The chirping of the bats mingled with the repeated clicks of the processing supercomputer, the light from the monitor bathing the cave in a eerie glow. Sitting before the computer, Batman watched as it processed the commands he'd inputted. Multiple analysis were running, analyzing the hair samples found in the van along with the recordings of the shoe prints on the shack's floor.

Then there were the fingerprints. He had struck gold on the change signal switch—at least a thumb and finger—and the side door handle; that made a full set. While the steering wheel and the inside of the van were clean, the kidnappers had forgotten these two spots, the door handle coming on the outside of the van strangely enough. For such careful people they made the oddest mistakes.

Suddenly a window popped up on the computer screen. It seemed the hair sample analysis were finished. Reading the results, it was quickly apparent that the strands were from different people. At least three were in the van, two dark-haired persons and a blonde one. A stop at the Simmons' residence allowed the vigilante to obtained a known hair sample of Alice Simmons and according to the results, the blonde hairs were a match. Alice had been in that van, that was a certainty now.

Now he just had to figure out who else had been in that vehicle.

Just then a new window appeared—speak of the devil. The fingerprint analysis was complete. So who did they belong too…

Two different people. Inching towards the front of the chair, Batman leaned forward as he read the results. The prints were matched following a comparison in the...Department of Motor Vehicle database—so no priors. Hmm, according to the DMV, the prints matched Theodore Knight III.

That made the dark-clad man frown. He knew that name. Fingers danced over the keyboard, typing in an order. Quickly, a new window appeared with all of the suspect's relevant info. Theodore Knight, son of Winston and Victoria Knight, heir to the Knight Family fortune. Ran in the same circle his billionaire persona did; but whereas Bruce Wayne pretended to be spoiled playboy, Knight was just spoiled. Didn't have nearly the same luck with the ladies as Wayne either.

Which is why his involvement with the kidnappings didn't make sense. Scrolling through the window, it wasn't until the vigilante reached the bottom that something interesting emerged. One week ago a missing persons report had been filed on behalf of Theodore Knight; so Knight went missing to kidnapping a high school girl? Something wasn't adding up.

Switching to another window, the Dark Knight pulled up the second window. This one proved more fruitful. Deever Tweed: had a significant rap sheet including assault and battery, armed robbery, grand theft auto, and...kidnapping. A look at Tweed's pictured showed a large, obese, bald man—that was definitely someone that could easily manhandle an athletic teenage girl.

That still left a third man considering there was another set of dark hairs. That placed three men in the van with Knight either the passenger or the driver. They pull up to the ally where Alice Simmons was exiting. Tweed opens the side door, drags Alice in, and they take off. That just leaves their destination before they left the van at the shack.

Considering Knight was listed as a missing person, it was doubtful any of these men were using their own residences as a hideout. That meant they went somewhere in the city. "Computer," he spoke, "check tracking signal."

Immediately a window opened, revealing a map of Gotham, specifically the area where he found the shack. A red dot was flashing over and over on the location, indicating the van had yet to leave. Since he hadn't notified Gordon of his discovery, the vigilante was counting on another kidnapping to occur, allowing him to follow the kidnappers to where they took Alice. While it was likely the girl wasn't there anymore, it would still give him a starting point of where she went. It wasn't his first option, but it was his best.

A sigh blew past his lips. It was about now Batman would be hearing a greeting, witty remark, or a question. Unfortunately, there was no one else around to say those familiar words now. It didn't happen very much, but every so often the dark-clad man would get the yearning to hear another's voice, be it Alfred or Zatanna. Considering where the former was, it left him with the latter who was no longer around.

Last he recalled, Zatanna had reformed her troupe and was on tour, currently somewhere in the Midwest he thought. Apparently the magician had decided to include real magic into her show and it was quickly becoming a very popular attraction. He was happy for her that she was doing so well. In fact, there was a performance scheduled for Gotham sometime next year, or at least that's what Zatanna's email had mentioned. She was obviously hinting for his presence there, something he wasn't going to deny depending on how Gotham was at the time. He really needed to get some tickets soon so he'd stop getting her occasional spam mail about it.

Then again, considering the new company she kept with her, perhaps it was best if he kept his distance. He had heard rumors of a British detective with a perchance for the mystical arts and very cheap whiskey. That was one thing he couldn't help but scratch his head about.

Again he sighed, but this time it was more out of annoyance than anything. Slipping into personal issues during the middle of an investigation was a bad idea. He needed to get his head straight and focus on what was more important. For instance, his search into the shoe prints. Checking on the analysis, he found one pair had been identified: the Nike set. Once more he began to type on the keyboard, bringing up the company's sales logs for the last few years.

"Find...shoe...product...code…" the vigilante murmured as he typed in the command. In seconds he had the code. "Cross-reference and remove all purchases that don't match."

Immediately, the millions of Nike shoe purchases dramatically dropped into the thousands. "Computer, identify all purchases with their means of purchase and cross-reference them for credit cards belonging to Theodore Knight," the vigilante ordered.

The screen began to flash as it complied, moments later returning a reply that Batman did not like. "No match," he growled in annoyance. "Computer: same analysis for Deever Tweed." Again he watched as the computer did it work, once more returning the same result.

So, the Nikes belonged to the third man. The Dark Knight made a mental note of that before he pulled out the sales logs for Adidas. "Computer: perform same analysis for Knight and Tweed."

This task took longer than the previous one due to the sheer amount of information the computer was going through. However, when it was done, the answer remained the same: no match. Damn it, it seemed the shoes were a dead end. Either the shoes were older than he suspected, or these men didn't purchase the shoes. Considering Knight's profile, it was less likely he would have bought an ordinary tennis shoe. There was also more shoe prints in the grime, ones with less distinguishable designs. It was more likely Knight and this Tweed were wearing those considering the lack of traceable purchases.

But if that were the case, that meant there were more than just three abductors—a very disturbing thought. It made Batman scowl at just thinking of it. Then again, these sort of operations were rarely small in number. It took whole organizations to kidnap, store, and ship out victims.

For now, it seemed his best option was following the van. While there was no telling how long it would be before the kidnappers returned to the shack, there was no way they could move without him knowing. The tracer would alert the vigilante the moment the vehicle moved and no matter where in the city he was, he would be able to find it and follow.

A sharp ping! went off, drawing the dark-clad man's attention. The window containing the map of Gotham—and subsequently the tracer device—took over the screen. No longer was the flashing dot in the building, having moved onto the street and heading north.

Immediately, Batman was on his feet, his palm pilot in hand as he strode towards the car. His thumb typing onto several keys, soon the same map on his computer was on his device, showing the same picture of Gotham with the moving tracer.

Honestly, he hadn't expected movement this soon; however, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the kidnappers were on the move, then they were most likely on the prowl for a new victim. Fortunately they were heading to the north side of Gotham, so that decreased the distance and time he had to reach them.

Shoving the palm pilot back into his belt, the vigilante reached his car, what everyone in Gotham seemed to refer to as the Batmobile now. Leaping into the driver's seat, the canopy sliding overhead until it closed, Batman turned on the car, hearing the engine revving to life. Grabbing the gear shift and throwing it into Drive, he pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator, causing the wheels to squeal as they spun in place for a brief moment before the car shot into the tunnel before it.

The hunt for Alice Simmons was on.

With an enrage cry, Huntress swung her bo-staff through the air, slamming it against the side of an armed goon's face. His head snapped to a side as he was thrown off his feet, crashing to the ground in a heap. Holding her staff tightly, the purple-clad vigilante strolled right up to the man as he began to push himself up off the ground. Pulling her leg back casually, she then swung it forward, kicking the thug in the head and knocking him out cold.

Staring coldly at her unconscious foe, Huntress then looked up, giving a cursory glance at her surroundings before she called out, "All clear here."

She was standing in the middle of a warehouse, large wooden crates stacked on top of each other forming a makeshift maze. It was under the management of a crime family, the McKillens. Unlike your usual patriarchal mob family, this one was run by a pair of twin sisters, both just as cruel and destructive as Falcone, Maroni, or even Sionis at their respective peaks. They were Irish, so they were chalk-full of Irish punks looking to make Gotham another slice of old-country Dublin or new-world Boston. Either way, Huntress wasn't in the mood for drunken Irish folk and their moronic accents.

Yeah, she didn't like the Irish. Everyone had someone else they despised and for her it happened to be ale-guzzling, whiskey-belching leprechauns. Stupid bastards.

A shrill scream rang out and an Irish gangster came crashing down on top of a wooden crate next to the dark-haired woman, bouncing off of it and landing hard on the floor. Falling into a defensive stance, the end of her bo-staff pointing towards the thug, Huntress stared him down until she was sure he wasn't getting back up.

That was when a blonde woman landed on the crate the goon had bounced off of, crouching low in her fishnet stockings. "That's clear for me too," Black Canary said cheekily, her gloved hands coming to rest on her knees.

Show off, Huntress groused. It wasn't surprising that Black Canary was in a good mood; this was her bust, so to speak. She had done all of the planning as to how they were breaking in, taking out the hired muscle, and making another example of just why the McKillens needed to go back under the rock they crawled out from under. Huntress wasn't going to lie, BC's plans were working like clockwork, but it did annoy her a tad that the blonde was encroaching on her turf, namely being the leader of their trio.

Speaking of which…

Relaxing her coiled muscles as she dropped the end of her staff to the floor, the third member of their group, the Asian called Katana, came strolling down the path the crates formed, sheathing her sword as she did so. "Finished," was all she said as she came to a stop next to the purple-clad vigilante.

"Looks like you were right," Huntress grumbled as she looked to Black Canary, who was jumping off the box she stood on to join the two women on the ground. "You knew these patrols."

"It's just like the other busts we had," the blonde woman waved off, though the corner of her mouth was twitching up in amusement. "These guys have a set pattern they follow and once we figure out what it is, we can use it against them."

"More impressive is that the Irish can actually follow a plan."

"And this is why you aren't allowed to make up the strategy,"' Black Canary said, not malicious as much as teasing. "Not sure why you hate these guys like you do, but keep a lid on it, will ya?"

Huntress leveled the blonde with a look, one of her eyebrows raising up. "You ever been to a bar and some drunk douche bag walks up to you and tries to manhandling you?"

"Yeah, every time we go out."

"Just imagine they're Irish and they throw out insults about your mother every other sentence."

"Sounds like Boston if you ask me."

"Plan was good," Katana interrupted. "We were in full control tonight."

"You make it sound like we're never in control," Huntress pointed out.

"We weren't," the Asian woman replied succinctly. "Happens when plan only to barge through front door and hit people."

The dark-haired woman scowled. She couldn't help but get the feeling that was a jab at her expense. "You make it sound like a bad thing," she growled threateningly.

"There is time and place for such tactics; this is not one of them."

It wasn't all that long ago that Huntress remembered Katana backing up her plans for taking out the dredges of Gotham. Now though, it seemed the sword-wielding woman was backing Black Canary more and more and Huntress had to admit she didn't like it too much. She was the leader here, she had the most experience between them. She hadn't led them astray yet!

So why was it she felt she was being pushed aside?

"You use crossbow?" Katana suddenly asked.

The purple-clad woman couldn't help but seize up at that. That was a question that was routinely popping up, one she was getting rather sick of. During the Sionis bust last year, they had thrown themselves into the thick of battle and suddenly found themselves in over their heads. During the fight, Huntress had been given a clear shot at Sionis and took it, only for her bolt to bounce off the guy's mask. Apparently Katana and Black Canary saw this and had become very uncomfortable with her use of the crossbow.

Restricting her use of it had helped soothe matters initially; but then came a time where the purple-clad vigilante had to use it and the other two Birds went all mental on her. They never had a problem with her choice in weapon before, so why the hell now? Well, as the months rolled by, Huntress used it less and less, just so their cohesive unit stayed cohesive. Yet those two never let the subject drop and it was starting to piss the dark-haired woman off.

"No, I didn't," she snapped, letting her anger seep into her words.

"Now, now, let's not get pissy," Black Canary said, jumping in to stall whatever pending fight was coming. Sometimes Huntress wished the blonde wouldn't; things like this needed to come to a head and be aired out. "We still have work to do here."

Well, that was a legit point. "Tsk," the dark-haired woman responded, flicking the small switch on her staff, which caused the ends to contract inward. Placing the weapon behind her back, Huntress turned and began to walk to a nearby crate. "Got a crowbar handy?" she called back.

That was when Katana came up beside her, the two standing in front of the box. Like a cobra, she suddenly lashed out with her hand, fingers curled and palm jutting out. She crouched low as she slammed her palm against the side of the crate, the wood snapping and breaking instantly. Just as sudden as she had struck, Katana had pulled her hand back, stepping to a side as guns began to pour out of the crate.

Jumping out of the way, Huntress stared at the flow of firearms as they piled onto the floor. When the avalanche stopped, she looked up to her Asian counterpart and said, "One day you're going to have to show me how you do that."

Katana returned with a small smile, "One day."

"So we have a lot of guns," Black Canary spoke, approaching the two as she came to a stop in front of the mess. "Is anyone thinking there are a hell of a lot more weapons here than this?"

"Oh yeah," Huntress agreed. "So how do you want to do this, General BC? Destroy the goods or call it in?"

Black Canary eyed the guns before she replied, "Call it in. It won't bring down the McKillens, but it'll definitely make things uncomfortable for them. After all, they're the only ones in town with Irish muscle."

"You do the honors." With that, Huntress turned away and began walking towards a corner of the warehouse, the place where they had initially entered the building. As far as she was concerned, the bust was over.

What wasn't was the growing tension. Huntress wasn't sure when they needed to address this, but a boiling point was coming—it always did.

Thing was, in a way, she couldn't blame her partners. When she had shot Sionis, it was in the heat of battle, no way or chance to second-guess or come up with a better alternative. Ever since that moment though, the dark-haired woman found herself...tempted...to do it again. The first time had alarmed her so much, she refused to bring her crossbow out for a month. Though she liked to think that it was only part of her team-approved abstinence, there was a part of her that was scared—scared that she wanted to go through with it.

So okay, she made a big deal that the Birds were harping on her, taking the choice from her. Despite her irritation, she was glad on some level that they kept her honest. The choice to permanently end a life was seductive, thrilling, and terrible all rolled into one. It went beyond her normal urge to cause as much collateral damage to the punks that filled the streets with their drugs and guns and despicable behavior. She had been warned about her aggressive behavior a long time ago and she had felt the same gnawing annoyance she was feeling towards Black Canary and Katana now.

Perhaps this was why she was warned. He knew this was the logical extension of her rage and wanted to keep her from it. And she...she had been too caught up to realize it. It was like an Abyss scenario, with her peering in to see what lay in its depths and becoming frightened at what stared back.

Huntress sighed. What she wouldn't give to go back and change that moment.

Still, what's done was done and there was no changing it. She had to live with it and the fallout, something her comrades couldn't understand. Too bad she didn't have her own Bat-signal like the GCPD—maybe he could help her through this.

This time she snorted. And pigs would fly too.

It had started out as a quiet night.

Vigils from rooftops, leaps across alleyways, and the sounds of footsteps were the highlights so far. Batgirl took the left flank, keeping her eyes peeled and her ears open for any signs of criminal activity. Pretty much standard stuff.

The three of them—her, Nightwing, and Robin—were the self-styled Batclan. Over a year ago, close to two years if her numbers were correct, they had come together with a desire to do justice to the legacy Batman. All of them had been disgusted by how the city had fallen back into old habits after the supposed death of Batman. All of them had been in disbelief as random, everyday people dressed up like the vigilante and tried to deal justice too, though very poorly.

Now, maybe they had done the same thing. However, none of them even dared to name themselves or copy the Batman himself. They had come up with their own identities, and the rest was history.

Well, almost. Batman had come back. He had found out who they were. And he hadn't approved of it.

They had pretty much agreed that they weren't going to let his disapproval hold them back from trying to protect the city they loved. Someone needed to, anyway. Batgirl herself felt the responsibility more so than the others. Protecting Gotham was kinda the family business, you could say.

The night soon changed when they came across a textbook mugging. Having stopped to keep watch on the streets below, Robin had been the one to spot the lonely woman strolling her way, either to home or to other places. Neither was clear. Naturally, because of her vulnerability, they had kept an eye on her. Pretty much standard stuff.

Good thing they had. They weren't far away when she was snatched and dragged off the streets and into your generic dark alley. If the situation wasn't so serious, she would have rolled her eyes at the cliche. Still, they had a job to do.

Thus, they had made their way to the alley. They stopped only long enough to get a good look at the scene from above. Alright, there were three of them, one holding the poor woman in a bear hug, two across from her and her captor. One was wearing a cap on his head, giggling like an idiot. Another was showing off with a butterfly knife, holding onto one half of the handle and trying flicking it around to open it. Probably saw someone do that in a movie and wanted to try it out.

The woman was in whimpering mode right now, rightfully scared shitless. Well, Batgirl had had enough of that. Time to make like heroes and save the day. The three of them shared a look, making an...informal plan of sorts. Since there was three of them down there, it was one apiece.

Nightwing dived in first, being the muscle of the group. She and Robin soon followed, herself quickly pulling out a grappling hook and rope and using that to descend. She had been halfway down when Nightwing struck butterfly knife man, landing a powerful kick into the man's chest in midair. She was just over the man holding the terrified woman when Robin landed on the no-longer-giggling man's shoulders, bringing both of his bent elbows down on the top of his capped head.

Her turn now. With two being taken care of, the redhead was able to focus solely on her target. Taking a page out of Robin's book, she made her landing on the man's shoulders. Instead of bringing down elbows, she wrapped her legs around his neck, slipping her lower legs between his body and the woman's as best as she could. Gripping the rope in her hands tightly, she pulled up with all her strength, picking him up off the asphalt.

Being suddenly yanked up, the man released the poor woman to grab at her legs. She squeezed harder against his throat, making it harder for him to breathe for a few seconds. Then, granting his wish to stop hanging in the air, she let go of the rope. He landed on his feet, but his balance was off. Add to the fact that her weight was making him more top heavy, he ended up falling to his knees, managing to stop himself from going face first into the crud-covered ground somehow.

Batgirl was already fixing to change that. As he reached out with his arms to catch himself, she unwrapped her legs from around his neck and leaned back. As soon as her back was up against his, she stretched her legs as far as she could, raising her feet high up before bringing them down and slamming them into the back of his head.

Not expecting it, his face now made friends with the cement, his arms giving in and letting the rest of him flatten against the pavement. She gave and extra rap with her feet to be sure that he was out.

There, that should do it.

Still hearing the sounds of a struggle, she looked towards the frightened who was staring at her, of all of them, she wasn't quite sure which it was. "Get out of here," she told the woman. "Go home, get somewhere safe, and call the police."

The woman nodded her head, practically trembling. Without waiting to see if she would follow her instructions, Batgirl turned her attention back to the others. What she found was Nightwing tag-teaming with Robin to give the former giggling man a reason to need have his jaw wired shut. Yeah, yeah he was down—and out.

Nightwing must be getting better with taking guys out. This must be a record for how quickly he was—wait, hold on a minute. Looks like the guy with the butterfly knife had only been laying on the ground for show. He was suddenly up on his feet, trying to make a run for it further down the alley.

"Got a runner!" she called out from a place on the unconscious man she was practically sitting on.

"Aw crap," she heard Nightwing grumble as he adjust his hold on one of his police-issued night sticks. It was something that had been appropriated from the GCPD for their late night activities, something the older male had been using with more and more efficiency as of late. With some force behind it, he threw the blunt weapon like a missile, the manufactured stick racing through the air until it struck the fleeing would-be rapist between his shoulder blades.

And down he went. Best to make sure his lights were put out as well.

Jogging down the alleyway, her partners following after her, she found that Nightwing's mark was still in the land of the living, groaning in pain. Wow, he must really be hurt, the poor baby. Whatever should she do? Should she help him, put him out of his pain and give him sweet unconsciousness? Or let him suffer it out since he was a big, strong man? Decisions, decisions.

"Let me take care of that," Nightwing said, taking the decision out of her hands. With his foot, he rolled the man onto his side. Kneeling down, Nightwing put the guy out of his misery with a strong punch to the side of his head, causing his skull to collided with the pavement for additional damage. "Sorry about that. Thought I took him out with that kick."

"Sloppy," Robin commented. "Losing your edge already?"

"You wish," Nightwing retorted.

Yep, some post-fight banter. Something to liven up the night. Pretty much standard stuff.

Looking up, Batgirl noticed that they were in front of an intersecting alleyway. Had their man turned into it a second earlier, he would have missed Nightwing's night stick. Then again, it wasn't an obvious escape route with all the garbage placed in front of it and...and…

...were her eyes deceiving her or was that…?

"Right, Batgirl? Batgirl?" Robin waved his hand in front of her eyes. "Earth to Batgirl. You there?"

"Look," she stated, not taking her eyes off the sight before her.

"Look at what—oh. Is that what...I think it is?" Sounded like Robin was having a little trouble getting his words out there.

"I think that's a body," Nightwing said, his voice quiet.

That pretty much cinched it. She hadn't been imagining it. Moving away from the unconscious man Nightwing had taken out, she stepped over the trash, and into the new alley. She didn't go much further as now she was getting a better look at this area and found that there was quite a bit of dried blood all over the place.

With a father who was the commissioner and being around real life detectives, Batgirl knew that she needed to be careful here. This was a crime scene here and her standing in it was contaminating it.

"Be careful," she instructed as Robin entered the scene. "We don't want to disturb anything."

"What happened here?" Robin asked quietly, eyes focused on the body.

That was the question. Her nose was starting to register the smell now and it was awful. It was a wonder she hadn't been detecting it earlier.

That led her back to the body, if you could still call it that. Could it be said that it was sitting up against the brick wall? Legs sprawled outwards from the torso, covered in blood soaked pants. An arm was resting on a leg, though there was something odd about it. Her eyes trailing up and down the arm, it hit her belatedly that the hand was missing, severed off at the wrist.

Lifting her gaze upwards, she had to speed up her observation because the stomach area was a mess. It looked like the insides were pouring out—no, those were the insides! Intestines primarily, enough to make her turn green and her stomach queasy.

If she thought moving up further was going to be better, that was a mistake. While the entire torso that wasn't gushing out internal organs was soaked in blood, the head was...was…

The head looked like it was caved in, as if someone had taken an ice cream scooper and scooped out everything. What made it worse was the lower jaw was still there, barely hanging, but anything like a face, or a brain was gone, completely gone.

Oh no. She felt like she was going to lose her dinner here. She really was about to. Movement at her side was enough to distract her, though any relief she might have felt was torn to shreds once she realized that Robin was stepping closer to the corpse.

"Don't touch anything!" she ordered. "You're going to contaminate it!"

Robin's reply was anything but reassuring. "I think it's a bit late for that. There's maggots."

She did not need that visual confirmed.

"I think we need to get out here and call the police," Nightwing stated, taking charge. "Who knows how long that's been there."

"His hands are gone." Robin was thoroughly looking over the body. "He doesn't have a face. No teeth."

"Robin!" Nightwing reprimanded.

"Listen!" Robin insisted. "There's nothing here to identify him! No face, no fingerprints, nothing."

"Robin, none of us here are qualified to make any...whatever they're called about murder scenes. We need to let the cops handle it. We're out of our depths on this one," Nightwing asserted. "Let them handle it. We need to go—now."

Robin looked as if he was going to argue, but something stopped him. Maybe it had to do with him looking straight at her, or maybe Nightwing was getting through to him. Nodding reluctantly, he moved away from the body.

Moving away from it, that was sounding such a good idea more and more by the minute.

However, she had this...this feeling that this wasn't going to be the end of it.

Not with the way Robin kept looking back at it.