And the proverbial waste hits the proverbial fan.

Thanks to those who left me a review or comment, they really do spur me on to keep things moving along. Be sure to keep leaving them, I love hearing what you guys think.

A/N: I do not own Batman or any characters associated with DC Comics.

Freddie Catellano was having a good day.

He'd managed to earn the attention of Johnny Sabatino himself the night before when he'd successfully moved another six million in cash from their overseas front companies and into the Galante Family bank accounts. Ever since Gordon and the Batman had tracked all their money and nearly destroyed organized crime in Gotham City, the Italians had been taking no chances. It was unusual to bring accountants and financial consultants into their midst, but they needed their money properly laundered and cleaned. Now more than ever.

Freddie smiled. He'd be moving up in the organization soon, he just knew it. He'd brought in shipments totaling forty-two million in total in the six months he'd been working for Sabatino, a majority of their earnings.

The rain that had been threatened by the TV meteorologist had also yet to make an appearance. The filtered sunlight that managed to pierce the still somewhat ominous clouds was enough to banish what may have otherwise been a dreary day. The overcast sky also didn't effect the temperature much, providing a cool, crisp day, not out of the ordinary for this time of year.

It provided a pleasant enough afternoon to hold his daughter's birthday party, assuming the rain held off for another precious few hours more.

Sophia had been delighted when he'd told her they'd have her birthday at Robinson Park. Her excitement tripled when he'd revealed that he'd rented the lake pavilion, the one where the kids could feed the ducks and swans that would flock to them as soon as the first crumb hit the water.

Freddie took a sip of his lemonade and watched the kids chase each other over the well manicured lawns while the adults set up a lunch at the picnic tables, complete with a strawberry cake, a pile of carefully wrapped gifts, and enough multi-colored balloons to make his six year old float away.

"Heya Fred-o!"

Freddie turned to find his friend James enthusiastically striding towards him, colorfully wrapped present tucked securely under one arm and the outstretched hand of his beaming little girl in the other. He watched fondly as James bent down and whispered into her ear with a devious grin gracing his features. She looked up at him, grinned wide, her eyes lighting up, and went tearing off after the other kids.

"Glad you could make it Jimmy," he said, clapping his hand on his friend's back as they shook. "How's life treating you these days?" They walked together back to the folding chairs that had been set up in the shade of a towering oak. "Drink?" He gestured to the three coolers near their destination.

"Sure," James bent down and began noisily rummaging through the ice. "And things are going good. Well enough considering the competition we've got, not to mention the constant irritation of masked freaks," he said over his shoulder. Finally settling on a lemonade he rose again and paused, taking a sip. "Way I hear it though I ought to be congratulating you. Sounds like you're making all of us rich men. Man on the move they're saying." He raised his drink in salute. "Cheers."

"Yeah, just good with numbers and a bit of luck is all," Freddie shrugged. "Richard mentioned that the boss had taken notice. That's a good thing, right?"

James took a moment, measuring his words carefully while they both watched the kids running across the grass, laughing and yelling. "Yeah, it's a good thing, so long as you keep up the good work. Just be careful," he warned. "The more important you get to them, the more interest everyone else will take in you too. Cops, the Irish...him..." he trailed off.

"Him?" Freddie laughed, staring at his friend like he'd grown a third eye. "You really think he'd come after a glorified bean counter?"

"I think he'd take on anyone if he thought it would hurt Galante. Never underestimate the Bat." James shifted slightly to look more fully at Freddie. "You hear about those Ukrainians the other night?" Freddie shook his head, he'd been too preoccupied with Sabatino's money to worry about current events. "Six of em, with six million in weapons they were bringing in. Bat hit em...hard, nobody even saw him." James turned to look back towards his daughter. "In this town, too much attention can be a bad thing. All I'm saying is be careful. He took down Falcone and Maroni practically one handed from what I hear."

Freddie scoffed. That was probably more rumors swirling to make mobsters quake in fear, it was too far fetched to be true. "Thought that was just gossip? Stuff to scare guys like us?"

"Dunno. Best not to find out I figure," James said. Freddie nodded, you couldn't really argue with that train of logic. "But it's your girl's birthday, how's about we talk about something a little more positive?"

He grinned. James always had a way of lightening the mood, all the way back to their grade school days when they'd grown up on the same dingy block in the Southside of Haysville, east of downtown. "How's Marie doing? Couldn't make it?" he asked.

"No. That damn morning sickness is hitting her hard." James' wife was pregnant with their second child. They'd found out only a week ago that this one was a boy and James hadn't stopped smiling since. "Hey, what's the deal with the funeral procession?"

Freddie looked at James in confusion before following his friend's equally puzzled gaze towards a line of five dark SUV's approaching the park from down the street. "I don't know. Was the president in town today or something?" He shrugged, watching as the cars pulled up. Moments later their darkened, reflective windows rolled down in unison.

The peace of the day was shattered by the sudden explosion of automatic gunfire that erupted from the vehicles. The staccato sounds of multiple assault rifles combined into a roar, bullets kicking up large clumps of the grass and criss-crossing across the park.

James was already down, the opening salvo had caught him several times before he'd even reacted. Freddie watched in horror as a large red stain blossomed and slowly grew on the front of his t-shirt, staining the light material as one of his oldest friends gasped for breath. Everywhere there was noise, people screaming, children sobbing, women in pain...the giddy atmosphere of the party had devolved completely into chaos. He looked up to see one man nearby raise a pistol before going down as at least six bullets tore into him.

There had been at least fourteen Galante Family men at the party. From his vantage Freddie could see a couple trying vainly to return fire. They were caught out in the open and hopelessly outgunned, their small sidearms would be no match for the large caliber automatic weapons being directed their way. He could see several more already lying prone, like marionettes with their strings cut, bleeding from multiple wounds. Like James, they'd probably been targeted in the opening salvos.

Freddie's breath caught, his heart beating thunderously, threatening to beat out of his chest.

Sophia! Where was Sophia?

Amongst the dead adults he could make out some smaller forms splayed out on the grass, some sobbing and holding their heads, rocking back and forth in shock. Others didn't move at all. The horror of what was happening suddenly dawned on Freddie.

They were targeting the children too. The bastards were actually shooting at the children!

Swiveling his head frantically and scanning what was left of the birthday party, Freddie panicked, all thought of his dying friend and other party goers forgotten. He'd last seen his little girl at the playground.

The tangle of metal and plastic the kids had been so excited for was between the attackers and him, closer to the dark SUV's, still spewing destruction from their open windows. Freddie chanced a glance, exposing his head to the incoming fire only to freeze in horror. There were several small bodies slumped nearby the multi-colored equipment.

No! She couldn't be dead, she had to be okay!

Without thinking he took off at a sprint, leaving the cover of the picnic table he'd been huddled behind, his paternal instincts taking control.

Freddie barely felt the impact of the first bullet. It hit him high in the left shoulder, spinning him slightly from the force, almost causing him to lose his balance. He pressed on though, his singular focus masking most of the pain.

The second bullet impacted his stomach, dropping him to his knees and slamming the breath out of his lungs violently. Freddie gasped, trying to regain his breath. He managed to force himself up to one knee slowly, willing himself to rise further and continue on, the fingers holding his abdomen stained with the blood seeping slowly between them.

He managed to make it to the playground, collapsing back to his hands and knees in pain into the soft sand the equipment was surrounded by. The adrenaline that had been driving him was finally losing the battle to the pain gripping his body.

"Sophia!" he cried, panicked, trying to will himself to his feet one more time. He coughed, wiping away the blood dripping from his lips. "Please! Sophia!"

The intensity of the fire suddenly shifted in Freddie's direction, clanging loudly off the metal structure and kicking up puffs of sand around him. There must not be many targets left, he realized, sickened. There had been close to forty people expected for the party. Freddie had no idea how many had actually shown up on time. Could all of them be dead?

The only cover left in his immediate vicinity was a thick, plastic tunnel that connected two pieces of the surrounding playground. Bullets whipping around him, he scrambled for it, still holding his stomach. There still hadn't been a glimpse of the bright red dress Sophia had been wearing at her party.

Some slight glimmer of hope remained.

He staggered around the mouth of the tunnel, half crawling, to be met with two pairs of eyes, wide as saucers. Sophia and another little boy were curled up together, shaking uncontrollably. Only the boy registered his arrival, staring back at him with his giant blue eyes. Sophia was in shock, looking tiny as she shivered. Freddie started to move forward, wanting to comfort her, to tell her everything would be okay, but the pinging of the bullets snapped him back to reality.

His daughter was alive and he had to keep her that way. He had to lead whoever the shooters were away from her hiding spot.

"Baby, I need you to stay here," he said, far more calmly than he felt. "I need you to stay here with your friend. I want you to wait for the police. Okay? Can you do that?" There was no response from his little girl, her gaze met empty space, but the boy next to her nodded. "Good," he turned back to Sophia. "I love you sweetie. Remember that."

Freddie knelt and kissed her forehead before moving back to the other side of the tunnel. He chanced a glance back, the obtrusive sound of automatic weapons fire dying down momentarily. The boy was watching him, following him intently with his eyes. Sophia still clutched him tight, staring off into space.

He allowed himself a small, sad smile, took a deep breath, and ran.

Commissioner Gordon leaned into the chill, biting wind, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat. The brisk day the city had experienced was gone, replaced with a coldness that reached the bone.

Appropriate given where he was.

Night was just beginning to fall on Gotham, the last vestiges of daylight quickly running away over the horizon. He stood at the edge of Robinson Park, overseeing the cleanup of a slaughter.

There was a group of them, standing in a small half circle off to the side, silently taking in the somber scene. There was nothing to be said. Bodies were strewn out before them, contorted in different grisly poses in the darkening light, lit only by the eerie overhead lights the police had brought it to illuminate the scene while they worked. The victims who hadn't survived had been left out in the open as the forensics people moved through them, going about their grim duties.

Judging by the amount of bodies they'd be at it all night.

Finally, the Commissioner broke the silence. "How many?"

Someone to his right answered, a woman, new to Major Crimes. "Twenty two dead and another fifteen injured," she let the silence envelop them again briefly before speaking again. "They found six kids uninjured...a couple of women too. Jesus Christ, they went after kids..." she trailed off, shaking her head.

Gordon nodded. Someone had made quite the statement. Going after the Galante members was one thing, but from initial reports they'd kept firing long after most of those men had been killed, going so far as to target the remaining children at the party. The Ukrainians had suffered their setback only two nights ago. Was this their retaliation? He knew they were considered vicious, even by mob standards. But kids?

The Commissioner removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose where the headache was starting. He needed to take control, get his people into action and stop this before it went further.

Gordon took a deep breath and turned to the small circle of detectives around him. "Alright, Bullock, I want ID's on everyone here as fast as humanly possible. We need to figure out which of Sabatino's men were killed and how important they are." He turned slightly to his right to address another man. "Petit. Witnesses. There's a whole lot of apartment buildings along this street and we need to talk to everyone in them." Gordon glanced at the woman who'd spoken earlier. "Detective Montoya?" She nodded once. "You're with him." He flicked his head in the direction of the departing Petit. "Everyone else, stick with the forensics people. I want to know every little thought that goes through their heads so that we don't have to wait three days for reports and lab results to get started on this."

It was going to be a long night, he figured he should call Barbara soon and let her know he'd be out late. Something this big demanded his complete attention.

He wandered through the crime scene, mind a whir, never taking his hands out of his pockets. The media was going to have a field day with this. Entire families gunned down in broad daylight in a nice, middle class neighborhood. He turned and looked down the street, shielding his eyes with his hand from the powerful police lights. There were already plenty of TV vans parked just past the police line, mixed with a crowd of onlookers that was growing by the minute, drawn by all the police activity.

He pushed his glasses farther up his nose, wincing at the stab of pain that had spread to the backs of his eyes.

There had been no warning of an impending attack. Despite additional patrols in the Odessa neighborhoods and surveillance on known fronts and gathering places this had been a complete surprise. That lack of warning was concerning as well. Mobs weren't generally known for stealth and subtlety.

The Commissioner paused and looked down at the body of a middle aged man. The Smith and Wesson handgun that lay several feet from the body marked him as one of the mobsters. Whoever he was, he'd tried to fight back.

Someone of some importance had to have been at the little girl's birthday party, it wouldn't have been attacked otherwise. Someone Sabatino would miss. Someone Sabatino would undoubtedly want revenge over. The war that had been simmering in Gotham City was about to explode.

He felt useless at the crime scene. Given his job title he was becoming more an administrator and politician than a cop, a fact that was becoming more and more grating on him and something he'd never enjoy.

Gordon turned slowly and began walking back to his car. A brief flicker of motion caught his attention and he glanced at the darkened rooftops of the surrounding buildings, seeing nothing. The last part did nothing to curb the ever present feeling that he was being watched though.

He hadn't talked to Batman since the night he'd been convinced to turn him in. He'd wanted to contact him, if nothing else than to just check in. Just to know that the man who'd saved his family was doing alright. He owed him that. Actually he owed him far more than that, but it was a debt he figured he'd likely never get to make good on.

Unfortunately, short of shining a spotlight into the night sky Gordon hadn't come up with a way to actually reach him.

Internal Affairs had also been keeping an eye on him for the first few months following the murders. During that time he wouldn't have been able to risk contact even if he'd been able. All the interaction and partnership that had existed between him and the caped crusader had made him very suspicious to some people. Gordon couldn't blame them. There had been times when even he had wondered if he was crazy to work alongside a man that dressed up as a giant bat.

The night Harvey Dent had died had provided him with a permanent answer to that query.

As the months past he hadn't forgotten about the dark knight. Batman had eluded Bullock and his task force time after time, all the while managing to continue dismantling the organized crime syndicates throughout the city. Jim Gordon just wished there was more that he could do. Again, he owed him that.

Reaching a decision he began casually strolling towards a dark alley that branched off from the main street his car was parked along.

Even here, in this upscale neighborhood the alley smelled, littered with garbage and clutter. Like many of the alleyways and smaller side streets of the city most of the lighting was broken, bathing the buildings in darkness. All the better for the less well meaning of Gotham's citizens to hide from unwanted intrusion. He chanced a glance up, watching the rooftops and fire escapes of the surrounding buildings as he worked his way deeper. It was a long shot, but if ever he'd be around and in the mood to talk it'd be after something like this.

"You shouldn't be trying to contact me." Came a growl from behind him. Gordon spun to find the Batman perched on the railing of a fire escape a floor above him. One that he'd looked at only seconds earlier. He hadn't heard a thing.

Bruce moved deeper into the shadows of the rooftop when the large sodium crime scene lights flickered on, flooding the distant nightmare with their harsh light. He counted the number of bodies again now that they were better illuminated and watched the forensics teams performing their various tasks, their shadows splaying across the park at odd angles under the powerful lights. He angled his head better to hear the various conversations going on through the amplifiers, adjusting the gain to work out the static as best he could, wanting to catch any tidbits that didn't fall into the electronic reports they'd eventually be making and that he'd eventually read.

Something was wrong. He'd already listened as no less than five people had brought up Marko Kazan and the Odessa Family. It had been the first thought to pop into his mind as well when he'd first heard of the massacre. Kazan wasn't a criminal mastermind, but nor was he an idiot. Their organizations seldom took responsibility for their actions, but this soon after his arms shipment had been seized any attack would be almost automatically blamed on him. He'd know that too. Could this be more complicated than it seemed?

Bruce felt like he was missing something.

He shifted his gaze farther to the south to a small group of individuals huddled together, serious looks on their faces. Gordon and his team. The Commissioner was speaking with them, giving them direction, being their leader.

As Batman, Bruce had always intended his fight against crime to be a solitary one, spreading the fear that his creation produced to discourage the criminals of his city. Until he turned himself into one of those criminals, following Dent's death, he hadn't realized how much he'd come to appreciate Jim Gordon and take for granted the ability to interact with him and the police. With a few exceptions he'd had kindred spirits, honorable men and women to work alongside.

Things had changed considerably for him since then. He'd once worked with Gordon to track Maroni's money and they'd attempted to wrap up the entire mob in one fell swoop. It had been an optimistic, large scale plan that had nearly worked. A plan on a scale that he was no longer capable of.

He was back to being one man again. A man that may be able to do the things that the police couldn't, but a man that also couldn't do what they could. As powerful as Bruce Wayne and Batman were, they couldn't arrest, try, or incarcerate anyone, forcing him to alter his tactics as a result.

Even his transportation had evolved. Gone was the powerful black tank he preferred. The Tumbler sat idle in the cave, too conspicuous and too recognizable. Although it could outrun nearly any vehicle and pound through nearly any obstacle, nightly chases with the police would be...distracting and would prevent him from accomplishing his goals.

He still utilized the Pod from time to time when speed and maneuverability were essential, but for the most part he now prowled the streets of Gotham in one of several customized, but very nondescript vehicles. For now, he chose to blend in rather than stand apart.

Bruce shook the idle thoughts off and glanced back towards the park. The detectives had scattered, going about their jobs. Several were heading toward the crime scene while another couple headed for a distant brick apartment building, probably to start interviewing eyewitnesses. Gordon was walking back towards his car, his coat clutched around him tightly to shield himself from the cold as he glanced at the rooftops further to the west.

The masked man almost smiled. Gordon knew him all too well.

After a brief hesitation by his sedan and a quick glance back towards his men, the Commissioner started making his way towards a dirty, deserted alley several buildings over from where the Batman silently watched.

It was an invitation.

Bruce sighed, this wasn't a good idea. Gordon should be thinking about his family. He had so much more to lose than he did.

He silently moved to the side of the rooftop anyways, removing his grapple gun and making his way to the next rooftop, heading west towards Gordon.

Minutes later he was watching Gordon casually stroll down the alley, careful to avoid the puddles from the recent rain, his hands in his pockets, eyes roaming. Nobody was following him. No electronic surveillance of any kind that Bruce could detect and no other person in the alley in either direction. In shadow, he dropped to a railing, the padded soles of his boots preventing even the tiniest of sounds.

"You shouldn't be trying to contact me," Bruce said, watching the man below him visibly jump and turn in his direction.

"Still doing that I see," Gordon chuckled. At Batman's silent response the older man held up both hands in a placating gesture. "I know, I know." He glanced back towards the mouth of the alley, in the direction of the bustling crime scene. "Things are getting worse." Batman remained silent, watching his friend shake his head in dismay. "Twenty-two dead and fifteen injured…including kids."

Bruce glanced over the head of Gordon where he could see two technicians picking up a black body bag. From the way they carried it it was easy to tell the occupant wasn't a full size person. "There's going to be retaliation."

Gordon nodded. "I know. Sabatino isn't going to take this laying down. He'll go after Kazan. He's going to want blood."

"I'm not sure Kazan was responsible." Bruce watched Gordon's head whip up in surprise, wide eyes meeting his.

The Commissioner stared at the crouched vigilante, barely visible in the deep shadows, knowing that he wouldn't say something like that without a damn good reason. "The seized weapons, the shell casings from Russian made AK47's, the fact that it was a drive-by shooting...it sure points the finger at the Ukrainians," Gordon said. "What makes you think it was someone else?"

Bruce wanted to shrug, but the Batman wouldn't do that. His mind raced though, trying to connect the dots. "There's something else going on," he finally said. "They would have known I was the one that attacked their men with the shipment. Galante had nothing to do with that."

"Doesn't mean he wouldn't have done this. They're getting desperate," Gordon pointed out. "This could have been an attempt at a preemptive strike. Trying to throw the other gangs off balance." He took his glasses off and massaged his forehead. "You have anything to back this up?"

"Nothing solid. Something about what happened seems too neat, too organized for Odessa."

Gordon's jaw dropped. "You think that," he said, gesturing back to the bloody scene he'd just left, "looks neat?"

"They were precise in their targets, taking out the armed men first and boxing in the survivors of the opening attack, preventing any escape."

The older man looked deep in thought, rubbing his chin and looking at the ground, his glasses still in his other hand. "Okay, but pretty much anybody would try to kill the armed men first. It's self preservation." He went back to rubbing his chin. "One thing is bothering me though. Every witness says the vehicles stopped." He continued on when he saw the Dark Knight's blank expression. "They actually drove up, stopped, and opened fire that lasted for almost two full minutes. Any gang or mob hit involves the car never stopping. You continue driving and hopefully hit everyone you intended. There's no going back."

Bruce nodded. "They knew the police response times, maybe even the locations of the nearest units. So, they knew they had time and were patient. They were on a clock."

"Like you said, precision," Gordon said. "Any idea who would be capable of that? Definitely not the current cast of characters that I can think of. They're not capable of this. Someone new?"

He looked up to find the fire escape deserted, the rooftops too. Only the normal city sounds met his ears. Chuckling darkly he turned back towards the ongoing investigation, shaking his head. "Still doing that," he said quietly. "It was nice to see you too."

A/N: So, there you have it. Hope you guys stay with me after this chapter.

I felt it was necessary to show a nice day go horribly wrong. Not sure including the kids was the right or wrong thing to do, but yeah, I went there. One thing I want to be plainly obvious in this story is just how dark and dangerous Gotham City is. I didn't want the characters to just be thinking about how bad things are, I wanted to illustrate it very clearly. These are ruthless mobsters, murderers, and psychopaths we're talking about here...they don't play nice and they lack a certain moral fiber.

Probably kind of a downer chapter, but next one we're introducing some new people to the mix and Batman gets medieval on some poor schmucks.

Be nice and leave a review!