The acrid smell of gunpowder filled Patrick's nose. He tried crawling backwards, but slipped on the blood that lined the alley ground. The bodies of his heavily armed and dangerous detail were sprawled around him. His own gun laid empty a few feet away. Patrick tried to stand, but the bastard shot out his kneecap. A combination of terror and adrenaline made it so that he barely felt it. The man responsible for all the carnage made his way slowly. He was taking in the violence and gore. He sported black boots, fatigues, t-shirt, and brown leather jacket. What separated him from any other wannabe motorcycle punk was the red mask with white lens.

Patrick felt his back hit the brick wall. "Please. Don't. I'll tell you where my dad is. He's who you wan-"

He crouched down and placed a finger on Patrick's lips. "Shh, don't do that. You're ruining the moment." His voice was being run through a modulator.

Patrick's breathing was unsteady. "What do you want?"

He cocked his head. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to kill you."

Before Patrick knew it, the man responsible for killing his team had his hand covering his mouth and nose. He struggled to breathe, and tried to pry his hand away. The man slowly pulled a knife from out of view and Patrick was too slow. He plunged it half way into his chest.

Patrick's eyes widened.

The man let go of his face and slowly slid the rest of the knife into his chest.

"Your father is already dead. I knew he wouldn't like me taking the family business from him."

The light in the young man's eyes faded quickly.

The Red Hood shook his head, disappointed. He didn't even break a sweat.

Commissioner Gordon stood on the rooftop of Police Headquarters and adjusted his glasses. He flipped his last cigarette between his fingers, debating on how much longer he could hold out. Jim could hear sirens in the distance, they were the constant background noise in this city. He picked up the file and leafed through it making sure he had everything. He took in a breath of the crisp exhaust filled air. Summer was winding down and the nights were getting cooler. Soon he would have the familiar weight of his trench coat draped over his shoulders. He didn't like having his service pistols hanging out in plain sight, but Gotham got hotter than hell in the summer. He rolled up his sleeves. He knew he was fidgeting trying to get his mind over the inevitable irritability that accompanied his nicotine withdrawal.

"Wife making you quit again?"

Gordon didn't jump. He hadn't jumped in years, even though the son of a bitch still materialized out of thin air.

Jim sighed deeply. "Yup, she means business this time though. Came up here herself to get my secret stash." He looked up to see Batman crouched on a ledge above him. The Bat signal illuminated the sky above. "How're you doin'?"

"Fine." He dropped down to his level and exchanged handshakes.

For the millionth time, Gordon thought Batman felt familiar. Even with the voice modulator he felt like he knew the dark knight.

Gordon handed him the file, Batman took it without opening it.

Of course, he thought. The Bat probably already had the digital files copied.

"Any leads?" asked Batman.

Gordon shook his head. "None. We have five dead lieutenants. One from each of the crime families here in Gotham. All of which are run by Roman Sionis AKA Black Mask. At first we thought one of them was trying to muscle in for more turf, but then we found Jimmy Keefe dead at his estate. Single shot to the back of the head. Keefe made the fifth gang."

"Jimmy Keefe? Leader of the Irish Laoch? His son Patrick is second in command."

Gordon nodded. "Was, he's dead too. Just like the other lieutenants, heads cut clean off and missing. He had a ten man detail. All dead. Forensics came back, bullets all came from two pistols."

Batman stood still, almost too still for a human. Gordon had seen the dark knight bleed on various occasions. He had to jog those memories from time to time to remind himself that Batman was indeed mortal…or mortalish.

"You think Penguin is making a play to get back in to Gotham?" he asked.

Batman shook his head. "No. Cobblepot is still breaking ground in Bludhaven."

Gordon snorted. "I'm sure your protégé is giving him a handful."

Batman stood silent.

The Commissioner changed the subject. "There's another thing."

Batman walked over to the ledge and looked at the traffic streaming by. "Since the murders there has been no inter-warfare between any of the gangs. There have been no arrests made in relation to them."

Gordon nodded. "Like they disappeared."

He cleared his throat and pulled out his last cigarette. "We have a new player in town. Another cape?"

Batman nodded. "Maybe, time to pay some people a visit."

Gordon turned away from the wind as he lit his cigarette. "Who are you going to start with?"

Batman didn't answer. Gordon looked back. He was talking to himself. He grunted as he walked over to the bat signal and pulled the switch, turning it off.

Batman pushed the button that closed the drop door on the batmobile.

Alfred repeated the Commissioner's question. "So Master Bruce, who will you be gracing with your presence tonight?"

"Mistress Li. She's still honor bound to help us."

"Ah yes, the dragon incident. How could I forget. By the way Master Drake checked in an hour ago. He's reached Tibet."

Batman nodded. "Good."

Alfred continued, "At this rate the young man should make his way back home in another two months."

"We'll see Alfred. The monks of Mt. Makalu are…tenacious."

Batman parked several blocks away from Water Dragon turf. He proceeded the rest of the way via rooftops. Mistress Li lived above her profitable Chinese restaurant. It was very popular with local immigrants whom she often employed. If they showed promise she would recruit them to her gang. The Water Dragons were originally formed when a wave of Asian immigrants both, legal or otherwise came to Gotham decades ago. Facing persecution, they gathered in present day China Town and formed the gang simply out of self-preservation. Time turned them into the powerhouse gang that they were today. Usually dealing in underground gambling, prostitution, and human trafficking.

Batman quietly lowered himself on to the fifth floor balcony that led to Mistress Li's loft apartment. He had already disabled her security from the roof top. He noiselessly made his way in. He was alone. He searched through her mail and computer. He didn't expect to find anything; she wouldn't be careless enough to leave anything incriminating here. Batman heard the door open downstairs. He looked over the railing of the bedroom, situated above the door allowing a view of the entire apartment. Mistress Li walked in followed by two bodyguards.

She turned to them. "That is enough for tonight. Tell Stone Monkey to contact Little Dragon when business is complete. Update me if there are any issues."

They nodded and walked out. She walked over to her bar and began to pour herself a drink.

Whiskey, neat.

"You may come down Batman."

He smirked. Mistress Li was one of very few people who could do that. He walked down the stairs, taking his time. "Little Dragon?"

She smiled. Familiar lines in her face wrinkling by her eyes. "I can't speak my associates names in the presence of the Batman."

Batman stood beside the balcony door. "Ricky Chan, birth name Zhang Wei. He was your right hand man. He was murdered six days ago. Since then there has been no reported activity amongst you or the other four gangs in Gotham. Why?"

The smile faded as soon as Batman brought up her second. "Ric-Zhang was very important to me."

"He was your son."

She looked up, failing to hide her surprise. "You knew?"

"I suspected."

She sat down on her chair, her eyes glassy and filled with rage.

"Who killed your son Li?"

Silent tears streamed down her face. "My boy. My beautiful boy. And not even a body to bury."

"Tell me."

She was quiet for a moment. "A monster. He knows no honor. Kills mercilessly. He will burn you, and everything you hold dear Batman."

"A name Li."

"He goes by the Red Hood."

Batman turned and opened the balcony door.

"My debt to you is paid now. Do not return."

Batman waited till he was out of earshot. "Alfred?"

"Already checked Master Bruce. He's still sitting in his cell. The Joker hasn't moved from it in weeks. Of course over the years you've faced various individuals donning the name Red Hood, but none seem to match the ruthless profile of this current one."

"Cross reference anyone recently released that's had past associations with the Joker."

Alfred took a somewhat sarcastic tone in his voice. "As you wish sir. Should I bother reheating dinner, or simply feed the dog."

"I'll be out late."

"Very good sir."

Batman closed the channel.

The Red Hood. Joker. Jason.

He felt his hands clench the steering wheel as an all too familiar fury welled up within him. He took a deep breath and began to let go all the wrathful thoughts that plagued his mind. He needed to be better than that.

For Clark.

For Jason.