Batman: Dark Hours, a batman fanfic

PROLOGUE

The man left behind a wave of dust and granite as he vanished.

Bruce Wayne stared at the spot where the man had been just moments before. He could feel his heart thumping against his ribs. Absently, he ran his hands over the wound on his side, virtually feeling the blood that was seeping out in spite of the temporary bandage he had made for himself. The bandage was good enough to slightly staunch the blood flow.

But for how long?

He couldn't find an answer to that question. He ran through the sequence of events in his head, trying not to miss out any details. Flashes of armed men, gunshots, and explosions…Alfred…They took him.

His heart beat a little faster. It was determined to remind him how little time he had, to do what was necessary. I'm sorry, Alfred. He had never apologised to the good old man for dragging him into the life he had chosen for himself. And after tonight, it might be too late.

Holding his injured side, Bruce walked gingerly to his console. His footsteps pounded against the rock and echoed around the cave. The sound of the waterfall at the entrance was loud. But it wasn't loud enough to silence his thoughts. As he reached his console, the computer screen before him was still analysing his data. Pulling in old files, hacking into the GCPD server…trying to find answers to at least some of his questions.

Bruce pressed a combination of keys on the keypad and heard motors whirring on the other side of his console, closer to the wall. A neat square section of the ground slid off, and a slightly dusty glass panel rose up from underneath.

Inside was the dress he hadn't worn in several years.

Bruce walked to it, running everything through his brain again and again, praying he hadn't missed any detail. He looked down at his hand, clutching the piece of paper that was vital to everything. He read it once more, making sure his guess was accurate.

From across the cave, the computer beeped. It had cross referenced the details and had found a couple of matches. But he didn't bother to check them. He could even access them from his car.

Instead, he took a deep breath. Fighting back his anxieties, he began donning the cape and cowl before him. He had a lot of work to do.

…But he had just a few hours to live.

"Drive faster, Sergeant"

James Gordon barked at the cop in the driver's seat. The vehicle shot up a bit more, leaving a small trail of smoke behind, as it raced up behind the Semitrailer. The latter was moving at a speed that was unusual for its size. It zigzagged like a giant millipede, its exposed carriers dripping precariously towards the edge with each swerve. The police cars behind it were finding it difficult to keep up the chase, afraid they might be swindled by the large automobile.

Jim Gordon spoke into his transceiver, "Shoot at the tires. Don't let them get away."

He heard the shots. It's Cavin. The new kid was always trigger happy, jumping at the first opportunity to shoot someone or something. Even worse…he missed a lot. Like right now. The Semi trailer just bounced off, picking up pace, rambling at as much speed as its weight would allow it. And then a head popped out from the side window of the trailer. There was a gun in his hand and almost instantly Gordon heard shots. Bullets ricocheted off the police cars. Before he could do anything, his own windshield was shattered by the bullets.

"Shit! Cut left, Sergeant" he barked at his driver and his car turned left along the smaller alley. "We'll take them through the Swanson's avenue."

He switched on his transceiver again, "I'm gonna take em from the Swanson's. Lieutenant Mason, take your unit down the Winston road and go through the subway. We'll catch those bastards before they even scratch their heads.."

His transceiver crackled. "Copy that, Commissioner".

Many of the cars turned right, leaving just two of them at the Semi Trailer's tail. The two cars were driving very carefully, trying to avoid the shots as much as they can. The Semitrailer was still racing ahead, never braking at any of the civilian cars along its path. The cars mounted the curb or some flew off as the drivers drove desperately to get out of the way of the trailer. One of the men inside was still firing shots in all direction like an amateur, trying to scare off the cars chasing behind them.

Gordon's car sped along the deserted alley. It was almost midnight and there was zero traffic. Thank God for that, Gordon thought. The Sergeant at the wheel hit the gas, and the buildings raced past them. They turned onto the Swanson's avenue, moving at an immense speed, almost at the vehicle's maximum. They saw the Semitrailer straight ahead at the intersection, ready to go down the underground highway.

"GO! Go! Go!" Gordon barked, shoving his head out the window and taking aim. He fired three shots at their tires…and he missed. Goddamn it. They were headed straight for the semitrailer, the tyres screeching along the gravel.

Abruptly, the lights went out. At the intersection, the subway and the Swanson's avenue. And then, in the darkness, Gordon saw something that made his heart skip a beat!

No, it can't be!

"Robbie, give me the goddamn gun!"

Rob turned his head from the window. "Come on! Let me have some fun, boss!"

Kirk Russell grabbed his shirt and pulled him back into his seat, grabbing the gun from his hands. "Fun? You're shooting like a Punk at a couple of goddamn professional cops!"

He shoved him aside and put his head out the window. The trailer jerked and raced, making it hard to position his aim. The wind whipping at his face made Kirk blink too much. Yet, his hands were steady. "Take these, bitches!"

He shot at the cars, pulling on the trigger with everything he got, holding his hands steady. He hit some of them. One of the police cars went berserk and mounted the curb. He had hit the driver. There goes one! He found it disturbing that many of the cop cars had fallen back.

And then he realised why.

He turned to the driver. "They're trying to circle us, Max. Hit the gas and get us to the underground fast as possible."

Max was swigging a bottle of whiskey just as he pressed the accelerator hard and sped along the highway, humming a tune to himself. Kirk could see that the underground was just half a mile away. It'd be too hard to chase a semitrailer down there. If they could make it, they'd get past these cops easily. And then the money part… All those gold in those crates, they were worth at least ten million dollars. He would get one million of those, that was the deal.

The underground zoomed towards them. "Come on, sweety! Come on!" Kirk muttered under his breath, holding his hand steady on his gun. WHAM! He heard a shot just as they crossed the Swanson's. And racing along the avenue was another Cop car. The fucking big one, GCPD commissioner!

Kirk took aim again and began firing shots. "Uhhh…you can't stop me, Gordon", he screamed out into the air. The semitrailer was just a few yards away from the Underground.

Robbie gasped.

"What?"

"There are a couple of cars coming down the Winston too, boss."

He turned to the other window and peeked out. Several cop cars were racing down the Winston road. Some of the cops were already taking aim at the Semitrailer from out their window. Kirk swore under his breath. "Get us down that underground now, Max. Do it fucking now".

That's when the lights went out. Everywhere around them. Damn! The Underground, the intersection, everywhere he turned.

"What the hell is happening?!"

No one replied. Kirk's blood was boiling. "Keep going, Max. Don't fucking stop".

Max was staring at the road, squinting ahead at the road ahead illuminated by the headlights. "There's something ahead, Boss!"

Kirk squinted too. Robbie joined him. There was something on the road…something black…

Once he saw it, a shiver ran down Kirk's spine and the hair on his neck stood up.

Max slammed down on the brakes hard, bringing the vehicle to a halt. The object on the road vroomed. And then it began to move, slowly, like a Panther ready to pounce on its prey. As it slowly left the Underground, the moonlight shone upon the vehicle. There was no mistaking it. It was the vehicle that hadn't been seen in Gotham for quite a few years. It belonged to the one person Kirk was so afraid of meeting.

The Batmobile, Kirk thought, wiping the sweat off his brow. Tell me, it's not him.

Their split second hesitation was all the police needed. The Semitrailer was surrounded by cops. He heard shouts of "Get down. Hands behind your heads!" Kirk nodded at Robbie and Max, still sweating. They slowly got down. Gordon was at the frontline, holding a revolver at them.

"Don't try anything stupid. We'll blow your brains to the goddamn heavens," he barked at them.

Kirk was still looking around, shaking as much as his accomplices. His hands behind his head were trembling as he was forced down to his knees. They cuffed his hands and dragged him to the nearest cop car.

For 4 fucking years, Kirk thought as he was pushed into the seat, surrounded by Police officers.

Gordon stared at the Batmobile as his fellow cops were busy ushering the robbers into a car. Some others were already working on securing the goods on the Semitrailer. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Is it a ploy? Many fanatic civilians, inspired by the Batman, kept trying to recreate some of his signature methods. It had happened a lot over the four years. Fake decoy "Batmans" caught trespassing over private properties…Bat symbols painted over the walls of the Mayor's office and many other Government Buildings…This could probably be added to the list.

His eyes noticed something. Beside him, a shadow. A flash of recognition made him smile.

"Lieutenant Mason, take those goods and the robbers to the MCU. I…I have some business to attend to."

"Right away, sir".

The men all began clamouring away. Gordon lit a cigarette, adjusted his glasses and turned around.

There he was, almost hidden from sight in the shadows of the nearby building. When Gordon turned to face him, he moved into light, his cape flowing behind him with the cool night wind. The moonlight glinted on his armour.. Do I call it an armour, Gordon wondered… And his mask shone a bit of grey upon catching the moonlight. It was a sight that was calming and intimidating at the same time. Gordon searched his face (or what was visible behind the mask) for a smile of recognition.

There was none. Does this guy ever smile?

Gordon took a puff of his cigarette. "So, you've decided to show up again after 4 years, huh?"

The reply was an abrupt one (yet Gordon was relieved to hear his growly voice). "I need your help."

"My help?" Gordon exhaled the smoke. "It's the other way around. Things are going downhill these days. There was a mass break- "

"-Breakout at the Black gate prison and at Arkham," The Batman interrupted. "I know."

Gordon nodded, puffing again on his cigarette. Smoking has always calmed him down. Sometimes, way too much. He wanted to ask him a lot of questions. He's been gone for four goddamn years. Yet something about seeing him again made Gordon feel peaceful, like he had someone to share the burden of the city with. He absently watched all the cop cars in the distance, driving away with the robbers and the goods.

He turned to the Batman again. "What help do you need from me?"

For a second, Gordon thought he sensed a bit of unease in the man before him. Then, he replied "I'm about to die in a few hours and Gotham is in severe danger."

Gordon's heart stopped beating for a second and felt like the ground had left his feet. He drew too much smoke in and coughed out, "uh..you WHAT?!"

"I have been poisoned." The Batman shook his head. "I don't have time to explain. Do what I say."

He began walking towards his Batmobile. Gordon hurried to catch up with him. "What? I don't understand. You're…You're dying..what-what is happening ?"

But he was already climbing into his vehicle. "Dispatch police squads to the orphanages in the city and keep a watch on the Gotham transports, road, rail and sea. Tell them to evacuate the civilians and monitor suspicious activity." He switched the vehicle on. "And switch on the Batsignal."

Gordon couldn't process most of what he said. But he nodded and uttered the only word he could. "Wh-why?"

"For backup". The hood of the vehicle slipped on to cover The Batman.

And with no hesitation or delay, the Bat mobile began speeding off into the night.

Bruce stared at the screen displaying data. He accelerated the Batmobile, mentally processing the information. A lot had happened in the past several hours that his mind was buzzing with information. Alfred…armed men…the message…the poison…backup…Gotham. He tried to calm himself as he turned into an alleyway. His heart was banging against his ribs, so determined to cover as much beats as possible before the end.

I'm going to die. He had not given way to that thought till now. Somehow, it made him feel peaceful than afraid. Like he had been waiting for this all along. Ever since that night in the dark alley 20 years ago!

No, I mustn't think of that now. He needed to be strong. The odds were too high and even the slightest hint of weakness on his part would crash down everything he had built over the past several years.

He revved up the engine as the Batmobile sped up another highway, moving towards a location he wasn't really sure about. He concentrated on the screen again and pressed a button.

GCPD

Curtis "machine gun" Nicholson

Convict no: GC19743

Date of Arrest: 24.3.2018

(Currently serving a 7 year sentence at Upstate Prison)

Last recorded dealings (236 results):

Dr. Ebenezer Darrk - 3 weeks before apprehension

Vincent Bates - 1 month before apprehension

Slade Wilson - 2 months before apprehension

Floyd Lawton - 2 months before apprehension

Anatoli Knyazev - 4 months before apprehension

Next Back

Curtis was the most notorious weapons dealer in Gotham, the only one who had access to all powerful military grade weapons. Just like the ones these men had. The ones who had attacked him. Bruce had decided to pursue this trail of information, plainly because he had to start somewhere. He looked at the list and frowned. Although, he wanted to look at some more names, his gut instinct told him it had to be related to one of these.

He turned the vehicle onto 7th Avenue, taking a deep breath. Deadshot and Anatoli were hired assassins. They worked alone and never formed teams, especially with skilled professionals like the ones who had attacked him. Plus, according to the Police reports, they were still safely secured in the Blackgate prison, despite the breakout. It can't be them. The remaining were Darrk, some Vincent Bates and Deathstroke. Could the league of assasins be behind this? It was a possibility that he didn't want to reject. Yet, something else was bothering him.

He knows who I am.

The guy who had sent the professionals after him knew who he was. He wasn't after Batman. He was after Bruce Wayne. The thought was disturbing. He felt lonely. It wasn't new, loneliness was a part of him. Yet, this time, it felt different. It felt like it was ready to consume him.

But he shouldn't let it happen. Several lives depended on him. One mistake and he would lose everything that meant a lot to him. Gotham! Alfred!

Gritting his teeth, he accelerated towards his destination.

The television flashed a breaking news all over Gotham, Metropolis, Central City and other nearby areas...

A live recording of the view above Gotham city. A bright light in the clouds, with a shadow inside it. The shadow of a bat. The caption beneath it read:

Batsignal over Gotham! Batman returns?

Bruce Wayne stood before the building. It looked as gloomy and dark as the sky above it. The moonlight that danced on its side made it look even more sinister. His eyes took in every tiny detail about the building, like they were trained to. Nothing feels different. He lowered his eyes and it fell on the golden plaque that decorated the entrance. Gotham Museum.

Is it the right place? It had to be. But he needed to make sure it was. He held the piece of paper in his hand again and glanced down at it. The only message his nemesis had left him.

Hello there, Bruce.

Before the dawn breaks, you are going to be dead. So, why don't we play a game till then? I just want to test your abilities to make sure you are still the same Batman I know.

Here we go! Make your way to where a waxy John Copeland greets Barclay Coppock. If you manage to go through this level, head to the place in Gotham where life and death converge. I'll meet you there with your dear butler. Please hurry! There is very little time for you, for your butler as well as Gotham. Because before you die, I'll make sure you witness the city crumble before your eyes …I'll the future 'Bruce Waynes' ...mass deaths and panic everywhere you travel.

Gotham will be in utter chaos. It will succumb and this time, Batman and his old butler will succumb along with it, wallowing in their guilt and suffering.

Good luck,

A well wisher.

A shiver ran down Bruce's spine as he read it. Someone mad was behind this. Someone who wasn't as mad as The Joker but mad enough to sound as manipulative. He felt like this man knew him too well. He knew what he cared for the most and was hitting him where it would hurt the most. I have to find him. Over the years, several criminals had developed a personal vendetta against him. Some had wanted to kill him so they could go about their business without Batman in their way. Some wanted to kill him just so they could portray themselves as "The Batman Killer" to the public. Some wanted to send a message that Batman wasn't the "symbol of hope" as people hailed him to be. There were just two exceptions to these cases: The Joker and this guy. The Joker was more about chaos and fun. He took pleasure in hurting Batman and in trying to "expose" him.

This guy, he wanted something else. And I don't know what.

He read the first few lines of the paper once again. Make your way to where a waxy John Copeland meets Barclay Coppock. It had to be the museum. This was where two waxy statues of John Copeland and Barclay Coppock, antislavery activists, existed. They were kept in close proximity to each other. Plus, the expressions on each statue gave people an amusing illusion of the two activists 'greeting each other'.

I am at the right place!

Slowly, Bruce moved into the museum. He felt his wound at the side gnawing at him. But he paid no heed to it. He reached the doors and found them, ironically open. He frowned and stepped inside, searching every corner of the entrance hall. The lights were on, shining bright upon the information plaques about various exhibits of the museum. Just then, he heard a crackle as the loudspeaker began talking.

"Welcome, Batman!"

I know that voice, Bruce thought. Yet he couldn't place it. "Who's that?" he growled, at no one in particular.

The loudspeaker boomed as the raspy voice spoke again. "Oh we can catch up. I'm waiting near the Copeland-Coppock exhibit. Now, hurry, will you? I hear you have very little time left." It was followed by a chilling laugh.

He began making his way towards the exhibits, looking everywhere, mentally calculating the risks involved. At that moment, realisation dawned on Bruce Wayne. He remembered that laugh. He remembered it very well. Garfield Lynns, Bruce thought. The Firefly.

A special effects expert and a pyromaniac, The firefly was a notorious criminal. Having been almost burned alive due to fire at Ace chemicals industry, he had developed an unhealthy obsession with fire and enjoyed pleasure in arson. Bruce remembered the times when he came face to face with him. There had been explosions and flame throwers everywhere. I must be ready for them now, he thought as he slithered in the direction of the exhibits, going through a pair of doors.

And there it was. Wax statues of Copeland and Coppock. Bruce rushed to the spot just as the doors behind him closed automatically. He turned to realise what was happening when he heard a voice in the other end of the room. "You know, you really mustn't rush into things."

Bruce turned and spotted him. Draped in his fire resistant suit and mask, the firefly looked just as he remembered. Sinister, eerie and maniacal. His curvy wings were folded behind his suit and their edges could be seen over his shoulder. A wide belt ran around his waist and held a lot of grenades in place. Another tight garment wove around his torso, connecting with the flamethrower he carried in his hands. His sleek suit resembled much of Batman's, except with a touch of fiery red to it.

As Bruce stared at him, he heard his cold, raspy voice again. "I've been waiting for this moment. I saw the signs in the flames. They told me I would be getting my chance to singe your body parts till they wither away.."

So, he's become a pyromancer now, Bruce sighed to himself. This day just keeps surprising me.

"Now is not the time, firefly", He growled at him. "Tell me who this guy is and I'll let you go."

He got a shrill cackle for an answer. "You'll let me go? What arrogance…! And the price for arrogance is.." He pressed a button on his belt.

The Copeland-Coppock wax figures exploded in fiery fumes and Bruce was thrown off balance. He hit the wall and slid to the ground, groaning. A blinding pain shot through his back and his ribs as he struggled to get up. He felt his wound bleed more beneath his suit and bandages, and gasped. I need to finish this one fast!

But Firefly was already upon him, throwing a wide array of punches and kicks. They were all amateurish, desperately focused on gaining physical advantage over the fallen opponent. Bruce was all too familiar with them, and he parried most of the blows. He was on his feet in an instant and swung his leg around to catch Firefly in his ribs. The kick found its mark and there was a bang of boot on bone. The Firefly groaned and backed off…

Snarling at Batman, he lit up his flamethrower..

The small dark room was covered with vines, twining their way all over the floor and twisting over the grills on the only window available. Pots of plants were cramped into the room and occupied a majority of the space. It was easy to observe that they were arranged such that every plant had their fair share of light during the day. Right now, they were all bathed in the moonlight.

The caretaker of those plants and vines was sitting among them, in the smallest place available for a human being. It was as if she cared more about the plants than herself. Even her appearance conveyed the same point. Her unkempt reddish hair fell till her shoulders, as she sat with hands around her knees, glancing out the window at the moon. The pretty face and drooping lips conveyed a sense of madness within a calm soul. Her brown eyes were so melancholic that they seemed to be longing for something that was lost long back.

There was someone else in the room, someone who wasn't as comfortable with all the plants and vines around the room.

"Pamela, isn't it?" he asked her.

There was no reply.

"I need your help." He continued, without waiting for a reply. "My friend needs your help."

The brown eyes turned to stare at him and for a second he could sense the storm underneath those sensual pupils. The madness that had wrecked her life and had turned her into who she was. Yet, the man stood unperturbed under her stare.

He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes."He knows what you want. He knows who you really are, deep inside." Slowly, he put his hand inside his suit and pulled out a vial, filled with blood. "Help him and this will be your redemption. He has powerful friends and he vouches for your safety."

She just stared.

"Trust me, please. You can start fresh, Pamela Isley. You can put all of this behind you and start a life where you may not have to hurt anyone anymore."

She slowly stood up.

Bruce Wayne dived behind the nearby statue and within an instant, John Brown exploded and caught fire. The statue tipped backward and almost fell on him, but he had already slid out from underneath. The fizz of the flamethrower echoed around the room. Everywhere Bruce ran, the flame thrower was showering fire on his tail. Him and his fire toys, Bruce thought to himself as he sprung out from his hiding place and shot himself upward, right into his opponent's sternum.

Firefly had barely turned the flame thrower at his direction when Batman caught him with a shoulder tackle and they both were rolling on the museum floor. Utilising the surprise, Bruce caught his arm and twisted it upwards, trying to loosen his grip on the weapon. But he couldn't hold his hold on the arm long enough…as Firefly's knee caught him right in his wound.

Bruce moaned in pain and let go of his arm. The flamethrower was upon him the very next moment, fizzing fire. Bruce barely dived out from underneath the stream of fire and rolled on the floor.

"You can't escape me, Batman", he snarled as he showered fire everywhere he turned. Bruce kept diving behind statues, and each one of them exploded in fire…the wax ones melted…I need cover, Bruce thought bitterly, rummaging in his belt. He found what he was looking for and flung them at the lights.

The Batarangs knocked out the lights and the room was enveloped in complete darkness. The fire shower stalled as Firefly hesitated, unable to see where Batman was. Bruce was already moving stealthily around his past hiding place. The darkness cloaked him completely. And he plunged at his nemesis, locking his arms and neck in a rear naked choke. Firefly could barely move and he started choking. With his arms locked, he couldn't reach for his flamethrower.

"Tell me who he is," Bruce roared in his ears, holding his grip on his neck and arms. "Tell me who it is or I'll break your limbs."

The firefly was coughing. "I'm… going to defeat you Batman...the flames… never lie."

"Neither do I".

He twisted his arm upward and heard a crunch. His opponent screamed out in pain, in his shrill burnt out voice. Bruce let go of his broken arm and firefly staggered, holding his arm at a close angle, still coughing.

"Tell me now, firefly."

The criminal made a bizarre movement. For a second, Bruce didn't see it coming. And then he saw the round ball roll toward him, lit with glowing lights. Shit, he thought as he brought out his grapple gun in a flash and fired a shot. The rope shot out towards one of the racks near the ceiling. Just as he began hauling himself up, the grenade exploded.

The explosion rocked the entire floor. Glasses from nearby cabinets and the glass doors shattered in the impact. Bruce was enveloped in a huge column of fire that made him cough in the smoke. He slowly rose out of the fire…towards the ceiling and hauled himself over the rack. He groaned and turned.

His cape was on fire. Patting it down with his hands, he observed himself for a second. Thanks to his suit, he didn't suffer major burns. Some parts of his suit were singed but they were still good enough to go. But his wound on the side stung him badly. He noticed that he was starting to feel hazy and light headed.

I'm losing a lot of blood. I need to get this over with.

He turned his attention back to his opponent below. The darkness made it a bit difficult to see him. Yet, Bruce located him, whimpering and holding his hand as he backed off from the grenade fire. He knelt down between two pillars and rubbed his arm that was bent at an awkward angle. Bruce slid his hand inside his belt and pulled out two golf ball shaped Bat Bombs. He switched them on and threw them at the two pillars. His other hand was ready with the grapple gun.

Firefly was quick enough to notice the Bat-bombs and scurried away, whimpering in his raspy voice, just as the two pillars exploded in a shower of marble and stone. Instantly, Bruce was flying through the air, his grapple gun in hand and its rope latched onto the ceiling. With a wide turn through the smoke and rubble, he swooped towards Firefly.

With a wham, he collided with him and lifted him off his feet, smashing him on the wall beside. Firefly swore in pain. They slid to the ground together and staggered back to their feet.

"I'll kill …KILL YOU" His nemesis screamed and charged.

But he was no match for Bruce. He met a flurry of kicks and punches that sent him flying back to the wall he just crashed into. Batman watched him struggle and pulled out his Bat-cuffs, ready to finish this.

"It's over, Lynns."

"No, it isn't." Firefly spat back. "Fire won't kill me…but they'll kill you." In his desperation, Firefly pulled out two grenades, turned them on and threw them all over the floor. Before any of them could even move, they exploded.

Bruce was lifted off his feet and felt himself flying through the air, surrounded by flames, smoke and dust. His body smashed into a man sized glass cabinet exhibit and the cabinet titled towards the floor, crashing with him inside. Bruce groaned and turned, trying to get out of the cabinet. He landed on the floor and looked around him. The entire room was on fire. His own cape was on fire and many parts of his suit were blackened and singed with smoke. Bruce staggered to his feet, patting off the flames. His head was spinning. He stumbled through the fire and chaos, coughing through the smoke.

And He found him. Firefly was on the floor on other side of the room. He had collided head-on with a pillar and had been knocked out completely. Coughing and tripping, Batman carried the unconscious man and lumbered through the fire and smoke, feeling the heat all over his body. He stepped over the rubble and almost lost his grip on the man in his arms. Hoisting him up on the shoulders, he dove out of the room and into the hall, clear of the flames.

Screeches of sirens could be heard clearly as Fire-engines were pulling up outside the museum.

Bruce put the man down on the floor and cuffed his arms. Just in case.

And he fled the scene before anyone could spot him.

Minutes later, he was on his Batmobile, speeding off into the night. His grip on the wheel was slipping as his vision blurred a bit. The minor burns in his suit and his body gnawed at his flesh. His chin was blackened with soot.

More than all that, he could feel his blood seeping into his suit past his bandages. The fight and the fire at the museum had triggered too much adrenaline which had in turn increased his blood flow. He was bleeding harder than ever. Shaking his head, he just thought to himself. I'm coming, Alfred.

As for Gotham… I know them more than they know themselves. They'll come.

The Batmobile accelerated.

Alfred Pennyworth was drifting in and out of consciousness. He barely registered the details of the room he was kept in, except it was mostly dark and had a faint smell of alcohol and cement. He opened his eyes a bit more and faintly noticed the oil drums in the corner. Some wires lead out of it and.. God! They are rigged to blow!

The sight suddenly made him feel awake. He felt confused and dazed. The back side of his head hurt a lot and he felt like he had a minor concussion. And then it came rushing back. The blow he had received to the back of his head. Absently, he tried to touch his head and then realised his hands were tied behind the back of the chair he was sitting on.

He slowly thought back to what had happened. Everything was so dazed and felt like trying to hold water with bare hands. The details trickled out of his hand, the harder he tried to hold them, the faster they trickled.

But there were also some parts he remembered vividly.

The day had started normally and he remembered little about what happened during most of the day. By dusk, things changed. He had just finished communicating with Master Wayne about the abnormalities in financial data of the Wayne Enterprises, when he had heard the explosion. He had staggered out into the living room to find at least two dozen armed men marching into the house…

And then..? He couldn't remember. But soon enough, they had bound him up and somehow overpowered Master Wayne. How they had managed to overpower him was another detail he couldn't remember.

They had shot Master Wayne below his ribs and..had talked of some…poison. He had no recollection of what happened after that.

And now, I'm here, he thought bitterly. His thoughts were drifting and he found himself brooding over Bruce. The kid who he had taken care of. The kid who had grown up to become someone far better than his father Thomas Wayne had been. He's been poisoned? Is he going to die?

Alfred blinked back his tears. No, he won't. Master Wayne is a survivor. That was who he was. After his parents, after Rachel, after Harvey Dent, after Bane… Bruce always kept going. Never once had he succumbed to the abyss.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened.

A man in a sweatshirt and pants entered. The pants looked like the sort they wear in the military drills. Tall, weather-beaten and well built, the man had a matted brown hair and an unshaven beard, with dark circles under his eyes. At one careful look, it could be understood that this man had been through a lot recently. His black eyes seemed to reflect an unfillable void in his life. Yet as the man walked towards Alfred, he sensed a bit of euphoria in him. Like he had achieved the one thing he was living for.

"Comfortable, ?" He asked in a deep cold voice.

Alfred stared back at him, with no reply.

"Don't worry. I'm not a mad guy who tortures people. Torture is only reserved for your dear Master."

"Why?" Alfred found him stuttering a bit, with fury. "Wh-why him? What do you want?"

At the question, the man walked to the window that Alfred hadn't noticed before. And then he answered. "Your master took something valuable from me. Now, I'm just paying him back in his coin."

"By poisoning him?"

He smirked. "No, by taking away what is most valuable to him. Gotham and you."

Alfred's heart was rattling beneath his ribs. He wanted to throttle him. He's destroying Bruce, piece by piece. But fighting back his fury, he asked, "What have you done? What did he take from you?"

The man didn't answer. He just kept staring out the window.

The screen beeped. Bruce looked at it while taking a turn. The details of , Bates and Deathstroke were blinking on the screen. It ranged from their personal details to their last known sightings. Vincent Bates had been a CIA agent and had worked in close association with the Marines. He had retired from his job several years ago due to the death of his wife.

Bruce was finding it difficult to focus. He blinked and scrolled through Darkk and Slade Wilson's details, already knowing them beforehand. And then he saw something that startled him. The museum..the place where life and death converges…God! It all fits!

He was almost shaking with the excitement and fury. I know who he is. He pushed the Batmobile to its maximum speed.

But then, he noticed that his hands were going numb. So were his legs. He found it difficult to steer and his vision was blurring. Breathing with difficulty, he brought the Batmobile to a stop. The suffocation inside the vehicle was terrible. I need fresh air. He pressed a button with trembling hands and felt the hood slip off. Getting down to the road, he staggered and collapsed. Every breath he took in was painful. Coughing and gasping, he tried to get back up and walk, but couldn't.

Bruce lay down on his back and stared at the cloudy sky above, his vision slowly blacking out. He felt a few drops fall on him. It's raining, he thought. He knew death was near. Somehow, he felt oddly at peace. After all, deep down, he had been waiting for this moment for several years, since that night in the alley. Mom! Dad! He was going to meet them again. The thought made him smile.

And, he thought of Alfred. I've failed you, Alfred. I've failed Gotham. That was his last thought.

His hands slipped down from his body and fell to the floor…

It began to rain harder on him.

The Gotham City Orphanage, was a historical landmark in Gotham city. It was first started by Bruce Wayne's grandfather. For all these decades, it had served as the home for hundreds of orphans in Gotham city. Thomas Wayne and after him, Bruce Wayne had managed to fund it enough to keep every orphan safe and comfortable. The kids were all like family. Once they reached fifteen years of age, they were allowed to go out into the world and set up a life for themselves. It was one of the most peaceful places in Gotham city where scum and villainy had never penetrated.

But today they had.

At least ten men with loaded rifles infiltrated the orphanage. The police were already there to evacuate the children under the orders of the commissioner. The ensuing gunfight, however, resulted in a victory to the militants. The children were dragged out of the orphanage into the streets. Their screams and cries brought many of the civilians out of their homes. Most of them just stood and watched with horror, while some others tried to help and got shot at for good measure. The children were bound and gagged with brute force. The ones that tried to escape were grabbed and thrown like a rag doll back into the group.

The militants were headed by a shirtless bald man with a torso full of cuts and scars. It was rumoured that he made a cut to himself every time he killed someone. And there were at least a hundred scars on his body. He smiled toothlessly and watched with sadistic pleasure as the children were bound together on the streets. His hands were busy loading his gun.

People called him Victor Zsasz.

The elevated rail system that snaked its way through major sectors of Gotham city also passed through the central point of the city, the Wayne Tower. Several cop cars had pulled up beneath the Wayne tower. Under the orders of Commissioner Gordon, the cops had been asked to stop all the major trains for the next few hours due to emergency reasons. Flights have already been cancelled. Per the order of the mayor, a curfew had been inflicted upon the streets to prevent civilians from travelling by road.

Lieutenant Chris Mason was in charge of the task. The last few hours had been pretty chaotic and weird for him. Several cops had been discharged towards banks and orphanages throughout the city. Many had been sent for Airports, some to ensure curfew. Almost every cop in the GCPD were busy. Never had he seen such an emergency situation in Gotham ever since he joined the force a few months back.

It all started with the mass breakout, he thought bitterly.

He had already talked to the control room atop the Wayne tower. The last train was about to arrive at the Wayne tower in some fifteen minutes. Once it had arrived, they would shut down the entire rail system. And so he stood, beneath the tower, with his unit of twelve cops.

He was not at all ready for what happened next.

WHAM!

Something heavy dropped down to the road ahead of them, with a resounding crash that cracked the earth. The sound of it rivalled a huge explosion. Many of his own men lost their balance and fell down, as the ground shook with the impact. Mason was thrown against his car. Glasses of the vehicles and nearby buildings were shattered. Smoke and dust enveloped the region of the crash.

One his men shouted. "Jesus! Is that a fucking meteor?"

Mason looked at him sternly and he shut his mouth. But he couldn't blame the man. His own body was shivering from the shock. His heart was hammering. He wiped the sweat off his trembling hands and squinted into the smoke. He saw a form walking towards them through the smoke. Something big…something…like a man. Yet he heard the sound of metal as the figure walked on.

Who the hell is that?

The smoke cleared and they had a clear view.

It seemed like a cyborg. Almost nine feet tall and as thick as a gorilla, the body was enveloped of a weird rare metal that Mason had never seen before. The face was made of metal too, but was shaped in the form of a distorted human skull. It looked like someone with a sadistic sense of humour had decided to create a metallic model of a human being.

But the most chilling part of the metallic man walking before him, was the chest.

The central part of the metallic armour had a deep crevice. Within that deep crevice was a rock that emitted a greenish glow. The glow emanated like some sort of radiation from the metal man. And it vibrated every time the metal man made a move, like it was the heart that powered him.

Somewhere in his mind, Mason knew what the green stone was.

The figure kept walking towards them, its skull-like face warping into some kind of a smile. The hair on the back of Mason's neck stood up, watching the horrifying sight before him.

He just looked at his men and screamed. "FIRE!"

The sound of gunfire rented the air as every one of the cops began firing every weapon they had at the metallic figure walking towards them. Bullets screeched against the metal. After sometime, the cops stopped their fire. None of their bullets had caused an effect. There wasn't even a dent on the metal.

The figure charged at them and within minutes, the entire cop squadron was uprooted, limb to limb. With his last breath, Mason managed to get the news to Gordon before he was ripped into half.

Miles away, Gordon was at the airport securing the place, as he listened to the news being relayed to him from the other police units. He was wiping the sweat off his bro. It's happening. He warned me and I couldn't stop it.

He looked up at the Bat signal over the clouds. Backup? Where is the goddamn backup?

Another thought entered his mind, something more terrifying. Is he still alive?

The mountainside was covered with snow. There was white all around him. Treetops glittered with snow and so did the roofs of the occasional huts in his path. The wind felt like ice shards piercing his body. The only sounds were the crunch of snow beneath his feet and the wail of the wind as it lashed out at him. Yet he walked on, determined. Like he had done ten years before.

Back then, I was alive.

He still remembered how things were back then. He still remembered the desire in his heart, to become stronger. The will to transform himself into someone who could help his people. Someone who could protect Gotham. He yearned to create a day...where no one in Gotham would have to face the pain that he did. A day where crime would be pinned to the ground by a hopeful and brave society.

Absently, he touched his face and found that he had grown a beard. Stroking it, he climbed on through the mountain road.

His destination was before him. The monastery rose out of the mountainside, like a giant cobra hood. Snow was littered all over its wooden spires. The place where his training had occurred. This was where he had learnt to become a stronger, wiser version of himself. He walked towards the wooden door, his feet inching deeper and deeper into the snow. His toes felt cold and his legs were almost numb. Breathing hard, he knocked on the door.

The bolts screeched open.

He found himself staring at a familiar face. The face that had haunted his dreams and nightmares alike, for the past several years. Her hair fell in curls around her shoulders and her olive green eyes glinted brightly. She was smiling at him the way she always did. Upon seeing her, he felt a surge of life seep back into him. She was alive, whole and healthy.

He opened his mouth but no sound came.

She spoke and her voice was still the same as he remembered. "Bruce! Come in!"

"Ra-Rachel.."

She took his hand and led him inside. The feel of her hand on his was heavenly. Once inside, he relaxed. It was warm inside, a respite from the cold winds that had rattled his body. She dropped his hand and smiled.

"Rachel...I…why are you here?"

"It's not just me, Bruce. They are here too." She turned and behind her stood a man and a woman.

Thomas and Martha Wayne looked just as they had when death claimed them. Bruce noticed that they were wearing the same dress they had worn that night. The sight of them beaming at him infused him such an energy that he bounded across the room and hugged them.

"Mom…Dad" he gasped.

He had waited for this moment for a long time. He wanted this so bad. The pain and void he had felt for twenty years were gone. The loneliness that had enveloped his heart for so long, was finally ripped apart from him. He was here, with the people he loved, with the woman he loved.

He was alive, in spite of not being alive.

"What are…why are you here..this is Ra's Al Ghul's place…?"

Thomas Wayne looked around the room. "This is not just Ra's Al Ghul's monastery. This is the place where my son was re-born. This is the place where he had learned to become someone we are proud of."

Bruce felt the wetness in his eyes. He turned towards her. "Mom…I…"

She hugged him so hard that he felt he would never die again. He wanted to get lost in the embrace for the next million years. Just as she released him, he realised that he was weeping.

"I've...always wanted to say this...I've…I'm sorry" he mumbled beneath his tears. "I'm sorry I led to your deaths. I never wanted any of you to die for me. "

There was no reply. He didn't want one. Just voicing those thoughts made him feel a lot lighter. He looked at all of them, wiping his eyes.

"Let's go!"

They shook their heads. Rachel put a hand on his shoulder. "No, Bruce, we can't."

He felt his vision clouding. "What..What do you mean, we can't..?"

Martha spoke up. "Son, you don't belong here, not yet…You belong in Gotham.."

"What? I'm…I'm dead…"

There was no reply. His vision was clouding more and more. Fog clipped his senses and he felt Rachel and his parents slipping away.

"Don't leave me…No…"

He could no longer feel Rachel's hand on his shoulder…his head was spinning..fog enveloped him completely. Taking every bit of energy, he screamed with despair.

"DON'T LEAVE ME AGAIN…"

He opened his eyes, breathing like a man who had run a marathon. Everything was blurred. He blinked his eyes, his eyelids felt very heavy. The vision cleared.

He found himself staring into a familiar face, covered in a red mask. Dazed, he watched as the man moved his lips. Slowly, the words made sense.

"You made it, ."

"If there was one thing that really drives me over the edge …

Victor Zsasz paced around the group of bound children, looking at each of their pathetic faces with satisfaction. His toothless smile widened. "…it's children".

He could hear their muffled sobs and cries beneath their gag. They were all less than ten years old. Many of them were shivering and trembling, watching him pace around them. The others were looking at the rest of the men, tears pouring out of their eyes. The crowd of onlookers watched the sight helplessly. Some were gritting their teeth, but none was ready to do anything.

"Don't worry, sweeties" Victor came close and rubbed the cheek of one of the kids. He felt the wetness with his fingers. "I'll remove the gags soon. I like to hear children scream. Somehow, it calms me and assures me that life has meaning."

Some of his men laughed.

Victor turned to the crowd of onlookers. "You are in for some special sight, ladies and gentlemen. Each one of these sweet babes are going to die wailing, one by one, their brains blown out."

There were several gasps from the crowd. He heard someone shout, "BASTARD!"

His men fired shots into the air. "SILENCE!"

Victor was still observing the kids, making his choice. "Which one shall go first? Hmm… How about a girl?...Women…they're always my first option..!"

And he spotted a whimpering young girl at one side of the group. Her body was shaking with her sobs and muffled cries. She seemed to be at least five years old.

He winked at her and pointed to his men.

They untied her alone and removed the gag…

The downpour outside was so symbolic to Alfred. The thunder, the lightning and the sound of rain signified every bit of chaos he was feeling in himself. Constantly struggling to free himself, he was getting tired. At seventy years of age, he could only do so much. He sat there breathing, his heart pounding. Craning his neck, he could see the man standing there, looking out into the rain. He seemed to be waiting for something. For Bruce?

"Where have you brought me?"

There was a period of silence so pronounced that Alfred was sure he wasn't going to get a reply. Then, the man answered. "Make some guesses, !"

Alfred looked around the room with only the light of moon and lightning to guide him. It looked like some building that was still being constructed. But there was shades of destruction too. It was more like being re-constructed out of ruins. There were several rooms along the corridor from what Alfred could see. Similar rooms. The smell of alcohol…cement…

"Gotham General Hospital?" Alfred gasped, uncertain.

"On point, Mr. Pennyworth. Yes, It is the Gotham General." The man was now standing before Alfred and his towering physique made him look intimidating. "The same Gotham General the Joker blew up."

Alfred was still unsure why they were here. He kept scowling at the man. "What did my master do to you that made you hate him so badly? Why do you want to destroy him?"

Amid the sound of the rain, footsteps echoed around the room as the man came and knelt down before Alfred, his face directly in front of Alfred's. Alfred noticed a rough stubble covering the man's chin. A scar ran down the side of his forehead and connected with his right eye. The lightning flashed and with a gasp, Alfred saw that the right eye was bionic.

"I was working in the Marines, Mr. Pennyworth. I have seen a couple of battles and wars. One of them cost me an eye." He absently pointed at his bionic one. "Soon enough, through my experience, I learnt an important lesson." His mouth curved into a lopsided smile. "When there is a crisis, you ACT. Instantly. Failure to act, standing in a state of neutrality will cost you not just your life…but the life of others as well."

Alfred looked confused, his eyes still probing the man's scar that seemed to have been from a deep knife.

"You don't understand why I said that? Let me tell you some more. Your Master, the so called 'The Dark Knight' of Gotham was good at everything. He saved lives, inspired people and helped the cops. But when there was a crisis, he failed to act."

His voice tightened with emotion. "And that cost me everything." There was a profound silence again. The sound of rainfall, the thunder and lightning failed to fill that inexplicable void that existed in the room.

And then they heard a sound outside in the corridor, a glass shattering and a smooth thud. Silence followed by a resounding thunder.

The lopsided grin was back on the man's face. "Looks like The Dark Knight has arrived! If you will excuse me, ." He forced a gag onto Alfred's mouth with strong firm hands, turned towards the oil drums and flicked a remote to set the timer to ten minutes.

He turned on his heel and left the room with a bang.

Alfred's heart was banging against his ribs so hard that he was sure it was going to break. The gag was a suffocating him.

Bruce? Is that really you? Are you alive?

Alfred looked at the drums.

9:58 … 9:57… 9:56 …

Jonathan was clinging on his mother's arms as they rode the Gotham rail. They were at the foremost carriage and could see the train and the track before it. Usually, like any three year old, John loved watching the tracks disappear as the train moved forward. But today, he was almost asleep. His head was lying on his mother's bosom, as his eyes drooped. The rain outside was lashing at the side of the carriage. Every time thunder struck, John's head jerked. His mom gently patted him on the back.

They were reaching the Wayne tower, the destination they had to get down at. There were several passengers on board, a lot of them sleeping. Wayne tower was the centre of the city and those who worked out of town or to the city's outskirts travelled back to Gotham via the rail.

The rail rounded a corner and the Wayne tower loomed ahead, lit up with lights like a huge, narrow Christmas tree. The driver was whistling under his breath as he picked up speed.

It was at least a minute before everyone spotted it.

Several hundred meters away, a monstrous metallic object stood in the path of the railway. Its legs perched on the rail and its hands in the air. It emitted a greenish glow from the heart. The driver tried slowing down, but it was too short a distance to avoid collision. The Gotham rail kept advancing. Straight towards the metallic man.

The Robot motioned with its hands. A mechanical voice echoed towards them. "Metallo wishes you a happy journey!" With that, Metallo slammed down on to the rail with a green glow emanating from the spot where he made impact.

The railway disintegrated.

Men, women and children screamed as the Gotham Rail began shuddering at the impact. The driver tried to pull all sorts of buttons to stop the rail, but couldn't.

John jerked wide awake and watched all the commotion around him. The green robot in front, the train shuddering, his mom holding him so tight he couldn't breathe. "Ma" he muttered to her chest.

"John, it's okay." She muttered to him. "It's okay sweetie. We'll be..aaaaaaaaaahh"

With a jerk that made a lot of people lose balance, the rail edged over and began nose-diving towards the earth below..

Screams and shrieks filled the air along with John's cries.

They were falling to their death.

Bruce limped into the corridor, his vision clearing up. He still felt a bit groggy since waking up. His thinking and movements were slower than normal, but it was improving. It had cost him a good amount of strength to sneak into the corridor through the glass window pane. Stumbling up, he moved on, his burnt up cape trailing behind.

Where is Alfred? He kept his ears sharp, trying to pick up noises apart from rain and thunder. His eyes were picking up every detail.

As described in the piece of paper left by his nemesis, Bruce was at 'the place in Gotham where life and death converge'. He was at a hospital, where lives are born and lost everyday. Yet, Bruce wasn't at any operational hospital rather at the newly rebuilt Gotham General. It wasn't yet open to the public but was nearing construction. There was a reason he was here rather than any other hospital.

This is where all this began for him.

Bruce sneaked on, trotting past rooms in the corridors when a door at the farthest end opened and a man stepped out. The silhouette conveyed a man of well built, towering physique. As he walked towards him, Bruce noted that his steps were measured and confident.

Lightning flashed!

The man had unkempt brown hair and a stubble. He was wearing some kind of a sweatshirt and military pants. Lightning flashed again! He had on a sneer in his face. His black eyes were widened with a sense of grandeur. Here was a man who had come face to face with what he considered to be his destiny.

He stood a few feet away from Bruce, legs slightly apart, still sneering.

"Welcome, Batman!" The voice had a high cold temperament to it. "Or should I call you Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce was unfazed. "Where is Alfred? Where is he, Vincent Bates?"

Bates clapped his hands in mock amusement. "You really are a great detective, Bruce. Bravo! Let's give the devil his due. But before we get to your old butler, let me see if you've figured out everything that has happened." He motioned around the corridor. "I presume you know why we are here."

"I do."

Vincent Bates slid his hand into his pocket and drew out a long thick knife. "uh huh? Then, Can I hear the story from your mouth, ?"

"Where is Alfred, Bates?"

The man frowned, twisting the knife. "Shushh! I asked you something."

Bruce curled his hands into a fist as he talked, his eyes on the knife in Bates's hands. "Your wife and kids died at this very place when Joker blew up the Gotham General."

Bates took a step forward and sneered. "Yes! My wife and two girls! They were blown up to pieces… ! PIECES! I couldn't even find their dead bodies. And you know why that happened? Do you? DO YOU?"

Bruce Wayne stood silent, eyes observing every action Bates was doing. His eyes sneering in anger.. his voice constricting with emotion..his one finger gripping the knife so hard that he began to bleed…

Vincent Bates threw back his hair and scowled. "The Joker asked you to reveal himself. But the great 'Dark Knight' of Gotham was too precious and too full of himself to answer to the calls of a madman. And the cops backed you, under the head of Harvey FUCKING Dent. And before you know it, Joker starts threatening about blowing up hospitals and where was Batman? Nowhere to be found! Things went so far out of hand before I quit my CIA mission and landed in Gotham….they were gone! They were all gone! Each of them believed in the Batman and each of them ended up in fucking pieces. PIECES! That's why we're here, Batman."

Bates took up his knife and fingered the blade, looking intensely at Bruce, a tear running down the left eye. "That's why we're here! You failed to act…You cost me everything I lived for. And now, I'm taking from you everything you live for. In sometime, my allies will throw Gotham into chaos and I will kill Alfred before your eyes….and then you'll die!"

He spun the knife in his hand with expertise and charged at him.

Alfred heard voices outside, in the corridor. There was no way he could identify Bruce from them. He had no way to know if he was indeed alive and if he had indeed turned up to save him. He tried spitting out the gag but it went more inside his mouth. His hands were fervently trying to untie themselves.

All in vain.

Alfred glanced at the oil drums.

7:40 … 7:39 … 7:38 …

He began trying harder and faster.

Batman reacted instantly. His reflexes were slow but he was still able to grab his arm and defend himself from the blade. Bates kicked Batman right in his midsection and swung the knife again. Batman moved away. He slashed again. Miss. Again. Miss.

With a snarl, Bates launched himself at Batman and began punching and kicking every inch of him he could reach. Each of the hits were measured… they were from a Marine well-trained in all basic martial arts! The speed of his kicks were beyond calculation. Before Batman could block one, the other one was upon him.

Batman felt the kicks and punches hit him. With slowed down reflexes and groggy movements, he couldn't block all of them. Yet, shaking himself, he jumped up and grabbed Bates's arm and swung it backwards, locking it behind him.

"I repeat…where is Alfred?" He barked in his ear.

A shrill cackle escaped Bates's mouth. "You are dying, Bruce. I can feel it. You're fighting...but leaving yourself open for my offenses."

He swung himself around and in a swift movement, Bates had Batman in an arm lock. He held him in a military full nelson's hold and shoved his face right into the wall. There was a sick sound as Batman's head banged and scraped against the cement. With another swing, he shoved him into the wall. Again. Again.

"That's for my wife…that's for my daughter…that's for my other daughter, you son of a bitch."

Bates released the full nelson hold and Batman staggered upright, his head spinning. He sidekicked Batman, pulling out his blade. With a confident thrust, Bates stabbed his adversary right into his abdomen, into his poisoned wound.

A painful scream erupted from Batman's mouth. Bates laughed with pleasure.

He pulled out his knife and stabbed him again and again…

Batman screamed with every stab. As a desperate measure, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and shoulder tackled Bates into the wall. The knife was knocked out of his hand and fell out of sight. Bruce heard Bates snarl in frustration.

They both staggered upright and began throwing offenses at each other. Batman, the master of 127 different martial arts was going one on one against a resourceful CIA Agent and a well-trained Marine. Yet, the battle was lopsided. Batman was severely injured and was fighting purely in desperation. Each movement he made tired him further. Bates was healthy and was fighting with every bit of intensity he could procure from his bones. The kicks and jabs he hurled at Batman were far more severe than the ones the latter threw at him, which were purely in self defense.

Batman caught Bates leg and tackled him to the ground. But Bates was back up in a jiffy, grabbing his nemesis's arms and head, twisting them into a grapple hold. Batman fought to escape it but couldn't. He found himself locked in a military sleeper, with Bates's arm around his neck, choking him.

"I'm really enjoying this, Bruce" Bates breathed in his ear. "Maybe I should kill you before I move to your butler? Hmm?"

Batman struggled in vain. Bates was far too focused to dethrone him from this powerful position. His arms were choking him. He was finding it becoming very difficult to breathe.

Bates continued. "But it would be a waste of energy. You're going to die from the poison anyway. And plus we'll miss watching Gotham's hope get extinguish tonight. As my allies cause chaos, the citizens will realise Batman will no longer rush to their rescue. Their hopes will perish just like my family did, believing in the man called Batman". He let out a laughter.

Bruce choked and stuttered. "Y-You're wrong…I'm…I'm not going to die. Gotham…Gotham will …Gotham will be saved."

Bates blinked. He shook Batman as he loosened his hold to let him speak. "What do you mean? Tell me, you son of a bitch, WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"

Despite himself, Bruce felt his mouth curve into a smirk. "You...You are not the only one with allies, Bates!"

Bates was confused. He mentally revisited his plan.

And then, realisation hit him like a truck.

(A few hours before)

Bruce groaned as he spun the bandage around his midsection. Gazing at the waterfall at the entrance in hopes of distracting himself from the pain was of no use. The wound stung severely. He tied up the bandage and gingerly stood up from his seat.

It was at this moment, there was a cackle of electric charges around him and a man appeared out of nowhere. He was lean and lithe, with a thin face. His straight black hair wasn't even ruffled from his fast journey. Bruce noticed that in his urgency, the man hadn't even bothered to wear his red suit.

"Mr. Allen! Good to see you."

Barry Allen stood shocked at the sight. Bruce Wayne standing before him, holding the desk for support, with a tight bandage around his midsection. He could see the stains of blood in the bandage too.

" ?! What..?WHAT HAPPENED?!"

"No time for explanation." Bruce sighed. "I need your help."

"Anything, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce lifted a vial from the cold storage in his hands and gingerly walked up to Barry. He handed him the vial that contained some damaged tissue and blood, probably from the site of his injury.

"I've been poisoned. I don't know what venom or poison it is but I do know that I have very few hours to live. So, I need an antidote as fast as possible. I'm giving you the poisoned tissue to extract the substance and produce an antidote."

Barry took the vial in his hand. "You want me to take it to STAR Labs?"

"No! Take it to Pamela Isley in Gotham. She's the only person who knows enough information to help me. She is an expert on poisons."

"Pamela Isley…is that…?"

Bruce Wayne nodded. "Yes. Poison Ivy."

Barry Allen left behind a wave of dust and granite as he vanished.

She walked towards him holding a new, battered vial filled with a green essence. She hadn't talked a word since she started working on the antidote.

Barry Allen took the vial from her hands, eyes staying on her melancholically beautiful face.

"Will it cure him?"

She raised her face. Her brown eyes met his scarlet ones. "It will. But it will take time for a complete cure. He might be a bit groggy for several hours."

With that, she strode back towards her plants and began tending them. Barry wanted to say something to her, something to ease her life. But he could find no words.

He ran.

He found Bruce after searching the entire city. He was lying on the road, almost on the verge of entering a comatose stage.

Barry ran up towards him, vial of antidote in hand.

" ? Can you hear me? Hold on…I'll fix you."

He readied up the syringe just as Wayne's body began shivering. He began uttering names…"Rachel... Ra's Al Ghul … Mom … Dad"... Barry knew he was hallucinating. It was getting critical. He jabbed the syringe into Bruce's veins.

It took several minutes before Bruce Wayne opened his eyes.

Barry waved at him and smiled. "You made it, !"

The five year old girl was bawling her eyes out. Victor Zsasz's men brought her into the middle of the gathering. She tried to run but was instantly struck by the blunt end of their machine gun. Her teeth broke from the blow and blood trickled from her mouth. Her cries became louder. Zsasz ordered her to be stripped bare.

She stood there whimpering as the men undressed her and made her stand in the centre. The crowd of onlookers screamed many obscenities at Zsasz but he just smiled, watching the little girl cry. He seemed to take an extraordinary pleasure from the sound.

Zsasz looked at the crowd around. "Now, I'm going to give you the privilege of watching a five year old be torn apart by bullets. Her brain is going to spray on the other kids near her and so will her guts." He winked. "This will not be for the weaker heart!"

He motioned to his men.

They gathered in front of the girl in a small semicircle.

They locked their machine guns and removed the safety.

Zsasz surveyed the crowd of onlookers and the tied up orphanage kids behind. There was a brief moment of silence. Nobody dared to move except the little girl who was trembling from head to toe. Her eyes were overflowing with tears and her cries were the only sound that could be heard in the gathering.

Zsasz run a finger absently along his chin. "Fire!"

Almost ten machine guns of varying design open-fired upon the five year old girl. The barrage of bullets that exited the guns made more noise than the shocking cries of the onlookers or the muffled moans of the orphanage kids.

But as soon as they started firing, something crashed right into the middle of the gathering…right before the five year old girl. The barrage of bullets hit it hard and scattered away from the impact.

"STOP! STOP! Stop firing" Zsasz roared.

The firing stopped.

As the dust cleared, Zsasz noticed what fell between the girl and his men. His eyes widened.

A woman, almost six feet tall stood between them. She looked exotic and was dressed in an ancient costume. Her one hand held a flaming coil of rope while the other held a shining golden shield. Just as he watched in awe, he noticed that the onlookers were no longer screaming..

Nor were the orphanage kids…

They realised who she was.

Zsaz heart hammered against his ribs as he watched Wonder Woman. The ferocity of her gaze was something he had never seen in any woman before. She held herself with a sense of godliness that was extremely intimidating.

His own men stood frozen, trembling.

"Shoot her" he ordered.

They didn't move.

"Shoot her, you dumb fools." He roared. "She's just a FUCKING WOMAN. Shoot-aaaaaaaaaaahhh"

The flaming rope whipped across his body and bound him tight. Before he knew it, he was dragged like a rag doll across the clearing…until he was kneeling right before her. She looked down upon him with disdain.

"A fucking woman?" Wonder woman muttered.

She then dealt a blow to Zsasz's head that knocking him unconscious and sent his men scurrying for cover.

Gotham Rail was derailed and was falling towards the earth.

John's mother was clutching the rail bar above with one hand and holding John tightly like a lifeline in another hand. No matter how hard, gravity pulled, she resisted. Screaming aloud, she glanced around herself.

It was pure chaos.

Men were tossed out of seats and went sliding past her towards the front of the carriage. Some hung, just like her, holding anything they could get their hands on. Some rolled out to the front screaming. Their screams and cries were echoing everywhere. John's mother felt like her ears would go deaf.

The rail was whooshing towards the ground.

John was crying too, hearing his mother scream, feeling himself being pulled downward by something. He clutched tighter to her and snuggled his face between her breasts.

They were all waiting for the fall…the crash…the death…

But it never came.

The train stopped falling. Their screams stopped and they stared below them confused.

Gently, like a mother lifting a baby, the rail was being lifted up. Slowly, steadily, it was rising up. John's mother wasn't crying anymore. John peeked out from her chest. The carriage was being lifted up by something. The carriage was moving up and up. He looked up at his mom.

"Ma!"

His mom didn't reply, flabbergasted. People began muttering and gasping in disbelief as the train steadied up and was slowly easing back on the part of the rail that was still functioning. There were many "What the hell is happening" that John couldn't be sure who said them. He licked his fingers (which he did when he was nervous) and looked at the driver.

The driver was peeking below from the windshield of the train. And he let out a 'whoop' of cheer!

"What is it?" someone called back. A woman, nursing her head from when she hit it during the fall.

The driver turned around, a grin in his face. "It's HIM!"

John kept licking his fingers.

And right before his eyes, from beneath the train, a man slowly rose up. He was more than six feet tall, with well-built shoulders and chest. At first John was terrified, but something about him was so soft and motherly. The man was wearing a blue suit with a big red 'S' in the middle and as he rose up, John's mouth opened in surprise. He was flying. There was a red cape gliding behind him.

"Ma.." He looked at his mother. She was holding her chest and smiling, eyes wet with tears.

"Superman" she whispered.

John turned around to watch the man in awe.

Superman peeked into the carriage. "Is everyone okay?"

Many nodded, too shocked to speak. As he turned around, John saw that Superman spotted him. There was a gentle smile and a wink.

With that, he turned around towards the green robotic man before them. Without a word, Superman launched himself towards his adversary with the speed of a bullet, rocking the Gotham rail back and forth with the shockwaves. The punches and kicks of Kryptonian Armor on Kryptonian Body echoed like gunshots.

As John watched the fight unfold, he knew it was going to be seared into his memory forever.

And in just a few minutes, Superman lauched Metallo and lifted off towards the sky, into the thundering clouds, leaving behind powerful shockwaves.

That's when the onlookers realised why everyone in Metropolis called him God.

"Justice League.." Bates muttered absently. "Justice League.."

His confusion was all that Batman required. He slid hid hands underneath the legs of his adversary and lifted him into the air into a fireman's carry. And he rammed him on the side wall, with explosion of brick and cement. They both slid down to the ground. Bates was shivering and trembling.

He limped up pulled out a gun from his pocket and aimed at Batman. "I've not completely lost Batman. I've still got you for myself. And you butler is biding his timeabout to blown into pieces in a few minutes…"

Batman stood staring at the gun's barrel before him, his brain whirring with thoughts. His muscles were too fatigued to make a move.

Bate stood laughing, wiping the blood from his mouth, pointing the gun.

Alfred was struggling and staggering, almost making the chair sway. The timer over the drums kept ticking away the time he had left. Alfred groaned into his gag as he read the timer.

01:40.. 01:39...01:38..

He began stretching his arms harder and fighting against the bonds, gagging and coughing. His ears could pick up some shuffle outside.

There was a gunshot.

Silence.

Alfred's heart pounded wildly.

The gun had fired.

Just at the final moment, Batman jumped. With every aching muscle in the body, he collided into the door of the nearby room in the corridor. The wooden door came off its hinges and Batman collapsed into the room. His body burned like it had been set on fire. Thanks firefly!

He felt Bates following him into the room. Summoning his strength, Batman pulled out a few smoke bombs and rolled them across the floor.

Smoke buzzed out, completely dissolving the room.

Batman shuffled out of the room as Bates was lost in the smoke, searching for him.

"Where the fuck are you, Wayne?"

Bruce used the crucial time he had earned, to search for Alfred. He knocked down nearby doors, peeking into the room. No sign of him. He moved on.

Another room. No sign.

That's when he heard it. The shuffles and struggles coming from-

Bates collided with Batman so hard that he lost balance. They both fell on to the floor, punching and clawing at each other's faces. All the martial arts and the orthodox techniques were forgotten. It was just two desperate men trying to achieve what they wanted. Bates and Bruce were punching each other in every part of the body they could reach. They pulled themselves up, still kicking each other.

Batman felt himself slowing down. He knew he couldn't do more. He didn't have the strength. A kick caught him right between the ribs and he let out a scream of pain. Bates laughed again. "You're going to die, Wayne. You're. Going. To. Fucking. Die." He punctuated each word with a blow. Batman groaned with each of them.

As he tried to get back up, Bates locked Batman in the military sleeper once again, choking him as hard as his strength permitted him. Bruce felt his windpipe compress as he struggled to breathe, his vision blurring. His breath coming out in gasps.

With little strength and high amounts of desperation in him, he did the only thing he could think of.

He placed his hands on Bates jacket, gripping him. Without further ado, He closed his blurring eyes and jumped in the direction of the room from which he thought he heard those struggles.

Their bodies were in the air for far too long as it felt to Bruce…

Before they collided into the door and just like the previous door, it came off its hinges…

Alfred was struggling like a mad man, when it happened.

The door came off its hinges and two men fell inside, each one on top of another. It was hard to distinguish who was who until..

Master Wayne!

His joy knew no bounds, until the timer came into his view again.

00:13…00:12…00:11…

Batman groaned as he turned to look at the man gagged before him. Alfred. He wanted to untie him, greet him, smile and embrace him but his sights fell on the oil drums rigged to blow. It was just 10 seconds to blow…

He glanced at the window and at Alfred, forming a crucial decision.

He acted fast. Ignoring the burn and ache in his muscles, he pulled out his Batarang from his belt and swung it at the window, shattering the glass. Rain sprayed into the room from the thunderstorm outside.

Alfred realised what Bruce was going to do and shook his head fast.

Bruce Wayne was already cutting the bonds free and lifting Alfred onto himself. "Trust me on this, Alfred."

The timer was ticking..

00:07…00:06…00:05

Batman was perched on the sill, as he looked at Bates on the floor, struggling to get up. If he left him there, he'd be blown to smithereens. He made a decision and pulled out his grapple gun. He fired the grapple right into Bates shoulder as the latter screamed. He pressed the button as the rope began sliding toward him…

With that he jumped down from the window, Alfred held in his arms…

00:03…00:02…00:01…click!

The explosion rocked the earth and buildings all around. Flames shot out above them. Batman felt wind screech past his ears, Alfred in his hands. His grapple gun was coiling back and Bates was almost near Batman. With his other hand, Bruce caught him too.

He electrically activated his Batwing.

They began gliding, hearing the wind soar. The rain soaked them to their very core. The wind howled around them and tossed them around. Bruce could hardly control their voyage…they were going out of control… SMASHH!

They crashed through the glass window of a nearby building, with screams of pain from all three survivors. Glass rained down upon them and so did the rain from outside.

"First Fire and now water, what a day!" murmured Bruce as he pulled his battered body up and limped towards Alfred. The old man was lying with pieces of glass all over his back. His shoulder was bent at an awkward angle, probably sprained. Or worse, dislocated. Otherwise he was fine.

He had to go through this because of me!

Bruce slowly lifted Alfred up. "Are you okay?"

Alfred looked back at him and smiled. "Your mouth is bleeding, Master Wayne. You may have lost a tooth."

Bruce sighed. "I may have."

His eyes fell on Bates. He hadn't moved since their crash. Bruce excused himself to Alfred and limped warily towards his figure, lying still. This might be a trap. He might pull a gun on him. Be alert, Bruce!

Alfred was picking up glass from his body. "Next time, you crash through a glass window, remember that butlers don't wear Kevlar armours…"

Then his eyes fell on Bruce standing over Bates. Alfred walked gingerly towards him, holding his arm.

Bruce had turned over the figure of Bates. Wooden splinters had pierced his left arm and fractured it from the fall back in the hospital. His body was battered and bloodied, especially his face where Bruce's punches had found its mark. But the main sight was his chest where a massive piece of glass had penetrated into it. Bates lay with his eyes open but with no light in them.

Vincent Bates was dead.

Batman stood above him in silence.

Television channels found a rise in their viewer count as the entire nation plugged in to know what was happening in Gotham. Breaking news banner showed an important headlines.

Wonder woman and Superman in Gotham!

Justice League returns?

Has Batman returned, finally?

"Am I wrong, Alfred?"

His voice trembled. Alfred realised he wasn't talking to Batman. He was talking to the orphaned kid who was unsure of his life. He patted Bruce on the arm.

"Wrong in what sense, Master Wayne?"

Bruce kept his eyes on Bates's body. "His wife and kids dead. That's on me, for sure. And who knows, how many others? How many casualties in my grand scheme to help Gotham? Everyone talks of how many I saved..but how many have I failed to save? Am I wrong in taking up this cape and cowl?"

There was silence for a moment. Alfred could almost feel Bruce's heart pumping in grief.

He gave a deep thought before he answered. "Master Wayne, you decided to wage a war on the injustice in Gotham. You once told me, 'Injustice is a many-headed monster. You sever one of the heads and another one grows in its place.' It is true. You are trying to make sure that the heads of injustice don't cause harm in Gotham. But what you fail to realise is that you can't fight ALL the heads at once. You are human. You aren't God. You aren't Superman or Diana Prince. You are a human being trying to do the right thing."

Bruce stayed silent.

"You did a noble thing in taking up the cape and cowl, Master Wayne. But do not expect yourself to be able to save EVERYONE. Your vision was to become a symbol of hope. You have achieved it. Gotham city sleeps peacefully at night knowing that Batman is out there to protect them. That's your success."

Bruce took of his mask. Alfred noticed that parts of his face were singed and burnt slightly. There were swellings and bruises. Bruce glared at the mask in hand, deep in thought.

"I'll leave you alone for some time." Alfred limped away. He heard the police sirens outside.

It was a long time before Bruce donned his mask again. He whispered to Bates's body something he felt he must have said when he was alive.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Bates. May you rest in peace."

With that, he limped out of the room.

It was over.

EPILOGUE

They were at the terrace of Eastern section of Wayne Manor, overlooking the city. Superman stood in one corner, brooding. Barry Allen was playing a videogame on his phone, oblivious to anything that had been discussed so far. Diana stood leaning on the side wall, watching Bruce Wayne with concerned eyes.

Bruce hadn't recovered from any of his injuries but here he was, completely draped with the cape and cowl again. Nothing they said whatsoever, could persuade him.

Superman spoke up. "Shall we call the others? It's been a long time. We haven't talked with Arthur and Stone in a long time. Oliver needs to be called up too. We need to start where we left off."

Diana nodded.

Bruce stood looking out into the night before answering. "Yes, we must. There are dangers in the horizon. "

Just as he said that, the Batsignal appeared on the horizon. Bruce's face twisted into a smirk.

Diana interjected. "You can't possibly go to work in this state. What needs to be done?"

Batman perched up on the sill. "There has been a mass breakout of criminals who need to be rounded up."

Superman straightened himself curiously. "Is there something you want us to do?"

"Yes", Batman stood on the precipice and turned to look at them. "Stay the hell out of my way!"

Without another word, He swooped off the terrace and into the night. They watched him go, as dawn slowly began appearing on Gotham.