I've already started triangulating positions using satellite footage over the city and some Wayne Enterprise ingenuity," he said, "and there are four locations in the city, all with the bomb signature hanging over them."

"Four," repeated Bruce, "three of us, a legion of assassins--"

"I think he said a league," interupted Jason, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"--and Ra's Al Ghul loose in the city. Dick, upload the locations to our suits computers, Jason, you take the closest, Dick, you the furthest-- you're the fastest of us all, and I'll take the other two."

"You up to that?" asked Dick, readying himself for action.

"I live for it," was Bruce's reply. "Now, go--!" The three men surged into the shifting masses of their attackers, and stampeded through them, punches and kicks being thrown as Dick Grayson used their heads as a springboard to head east. Jason kicked a ninja off the roof and glided west, and Bruce fired off a grapnel line over their heads and vanished into the night. The ninjas took a moment, and then separated, splitting off into three groups and following the Batmen.

Meanwhile:

"This ends tonight," said James Gordon, strapping on his bulletproof vest and talking to his men as he went, "this gang war? Whatever this is? It ends. I want hot spots closed off, I want lock up filled with these bastards. The warden at Blackgate will accept an influx of arrests, and Arkham will take the Jokerz. You know your orders, you have your weapons, and you have your badges, so let's get out there, and shut this city down!"

Dick Grayson:

It felt good. He knew that much. He didn't mind taking orders like this. Nearing the end of his tenure as Robin, he'd clash, bristle at being told what to do like that, but Bruce Wayne was back-- and the city needed them. He looked over his shoulder as the assassins leaped after him, and he knew he had to slow them down. His right eye held a satellite photo of the city, and a red fuzz signalled to him where he needed to go-- he was the fastest of them, he knew where he had to be, and the city was a playground to him since he was a boy. He knew the fastest routes-- and Bruce knew that. The closest bomb was in the Narrows-- Jason's back garden-- the master strategist was back, and he hadn't missed a beat.

He grabbed a smoke bomb from his belt and kept running. He needed a plan. He was going, for a split second, ask himself the question that haunted him for years-- What Would Bruce Do? But then smiled. He put that behind him. He knew what he would do. He had been Batman for a year now. Balanced, ever so delicately, the lives of Nightwing, of a Teen Titan, of a Justice Leaguer, of Batman and of Dick Grayson-- why would he ever have ot ask himself that question again? He grabbed a device from his back, and picked up the pace, landed hard on a building and slammed the creation down on the concrete. He then triggered the smoke bombs and activated the device-- then ran. The ninjas swarmed into the pillar of smoke, and when they neared the device, exploded up into the sky. Another one of Ted Kords great inventions, all upward force and no destruction debris to worry the citizens.

Dick Grayson continued running. They'd save the day. Because they had no other choice.

Jason Todd:

He died. Been there, done that. Those were the thoughts rushing through Jason's head as he headbutted a ninja that had got in his way, and watched him careen into the alley below soundlessly. But Jason had done it with a whole lot less finesse, obviously. Try being tortured. Try having your heart restarted time and again, and being told there's no escape. Try that, Batman! And the first thing he does when he comes back is start barking orders. So what? Well. Well. The city needed saving. Bombs everywhere. Things needed defusing, ninjas needed their skulls broken, their faces shattered. The city needed a win.

Jason could do that. He'd fight and he'd fight, because that's what he'd been trained to do. Trained by living rough on the streets without a father to look out for him, trained by Bruce Wayne, and then, trained by death, by the fact that when you're dying every day for how long? How long was it, really? Time blurred and meshed together when he was held captive by The Wrath. Months, of course. Years? Could have been. And then, after that, trained by the men and women that trained Bruce Wayne. He was better than Bruce. Harder. Blunter. He had the ability and he had the wanting to save the city.

Jason Todd grabbed a piece of loose pipe and swung it into the chest of one of his attackers, sending them flying back into their arms of their comrades. He'd save the day. Because he just could. And would.

Gotham City:

Bruce Wayne landed hard, the cape following him down as he plummeted into the alley, and kicked open the door. He darted inside, and slammed it after him, pushing a discarded refrigerator over it to stem the tide of assassins. The first bomb was in here. He rushed through the shadows, and heard the League of Shadows at the door, slicing at the wood and then at the concrete, cutting holes into this building just to get inside and murder the Batman.

The bomb was in the centre of the room. Bruce approached it slowly, but then fell back on his instincts-- and began to unscrew the metal plating. He ignored the sounds outside, until, the wires exposed and the explosives revealed-- he realised that everything was quiet. He defused the bomb instantly, and removed the explosives expertly. He'd trained with the greatest fighters alive, he knew how to kick a man's spleen out of his body, he knew how to kill twelve men with seven punches, but people tended to forget that it wasn't about fighting-- not all the time. He trained with policemen, detectives, bomb squads, anyone who had knowledge for him, who were willing to share.

Ra's Al Ghul made it about the fight. The war. But it was about fighting crime. That's what this was always about.

"One down," said Ra's, levelling his sword at Bruce's throat. "You won't defuse anymore. Two boys running around, Detective, three bombs."

Batman smiled. "It's come to this then, has it? No dam. Nothing ambiguous about our final battle. We're in the city. We're in my home. You want to wreck this place? Split it down the middle to spite me? Then let's do it." Bruce spiralled backwards, and then pulled a hilt from the back of his utility belt. With the press of a button, a blade retracted, and he cracked his neck. "To the end, Ra's."

Gotham City:

The police took to the street, and they fought. A war was running rampant, and they were outnumbered, outgunned, and the gangs of Gun Moll, Flesh-Monger, The Prince of Lies and everyone else caught in the middle knew it. Gordon pushed his men hard. The tide turned, slowly at first. Officers fell in the line of duty. They'd be mourned later, twenty-one gun salutes running through the days after this one, but right now, shots were fired across the city. And then, as the tide turned slowly, change began to come. Slowly became increasingly faster, gang members were shot, arrested, or simply ran. The GCPD thought with a renewed vigour that had held them in good stead time and time again. They didn't know that Batmen were running across the city, fighting to keep the city alive? They didn't know about the Narrows, the East End, they didn't know about the business district or the bomb that waited for them in the basement of

the building next to Gotham Central-- but they knew that they had to fight, and so they did, until... until...

Meanwhile...

The bomb was right in from of him. "Remember," Jason Todd whispered, "remember what he taught you, what you learned... you 're not an idiot...you’re not a failure…" He smacked a ninja in the face, and then threw him out a window, then turned back to the device. "Open up..." he continued, prising a panel off the side, and then side-kicking another ninja in the ribs, sending him through a partition and into another room. "Which wire? Any wire. Could be." He threw the metal panel into an attacker's face, and then threw a batarang into another's shoulder-- "Red wire. Makes sense. Doesn't it?"

Gunfire erupted behind him, and Jason instinctively went low as the ninjas fell to the ground with heavy thuds, their lives gone from inside them. The Dark Knight heaved his head to the side, and saw Hush wielding an assault rifle, the barrel smoking. "Do your job, Batman," the villain said slowly. "No one's going to kill you today."

Jason said nothing, but then turned back to the bomb, all the while Hush fired salvo after salvo of hot lead at the attackers swarming out of the shadows, their bodies littering the warehouse floor.

Elsewhere...

"Blue wire," said Dick Grayson, snipping one of the wires away and watching the countdown come to an end. "Easy."

<Dick,> came a voice on the comm-link, and Dick knelt down to answer.

"What's wrong, J?" In the background, gunfire was apparent to his ears, but it was Jason Todd's voice on the other side "What's going on?"

<Doesn't matter,> Jason Todd cleared his throat, and the sound of fist on flesh rang out in Dick's ear, <Sorry, yeah, what wire are we cutting?>

Gotham City:

Ra's Al Ghul faced Batman on the roof of a building in Gotham, their swords clashing in the darkness of the night. "Do you know where we are, Detective?"

"I'm well aware," replied Bruce, as he was pushed back by Ra's.

"Yes. The sight of where the Joker detonated one of the many bombs that nearly levelled the city all that time ago. And the job started then shall be finished tonight. You won't defuse the final bomb. Your disciples are tied up, and we shall all perish in the blazing light of the cleansing fires unleashed!"

"There's no coming back from this," said Batman, head-butting Ra's, "I've extinguished nearly all your Lazarus Pits. Of course there are many you've kept hidden, but every single base of yours I've infiltrated and destroyed, I learned of more. You're running on fumes, Ra's. Give up."

"Never," snapped Ra's, wiping the blood from his nose, "I could always create more. The alchemical formula is stored safely up here," replied the genocidal maniac, tapping his head, "but I think I'd be quite happy dying here, with you, against my grandest enemy."

"You're a coward," Bruce slammed his sword wielding fist into Ra's nose, furthering the damage already done. "You know your loyal Ubus would trawl through the wreckage of the city if you succeeded, drag your body to the nearest Pit, and resurrect you. You're scared to die, Al Ghul, scared to face the great mystery beyond."

"It's no mystery," Ra's kicked Bruce in the ribs, dislodging one, and then punched him in the sternum, his sword centimetres away from the Dark Knight's face, "I've faced death a thousand times, Detective, and it's nothing but a stepping stone to something else. I know how I survived the fall from that dam. I know because I planned it. I have a contingency for every event. For every defeat, there's a victory. For every death, a life. How did you survive, Detective? Because I know from your eyes that you didn't climb into one of my Lazarus Pits, I know that you've not yet experienced that special form of madness..."

"I survived..." started Batman, disarming Ra's, the first rays of dawn starting to come into being, "...because I had to."

"What? Is that all you're going to say? Is that all you have to say in the face of yet another death? Who do you think you are?" Ra's' question was met with a flurry of punches to the chest, sending him coughing to the ground, clutching his stomach, unable to grab his sword. "I asked you a question, Detective? I survived on my intellect, on my ability to outhink anybody. Who do you think you are? Who?"

"I'm Batman," said Bruce, punching Ra's in the face, and then turning him over to face the dawn. "And I win."

Ra's Al Ghul laughed, blood dribbling to the concrete of the roof. "Win? It's sunrise! Your soldiers are dead! The bomb hasn't been defused! No one could get there in time."

"You forget that where there's a Batman, Ra's, there's also..." He looked over to where Gotham Central was on the skyline, and saw the faint outline of a red, yellow and green teenager, his hand held high, "... a Robin. And you're an idiot if you think I won't use everything in my power to stop you. Can't you see? You lose Ra's. You're under arrest. You're going away."

"The League won't stop," spat Ra's, "they don't know how. I'm the Demon's Head, their uncontested ruler. You can't do anything to stop the hell they'll bring down. The ninja at my disposal are but one weapon in my arsenal. We're so alike, Detective, it's so wonderfully twisted. You have your Robin, your Batmen, your soldiers fighting a child's insane war, and I have righteous fury, my League of Shadows. Gotham will fall, one way or another. Be it through chemical warfare, through the magicks my men wield. You can't win this."

"The League answers to someone in your absence," said a female voice, and Batman turned to see that Talia Al Ghul had arrived on the roof, flanked by two Batmen and a Batwoman. "The Daughter of the Demon-- that would be me." Dick watched Talia step forward-- mere hours ago she'd been a wreck, moving from manic to brusque within seconds, the damage done by her near-murder at the hands of the Joker plain for all to see, but now, confronting her father, as the morning's light began to appear...

"T-Talia?" mumbled Ra's, "you wouldn't--"

"--The mission of the League was never to destroy Gotham, father," interrupted Talia, kneeling beside him, "it was always to protect the Earth. You have seen over dozens of lifetimes the danger man brings to the world, and you sought to save it. I love you, father. I love you with all my heart, but the betrayal of a man you would call your son drove you to depths I never knew it possible for you to reach. Gotham is not your enemy. Bruce is not your enemy. You need to remember that. And if it takes you being... put away for any number of years to realise that, then it is something that needs to come to pass. Besides father, we both know that you can survive any prison they put you in, and conquer it within, what, a year?"

"Know that if you do this to me, Talia, if you do not take my sword right now and drive it through the heart of our dear Detective... you'll be no daughter of mine."

"But I'm not your daughter, am I, Ra's Al Ghul? I'm the daughter of the Demon's Head." Talia smiled morosely, and then turned to Bruce. "Put him away. For however long you can. But Detective, remember... it won't be for long. My father has a tendency to escape, does he not? A trait you both share. Admirable, really."

"Don't compare me to him," replied Bruce.

"I'll do what I wish, Detective--" snapped Talia, "because I'm the one who holds the fate of your city in my hands. Hmm. You have no idea of what you've done today. Or what comes tomorrow, do you?"

Bruce said nothing to Talia. After a long silence, he turned to Dick, and the former-Robin nodded.

"Gotham is off limits to your League, Talia. The people here... they don't deserve to go through anymore of the chaos that your father's madness has unleashed. Can you promise me that?"

"You have my word, Detective... to the best of my ability."

"And that will have to do," said Bruce. He turned to Dick and Barbara, and then down to Ra's. "He's under arrest. Robin's at Gotham Central. Your move, Batman."

Dick said nothing, but smiled none the less. Bruce knelt down beside Ra's and sedated the villain, and then Grayson heaved Al Ghul over his shoulder. "We'll talk at the Cave?"

"Yes," said Bruce. "I think we have to, don't we?"

Grayson, Gordon and Al Ghul vanished over the side of the building, and when Bruce went to speak to Talia, she stepped forward and pressed her body against his, kissing him. She moved back seconds later, and put her fingers to her lips. "Hmm. Brings back memories."

Behind her, the League of Shadow's ninjas began to appear, and Jason growled as they approached. "Where are you going now, Talia?"

"Home." Talia and the assassins vanished on the other side of the building, leaving Jason and Bruce alone.

"I recognise the costume," said Bruce slowly, "we've come a long way, haven't we?"

"Looks like," replied Jason. "What now?"

"That's up to you, Jason," said Bruce. "It's never been up to me, has it?"

Gotham Central:

Batman and Batwoman landed on the roof of Gotham Central, and were met by Robin, who was grinning from ear to ear. "Did we just save the city? Again?"

"Indeed we did, chum," said Batman, turning to Batwoman. "We make a habit of it, after all."

Commissioner Gordon burst onto the rooftop, and looked at the trio of heroes assembled, as well as the villain now dumped on the ground. "Is that...?"

Batman nodded. "Yes. Ra's Al Ghul, ready for processing for the countless murders he committed, as well as the acts of terrorism he's guilty of across the world as well as in Gotham."

"Is that it then? Is that the end of all this?" asked Gordon.

"Yes," said Dick, "and the gangs?"

"We've shut down most of the skirmishes, they've retreated to wherever the bastards go to at the end of the day. It's been a long night. It's only the beginning though, isn't it? We've got four new gangs on the streets, and there's Black Mask as well, isn't there? We've got False-Facers in custody, but they're not his, apparently anymore. What happened to Roman Sionis? And there's the Three Families. They always come back."

"We take every victory as it comes," said Batwoman. "And I'm sure the next year is going to be a long and arduous one, but we'll win. Because at the end of the day we always do."

"Heh," said Gordon, as officers picked up Ra's and headed back downstairs. "Right."

The Cave:

Dick Grayson peeled the costume off his back, and laid it down on the side. The cowl looked strange now. He'd made it his own, after all, and was this the last time he'd have to wear it? He laughed. He didn't care. Either way, he was ready. He'd learned so much the past year, he had so many ideas to incorporate into his own identity of Nightwing. But first, a long shower would be needed, and then... decisions would have to be made. Weird.

Bruce Wayne had returned.

Dick walked slowly out of the changing room, pulling his shirt over his bandaged chests. His body was a criss-cross of dressed wounds, and every movement reminded him of the night that had gone by. He wouldn't forget it for a long time. For reasons other than the wounds he'd gained.

Bruce Wayne was hugging Alfred Pennyworth. It was strange to see Alfred smile. Really smile, not the forced expression that he'd had on his face for the past year to hold the rest of them together. He was always so strong, so solid, it was hard to see him finally relax and let that weight off his shoulders. Tim Drake was standing away from them, talking quietly to Barbara, and Jason was nowhere to be seen. Strange. After all this, where was Bruce's first partner? A question waiting to be answered at a later date.

He cleared his throat, and stepped forward. "Right," he said, as he placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "How we going to explain all this? How are we going to explain how Bruce Wayne is alive, when we all killed him so damn efficiently?"