It is truly a remarkable evening, thought Alfred Pennyworth as he maneuvered the huge Rolls-Royce off the expressway onto a crowded off-ramp. It was the last weekend of October, and Gotham was bedecked in a glorious array of fall colors and spooky decorations.

The trees were brilliant, their foliage varying shades of crimson, gold, pumpkin, indigo and brown. Other rich shades gave the city a lush vibrancy the butler knew would be sullied once Jack Frost returned from his summer vacation. The evening air was brisk and invigorating while the sky above was sprinkled with a handful of stars.

Yes, it is a spectacular fall evening, he thought as he drew to a stop behind a white delivery van. Perfectly suited for dancing at a lavish gala instead of pattering around atop Gotham's rooftops. Not that the man seated in the backseat would agree. Alfred tutted softly as he waited for the light to turn green.

Halloween always brought out at least one of the city's super-villains.

Last year it had been Poison Ivy trying to overtake Gotham with a bounty of man-eating plants and poisonous vines designed to turn people into her hapless puppets.

The year before had seen the Joker hosting a diabolical carnival that nearly claimed the lives of Commissioner Gordon, Miss Stephanie, and Master Timothy. He didn't dare stop to consider which of Batman's many enemies might have something suitably evil planned for this year's festivities.

The police scanner in the center section of the backseat screamed to life. That was also not a major surprise. The frequency that radio perpetually was set upon was one he learned long ago was hardly ever quiet.

Crime never slept. Least of all in a city that was perpetually dominated by violence like Gotham was. When Gotham was quiet was when the city was at its most dangerous.

"I need all available units to respond to a disturbance at City Hall."

The voice that came from the darkness of the backseat may have been soft and refined, but it was coated in velvet steel.

"Turn right onto Baltic Avenue, Alfred. And stop near the alley by the old doll-makers shop."

That Batman had become a necessity was something Alfred had long ago come to terms with. Still, it didn't mean he had to be happy about it. Or that he couldn't lament over it. Or wish even that his employer could have more out of life.

"As you wish, Master Bruce."

He missed the flash of white that briefly broke the murky shadows encasing the man in the backseat from his view. If he had, he may have found comfort in the fact that his employer had not completely lost his sense of humor.

"And Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I suggest stepping on it."

Alfred glanced at his employer in the rearview mirror, saw those eyes that so reminded him of his late mother's in the swirl of darkness.

"Of course, sir."

He did not need to glance in the rear-view mirror to see what his employer was doing in the backseat. He knew what was transpiring in those cramped quarters. Master Bruce had become quite adept in the years since he started his nocturnal career at divesting himself of his business suits or formal evening wear and quickly donning his other work outfit.

If not for the fact that he was dressing in a scalloped cape and pointy-eared cowl, he'd have been rather impressed with his employer's dexterity. Heroes in other cities relied on phone booths, elevators or revolving doors to shift from their public to private personas.

That he so blithely accepted that this was Master Bruce's chosen lifestyle did manage to occasionally take him by surprise still. He had really become quite sanguine about the affair now that he thought about it. If it was his way of coping, he couldn't say. Not that it would have mattered. He would do whatever he felt necessary.

Traffic, even despite it being a busy time of the evening, was almost non-existent in this section of Gotham. Baltic Avenue was where the East End's seedier district began. It was a one-way street, too narrow to allow cars to travel in both directions, and filled on both sides with shops that had either been fronts for the mob or covers for darker, more unseemly business dealings.

"Please deliver my regrets to Ernest, Alfred, and tell him that I will make up for my absence with a sizable donation to his charities fund. I'm confident you will handle everything with your usual tact and grace."

"Shall I tell Mr. Harcourt the usual then?" he asked as he turned the engine off. "That you have been regrettably detained and extend your sincerest apologies for your abrupt cancellation?"

"What lovely young woman are you planning to have me give my undivided attention tonight?"

There was a strong hint of laughter in that velvet baritone now. Alfred checked to make sure he still had a pulse before he replied.

"I was thinking of saying it was Master Richard who had your attention for this evening." He looked pointedly in the rearview mirror. "His moving back into the Manor is a much more honest lie than some of those I have had to give over the years." He swore he saw a smile but dared not trust it was real. "Perhaps you would prefer me to say that you have chosen to take the entire theater group to dinner in Metropolis, instead?"

There was a discreet cough from the backseat that may have passed for a laugh. Given how his employer infrequently engaged in any sort of joviality, however, the butler couldn't be sure of his interpretation of the sound. Yet, it eased some of the anxiety plaguing him since the evening before.

Sirens starting to bleat in the distance caused that concern to return tenfold, however. Alfred glanced out the front glass and flinched when he spied a familiar spotlight shining a bat symbol high up into the night sky.

Clearly, whoever had turned that spotlight on was trying to contact Batman because they needed his help. No matter how he felt about it, he would have to point out the beacon to Master Bruce.

There'd be no living with him if he didn't.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Someone has turned on the Bat-Signal."

Alfred heard the slight sound that his employer made deep in his throat.

"That's coming from the roof of the old GCPD building."

The butler swallowed his sigh. "Do you think someone is trying to contact you?"

"I think it could be Gordon trying to make contact with me, actually."

That had Alfred's eyebrows feathering up.

"Why would Commissioner Gordon be calling for Batman from the old GCPD building rather than the new one?" He saw Bruce glance up, that very same question swirling in the depths of his eyes. "Forgive me for saying so, Master Bruce, but it could well be a trap."

"I don't think it is a trap, Alfred." The butler heard armor being snapped into place. "I think he is calling me because he needs my help."

"Wouldn't he contact you by telephone if things were truly that dire, sir?"

"He would call me on the private line if things were that bad, yes," Bruce replied. "Unless communication lines have somehow become compromised. Or unless..." he trailed off into a long sigh.

"Unless he asked someone else to call for you?" Alfred spoke gently. He knew a wealth of bad memories were swimming around inside Bruce's head at that moment. "Is that what you meant to say?"

"Yes," came his dark reply. "That is why I am going to go to the GCPD building. I want to check things out and make sure that all is as it should be."

Alfred heard the snap of material as it was unfurled and imagined Bruce swirling the cape around his broad shoulders in much the same way Tyrone Powers did when dressing as Zorro. It broke his heart that his employer was donning a cape and mask to run around Gotham instead of joining in at a society fundraiser where the chance was good that he'd have himself a good time.

Alfred just sighed before saying to his employer, "Do be careful, Master Bruce. You have not fully recuperated from Bane's vicious attack. And you have admitted that you do not know just who it is that could be trying to contact you."

"I know this could be a trap, Alfred," Bruce replied. "I plan on being the one who springs it." He heard the back door open then, felt the brief chill that snaked its way through the luxury car against the back of his neck. "Get back to the cave as soon as you can," he heard his employer rasp in that voice he used when he was his alter ego. "I might need your help in dealing with whatever it is that this person could want or need."

"I shall do my very best, sir."

Then the door closed and that figure quickly became swallowed up by the shadows lurking in that dark alley. Alfred released another breath, waited barely a moment, and then drove off. At the end of the block, he turned left onto Thorndyke Boulevard, which, if memory served him correctly, would take him back to the Expressway.

He caught one last glimpse of that Bat-signal from the corner of his eye and felt a pull deep in his belly he recognized as either trepidation or fear.

Do be mindful, Master Bruce, he thought as he turned right onto the Expressway. There are any number of your enemies who would dearly love to put Batman out of commission.

And there were none, he knew, who were more dangerous than the man his employer had only just brought to justice a few weeks before: the Joker.

Please, don't let it be that monster, was his last thought as he accelerated and embarked upon his short trek back to Wayne Manor.

...

Batman quickly made his way down an alleyway, passing a homeless man asleep in the doorway of an old baker's shop, his cape floating behind him. The streets of this part of Gotham rivaled those of London or Paris in their size and complexity.

They – as well as the cities rooftops – were the quickest and fastest way to get from one part of the city to the other. He moved swiftly, dodging the mounds of rotting garbage and stinking refuse strewn along the slick cobblestone.

The stench no longer bothered him. He had long become accustomed to the sights and smells of the city he chose to serve and protect. Plus, he learned to dab a little touch of mentholated salve beneath his nostrils after watching some coroners and forensic investigators work upon cadavers.

The darkness in this part of Gotham was nearly total, but his footing was sure and his memory of the twists and bends, long.

He reached for the grapnel gun attached to his belt a second before he vaulted a rusted metal gate separating two alleyways. He was airborne less than a second later, the dark and seedy underworld nothing but a blur beneath him.

Two minutes later he was pulling himself onto a gargoyle overlooking the GCPD helipad. As he studied the figure pacing in front of the spotlight he went over the list of potential candidates the detective could be calling him about.

Where was Harvey Dent? Was he back in Arkham or had he managed to secure another early release? For that matter, were Pamela Isley, Jervis Tetch and Victor Fries still securely locked away in their specially crafted cells in Arkham's Intensive Treatment wing? What about Oswald Cobblepot? Had he managed to wheedle a way out of a transfer to the asylum? It was possible. Cobblepot was notoriously resourceful and had plenty of financial influence over many of those at City Hall.

What crimes had occurred linked back to any of those rogues he was thinking about? Nothing Jim had brought to his attention fit any of the usual modus operandi of those he listed. There was no rule of two, floral toxins, cryogenics, Alice in Wonderland or bird themes involved.

The majority of the rogues he hunted down adhered pretty religiously to the standards and fixations that had earned them their colorful monikers. Over the years he learned, through a process of deductive reasoning, how to make the connections, to figure out which one could potentially be involved in what crime. That each one was still incarcerated meant little. All had escaped before and would happily do so again if the opportunity presented itself.

With the exception of Cobblepot and Dent, who did things mainly for the financial gain it afforded them, the motivation for the rest of his list was their own personal agendas. Unless there was a threat to the environment, a possible cure or a girl who looked like Alice, it didn't seem likely Ivy, Freeze or Hatter were possibly involved.

That left only one other candidate whose particular madness couldn't be contained. One monster who enjoyed killing, torturing, and terrorizing for the sheer, sick pleasure of it.

The Joker.

The name alone caused his belly to clench. If he's managed to escape from Arkham again…

Another sigh sounded. He glanced down and watched as the detective did another turn in front of the spotlight. The need for speculation was over. It was time to find out exactly why it was that he'd been called here. He dropped down to the ground without a sound and slowly made his way towards the young man pacing like a restless cat in front of that spotlight.

…

Detective Ethan Tate had been pacing on the roof of police headquarters for about five minutes when he saw the emblem fused to the steel casing of a Krieg spotlight. For almost three decades that searchlight had projected an ominous bat-winged shape into the night sky. It had become a signal to the people of Gotham that they were safe, they were not alone, the bad guys were not going to sweep them up and destroy them with their madness.

Not so long as they had Batman and his battalion of helpers were around to protect them.

He reached over and traced that emblem, feeling the burning metal against his palm and drawing solace from it. Finally, he reached around and flipped the light on. A beam shot high up into the sky, smacking the night out of its way to stamp that bat-shaped symbol upon the smooth velvet surface.

It took him three minutes before he realized he was no longer on the rooftop alone. He slowly turned to look at the cowled man standing there with his cape fluttering behind him in the gentle breeze. Batman was watching him with eyes that were a burning, blistering shade of blue. Ethan was half surprised when his clothes didn't begin to smolder from the heat in that glare.

"So..." he said slowly. "You decided to come. Wasn't sure that you would. Figu-"

"Why have you called me here?" Batman's voice was a low, dark, menacing purr. Like that of a jungle cat right before it attacked. "What is that you want?"

Ethan figured that was as good as the man telling him that he needed to get to the point. Quickly.

"Gordon asked me to pass you a file." He turned to grab a folder from where he'd set it beside the spotlight. "Says that you might be able to figure out what the hell is going on and find a way to stop whoever it is."

"Why didn't Gordon have me meet him at Arkham?" Batman's gaze sharpened. "Why didn't he give me this folder himself?"

"He has his hands full with transferring inmates from Blackgate," Ethan explained quickly. "We've had three breakouts and two riots in the last two hours alone." He heaved a sigh ripe with the exhaustion weighing upon him. "He'd have contacted you if he could."

Batman maintained a neutral expression. Yet his eyes revealed his keen interest in the folder Ethan held. As far as things went, it was more than the young detective could have hoped for.

"What is going on?" he asked. "What is in that folder, specifically?"

It was the question that Ethan had been asking himself ever since he pulled the folder from Gordon's desk. He had an idea about what the folder contained.

"I don't really know what is in here," Ethan admitted without shame. "All Gordon told me was that he wanted me to get this file from his desk, get it to you as quickly as possible, and to let you take matters from there."

"And you didn't take a look at what was in that file?"

"No, sir, I did not."

"Why not?"

Ethan felt a small bubble of annoyance form in the pit of his stomach at Batman's interrogation. However, he swallowed his frustration, told himself it was the silent guardian's way of testing someone's veracity.

"My Commissioner told me to pass the folder along without taking a gander at what was inside. And," he added when he saw Batman cock his head slightly, "out of respect to him and to you, I have done just that."

Batman held out one gloved hand. "Give me the file."

Ethan immediately handed it over. He watched as Batman flipped it open to scan the contents. His dark scowl confirmed that whatever information was inside was not good.

"Look, I don't know what is inside that file." He drug in a deep breath before continuing. "However, I suspect that it has something to do with the recent string of murders that have happened at Arkham this past month."

There, he thought. I told him my suspicions. Now it was up to Batman to decide what he was going to do with the information. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"What murders?" He followed that with, "How many?"

Ethan released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Six, so far."

"The Joker?"

Ethan had known that the Clown Prince of Crime would be the first one that Batman would suspect. It had been who Gordon had initially suspected, as well.

"No." Ethan shook his head. "No, we don't think that the Joker is the one behind these murders. They are too… sophisticated for him. They lack his usual panache and flair for theatrics."

"Why am I only learning about these murders now?" It wasn't a growl. However, it was close. "Why wasn't I told about what was going on sooner?"

"Gordon wanted the GCPD to try to handle the case without you." He turned back towards the spotlight. "He didn't think that this was anything too complicated. Given the list of suspects and the place where all the murders were occurring, he figured we'd solve the case in a week."

"What changed?"

"The last victim." Ethan glanced over his shoulder. "She didn't fit the pattern."

"How so?"

"Well, she was not like all the other victims. She wasn't a patient or a family member or one of the Asylum staff for one thing. And she didn't die from the same cause of death as the others. It was like she was scared to death." He slowly turned back. "Her face..."

Ethan found he was talking to himself, however. Batman was long gone and he suspected had been gone for several minutes.

"Huh." There was a tinge of awe in his voice, upon his face. "I still wonder just how he manages to do that..."

A/N: Hello, all! Getting the legal out of the way, I own nothing but my idea and what characters you don't immediately recognize as belonging to DC.

This story is loosely set in the Arkham-verse. By loosely, I mean the events of Batman: Arkham Asylum might or might might not happen during the events of this story.

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