The city was cold and dark. Forgotten by many, feared by most, respected by few. Once a shimmering focal point, it was now rotten and dying. In Old Gotham, where the city's rot began, a shrouded figure crouches on a roof adjacent the suspected hideout of the mob's newest boss - Vincent Valeri. Just two blocks east of crime alley, where he was born from the blood of his parents, the Batman watches and waits. He has spent many nights here, studying the pattern of Valeri's men, learning the schedule of events and planning his entrance.
Valeri had chosen the Dellton building. Once housing a bustling cotton market, it was now rented warehouse space that few clients occupied due to its location. The Batman suspected that Valeri was producing meth in this warehouse, as the mob had taken to managing many of Old Gotham's drug rings. A dealer on the upper west side told him, while dangling over the river, that Valeri's men did the cooking and distributing. While it was true that the mob owned some of the men in Gotham's police department responsible for this area, Commissioner Jim Gordon did not agree with the Batman's theory. Tonight, he would prove it.
A light rain that began some two days before continued to fall, making everything smell of filth and decay. The Batman crouched on the roof of the Watson building, huddled near the chimney, as water pooled on the bottom section of his cape. He could feel the chill of the night in his bones, but his body remained solid and coiled. Eyes concealed with white contacts narrowed on the alleyway door below that two men guarded. In moments, a third man would emerge from the door as the shifts changed. At that moment, the Batman would strike.
On cue, the door swung open. A burly squat of a man emerged, making conversation with the guards. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and popped one into the corner of his mouth. As he attempted to light it beneath the cover of his opposite hand, the Batman rose to a standing position. Reaching into a pocket of his belt with his right hand, he produced three small ball bearings. Reaching into a different pocket with his left, he produced a smoke pellet. Packed with a compressed powder, the pellet would produce a small explosion and a brief cloud of fog when dropped. As the men exchanged conversation, he threw the bearings in his right hand with a flick of the wrist. In the alley below, the two small street lamps went dark as the bulbs shattered.
The Batman could hear guns being retrieved and cocked. He could see the men whirling and searching the area. A smile formed on the corner of his lips. With a flick of his left hand, the smoke pellet struck the wall just above the door where the men were standing and POPPED. The men whirled, one of them fired his gun. A fog descended.
The Batman leapt from his perch, creating a parachute with his cape, and dropped to the center of the alley. There he crouched, low, as the men turned on their heels and pointed their weapons into the darkness. One of them yelled "Who's there? Huh? Who is it?" The other two breathed heavily. The Batman's smile returned. Three men. Three guns. One of them had a knife in his waistband. The one with the cigarette was big and strong. He would be dangerous.
One of the men ventured into the fog, waving his gun wildly. It was not the one with the knife. That one was too cautious. He would be the last. This one shouted obscenities and spoke of the Batman's mother. That made him angry.
When the man was close enough, the Batman rose into a standing position. The fog must've begun to clear, because the man swung his gun in the Batman's direction. The Batman took one step, tilted his body to the right, grabbed the man's gun hand with his left, and twisted it until the cracking of his ulna caused him to drop the gun. The man whimpered and through a wild punch. The Batman caught it, pulled the man forward and broke his jaw with an elbow placed just below the man's ear. The man fell, still conscious, until a fist to the right eye put him to sleep.
The Batman returned to a crouch, retrieved the gun and unloaded it. The other two men were nervous now, spreading out and searching the clearing fog with their guns. Reaching to the rear of his belt, The Batman produced two small bat-shaped throwing disks. The points were razor sharp. In a whirl that took a split second, the Batman stood and threw the two disks in such a way that each one struck one of the men. The man on the right dropped his gun. That was the big man. The Batman leapt in that direction first. The man heard him and landed a blow to Batman's midsection. Pain exploded their despite the clenching of his abdominal muscles, but the Batman had no time for pain. He ducked to miss the following punch, hooked the man's arm, shifted into position behind him, and put a knee into his kidneys. The man went down on one knee, yelping. The Batman placed his might in a chop to the man's trapezius, then once he was on the ground, buried his heel in the man's eye socket. Two down, one to go.
The Batman unloaded the big man's gun. The third man had pulled the batarang from his arm and thrown it away. He was moving erratically, terrified and alone. The Batman used what little of the fog remained to get behind the man. When the time was right, he hooked one arm around the man's neck, chopped the gun arm and pulled the knife from his waistband. As the man flailed with the one free arm, the Batman tossed the knife away and spun the man into the opposite wall. The impact was not great, but it was enough to startle him. The Batman only needed a second. He placed one punch to the gut, one to the jaw, then a roundhouse that caught the slumping man and sent him reeling the other direction.
Once the man was down, the doorway was free. Twisting his neck to work out the kinks, the Batman draped himself in the cape, and pushed the door open with his toe. On the other side, in the darkness, he heard the familiar clicking of guns being loaded and aimed. Lots of guns.