Hello everyone! Welcome back to the second edition of the story. We're in the past again, just to let you know. It's a little before the events in the first chapter. FYI, the main story will take place about ten years from this point. I have to cover the basics for you guys, so bear with me. It will not all be children. Although, I might have some fun with this…

Happy reading!

November 2018

Terrible hours passed within the walls of the burning building. Still, Batman did not arrive.

Bruce Wayne started to escort people to safety when the reports arrived. A fire in the Bellville Theatre. The flames were getting hotter. Firemen were having problems with it. The Bat signal was up. No Batman yet.

"Is he here?" "Not yet." "Is he there?" "Not yet." "We're still waiting." "I don't know if he's coming." Keep waiting.

Bruce didn't have the luxury of a capsule when he was out on the night. It was supposed to be an easy evening. He was going to dinner –a change to his routine, but he had to make appearances. He was the famous Bruce Wayne after all: the boy billionaire. He had to be shared. He had neglected his fellow charity workers long enough. It would be safe. It would make them happy for a time to have him there. As long as everything went according to plan. Nightwing would cover for him.

Everything did not go according to plan.

From the beginning, things started to turn rough. Company panicked. Once the reports started coming in, everything in his head started to become sharper as he waited for the moment to pounce on the suit and leave. But, that option was currently unavailable.

Usually, this type of event was not uncommon in Gotham. More so, the people in the ballroom with him were not very…concerned when the time came for the heroes to come out. But, this time, the building in question was next to theirs. When the flames started to rise, so did the attitudes and temperatures in the room. Everyone had to get out.

Bruce tried to get all of them away. He ushered them out. But, he had Veronica Vreeland telling him about being able to see her youngest daughter again. He calmly assured her that she would be fine. Everything would be fine.

He had to get out. He had to become Batman. There was little time.

He wasn't in Wayne Enterprises. There was no suit. He couldn't order Alfred to bring it to him. It was all up to him to deliver the people from their misery. He had to act fast.

The roof would grant him opportunity for escape. Instead of going down the stairs with others, he sneaked away and went for the upstairs. There would be an exit there. His footsteps echoed over the metallic stairway. He really didn't care about how noisy he was. As long as the others wouldn't follow him, that was the priority. Knowing them, they probably wouldn't. He heard the last of their panicked shouts faint as the outer door was shut tight. Good, they're gone.

Bruce opened the red handled door and stepped onto the rooftop with ease. He scanned the horizon for the smoke. To his right, the toxins were pouring into the air and on the ground. The leftover fog stuck to the streets like a thick winter sweater – that, added with soot and ash made for a very uncomfortable garb for the Gothamites. He heard sirens below, thankful that the reliable police would at least be able to control what could be done down below. But, what to do about the suit?

Bruce fished for his communicator and switched it on. The static hissed as it made the connection.

"Alfred? Are you there?"

"Master Bruce, I've heard the reports. There is a fire down in the-"

"I know. I need the suit Alfred. I can see the smoke streaming overhead."

"I can't do that, Master Bruce. There is a problem with the capsule. It is malfunctioning. I'm sorry but Batman won't be able to make an appearance. What about one of your spares?"

"Locked away in Wayne Enterprises. There isn't time to get it. I have to act now."

"Perhaps Bruce Wayne will have to make a heroic appearance at last."

"You might be right."

"Stranger things have happened."

"Thank you Alfred. Over."

He had to think fast. He had to be resourceful. Bruce Wayne has been in worst situations without Batman. A suit was just a suit. The symbol. Alfred is right. Tonight it will have to me who goes in.

He had little time. He could literally hear the time ticking as his finger grazed his Rolex. The little hand stayed steady whilst the second hand ticked away mockingly. He had to get moving.

Red handles hanging from the side signaled a fire escape. Bruce ran toward it began to lower himself down the long stretch of rungs. About halfway down, his lungs began to fill with the familiar taste of ash. He tried his best to shield himself from all the smoke flooding around but it was difficult climbing with one hand. He tugged his collar up and continued.

His feet touched ground and he was overcome with wooziness from the toxic air. The fog had done little to subside and Bruce felt himself grasping thin air to keep him from tripping, or falling from bitter oxygen. Blue and white lights dotted the steamy street like sort of congested night sky. The lights began to manipulate into strange long symbols without meaning. He deeply regretted not having the suit, or at least his ventilator. That might have made matters better.

Wait.

One of the firemen. If he could get to one, he could find an oxygen tank. One had to have a spare around. It was his only chance.

He moved faster, waving his arms around to avoid potential articles. He put himself into extreme focus. Screams echoed all around. Radios being used, panicked citizens, the rush of water coming from the hoses…all were tuned out. Shadows in the fog were who he needed to find. One of the larger ones. The skinnier were the police. He needed to avoid them.

Then, his hands placed themselves on be a pair of shoulders. The mystery person's arms found his forearm. By the feel of the uniform. It wasn't a fireman. There was a moment before either of them spoke.

"Mr. Wayne? Is that you?"

James Gordon.

"Yes, Commissioner, it's me. Did everyone get out of the building safely?"

"Boy, are we glad to find you! One woman was worried you'd gotten trapped under something. We could only expect the worst."

"Is everyone all right?"

"Yes, everyone's either fine or getting medical treatment. But between you and me I think some have seen too many dramas. For the most part they're okay. Speaking of which, have you seen the medics?"

"I'm fine. Commissioner, what about the people in the theater?"

"We're going to get every person out of there as soon as we can hose down this place. The flames are too much for the men to get in safely. I'm only glad that you're out."

"Did you check the people in that building?"

"We're working on it, Mr. Wayne. The firemen are trying to control some of the fires so they don't leak out onto other structures."

Bruce coughed.

"You need to see someone about that cough."

"No, it's just a little smoke. Honestly, I'm okay. I'm only worried about the people in the theater."

"Well, some got out already. There was a small performance going on. Many of the audience were out. The fire team's concern is the backstage people that might have been trapped. We can only hope that they can get out or are near an exit."

"I hope so, as well."

This might prove difficult.

"Mr. Wayne, let's get you toward one of the medics…" Gordon began to usher him toward a car shaped like a block.

"No, really, I'm fine. Just, if you could, escort me to one of the fire trucks. That would help me."

"Why?"

"…ever since I was little…I felt comfortable around fire trucks. They calm me….I can't really explain it."

He couldn't see, but knew that Gordon was probably giving him a peculiar look. The direction changed towards a hulking monster of vehicles: The king of the emergency vans.

"I'm fine here, Commissioner. There should be someone here to help me."

"I still don't know what you're doing Mr. Wayne, but I'll keep a look out on you. Don't interfere with the police work."

"I won't."

Gordon shook his head and tread off into the dissolute smoke. At least it was going down a bit. Bruce had to act fast. He pulled out the shelves and compartments of the fire truck, searching for the treasured item. At last, he found one and placed it around his head. He turned the dial on and checked the oxygen valve. Thirty Minutes. It will have to be enough.

He set off away from the chaos towards the side of the building. Whilst climbing down, he thought he noticed an emergency exit on the other side of the theater. That would be the best guess to get in. He checked the officers. They were still piling water on the building. The fire seemed to be going down, but he could not wait any longer. Bruce Wayne gripped the bars of the emergency hatch and went for it.

No one disturbed him as he climbed to a window and let himself in. Lucky for him, the firefighters seemed to be more preoccupied with hoses today. The glass broke easily. Bruce was careful not to cut himself as he scooted through. No matter what the squad was doing down below, it did nothing for the heavy smoke in the room. The area was littered with costumes, makeup, props…you named it, it was here. It must have been the storage room. Bruce wandered farther out. He was on the upper level. There would be less likely people up here, but that was the point of his venture. The lower level citizens could get out. These were less likely.

"Is anyone here?" he called, his voice muffled into a more robotic tone with the tank.

No answer. He moved out of the room and into a hall. It was dusty and filled with assorted cobwebs and other stains. There were a few closets her checked with no one there. He worked fast. Stomping loudly, he hoped that the volume would alert anyone to his presence and they would have the good sense to come out. When doing so, he was careful not to plunge himself through the floor. Fire weakened structures. One unplanned move could send him to dangerous injury or death.

"I anyone here? Don't be afraid."

Still no answer.

Although, there was a sound echoing from the corner door on the far right. It was near the door marked Balcony. Bruce closed in on it. The sound turned to whimpering. It was a child.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

There was no more whimpering. Bruce listened by the door and decided that whoever was in there was either half scared out of their wits, or passed out from the smoke.

"If you are still awake, listen to me. I'm going to break down the door. Do you understand? Please move away from it. It's very important."

He paused for reply. Nothing.

They must have passed out.

He readied himself to kick the door down. Backing away, he bounced on his heels to get the momentum, and then burst through the door. Into the room, the smoke was heaviest. The windows were blackened from the element's attack. Unfortunately they were closed and room the room stank of the falling ash surrounding him. The rank smell even penetrated the stronghold of the ventilator. Bruce ignored the scent and went forward, looking over the floor. So far, the red carpet was laden with overturned chairs, cabinets and other furniture. Strange costumes hung blithely on the forgotten stools. The curtain from the window fell away from the window, the heavy volume of it landing with a loud thump. Bruce turned toward the sound – ears alert – but upon realizing what it was, waved it off.

But not before he saw what was beneath the veil.

Closer inspection was needed. Bruce crept closer to what was a piece of cloth lying under the deep crimson cloth. The strip of clothing was multicolored as if sewn with nothing other than spare patches found here and there.

Bruce lifted the curtain away to find a girl lying there. She had to be no more than six.

He bent down and brushed away the wild brown hair from her forehead. He quickly checked the skull for any abrasions. There was a cut near her hairline. She must have been hiding when he came in. The curtain must have knocked her out. Her face was smudged with ash, but there was something about the cheeks that caused him to stop. Their curve was familiar. Being a detective, he could sometimes tell genetics about people.

Under the coat of soot over her skin, he noticed more similarities in her facial description. His eyes widened.

She can't be…is this really the - ?

Suddenly, he realized his situation. How could he have forgotten so easily? He checked the valve. Two minutes. It might not have been enough. He could hear thumping footsteps of the firefighters coming upstairs. They must have dulled the flames. He could not let them find her there.

Bruce picked up the girl. He left the room and went back to the fire escape window. It was the only way to get out. Each step he took, the thumping got louder and louder. He quickened his pace. Bruce Wayne was a large man, whose stride was longer than others. As he got into the room with the escape, he abandoned the face mask. Taking extreme caution, he stepped outside the window with his right leg, then with the left, careful with the child's head. She was tucked in his coat, still asleep. He tried his best not to wake her.

He got down the stairs much slower than before with his cargo. Bruce shuffled his feet as they echoed down the metal stairway. He neared the ground, which was still full of smoke. He tucked the girl's body as much as he could into his dinner jacket. If anyone saw her, it could be the end.

There was one woman sticking out of the crowd.

She stood in the middle of the road. Her face was streaked in tears - rubbed raw with worry. Had a transport run her over, she might not have even noticed. Her clothes were less than the common person but not as shabby as a street urchin. She hugged the remnants of her seared coat around her. Feet tapped patterns into the dust below.

The building stood there, still smoking.

There was still hope.

She rang her hands, wanting desperately to go in, to see for herself. To make sure. At the same time, she didn't want them to find her. If they did, who knows what could happen. She couldn't bear the separation –not again.

The last fireman walked out. Emergency workers blocked view, and she almost sprinted towards him, but there was an incident.

An exuberant light seared through the windows until they shattered one by one. The lucky people ducked in time to avoid the crushed pieces flinging around. The ones closest, like the fireman, were thrown back from the impact. A menacing explosion continued throughout the building, but it did not fall.

"No!" screamed the woman, after she stood up again. Her hands fell from her ears and she looked for the last fireman she couldn't see. He lay in a corner, near the adjacent building. She shrieked at the sight of him and fell to her knees in heart wrenching sobs. It was not his gruesome body that appalled her.

It was his empty arms.

On a near rooftop, Bruce Wayne beheld the fires enveloping the structure. The building was stubborn. It wouldn't fall. That was none of his concern now.

He turned his attention to the sleeping child in his arms. He held onto her like a life raft for reasons he could not explain. He could only be happy that now she was safe. But what would he do with her?

There were so many feelings. So many mixed feelings about this little child. This…innocent girl. His child.

There was a sound beside him and he knew the person.

"Heard you got into some trouble over there," said Nightwing.

Bruce made no comment. He merely stared at the flames.

Nightwing looked down but the pale girl captured his attention. "Who is this?"

"I found her in the attic of the theater. I'll take her back to have her taken care of."

"Can't you do that now?"

"No."

Nightwing stepped back: that voice meant reason, and Bruce had his reasons for doing everything, even if they didn't seem logical at the time. He shrugged. His trust was the strongest in any person, and could only hope that this would lead to the best.

Bruce Wayne made few crucial mistakes.

Realizing that he was needed elsewhere, he bid a silent farewell to his mentor and fell to the chaos below.

A/N: Feel free to comment on it. Message me or whatever suits you guys.

-AceMate