Title: Fallout
Author: Meridian
Rating: R (language, sexual references)
Summary: In any war, there are casualties. This is the story of the war for Gotham, the heroes who would save it, the villains who would jeopardize it, and the people caught in between.

Author's Note: With a new iteration of the Batman, there's so much room to play. Inspired by Batman Begins, I borrow elements heavily from Batman: The Animated Series. Most characters in this work are taken from what I know of that version of Batman, translated and adapted into the darker world of Batman Begins. Enjoy.

The Ballot and the Bat
By Summer Gleason

At his re-election party four weeks ago, Mayor Hamilton Hill clapped Police Commissioner Arlen Loeb on the shoulder and posed for all the right photos as they pledged, together, to heal our wounded city. Loeb stood for pictures with decorated cops and ordinary patrolmen the next day, and Hill dined with the richest men in Gotham to see that contributions to his campaign flowed freely. A few cried foul at Hill's use of the recent terrorist attack to sway voters, but most understood that any politician incapable of turning tragedy to his advantage never lasted long in the dark city.

We're now two weeks from the election, and neither Hill nor his opponent can claim a sizeable lead. The threat of terrorism preys heavily on voters' minds, and each candidate jockeys daily for the mayor's mansion by declaring new and improved means by which they would keep the people safe. Hill boasts of his sizeable donations and federal funds already amassed on behalf of the citizenry; his opponent, Temple Fugate, focuses on how he would implement changes with that money, his long history in civil service a testament to his ability to micro-manage and streamline for maximum efficiency.

What matters most to your average voter, however, is that neither has the Batman's endorsement. Every day leading up to the election with no clear pronouncement from Gotham's elusive hero rattles nerves and sparks spontaneous discussions of policy among the rank and file. There have been reports of brawls over the question of which candidate enjoys the Batman's loyalty. Lieutenant James Gordon, suspected ally of the Batman, isn't giving us any hints, but maybe that's not the point. What matters is that the man controlling the election is, as ever, both known and unknown.

Not long ago, Gotham looked to bosses like Carmine Falcone or Carl Grissom to know which flunky to elect - Hill's predecessor stepped down because just such an arrangement was more publicly acknowledged than is acceptable even in this city. In times past, everyone knew the man behind the public's man, but his power to elect candidates was never provable.

Not so this year. This year, Gothamites see the searchlight in the sky as a reminder of who controls the public opinion. It is only his real identity that remains as much a mystery as his choice for mayor. One can only imagine the Batman stepping into the voting booth this November because, while the man behind the mask will do just such a thing (one would hope, seeing as he is so civic-minded), the man himself never allows his politics to show. Or to change his routine.

Remind you of anyone...or anything? This city has seen a lot, especially of late, and yet she stays strong, rises to the challenges, resilient beyond measure. It is also a stubborn city, a sometimes cruel and pitiless one. The recent decision to raze most of the Narrows, including the now ineffectual Arkham Asylum, stands out as one of the most bizarre points of concurrence between our two candidates for mayor. And Gotham's dark savior does nothing to save the poor who will be displaced as Wayne Enterprises moves in to claim the real estate. It's politics as usual, even when the boss wears a cape.

Perhaps we can all release the breaths we've been holding and be bold, declare ourselves, for once, indifferent to the choice that the man behind the scenes is making, and vote according to our belief. Hope is fresh in Gotham again, and for that we owe our elected officials, the legion of hard-working policemen, and, of course, the Batman due thanks. But let your conscience guide you to the booth this year. No night flyer will pull that lever for you. The fate of our city lies in the booth. As it should be. Voter intimidation this year has no excuse, so don't be a coward: vote your conscience. And please, leave the tights at home.

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it, Summer?"

Summer Gleason pushed her glasses up her nose, dropping the paper in front of her back to her desk. She never wore them to the office much, fashionable frames not withstanding. TV anchors needed to be accessible as much as they needed to be pretty faces; a bespectacled television journalist put the viewer in a subservient, ignorant position, and she hadn't climbed her way to being Gotham's favorite nightly news anchor by treating her viewers like putzes.

"This is print media, Jason," Summer caught the copy of the Gotham Gazette that he threw to her. "No one will even read it that carefully. I said what I needed to say and said it without leaving grounds for a libel suit with either Hill or Fugate. And," she smiled, biting on the end of her pen, "both of them will still have to smile and be nice when they give interviews to me."

"You sure they'll still do that?"

"They wouldn't dare not to. Now, scram." Jason rabbitted when she barked; aside from the vee-pees, no one bossed the staff around quite like her, a fact of which she was quite proud. Joe Walsh, the assistant editor, side-stepped around Jason and into her office, stooping to retrieve her paper.

"Seems we're famous for more than our Clariol hair-color, Summer."

She flipped him off, tapping her perfect nails on her desk as she waited for him to close the door. He took his time about it, closing it gently so as not to attract door-slamming attention from the secretaries and interns bustling about outside. It was why she tolerated his snide remarks and other assorted bullshit: he could read her and respected her despite the tantrums.

"You look fit to kill, Gleason. What's gotten up your skirt now?"

"This," she banged her fist down on the desk, wrinkling her byline, nearly tearing the newsprint. Scowling, she flicked out her handkerchief to wipe off the schmutz. "This piece of garbage editorial. What was I thinking, Joe?"

"You come off pretty intelligent. Lotta people who're gonna be surprised about that, let me tell you."

"I come off like all the other talking-head blowhards who don't have a clue." She sighed, anger spent and dwindling down into a whine. "I want the Batman, Joe. I wanted to break that story."

"It's been broken a few weeks now, Summer."

"It hasn't been anything!" She grabbed the paper and threw it up in the air. "No one has a picture of the guy. He's on the rooftops now for how long? How many people saw him after that mess with the Narrows and no one has a single fucking picture?"

"It's a question of predictability, Summer. He's not posing, and unless you plan on going undercover as a mob moll, how the hell do you plan on being there when crime provokes this loony?"

"Undercover," Summer spat out the word with contempt. "Embedded, Joe. Reporters can be embedded. We're not the goddamned police." She chewed on this thought a moment. "What about Gordon? I hear he's comfy with the Bat."

"Yeah, Commissioner Loeb tried to fire him for it, too."

"And Mayor Hill got him promoted instead," Summer nodded. Gotham had just been attacked by terrorists, but less than a month later things were back to normal, the gossip mill abuzz about the sissy slap-fight and jurisdictional posturing between the mayor and his commissioner over the Batman. It made her want the story even more. Any guy who could break up the boys' club mentality between Loeb and Hill had to be something amazing.

"You know half the city's sat on Gordon's little lamp and we still have no photos."

"I know, Joe. I listen to you tell me 'we still don't have it yet, Summer' every fucking day." She wasn't entirely sure how that worked, either. You sit a guy in front of Lt. Gordon's overgrown flashlight and you have him stay there for a couple of days, and yet he still misses the Batman. What. The. Fuck?

"He's slippery, this bat-guy."

"No shit," Summer rolled her eyes. "The print boys are going to get the picture soon, though. And the rest of us talkies are gonna be left holding our dicks to the fan trying to get him to talk to us."

"Well, there's one thing you can be glad of, Summer."

Casting a quick glance at Heaven in prayer, she looked at her editor. "What's that, Joe?"

"You don't have a dick."

"Fuck you, too."

"Language," he chided, wagging his finger at her. "You better get that out of your system before you go on tonight. Last time we had a slip-up, the FCC fined us more than even you are worth."

"I'm gonna be worth a shitload more soon, Joe."

Joe folded his arms, his posture tolerant if not credulous. That was another reason she liked him; he would go along with her bullshit because he knew, nine times out of ten, it eventually led somewhere real. Her nose was that good, so the network gave her enough slack to find the story. That she might hang herself with that length never fussed Joe any.

"Why are you going to be worth more, Summer?"

"I'm going to get an interview with Batman." Joe's eyebrows went up a notch, but he held his tongue. "No more editorials. No more waste-of-space filler for the clueless crowd. I'm going to get on camera and I'm going on with Batman if I have to drag him out of his hole by his fruity little cape."

"If anyone can do it," Joe slapped his thighs, rising to stand, "it's you."

"Damn right."

"Don't let anyone catch you slacking on the rest of your job, though." His reproach stung; as professional as she was, it had happened before and there would be severe consequences if it happened again. "You want to track down the Bat? You do it on your time. You be here to read the empty, waste-of-space news when they want you, and you can do anything you want with your down time."

Joe walked to the door, opened it, paused, a sinner's grin on his face. "Nice editorial, by the way."

She threw her shoe at the door just as it closed.