It was a hard time in Gotham, especially for the police force. A new class of criminal had driven the mob into hiding, and the Gotham Police Force was slowly losing control of the city. The police had no idea who was in charge of the criminal underworld anymore, and were relying more and more on The Batman. The news was full of stories, wondering who The Batman was and showing how well he was cleaning up the streets, but I knew better. My dad Richard Drake was a long time detective with the GPD and he would have known better than to believe that the appearance of one vigilante was going to erase years of crime and filth.

Being a police officer ran in the Drake family, my father continuing a long line of officers protecting the city of Gotham. The general public appreciating a masked vigilante, a coward more interested in the fame of being a crime fighter than protecting the common people, more than the men and women that had been on the force for years was heartbreaking.

My father did everything he could to prepare me for the GPD early on in my life, teaching me the physical and mental skills that would help me excel as an officer, or a detective if I should ever hope to be so lucky. I had been out on stakeouts for years with my father, allowing me to learn observation skills that some young officers hadn't picked up on yet. It was unfortunate luck however that I grew up in a time when women were a rare sight on the force. I finished my degree and applied for the police academy, but even my father's string pulling couldn't help me get a spot in the school. In a string of continuous bad luck, my father's heart finally gave out after years of criminal induced stress, and I found myself alone in the heart of Gotham's underworld.

I already had the detective experience of someone who had years on the force, so I decided to open up my own private investigation agency. I ran the agency out of my small apartment in Old Gotham. Rent there was cheap, and because of my proximity to Crime Alley I got quite a bit of business. I had dark one room apartment above a florist. I had a desk, a bed and my own private entrance from an alley that seemed to appeal to the kind of clientele I had coming through.

My first cases were to trail adulterers and wealthy teenagers who came into the city at night from Brentwood Academy to party in the Old Gotham dive bars. Not exactly what I had in mind when I was sitting in my father's patrol car all of those nights when I was young. I watched the city dissolve into darkness, and I wasn't doing anything to stop it, so I started pursuing separate cases to make myself feel better about my life choices, like the bank robberies.

Someone was targeting all of the mob banks, and I wanted to know who and why they would choose the most dangerous banks in town. The mob had control of the majority of the money Gotham City, which meant they had some of the most well protected banks in the city. Electrified vault doors, silent alarms that had invisible triggers, tellers who were always packing heat and definitely weren't afraid to shoot to kill.

The weirdest part about the robberies, were the henchmen that were found at the scene, dead in front of vaults, in front of tellers, on the roof. But never shot from the front, shot from the back. I hadn't seen it for myself, so I needed to find my way into the bank for one of these robberies. There was only one bank that they hadn't hit yet, and were averaging a bank a day. I figured today was my best shot. It was a sunny day in Gotham City and I decided to spend the day, sitting downtown in the financial district waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen.

I sat for a long time on a park bench outside of the bank. Normally my red hair would make me stand out in a crowd, but on stakeouts I had gotten into the habit of pulling on a blonde wig and a baseball cap. I pulled out a newspaper and casually sipped on my coffee, anticipating a rather long day.

The guys pulling off these heists weren't necessarily afraid to hit the banks in the middle of the day, so I wasn't expecting to be sitting around until the middle of the night. I spent the majority of the morning doing the crossword in my newspaper and scanning the articles for typographical errors. I picked up the free rental guides that were offered next to the city park benches and looked at all of the apartments I couldn't afford on my meager salary.

People passed me by all afternoon, and at one point a man tossed a couple of coins into the empty coffee cup that had been sitting next to me for the majority of the day. I looked down at my ripped jeans and wondered how out of place I probably looked sitting on a bench only a block away from Wayne Towers.

Finally after hours of waiting, I heard glass shattering. I stood up slowly and looked around carefully. I walked slowly to the recycling bin and threw away the newspaper that I had been reading, and scanned the skyline. I saw two men zip lining from a higher building, onto the roof of the bank. I took that as my cue to head into the bank and make a couple of transactions. I pulled the couple of coins out of the coffee cup, shoving them into my pocket, placing the empty cup on top of the garbage can.

It was moments like this when I wondered how I could see things like this, and the rest of Gotham was walking around with their heads down. How do you miss two men zip lining onto your bank?

I stood in line quietly, waiting for the mayhem to begin. It was a typical mob building, with the interior looking like it wasn't affected by the depression at all. High elegant ceilings with pillars made of marble holding the building up, yet the rest of the city was crumbling. The iron bars protecting the tellers were somehow still aesthetically pleasing, yet insanely threatening. The offices in the back were made of glass, which provided the bank with a modern edge, but also allowed managers to see everything that was happening out on the floor. I knew the men sitting in the back of the bank were leaders in the mob, some of Maroni's men. I also knew that while the glass made for a beautiful interior, it was also bulletproof, adding to the security that kept the drug money in Gotham safe. The sunlight was shining in through the high windows in the old building, illuminating the bank. It was a beautiful day in Gotham, and even while in the bank I could feel the sunlight warming my arm as I anxiously awaited the men that would presumably leave with bags full of cash.

I finally heard the explosion, and watched as all of the bank patrons hit the floor obediently, "Obviously, we don't you doing anything with your hands other than hold on for dear life," one of the henchmen said as he lined up the hostages. I slowly crouched and maneuvered my way closer to the bank manager's office, watching as the man pulled a sawed off shot gun out from under his desk. I knew that he wasn't going to go down without a fight, which furthered my confusion. How do they keep getting out of these banks in one piece?

That was when the bus crashed through the door, and everything made sense. It was the middle of the afternoon, meaning that they were hoping to stall enough time so that they could be leave in time for the after school bus rush. I looked up at the man in the office once more and saw him stalking out of his office with his shotgun. I knew that the alarms had been set and the police would be here soon, so it became a goal of mine to stall the operation for as long as I could, preferably without getting shot.

My father had taught me a couple of tricks when he was alive, so I had a few moves up my belt. I crept over to the bus, taking advantage of the cover I was being provided by the mob boss who had opened fire on the men hopping out of the bus. I was able to get up behind one of the robbers, and swing my leg around tripping him. That was when I noticed the masks. Creepy clown masks that looked like the colour was quickly fading, with the eyes cut out and the lips turned down in a frown, which elongated the chin to create a haunting face shape.

"You got some balls lady, lucky I'm getting shot at," he mumbled as he scurried back to his co-worker. The mob boss had run out of bullets and I was too shaken up by the masks to attempt anything further. I hadn't found anything out, I hadn't solved anything and I was too scared to get any closer. I stayed put and closed my eyes, wishing I knew more about what was going on, wishing I were a better investigator, wishing that I were more like my father. I could hear the duffel bags full of money hitting the ground as they carried them out of the vault. It was then that I heard the ring of an Uzi, and the all to familiar sound of a body hitting the hard marble floor.

I closed my eyes tight and my ears started to ring. I couldn't stop thinking about how much of a coward I was, how I was never cut out for police work. How I should've just stayed out on that park bench, never should've come to downtown Gotham City. I brought my legs into my body, and wrapped my arms around them. I pressed my face into my knees, and just wished that I could pull the wig and the hat off right now.

I heard the mob boss hollering at the henchmen as they prepared to leave the bank. I looked up for a moment only to see one of the henchmen pull off his mask, "…simply makes you stranger," I only caught the tail end of what he had said, but I quickly buried my face back in my knees. I closed my eyes, but I could still see his face. It was almost as if he didn't need the mask, because he had painted his face the same colours as his mask, his scars that had cut his mouth into a permanent smile.

I heard the bus pull away, and the smell of smoke filled up the bank. I heard laughter starting to well up within the building. I tried to drag myself up off the ground, covering my face with the baseball cap. Two hands reached under my arms and pulled me to my feet. I took off at a run out of the building, following the other survivors, filing out of the hole in the wall. A few laughing slowly as they fell to their knees out on the sidewalk. I looked in both directions, trying to see if I could spot the bus, but I didn't even know which way it could have gone.

It was my last lead and I wasn't even brave enough to keep my eyes open, "Dinah Drake?"

I turned slowly, spotting James Gordon, another detective who worked with my father. I shook my head and slowly started walking away from the scene, when I heard his footsteps quicken, "Dinah, I know it's you," he said as he chased after me, "Why are you always where the trouble is thickest?"

"Detective Gordon, I was just investigating the bank robberies," I said finally turning around to answer the detective. He looked like my father, with his thick mustache and the thick-rimmed glasses. His jacket was always undone, just like my father's was, with his badge exposed as well as his gun. His voice as inquisitive, and since he had a daughter my age he often found it his responsibility to make sure that I wasn't getting myself into any trouble.

"You shouldn't be here," he said with a grimace. He walked toward the hole in the bank wall and motioned for me to follow him. I smiled to myself and hurried after him. Knowing a detective kind of afforded me a few privileges, especially when it came to my investigations. I often got away with a lot more than the average person. He walked past the body of the henchman who was left behind, and covered his mouth and nose with his arm to keep the gas from filling his lungs. Paramedics were pulling the people afflicted by the gas out of the building and trying to pump the oxygen back into their bodies.

Gordon continued past the offices and into the vault that had been blown open. The room was empty, aside from a few bills that were left on a rolling cart, "They left the marked bills," Gordon mumbled, which to me indicated that this was probably some sort of inside job. I wondered whom inside the mob would be trying to steal their own money, but then thought that perhaps they thought their money wasn't safe in their own banks anymore.

I stayed quiet and let Gordon look around the vault, like I used to do with my father when I was younger. He stood with his arms folded looking at the bills, deep in thought. I could tell that Gordon wasn't sure what he should do next, and I felt the same way, "They had clown masks on," I said suddenly.

Gordon nodded and continued to look down at the bills, "Always," he said quietly. I realized that it was a stupid statement, considering one of the henchmen was lying dead out in the bank lobby complete with his mask. I felt like I had failed, I felt like I hadn't done enough to move my own investigation forward, and was desperate to help the actual police force out, but I just didn't have any information. I shook my head and shoved my hands into my pockets, waiting for Gordon to say something, or anything.

"Well, except one. He just had a clown face… and scars," I said quickly. Gordon looked up and shook his head again.

"Him again," Gordon mumbled.

"Who?" I said quickly. I heard a woman's voice from inside the bank, probably Ramirez, clearing out the lobby. I heard slow footsteps enter the vault. I looked up quickly and saw the familiar black outfit from the front page of the Gotham Times. His cowl looked more menacing in real life, and his armor looked heavier. His jaw was a perfect square line, and was clenched hard as he stalked into the room. I wondered for a short moment how he could fight being held down by all of the extra weight that came with his costume. I wondered for a short moment why criminals and villains alike didn't just grab his cape and pull him backward. But then I realized as he stepped into the vault, that he was much larger than I ever could have imagined, and dwarfed me in size.

I looked back at Gordon and saw him nod; I hurried past the Batman and back out into the lobby. I stood close enough to the vault door to over hear part of their conversation, but not enough to make sense of what they were planning. I knew that the Batman had provided Gordon with the marked bills and that they were going to use them to pin charges on the drug lords and smaller crooks to try and whittle down the crime in Gotham.

I saw the Batman disappear quickly. I pulled my hat down over my eyes as he passed by me, hoping that he wouldn't look into my eyes. It's not like I had anything to hide in terms of criminal behavior, but sometimes as a P.I. you tend to look a little bit unsavory.

I always had my suspicions about who was behind the mask, but I couldn't ever be sure. I figured they had to be around my age, maybe older, but not much older because they'd need to be physically fit enough to do all of the stunts that Batman pulls off on a nightly basis. I figured that the cost of being Batman would be pretty high, so he'd need to be someone that had a lot of disposable income, or perhaps an entire industry named after him? I never wanted to jump to conclusions, but the man behind the cowl was another one of my many ongoing investigations. I only ever had about three or four people in mind. All of whom I had sat next to at a Gotham Police dinner function or two.

I remembered one of the boys Marcus Hull, son of Mayor David Hull; he was a very tall boy. He played for the Gotham Blades for a short while, so he was physically fit enough to be Batman. I remember he was the face of Gotham's biggest commercial gym for a while, until he partied his way out of the league. I had also thought about Bruce Wayne, but after his mysterious seven-year disappearance and then his playboy antics as soon as he got back, I almost had him ruled out, but what kept him in the running was the fact that Wayne Industries could probably manufacture anything that his little heart desired.

I had met both of them briefly as a child at a charity gala. Marcus was rather boisterous as a teenager, always surrounded by people who wanted to speak with him, or shadowing his father at functions. He was outgoing and never shy, but definitely not the kind of guy I could see caring about whether or not justice was being served in Gotham City.

I had always felt a little bit of sympathy for Bruce. Thomas and Martha were killed when he was so young, and they were such a blessing to the city. I understood that even at a very young age, watching the city grind to a halt to mourn the death of the Wayne family. Truthfully, I could see Bruce fighting the scum of the criminal underworld night after night, because he had this quiet reserved personality that had a general lust for justice. He was a playful kid, but he was always so grown up. But Bruce as a grown up didn't seem to fit the mold. It was almost like he grew out of the need for justice and equality, and was more concerned about stock prices and pretty girls.

I walked back into the vault and found the detective where I had left him, "He always just kind of disappears," Gordon said to me as I reentered the room, "How'd you get down here, the bike?"

"Yeah right, like I'd bring that downtown. I took the subway," I said rolling my eyes. The bike was too loud; everyone knew it was mine because I was the only girl in Gotham on a bike that big. I bought it shortly after my dad died, he always had an affinity for bikes, but it was probably my friend Ted Grant that spurred that fascination along.

"I'll give you a ride home, mostly to make sure you end up there," Gordon said firmly. I nodded and followed him back out to his cruiser.