Author's Note: Guess what, we're back with the next installment. After that little cliff hanger in that last one, I bet you guys were eager for this one. There is a lot planned for this one. I'm a little surprised how quickly we were able to produce it. Anybody who is joining us, you guys better take a look at the predecessor, Ten Houses of Deceit, if you find yourselves lost with some of the exposition in this chapter. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: We do not own Batman

Warning: language, violence, death

Harvey Dent, We Can't Trust Him

Damn Hugo Strange. Damn him to whatever hellhole he crawled out of and let him burn.

Bruce sat in front of the large supercomputer, his face in a perpetual scowl. It had been ten months since the Man-Bat Attacks, the plot concocted by the deranged psychiatrist, and still the fallout had yet to be fully cleansed.

People were scared, a normal reaction to having giant bats descend upon them. Unfortunately, that had led to many people being more scared of Batman than they already were. It used to be the civilians were grateful of his presence, at least once the adrenaline from being attacked wore off. Now though, the young man had lost count how many people begged and pleaded with him not to suck their blood or kill them.

Even worse was the effect it was having on Cassandra. Though she had difficulty understanding the spoken word, she could read body language like it was her native tongue. When she first started, she could see the appreciation for her assistance; now, the hostility and fear was confusing her. She was keeping her distance more often than not. Fortunately that hadn't bled into their partnership, but he could tell she was having trouble understanding it.

However, the blowback wasn't just contained to their nightly patrols. An unexpected consequence revolved around what was left of the mob families—mainly the sole remaining one. Rupert Thorne was out, gone, vanished. Word on the street was the man had fled Gotham following a vicious attack by a Man-Bat. Another rumor suggested he was dead, his body buried along with the likes of Jimmy Hoffa. Though he had investigated these reports, all Bruce had been able to confirm was that Thorne was no longer running his own organization. There was no evidence to suggest he was dead or alive, only that one moment he was here, the next he was gone.

Bruce highly suspected Thorne was dead, however. His biggest reason for believing so focused on the new head of Thorne's crime family. There was no secret that the new boss and Thorne had no lost love between them. In fact, the darkly-armored man knew that the new boss had it out for Thorne for quite some time.

Which brought him to Harvey Dent.

On the giant screen before him, Bruce stared at an image of Dent. Gone was the sophisticated District Attorney; in his stead was a man that looked half like him. The other half was scarred beyond recognition.

As if to add to the new dichotomy, Dent's wardrobe reflected his new face. One side of his suit was white, the other black. Each side met at the middle, ending where the other began. Even his tie was half white, half black, though each color was on the opposite side of its match.

The picture itself had been taken at Gotham's Second National Bank. It was the second appearance of Harvey following his disappearance after the Man-Bat Attacks, though it was the first photographic evidence of him. Harvey had stormed onto the scene in a hail of bullets two weeks after the GCPD had launched a manhunt to find him. The current picture marked the second month of his sudden turn to crime.

Incidentally enough, the Second National Bank had strong ties to the Mob, making it a Mob Bank. More importantly, its biggest customer had been Thorne. When Harvey and his gang blew in, they slaughtered most of the workforce, though the customers had been allowed to leave untouched.

Which was a puzzle in and of itself. In the last ten months, Harvey had attacked many of Thorne's old fronts. Word on the street was that not everyone in the Thorne crime family had accepted their new leader. Harvey's heavy-handed tactics to put down such rebellion was not unexpected.

What was was how he determined who he was to kill and who he wasn't. Unlike the Second National Bank, there was a clinic in Gotham's East Side that he hit, and all of the patients there had been slaughtered. A seemingly random number of the staff survived, surprisingly more than the Bank hit. In fact, it was at random who Harvey killed and how many. Bruce had yet to figure out the how and why of this man's reasoning.

However, if Harvey's rampage was confusing, the disappearance of Mort Weinstein wasn't. The two had been running for the DA's office in the current election. Weinstein had gone missing shortly after Harvey burst onto the scene with his new look and hadn't been found for three days. On the fourth, his body had been found hanging from the front of the DA's office, a blindfold over his eyes, and a scale and toy sword nailed into his hands.

After that, Gordon put a security detail on the remaining DA nominees. Considering the wreckage left in Dent's wake, all of the officers were packing serious heat with shoot-on-sight authority. Even the mayor had beefed up the number of security guards at City Hall.

In short, tension was high with no chance of it lessening in sight.

At last, Bruce hit a button on the keyboard and the picture of Harvey Dent disappeared, leaving the computer screen blank. That was enough musing into the very depressing past.

Not all of which was bad. The Batclan and Birds of Prey were still active, or so he had been told by Huntress. The purple-clad vigilante had been doing some work with her old teammates in the last few months, a mending of their relationship. She still frequented his patrols, but she wasn't there every night like she used to be.

And according to her, they had been receiving some pretty good intel from the mysterious Oracle. That was the new name of the intelligence broker that was assisting the vigilante groups, the one that had called themselves O. The Batclan was primarily benefiting from the Oracle, with some assistance lent to the Birds of Prey. Bruce had half a mind to use this Oracle if only to see how good the intel was in person. Huntress claimed it was pretty good.

This only raised the dark-haired man's suspicions. Until he knew for certain what this Oracle person was doing, he wasn't willing to let them scurry about Gotham, not like he had allowed the Batclan and Birds following his return to Gotham. If someone was out there running around on rooftops and spying, the trouble they were going to bring down would be massive.

On the other hand, that was assuming they were out there. If Bruce recalled correctly, O had hacked into the traffic control mainframe along with other security systems throughout Gotham. If this person was a hacker, they had some serious skill, not to mention some very good equipment.

This only put Bruce on guard. With someone who had the means to hack into anywhere and anything, it was only a matter of time before they started looking for sensitive material. For the vigilantes, that meant their secret identities. While he knew who everyone was, he wasn't about to broadcast that information; there was no telling with Oracle, however. For the sake of everyone involved, that concern needed to be answered.

And answered soon.

It had become more of a ritual that the Batclan met up before going out on patrol. At least, the two of them that could still use their legs did that. The place they met up at was a bit of an oddity, an apartment complex with a clock tower attached to it. It was the place that Barbara had moved into ten months ago and had made not only her home in, but her base of operations as well.

Nightwing couldn't have been more proud of her. Ten months ago, she was a depressed shell of herself. Now, after pulling herself out of that funk, the paralyzed daughter of the commissioner had become something new. In her own words, she had become Oracle.

Whereas Barbara Gordon was a twenty-year old woman working towards a degree in criminal justice, stuck in a wheelchair because of sucky chance, Oracle was a practically faceless entity with digital access to every security system and electronic device in the city. If something was connected to the internet, it was not safe from this desktop vigilante. If it was a program in a hard drive, it could and would be hacked into.

It was a good thing she was on their side. One wrong thing and she could have been a modern day supervillain. Commissioner Gordon had raised her right.

The rise of Oracle could not have come at a better time. As the city recovered from the flock or swarm or whatever it was called of Man-bats, the crime rate had begun to skyrocket. There was a huge shift in organized crime, gangland murders were now at an all-time high, and people were panicking.

If the Batclan was going to survive in this new climate, they needed someone like Oracle to get the intel they needed so that when they struck, it wasn't some empty gesture. It would have some damage and it would be felt.

So what was their target for tonight? The young man was pumped for it, even as he waited for the wheelchair-bound woman to show up. He didn't wait alone in the living room, curtains drawn on all the windows for privacy. His younger partner, Robin, was waiting with him too, as eager to get out on the streets with him.

Robin had had it tough a few months ago. A family member murdered in the streets of their city, combined with the typical emotional stability of your average teenager, and it had almost torn what had been left of their tattered group apart. Thanks to the last ten months, the masked teen was more dedicated to their crusade than ever before. Not for the first time did the older vigilante wonder if it wasn't the identity of the person responsible that was motivating the younger vigilante.

See, when Tim was still reeling from his aunt's death, he and his folks had had a meeting with none other than Harvey Dent. The same Harvey Dent that was going to be prosecuting the murderer of Tim's aunt. The same Harvey Dent who was now Gotham's number one most wanted. The same Harvey Dent who was responsible for the crime wave mentioned earlier.

It didn't make any sense. Really. Nightwing was still trying to figure out what was going on. And Tim, he seemed more determined for some reason. What could it be? Well, so long as it kept Robin sharp it couldn't be all bad, right?

Right now, from where the teen was sitting, it looked like he was drawing something. Nightwing couldn't really get a good look at what it was, but since they were waiting for Barbara to show up, it couldn't hurt to ask, right?

"What'cha up to?" he asked.

It took a second before Robin answered him. "Just a little project. I've been thinking about making a couple changes to my outfit lately."

Thanks to his mask, you couldn't tell that the older vigilante was raising an eyebrow. "You're thinking about making changes? You think you should do that?"

"I've been feeling like I've been in a rut. I've asked Barb to look into some things to help out with it," Robin continued as he turned the piece of paper he was drawing on and made some back and forth motions with the pencil he was holding.

"You think the guy who made us these things would let you make changes to them?" he questioned.

"It couldn't hurt to ask, right?" Robin replied, not once looking up at him.

Okay, now he was interested in what the costumed teen wanted to do. "So what are these changes?"

"I was thinking like some kind of retractable wings. Something that was part of the costume, makes it look cool, but I could also use it in a fight if I had to," the teen answered, his longue starting to poke out of through his lips. "Check out what I'm thinking," he said a moment later, pulling back and turning over his drawing.

Nightwing moved in closer and looked at it. Apparently, Tim was a better drawer than he had given him credit for. Probably an even better designer. This cape looked like it was made up multiple strips of fabric even though it was one piece. From the drawn model Robin had been using, he could see it being used as a glider on one, and on another two spike-like weapons.

"I'm having Barbara see if she can't find anything that's thin and bulletproof. Something that, I don't know, you could run a current through? Make it hard whenever you want." Robin relaxed back in his seat and gave him a look that belonged to a person who felt like they had accomplished something. "So what do you think?"

Before he could give an answer, their hostess finally made her entrance. "Evening boys. I hope you guys are well rested," the young woman called out as she wheeled herself in.

"Yo," Robin said in reply, holding up a hand in welcome.

"Looks like tonight might be a bit busy for you two. There's some movement in North Gotham. One of the street gangs is becoming really active. They call themselves the Skullz and they've been really taking advantage of, you know, everything going to shit. Why don't you guys go up there and see what you can do. Any intel you can get on them would be very welcome," Barbara explained.

"You'll stay in touch, right? Let us know if something is going down while we're behind enemy lines?" Nightwing asked, raising a hand up to touch the earpiece he was wearing.

"Naturally. I can't let anything happen to my two favorite guys and errand boys," Barbara chuckled.

"Oh, thanks a lot. Now we know where we are in your life," Robin retorted, giving a wry smile.

"Well, it would be tough to find someone else to fill your shoes in," Barbara remarked, looking up thoughtfully. "You think the Birds would like to go full time with me? If anything happens, not that it will."

"Well, if you lose us, that'll ruin your track record," Nightwing quipped. Handing back Robin's drawing to its owner, he continued, "We'll head out now, do a little scouting. And, if we can, might see if we can't find these Skulls' leader."

"Hmm. That sounded like an 's' there. It's Skullz with a 'z' at the end," the paralyzed woman corrected him.

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes at the grammar nazi. "I'll call them what I want. They're the ones butchering the English language. Get on their asses." He headed towards the window, raising it up while pulling out a grapple.

"That's why I'm sending you two," Barbara called out behind them.

He should have known by now that when things were going good, something bad was on the horizon, quickly moving in to wreck everything. That fact had been proven true over the past ten months and once again the commissioner had to deal with the fallout.

This time, even Gordon was surprised from where this latest step back had come from. As the days turned into a week, then two, his worry for Harvey Dent had grown into full alarm. There had been no contact as the city recovered from its latest crisis. Then all-out war erupted as Rupert Thorne's crime family imploded on itself.

Not that Gordon was a poetic person, but it could be said that from Thorne's ashes rose Harvey Dent, or as he had become known as Two-face, and he had seized control of Gotham's underworld. And his former ally had gone about cementing that fact with a wave of violence that hadn't been seen in years.

It could be said that this was another of Gotham's crises, but this one had been drawn out so much longer. The weeks had turned into months and here they were nearly a year later, no resolution in sight.

It didn't make any damn sense. What had gotten into that man's mind? Why was he throwing away everything? Everything that they had worked for, held dear to them, then switched sides in an instant and destroyed it all? Nobody has seen this coming and maybe that was why their response had been delayed.

That's right, delayed. During that first month, Gordon had been trying to wrap his mind about this new situation. Everything had been reactionary, the police always arriving too late to handle the next shootout or the following bombing. Robberies, hits, arson, collateral damage, you name it, they had it.

By the second month, the commissioner had gotten his act together. If Harvey was so deadset in his new profession, then it was Gordon's responsibility to bring him in. Naturally that was easier said than done.

"What's the latest?" he asked without looking up, reading over one of countless files that centered over the rise of Two-face. Anytime someone entered his office, it was about an update to some matter that involved Two-face's organization. Almost everything else had to be dropped in the process to handle it.

"So far, it's been quiet," the voice of his wife answered him, speaking in professional tones. "You know what that means. We're about to have something go off, probably involving a lot of bullets and maybe an explosion. No idea if there will be bodies."

That was another thing. There were times when there would be no body count, but others were a flat-out massacre. It made absolutely no sense, especially since some of those who lived were some nasty piece of works themselves. There was no rhyme or reason to it.

"So it's wait, see, then react?" he questioned, looking up at the younger woman. "There's no way we can keep doing this."

"It's not as easy as kicking doors in and arresting people. Grange hasn't declared martial law yet so we still need warrants," Sarah answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Plus, Two-face has been going all out in hiding all centers of his criminal enterprise. That shouldn't be too surprising since he used to work with law enforcement and he knows what we look for. Someone who knows us as well as we do is now against us and using our knowledge."

"I trusted that man," Gordon groaned, slumping back in his seat, his chair creaking. He was going to need to get a new one soon. From the sound of it, this piece of furniture was about to reach its last legs. "And now he's using our procedures against us. He's making a mockery of law enforcement in ways not even our vigilantes have. The only time we have a clue as to what he's up to is after the fact." He heaved a sigh, looking up at the ceiling fan whose blades slowly turned. "Have we heard anything from our undercovers? Anything at all?"

"None can even get in. He knows how we get our men in," Sarah said, taking a seat. She had not brought any coffee with her, so her hands were gripping the chair's arms. "Thanks to his experience as a prosecutor, he's using the law itself as a shield. This is a worst case scenario, and from the looks of it, it may be one we can't win."

Gordon was surprised when a growl slipped out of him. However, that was a good indicator of how he felt. Frustrated. Angry. Betrayed. "So does that mean we give up? No, we can't give up. Even if this whole city goes to hell, we can't give up."

"Do you have any plans, Jim?" Sarah asked. "Anything you haven't told me about? Anything from the Batman?"

That was another thing. It seemed like even his most reliable ally was having problems with this one. More often than not, when Two-face pulled a job, it was over before even the vigilante could get there. The last time the commissioner had spoken with the Dark Knight, even he could see the frustration the masked man was experiencing. And he wasn't trying to hide it either.

Which was not good.

"He's like us. Stuck, reacting instead of taking the fight to him. We can't even figure out where Harvey has set up base and is operating from. Thorne Enterprises was the first on that list, but it was raided, looted, and filled with dead bodies when we showed up."

Gordon really wanted to punch something or someone right now, but Sarah was in the room and he wasn't about to hit her.

"So what do we know other than we're losing and losing badly?" Sarah pressed.

Gordon grimaced. Then he gestured to the file he had been reading over when the lieutenant had entered. "According to that, there's some resistance building in the criminal world. Not everyone wants to follow Two-face and if this keeps up, this will become a war. A war between two factions and if the damage we've seen so far has been from one of them, what two will do…"

"It's a catastrophe waiting to happen," Sarah summed up.

"We need to be doing better," he stated, looking his wife dead in the eye. "We need to start turning this around. Right now, there's only one thing I can think of that we can do. We need to start centralizing our efforts. We need to funnel all incoming information and process it more effectively. I believe what we need right now is a task force dedicated to the sole purpose of apprehending Harvey Two-face Dent and ending this before more people get hurt."

"You think a task force is what we need?" Sarah asked, not with doubt but with curiosity.

"The last time I formed a task force, we got a serial killer. One whose rotting in Blackgate," Gordon told her. "It did its job, and it did it well. I think this will go a long way to reassuring the citizens of Gotham that we're doing everything we can. Sure I'll get some flak for not doing it sooner, but I'll take that over what we have now."

"Alright, so who's leading it?"

"It needs to be someone who is objective about this. Someone who kept their heads when the news broke that our former DA was responsible for this. Someone I can rely on to do their job efficiently and without conflict," Gordon said aloud, listing out his criteria. "I have only one person on my short list of candidates."

"And who would that be?" Sarah asked wryly, one side of her mouth curling upwards.

"You. Who else?" he replied, giving her a fond smile.

All the things he had listed had been actions that Lieutenant Sarah Essen Gordon had taken when everything had blown up. While he had been busy being shellshocked, she had been organizing the men, emergency services, everything. Then when he had gotten his head out of his ass and taken back his responsibilities, she had done nothing but put pressure on everyone to do everything they could.

"Me?"

"Right now, everyone is listening to you. They won't think twice if you tell them to do something, anything. The officers have more trust in you right now than they do me," he explained. "Right now, they need someone who will take charge and guide them through this. You happen to be in the position."

"I also happen to be your wife. People might think you'll be controlling this task force through me," Sarah pointed out.

"Which is why I'm going to run it past Grange and get her consent," the commissioner replied. "Sarah, you're the only person who can lead this task force and make sure that it doesn't go off the rails. You're the only person I trust with it."

"What about Bullock? Montoya?"

"Bullock is not suited for this. It was one thing when it was a serial killer, a murderer hiding in public. That was more hunting and tracking. This, this is going after a different animal altogether and he won't have the temperament to handle the kind of setbacks that will happen. Montoya, while she has been doing impressive work, she doesn't have the kind of experience needed to lead a task force. Not yet, at any rate. If you want, you can have her apart of it, I won't deny you that. Maybe you can teach her a few things.

"None of this changes the fact that you're the best qualified for the demands of this position. You're going to be going after Gotham's newest crime lord, one who's been real good at evading justice. You're going to be charged with dismantling and capturing him, regardless of past dealings he had with the department. Are you up for this?"

Sarah looked down, her bottom lip tucking into her mouth. She was chewing on it, most likely. Not a good habit for her.

Looking back up at him, she nodded. "I am. However, I would feel better if we had someone else backing up my appointment. To head off any problems before they begin distracting us."

Gordon nodded, understanding the logic. The more people he had back her up, the less resistance she would have to face. But who else could he go to? He had already mentioned Mayor Grange, so what other figure that was involved in law enforcement could he approach. Normally, it would be the DA's office...

"How about whoever's acting as DA now. They had to suspend the election until further notice after we found Weinstein and Harkness dropped out soon after," he said. "The name's on the tip of my tongue…"

"Spencer. Kate Spencer. She was one of the assistant DAs before she was tapped," Sarah informed him, smirking. "You can try to see if she's onboard. If so, I'll formally accept the position and form this task force.

He nodded in acceptance. "You have a deal."

It was strange. The Birds of Prey had always been a trio in some form or fashion. Tonight, however, they were a duo.

Because of a meeting with the police commissioner, Kate Spencer was hitting the streets tonight. Likewise for Helena; she was at a school performance watching six, seven, eight, and nine year olds singing songs about farm animals badly—her words.

That left Black Canary and Katana to prowl the streets.

Or in this case, leave an unconscious body next to it.

With a dull thud, the large man collapse into a heap on the ground. Black Canary looked down on the guy with a bored expression on her face. She had known he wasn't going to be much of a challenge and she had effectively taken the guy out in two hits. The first had been to disarm him; a glance to her left showed a revolver lying discarded on the dirty ground. The second had plunged him into unconsciousness and that had been that.

Looking away, she caught sight of what she assumed was a businessman. He was dressed in a now-rumpled suit and tightly clutching a briefcase. He was currently cowering next to an overturned trashcan, hoping he'd go unnoticed.

Which was fine. Canary had no issue with the guy wanting to slink away considering he wasn't even a threat. Walking, she passed by him without another look, heading down the alleyway.

Reaching a corner, she ran into Katana, who was leaning her back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. "Done?" she asked bluntly.

"Done," the blonde replied with a nod.

Katana then looked to her. "Good. I found something you'll want to look at."

In the years that the two had known each other, Black Canary had to admit her colleague's English had gotten much better. Her Broken English of the early days was nearly gone, the Asian able to speak in clear sentences.

Following her partner, the two vigilantes were soon in a wide open area, bordered by buildings on all sides, the only way to get to this place being the alleyway. The first thing the blonde woman took note of was a white van parked in the corner of this makeshift lot. The next was a dumpster, graffiti scrawled over its green sides. There wasn't much else here, though Canary was sure to keep an eye on the door to one of the buildings. It was the only clear entrance she could see.

It was to the van that Katana led her. "I found this while you were playing," she explained. While Black Canary had taken on the duty of confronting the thug, Katana had gone to the other end of the alley to make sure if the guy bolted, he wouldn't get far.

"Any idea of what's in the van?" the blonde vigilante asked.

It was then she noticed her friend had her hand resting on the hilt of her sheathed sword. While this wasn't unusual in the slightest, the fact that the hand in question was her sword-wielding one that got her attention. Katana only did that when a fight was imminent.

"I'm not sure," the Asian woman admitted. "I heard strange sounds coming from within. That's when I came to get you."

For backup—smart. Black Canary slid her legs apart, shifting into a defensive posture. "I'm ready when you are," she told her comrade.

With a sharp nod, Katana then moved to one side of the van, grabbing onto the door handle as she did so. With her other hand, she drew out her sword and held it at the ready. Taking a moment, it seemed as if Katana were composing herself before she pulled on the door handle and swung the door open.

Immediately, the surprised shrieks of animals filled the night's air. The smell of wet fur and waste products assaulted Black Canary's nose. The first thing she noticed was the cages that lined the sides of van. There were animals in most of the ages, each one moving—

That was when a cold feeling settled into the vigilante's stomach. Paling as her eyes widen, Black Canary couldn't help but stare in horror as she noticed the bat-like features these creatures had. They were more monster than anything.

Man-Bats...these were Man-Bats, yet not. Faintly, Black Canary heard Katana say something in Japanese, most likely some sort of swear, not that she blamed her.

The biggest difference was the obvious one. None of these creatures were the size of the Man-Bats they had fought a mere ten months earlier. They were smaller, small enough to fit in the cages that held them. The next was that they seemed to be slumped onto all fours; whether that was because of the cramped quarters they were forced into, or that was just what they preferred, she didn't know. She did know though, that these things were a lot more afraid of her considering they were backing away in their cages, their clawed hands grabbing onto the bars of their cells.

Even more importantly, their very presence was evidence that someone was messing around with the Man-Bat serum. What else could it be? Arms falling to her sides, her hands tightened into fists.

It seemed there was still more Man-Bat guano to clean up.