This is set shortly after The Dark Knight and contains major spoilers for the movie, so if you haven't seen it, I'm warning you to turn back now. Other than that I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Batman related.

Preface

Steam rose from the hot streets of Gotham city, the aftermath of a recent downpour that had soaked the city from the roof of Wayne Tower down to the smallest of dark alleys. But the sun was now asserting itself from behind the clouds and the sound of two children's footsteps could be heard as they raced down the wet street. A petite black haired boy was in hot pursuit of a slightly older looking brunette boy. The black haired boy was already huffing and puffing, but he pumped his arms for an extra burst of speed and flung himself on the older boy's back. As the pair tumbled haphazardly to the hard ground, the younger of the two managed to pin back the arms of his companion. Effectively subduing the other boy despite his struggles, the black haired child snarled, "I've got you this time. You're not getting away now. I'm taking you to Arkham Asylum where you belong."

The older boy sighed and tried in vain to break free of his bonds. Admitting defeat, he made one final plea; "You've got to let me go. They'll eat my alive in there."

The younger boy showed no mercy as he pretended to slap cuffs on his friend. Smirking, he said, "The Gotham Police does not make exceptions. Not even for someone of your stature." And with that he grinned wildly, dropping his character for a moment, "Just admit, Cam, I won."

The boy that was trapped under him smiled back and answered, "Fine, Dave, you win this time." The young boy who was now identified as Dave whooped and pounded a fist in the air. Cam, still face down on the ground shrugged the small black haired boy off his back and rolled over. After stretching all of his limbs he grinned mischievously and asked, "You want to play again?"

The younger boy jumped to his feet instantly. He helped his friend up and beamed at him. Taking the look on his face as an answer, Cameron said, "Alright, let's go then."

He rubbed his hands together, ready for the next pursuit. Just as he was about to take his head-start, he saw a look on his friend's face. The boy walked tentatively toward him and asked expectantly, "Hey, Cam…Do you think maybe I could be Batman this time?"

A dark look came over the older boy's face, and he bent down so he was face to face with the smaller boy. "You know, I'm not sure if you're up to it yet. You just don't have that evil streak in you."

Dave pouted at Cam and puffed out his chest, "I'm mean enough, I swear." He pointed a finger at his friend and feigned shooting him; "BAM BAM! See? I shot you."

Clutching his chest dramatically, the older boy rolled his eyes and said, "I just don't believe it kid, sorry. Besides, you're not tall enough. Now, you know the rules: Batman gets a minute to run and hide before Commissioner Gordon comes after him. So, close your eyes and count to sixty."

The small boy did as he was told and shouted into the darkness with bravado, "I'm gonna getcha again, Batman, just wait." But there was only silence in return. His Dark Knight had disappeared somewhere already, prepared for the hunt of his life.

Chapter 1: Pondering

Bruce Wayne sat on the ground floor of his newly reconstructed mansion, staring pensively through the expansive windows that covered the entire wall of his living room. The view of Gotham that these windows provided would have taken anyone's breath away, but he appeared unfazed. Of course, Bruce had other things on his mind.

He had just returned from another trying night in his new life as Gotham's most infamous criminal. The newspapers had eaten the story up; after all, it made a great headline, overpowering the news of the capture of the Joker. MASKED VIGILANTE BATMAN TURNS AGAINST HIS DEFENDER, HARVEY DENT…5 DEAD IN BATMAN'S KILLING SPREE…CONNECTION FOUND BETWEEN THE BATMAN MURDERS…The last headline was the one that worried Bruce the most. It had been discovered that all of the murder victims of that fateful night were related to the kidnapping and murder of Rachel Dawes. The mere thought of Rachel being connected with him, with Batman, made Bruce sick to his stomach, especially now that Batman was considered a highly dangerous killer. Bruce pressed his fingers to his temple as he thought about a recent press conference that his once ally Commissioner Gordon had held.

It was about three days after Harvey Dent's murder was discovered and a tenacious reporter had just pieced together the connection between the five seemingly random murders that Batman was alleged to have committed. A sea of reporters squirmed in their seats, waiting for Gordon to begin his speech. He stepped up to the podium confidently; he'd been giving a lot of speeches in the past few days. Clearing his throat with tentative authority, he said, "I've called you all here to day to talk about the recent connection that was found regarding the Batman Murders. The deceased were all in some way involved in the kidnapping and murder of one of the Joker's victims, Rachel Dawes. Now, I'm sure that you all must be wondering why Batman was so enraged by Rachel's death that he would go to the extreme of murder to seek his vengeance. Well, I'm here to speak as someone who knew…or thought I knew, the Batman."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as the Commissioner mentioned his prior affiliation with the masked lunatic. He continued despite the uneasiness in the room, "The man that I encountered was wild, reckless, and impulsive. He also had a healthy sized ego. When he was unable to save both Rachel and Harvey Dent after they were kidnapped and rigged with explosives, I can only imagined that this flipped some sort of switch in his already unbalanced mind and sent him into a downward spiral that lead him to these revenge killings. We may never know the true reason Batman did what he did. But he has shown us his true colors and I will hunt him down and uncover the truth." The crowd broke into applause. As if Bruce didn't have enough to worry about.

The sound of Alfred's voice behind him caused Bruce to start. He spun around quickly, his reflexes still keen from the previous night of pursuit. Seeing his old but sturdy butler, Alfred, with his knuckles white on the breakfast tray he was holding, Bruce slowly relaxed. His outburst was surprising even to him, but he slowly smoothed his face over, putting on a false sense of composure for Alfred's sake. The only thing Alfred hated more than seeing Bruce hurt from the criminals he put away was the results of the senseless game that he had been playing with the Gotham Police for the past few weeks.

Before Alfred could admonish him for the worn look on his face and the dark purple bags under his eyes that looked like they had been permanently fixed there with a hammer, Bruce asked, "What did you just say Alfred?"

Alfred's face came as close to a sneer as it ever could when he heard the total lack of inflection in Bruce's voice, but answered his question nonetheless, "I just asked when you think that this madness is going to stop."

Feigning innocence, Bruce simply gave his butler an inquisitive look, "What madness? I've never seen Gotham look so restful," he gestured widely to the window he had just been gazing out of, "most of the mob is in search for new henchmen thanks to Harvey Dent's cunning if short-lived prosecution, the Joker is behind bars, and…they have someone new to hate. You know how Gotham loves variety in its felons." His words dripped with sarcasm, but he was too tired to hide it.

Alfred shook his head silently in response and place the breakfast tray down on an end table next to where Bruce was sitting. It appeared as if he might leave the room without further comment, however after three strides, he stopped. With his back still turned to Bruce, he addressed him, "Master Wayne, Gotham does not need someone new to hate," the venom with which he spat the last word shocked Bruce and he turned intently to wait for him to continue, "Gotham needs a hero." He began to walk again and as if to quench the protests that were rising to Bruce's lips he spoke once more, "Preferably one that is alive." With that, he was gone.

Bruce felt like his thoughts were on fire. The crease in his forehead grew more defined as he thought about what had just happened. Alfred put up with a lot, but seeing and hearing constant anti-Batman propaganda was too much for him. Bruce hated what this was doing to his friend, who did not see the necessity of it. How easy would it be to just tell the world who their precious Harvey Dent really was? How exulted would he be once Gotham realized that he was actually the good guy?

He laughed bitterly in his head. Batman had never been the good guy, even when he had a moral code, even when he was putting away psychopaths. People had been glad for his presence, but he doubted any of them would actually want to meet him in a dark alley. Or on a normal street, for that matter. So, Bruce should be used to this, playing the part of the villain. The problem was, even after two and a half weeks, he still wasn't. All he had ever wanted to do was to help, to inspire. He had accomplished the latter, though the inspiration he brought about was corrupt and twisted. And now he couldn't even do the first.

There was no way to help when everyone thought you were a cold-blooded killer. He supposed that if he were actually capable, he could kill the scum that still remained on Gotham's streets. The problem was that he wasn't capable. It was hard enough to stop himself from murder when he represented something good, now that he was accused of it anyway, it was ten times harder. He was still a better man than that, though, and he kept himself in check. He had to remember that no matter how much time he spent as Batman, he would have to return to this body, to this life as Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne could not live as a murderer.

It was getting harder to separate himself from the man he became each night. Sometimes, when he was running (or flying) at night, he felt that Batman was his true self. Batman did everything that he couldn't as a man with no anonymity. Batman was where his instincts took control, where he could think and then do. In truth, his life as Bruce Wayne bored him slightly. He had never been great with money, and the women he romanced were nothing compared with what he lost…His thought pattern faltered as a jab of pain invaded his mind and he turned his attention toward another train of thought.

Alfred was different. He refused to think of Batman as a person. He was no longer a whim of "Master Wayne", but in Alfred's mind, it was still Bruce that went out there every night and risked his life. That was why it was so hard for him to see Bruce continue with what seemed like no purpose now. Bruce could understand what he was feeling, but Batman was so much a part of him, he could hardly think of something that would take him away from that. The one thing, one person, who could've was gone now; the only whispering memory that told him of a time when wanted a normal life.

As his thoughts raced, he felt his eyes fluttering closed and he thought vaguely about when the last time he'd slept had been. It wasn't yesterday, there had been a fundraiser he had to attend and he had felt the need to visit Wayne Enterprises to remind everyone there that he did, in fact, care what went on there. So, it must have been the day before that when he slept last. Suddenly, the chair underneath him was the most comfortable thing in the world. He fell asleep with a glass of orange juice still held in his hand.

The few people that were walking down 43rd street in Gotham at the same time as Edward had stopped dead in their tracks. A curious puzzle, but it was one that was easily solved. All one had to do was follow their line of sight to see the trigger behind their paralysis. Even in the dim light of dusk, the lime green coat he was wearing seemed like a beacon in the middle of the street. He walked with a loping gate down the street, though his long, bouncing strides did nothing to unseat the bowler hat that was seated on top of his head. He seemed unaware of the stares that followed him down the street or that they were centered on the giant question mark that commanded the shirt under his coat. Instead, he appeared to be lost in thought, his eyes searching the sky for the answer to some question no one was aware of. Then, his demeanor changed, and a smile lit up his face for a split second. With that, his strides became quicker as he headed for his destination. The Riddler had a message to deliver.

Thanks for reading! I'm new to this fandom, so if I get any facts wrong just let me know (though I am going to be taking some liberties to make characters fit into Christopher Nolan's universe). I should have a new chapter up soon.