I am a Bat-fan wannabe. I've seen the Dark Knight Trilogy, and have read what comics I can, but I don't have access to a lot. So if you're a hardcore comic-lover, sorry about this. I just wanted to write a Batman story, so I did/am. This draws on certain elements and ideas from both movies and comics alike, with some of my own characters as well. So, anyway, enjoy… or not. But leave a review either way!

Disclaimer: Batman/related characters are owned by DC.

Setting the final fuse on the control box, I move away down the metal catwalk. For an abandoned factory, there's a surprising amount of noise. Mostly because it's only supposed to be abandoned. Various chemical compounds bubble away below me, sending their reeking fumes up into my eyes. But I'm focused. I have a task at hand, and I intend to do it.

Exiting the manufacturing room, I creep into the warehouse. It's well lit—that's his advantage. He's supposed to be able to see me coming. But he's always been a little short on brains. As I enter the room, I see him at the center, and he looks up at me. I let him see me. The more noise he makes, the easier it will be to find him in the dark.

The doors slam shut behind me, and I'm quick to fly behind the storage crates littering the floor. He roars—a grating, gurgling laugh—and I can hear him approaching. "The Batman," he growls. "The Dark Knight. The keeper of order and justice, the criminal's bane!" He tears aside a pile of boxes, sending wooden debris fluttering to the tile. "Trapped like a rat. Or is it a bat? I duck a slash from his claws, which rips through the crate above my head, but still doesn't affect me. He doesn't know where I am. He's guessing. Guessing pretty accurately, trying to follow my original path, but he still has no idea. I could easily step out now, take him down, but I decide to bide my time. I have time. I might as well make a neater job of it.

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FOREVER!" he roars. "WHERE ARE YOU? FACE ME!"

I send a batarang flying behind him, and as it circles around it hits him in the back of his scaly head, causing him to whip around. Of course. Again, brains.

"You can't fight me here," he leers, starting to lumber away. "This is my kingdom."

Actually, I think as I hear a muffled explosion from behind me and the lights go out. It's mine.

Because bats see best in the dark.

The fight from there is fairly straightforward. An ambush from behind—the element of surprise. Killer Croc is disoriented for a moment. He doesn't need light to fight, but it was a surprise move. A few well-placed kicks. Snout. Tail. Chest, over the heart.

I told Alfred to take a day off. I knew that this was going to be an easy one, and he needed to spend some time with his son. There was a baseball game downtown. Jackson loves baseball. As much as I knew he needed it, I couldn't help but think about the empty batcave back home. Alfred probably left me some soup and tea. At least, I hope he did. If not, I can always dig something out of the fridge.

The Killer Croc is no problem. As I leave him behind, incapacitated and bound, for the police to pick up, I think about how much Alfred's helped me over the past three years. But also, how much he's sacrificed for my sake. For Gotham's sake. Especially after his wife died, and he was left to care for his son. Jackson Pennyworth was a bright spot in Alfred's life, but he did complicate things. Alfred should have taken me up on my offer. But I understand why he didn't.

The Batmobile needs maintenance. A little while ago, one of Croc's henchman had busted up the front left tire. It had been all right, until earlier today. That's when it'd started to wobble. Driving into one of the other abandoned warehouses in Gotham, entering the tunnel concealed there, and traversing the familiar path to the batcave, I can feel it misbehaving.

The batcave. The familiar smell; damp, musty. Cool, humid air streaming between the rocks. I jump out of the Batmobile and pause to take a look at it. I'll deal with it later. I'm done for tonight. Walking up past the main computer console and stowing my mask and cape, I check the screen for any new notices. Updates. Nothing. So I get changed. Like I expected, there's a bowl of clam chowder sitting on a table upstairs, in the manor. Next to it stands a cup of Earl Grey, and some toasted sourdough bread. The soup is only lukewarm—the tea is cold.

With a sigh, I take the tray into the kitchen to refill. It's easy enough. I just think of what Alfred would say if he'd realized that I'd gotten back so late that the food had been cold. He's probably eating with Gordon's family. With Jackson and Jim and Barbara. I hope that he's not worrying about me. I hope, because this is who I decided to be. I wouldn't have taken the role as Gotham's protector if I didn't expect to take care of myself. As much as I like Alfred's company, and look forward to it, I can't rely on it. This is who I am.

I am Batman.

And I am alone.

Anyway, I'll be putting more up. And I want to give a huge thank you to my friend Riolutae for being my editor. Her anime-crossover fanfic is currently in progress. Check it out!