The Bank of Gotham cast a long shadow in the moon light. It was heading into early morning and the moon had reached its zenith and was now making its fall towards the horizon.

Standing at the base of the building were a group of Jokerz, those that sought to emulate the dead Clown Prince of Crime. They were dressed in an array of overtly colored velvet suits, their faces painted to look like jesters that haunted children's nightmares. They were out in force tonight, to initiate new members into their gang and the gaudy outfits were adorned by weapons, both archaic and new aged.

James Callister was the initiate for this group. There were only 10 of them for this job. The rest of the gang had broken up into similar groups and were running their own pranks for the night. Each group wondering if the Bat would swoop down on them. It was all part of the initiation, finding out who had what it took to be a Joker.

The thrill of being caught was just an added high to their already addled minds.

That was the cause of James' tremors, the shake to his fingers and the jelly-like quality to his knees. He wasn't afraid, not of a simple bank job, and certainly not of the cops. The leader of the gang, the one who had started to organize the rabble, had already paid off a number of on duty cops. They'd turn a blind eye to tonight's activities for a share of the rewards.

It was the moving shadows, that caused his heart to trip heavily in his chest. The Bat could be anywhere, and, it was said, you wouldn't know where he was until he fell upon you.

Terry McGinnis sat perched on the edge of one of the finer high rise walls, the boots of the batsuit keeping him perfectly affixed to the brick. He had hoped for an early night, seeing as tomorrow was his graduation day from Gotham University, but the Jokerz had become a much more effective team over the last year and had him hoping from one end of a Gotham to the other.

He was going to be utterly slagged for his graduation. He'd yet to get a suite for the ceremony so there was little possibility that he'd be able to sleep in tomorrow, despite the fact that it was set for the evening.

Wayne had considered giving him a light evening, a quick patrol tomorrow night. That was before the graduating class had come to him, having learned he worked for Bruce Wayne as his personal assistant, begging him to talk his employer into speaking at the graduation. The gnarled and resounding 'no!' had faded into a reluctant acceptance, faster than Terry would have anticipated.

If it had been anyone else, Terry would have considered that Wayne was getting soft in his old age. But Wayne didn't soften, he curdled.

There had to be some ulterior motive, but Terry was too tired and too happy to get his way to ponder what that motive was. Besides, Wayne was probably another five steps ahead of him.

"Bank of Gotham," the old man's voice interrupted his reverie.

He gritted his teeth and fired his rockets, opening his red lined wings as he went, soaring through the air. "At least they're closer this time. What's up, Bruce? They aren't usually this active in one night."

"Any irregularities?"

If there were don't you think I'd mention them? Terry groused mentally. After six years as Batman, he'd thought the old man would have known he wasn't a rookie any longer. "Besides the frequency? No. There are only a few unfamiliar faces and they're about as stupid looking as ever."

Wayne fell silent until Terry was nearly at the bank. "Keep an eye out."

He spotted the clowns just as they were bashing the door open. "Get the Commish and her people over here," he ordered before swooping down to tackle the closest Joker.

The headset went dead and Terry allowed himself a grin. Bruce hated that Terry occasionally beat him to the punch like this. He never said anything and that's how Terry knew. The old man hid all his true feelings under the mask of his constant ire. His silence was always the most telling.

As much as Bruce drove him to the edge of sanity sometimes, he also probably understood the old man better then anyone. What was the old saying, you had to walk in a person's shoes to truly know them. He supposed wearing the suit of a hero was just about the same thing.

Not that Wayne would ever cease to be inscrutable.

Gotham would become sunshine capital of the world before that happened.

Terry spun and lashed out with his heal, catching one Joker in the chin and sending him flying into another. Another, with his eyes and lips darkened with coal, lashed out with a chain, the end wrapping snugly around Terry's wrist. The Tomorrow Knight looked down at the chain and then back at Joker with a baleful glare that sent shivers down the criminal's spine.

"Wrong move, dreg," Batman growled and yanked on the chain, pulling the Joker forward. Terry's fist tightened and he sent an upper cut into the Joker's stomach, knocking the air from the scum.

Batman, now in control of the Joker's chain, swung it like a cowboy in the old western movies that he'd been surprised to see in Wayne's video collection. He sent the chain out and caught three Jokerz in its hold and quickly bound them up. Two, he'd already brought to unconsciousness fairly quickly.

That meant five left to go.

His receiver kicked back with a burst of energy. "McGinnis?"

"Yeah," he answered, dunking a bunch.

"Barbara's on her way. You think you can hold them off until then?" Wayne's voice was slightly mocking, holding a humor only the old man would understand.

"Did the Penguin swim," Terry shot back. He leapt over a charging Joker. "Wait, I don't know if that's historically accurate. Only you'd know that."

He could just imagine Wayne, his hands folded before him and glaring at the vidscreen. "You're losing your focus, McGinnis."

To prove the old man wrong, Terry threw his fist backwards and clocked a Joker who thought he'd be clever and sneak up behind him. "You were saying?"

There was a grunt of acknowledgment.

From the roof of a nearby building, another shadow of the night watched the battle the Batman waged against crime. He observed, he learned, he discovered. He'd done so all evening long, as he'd sent out the Jokerz to test Batman's skill.

The reborn creature of the night had performed well. He was bringing each gang down one at a time with efficiency, but Penumbra saw the differences as if they'd been spelled in bright, bold letters over the black batsuit. Batman was fatiguing.

Not much, but just barely discernable to Penumbra's watchful eye. It only proved what Penumbra had guessed before this little exercise; that Batman would have to be destroyed personally by him.

But not until he had more information.

Tomorrow the tests would resume.