It was an exceptionally dark night in an exceptionally dark city. The masonry skyscrapers that defined the massive downtown skyline often kept the city streets shaded even in the heat of day, so on a night like tonight only the bravest, or most foolish, dared the shadows of the alleys and side-streets with their presence. Within the shadows can be found every extreme of unsavory behavior, from simple muggings to the most heinous of organized crime. Because of this, entire neighborhoods of mid-rise industrial buildings become ghost towns after sundown, and not even the allure of time-and-a-half pay can draw citizens to staff a night shift. It is in one of these neighborhoods of bland, industrial no-mans-land that a single tower stands over its neighbors, rising a simple but significant five stories above its neighbors, the watchtower for a six-block radius. Despite the lack of superstructures to shade it, the simple flat roof was in fact layered with shadows from the various billboards and antennae that suggested this as either a weather station or media building. Regardless of purpose, the result was the same: near-total darkness in patches, no vantage points around, zero accessibility, and only a weak shaft of moonlight escaping through the thick cloud cover, revealing a patch of gravel near the center of the roof. A slight breeze drifted a few dust motes through into the light, and back out of it, without a sound.

No sound that is, until footsteps crunching the gravel resounded. It was impossible to tell from which direction they began, but the strong, sure pattern with which they landed left no doubt that they belonged to a figure unashamed of his presence in this unorthodox environment. Briskly, but without rush, a figure emerged from the darkness, stopping at the edge of the moon's faint presence. Or rather, half a figure emerged. Truly, only the outline of a man muscled like a MMA champion, garbed in almost all black could be seen, with various protrusions from his figure that suggested a diverse array of armaments. All that could be certain from his appearance was his face, or lack thereof. The figure had half a face, entirely orange, with one lens covering his left eye. There was no lens for his right. He stood at military ease, ready to move yet completely relaxed, before he spoke as if to no one, yet assured he'd be heard.

"I trust this encounter will be more… civil… than our previous?"

His voice was smooth, slightly higher than his build suggested, but rang with the assurance of a blade resting on a wooden display.

"I have an offer for you" Another voice, this one gruff, aggressive, and brisk, responded.

"Ah, so much for pleasantries," the half-man seemed to casually peruse the shadows before him. "I must say, I suspected a trap, or that the rumors were baseless, until your little… token… arrived at my doorstep. But how, exactly, could you be in need of My services?"I seem to remember our last conversation involving your specific disapproval of my line of work. Had a change of heart, have we?"

"This isn't a contract, this is you picking up a new hobby." The voice called out from nowhere.

The half-man narrowed his gaze. "I don't have hobbies," his voice cooled, like liquid freezing.

In response, an envelope fell at his feet. Thick, the manila letter-package seemed to contain half a ream of paper, at least, judging by the way it slapped the ground when in landed.

He didn't jump in the slightest. His lone eye peaked, as though he were humored at the gesture. "An advance?" he queried.

"Phase one," the shadows answered, "with an overview for phases 2-7, as well. Four million dollars is waiting with your man on 23rd and Pike to cover start-up expenses. Once you are ready to begin, the first half of your payment for phase 1 will be delivered in cash, the remainder upon completion. That pattern will continue for each phase. The schedule, payment breakdown, and completion bonus are on page two."

Begrudgingly, and his eye never leaving the shadows roughly straight and to his right, the half-man crouched down to retrieve the packet. Unfolding the seal without looking, he retrieved the indicated page and purveyed its' contents. His brow rose again in tempered surprise, and he reached back for the page he had skipped: the overview.

"My my," he seemed to chuckle without humor as he reviewed the document. "The rumors of a family dispute must be true, if you're resorting to all this. Wouldn't it be easier to pay me to.."

"Don't even think about completing that thought, Wilson" the shadows cut him off in anger. "I don't want him dead, I want him trained." The temper in the voice receded with a slight pause. "He's more like me than he'll admit. He needs a challenge, a white whale to drive him, to spur his development. If he won't take it from me, I have to provide it another way." That seemed to be as much as the shadows would say on the topic.

"Well," the half man seemed content with his overview of the documents, as he tucked them under one arm. "I'll admit, it's hardly my normal sort of activity, but business is a little slow since that Serbia and I have some time in my schedule. I'll expect you to keep any unwanted attention from outside crusaders out of the scene, of course."

"Of course."

"And I won't have you breathing down my neck about… collateral damage… will I?" Because as much as you abhor that sort of thing, it will be inevitable…"

"There's a penalty for each civilian casualty." The voice seemed proud of itself with having anticipated this concern. "I know you'll do your best to avoid losing your payment unnecessarily."

"Of course." The half-man's voice cooled, as though his package in the mail had arrived without batteries. "If that will be all," he turned to leave.

"I mean it, Wilson" the shadow stopped him. "He has a team, now. Meta's, young but with potential. Any one of them gets damaged beyond repair and you answer to me and my colleagues. And you should pray they find you before I do if you do anything to him."

The clear threat, and the gravity behind it would have sent any normal person home to cry under their bedsheets with the lights on. The half man only seemed to roll his eye.

"Of course. Oh, and by the way," he reached into a pocket on his left bicep and withdrew a small object. "Next time you need to contact me, leave this same token with my man on your gardening crew. No need to run all the way to 23rd on my account," and he hurled the small black shape directly into the darkest corner of the rooftop.

A gauntleted hand shot out from the shadow to snag the projectile mid-flight. By the time the recipient looked back, the half-man was gone. Without a word, he ensured that the black metal was not damaged or modified and stuck it into the utility belt around his waist. He rose to leave, cape brushing the gravel as he turned.

It was a dark night in Gotham, and the Batman had more business than usual to attend to, now that his partner had left for Jump City.