Everything was quite that night. Hardly anyone inhabited the usually busy Gotham streets; everyone had gone home from their jobs to join their families. It was the perfect night for a robbery.

A black van, followed by a fancy black Mercedes-Benz, pulled up quietly beside the back entrance to the Gotham City National Bank. From the van, four men wearing black ski masks arose, each carrying pistols by their side and various pieces of technology in their hands. They headed towards the entrance and placed their weapons against the door. Each piece, shaped like a large gun, had a small dial on its top and a small trigger near the bottom. The men lined up, each placing their weapons on top of the other, turned their dials to the same position, and simultaneously pulled the triggers; causing the bolted door to snap into an unlocked position.

No alarm was sounded. The thieves entered into the abandoned bank with great ease. As they raced towards the vault, another man stepped out from the black Mercedes. He was a very thin man; his tall, gangly manner made him stand out above the rest. Unlike the other thieves, this man was wearing everything that went against proper robbery-attire. He wore black dress shoes, green pin-striped pants, and an open, matching dress coat with no undershirt. A similar green-colored bowler hat hid the top of his red, neck-length hair, and a pair of dark sunglasses hid his eyes. Though all of his costume was greatly extravagant, the most noticeable part of his outfit was the large, purple question mark tattooed on his stomach.

The tall man followed his counterparts into the bank; a slender cane with a question mark emblem at its top assisted him in his walk. Although he had no trouble on his feet, the cane gave off some sort of majestic and sophisticated feels towards everyone he encountered. Once he had caught up with his men, they had again begun the process of using their weapons to break into the vault undetected. The man rubbed his hands together and laughed under his breath as he imagined hold the vaults contents in his hands and spending his riches on treasures and all sorts of destructive things that would make Gotham fall to its knees before him. The loud clang of the vault unlocking filled the room and made him jumped; not out of fright, but of sheer delight.

Two of ski-masked robbers dropped their weapons and reached for the vault door. Each man inside the bank waited impatiently for the chance to swipe whatever the vault had to offer them. Once the door was open, the men, especially their leader, stood in shock of what they saw. The vault was completely empty. "We've been tricked, boss!" cried the henchmen. "It's a trap!"

The leader of the back gripped his cane tightly out of anger as a grimace expression replaced the once excited features in his face. "Riddle me this, riddle me that," he scowled. "Who else here smells a big, fat bat?" Without changing his facial appearance, the man turned around, knowing that his arch enemy would be standing behind him. Sure enough, the nightmare of every criminal in Gotham City slowly arose from the shadows; his eyes glowed from his black mask, his cape covering his whole body. As he inched towards the robbers, many of them stepped back as though they were trying their best to avoid him. However, the leader did not move from his spot as he lowered his cane, seemingly unafraid to the approaching Dark Knight.

"You sure know how to ruin a party, don't you?" asked the tall man sarcastically.

"I don't classify a robbery as a party," replied the vigilante, still creeping towards his target like a lion ready to pounce.

"Listen, since I'm fairly new to this whole scene, let's say we forget this whole ordeal and you through me a 'Get Out Of Jail Free' car? Sounds like a plan to me! What about you, Batman?"

"It doesn't work like that. You must be new, seeing as though you picked one of the most predictable spots for a criminal like yourself to spend their Friday nights…"

"Riddler. They call me the Riddler. And if you must know why I chose this particular spot, I'll tell you. You see, I find vaults, such this one right here, are some of the greatest riddles of all. This one especially. So many combinations, so many possible answers; but in the end, there is only one definite solution. Don't you find puzzles like this absolutely fascinating?"

"Not when it's illegal."

"Oh, I see. You just don't like to have any fun. If that's the case, then I guess there's no more use for our senseless chatter, is there? Boys!"

With the snap of his fingers, the henchmen hiding behind the Riddler jumped to their feet, guns in hand, and began firing at their target. Batman quickly ducked to the ground and rose up his cape to where it would shield his body, head to toe, from the bullets. As he heard the sounds of guns in need of reloading, Batman again came to his feet and raced towards the henchmen. His fists ferociously attacked his enemies, sending them flying to the floor or into the wall. At one point, a henchman tried attacking him from behind; jumping onto his back as his arms clasped around Batman's neck in an attempt to suffocate him. It didn't take long, however, for the Dark Knight to shake him off and kick him to the ground. In no time, every single one to the henchmen was lying on the floor, unconscious.

Batman frantically looked around for the Riddler, hoping he was still near. He heard footsteps heading towards the back door of the bank, and he was soon fast behind them. Once he had reached the back entrance, it was too late. In front of him, the black Mercedes had just begun its journey from the alley way and into the main street. Before the car was out of sight, the image of the Riddler could be seen popping out from the sunroof with his hands stretched out wide from his body. "Until we meet again, Batman!" he yelled from the car, bowing at his opponent.

He watched the car fade into the night. It wouldn't be the last time they would meet, but Batman was still disappointed in himself for not catching him the first time. Lately, he and his alter ego had so much on their minds. It seemed as if every day since the last encounter he had had with the Joker, a new villain had popped up, more than willing to take his place as he rotted away in Arkham Asylum. One right after the other, they appeared as if out of no wear; each with a different and unique characteristics and specialties. It had almost become too much for just one masked crime fighter. But somehow, Batman had been able to manage alone.

As Batman headed back inside of the bank to inspect the damage and to wait for Commissioner Gordon to arrive, a small alarm from his belt began to go off. He looked down to see a small, red light begin to flash from a packet on the side of his belt. "Lyla!" he murmured. Without taking a second to think, Batman raced home to his wife.

******************************

Bruce rushed through the hospital doors. His forehead and palms were sweating profusely; not because he was tired from running or from his latest battle, but because he was extremely nervous. Was she alright? Was he too late? These questions ran through his mind as the nurse pointed him in the direction of Lyla's location. He ran to the elevators, presses the "up" button ten times in a row, hoping it would speed the elevator's movement, and stepped inside. The soft jazz music playing throughout the tiny space couldn't calm Bruce's nerves down at a time like this.

Once the elevator doors, Bruce bolted towards Lyla's room, almost knocking a nurse to the ground. Nothing could stop him from being by his wife's side at a time like this. Finally, he saw her room number. Bruce swung open the door and gazed inside, completely out of breath. Waiting for him in the hospital was Lyla. In her hands was their new baby.

"It's a girl!" Lyla said with such excitement. Bruce smiled widely at the news. Lyla smiled back. To Bruce's delight, she did not seem in the least bit mad that he had not been there for the birth. Lyla knew the reason, and understood that Gotham had called him to work. She watched as Bruce gazed at the tiny bundle in her hands, then back at her. Her hair was a mess and her brow trickled with sweat from the delivery. But to Bruce, she had never been so beautiful. He entered the room, came to his wife's bedside, and gently kissed her forehead. Lyla looked back down to her newborn daughter. "Say hello to Daddy."

Lyla passed the baby into Bruce's muscular arms. It felt so strange to him to hold something so small. He felt that at any moment he could crush her in two. With extra-special care, he walked around the room, bouncing the bundle tenderly. "What did you decide to name her?"

"I thought we would determine that once you got here."

"Lyla, I'm sorry I was…"

"Bruce, don't worry. You're here now, and that's all that matters. So, what shall we name her?"

"Hmmm, what do you think about Jane?"

"Jane?" Lyla paused. After a few seconds, she looked back at Bruce and smiled. "I like it!" Bruce smiled again and went back to his wife's side. Unfortunately, once he had arrived, the smile from Lyla's face had disappeared. She turned her attention towards the nurse who was also occupying the room. "Excuse us," she called. "Can you give us a moment?" The nurse nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Lyla, what is it?" Bruce asked, handing Baby Jane back into her arms. Lyla was silent as she looked down at her daughter. Never in her life had she felt this way towards another human being. She loved her child from the first moment she saw her, but she also gained the knowledge that she was completely responsible for this tiny, living thing. Lyla had to do anything to keep her safe; even if it meant hiding the truth from her.

"Bruce, promise me something?" she asked, choking on her words.

"Anything."

"Promise me we will never tell her about… him."

"Lyla, we already agreed that we wouldn't tell her about my alter e…"

"No, I know that."

"Then who? Who aren't we telling her about?" Lyla remained silent, still staring at the newborn. Bruce suddenly realized who she was talking about. "Lyla, it will be hard."

"I know that, Bruce. But I don't want her to live in fear. Not like I am…did"

"Alright, Lyla. We won't tell her. But I don't want us to feel like we're hiding everything from our daughter."

"We aren't, Bruce. I just want what's best for her. I want her to live a life without the Joker."