A/N: Whoa, so sorry I didn't have this out sooner! It's been rather hectic and I've been re-writing and re-writing this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this part though and I hope you all enjoy it! :D Thank you for the support and everything; AbbieDabbie97, Linda Ku, highlander348, AkatsukiMercy1515, Marianne 16, Owl Nebula and Guest! As per a few of your guys' questions, they are answered at the bottom of the page! Feedback is always appreciated. Oh! This story is set in 2016 for all intents and purposes. Allons-y!

Chapter 3- Revealed

"Hmm..." a murmur passed under my breath in a low hum; eyes scouring the words before me on the illuminated screen.

I had taken up the initiative to undergo research on the original caped crusader, comparing various articles and sources I dredged up from Gotham's archives. The library had been surprisingly busy for a Tuesday morning- numerous bodies moving in and out of their respective positions from the chairs surrounding me- ghosts shifting in and out of existence in my peripheral vision. Only once there was an instance in which a rather flirtatious man would not give up on his antics, insistent on inviting me to some bar or another with seemingly low interest in something other than my body. Sadly I was forced to let him down with a cool retort rather than slamming his head through the nearby table.

Hours had passed yet I was not fazed on the drive towards my research, I wanted to know more, much more about the deceased crime fighter. The fruits of my labor had not shown much that wasn't about his vigilante conflicts and whether or not he has politically motivated- I snorted at that speculation, politics were everywhere, but most certainly not Batman's primary goal. With a frustrated sigh I gave up, placing my palm on the crook of my neck to ease the disturbed muscles which twitched from the strain- I contemplated my surroundings, listening to the familiar hum of the computer while trying to find answers when all I had were more questions. My eyes traveled to the book shelf which stood at my left, scanning the titles out of curiosity and aimlessly looking about as my mind tried to sort things out. One spine in particular caught my eye, thick gold-plated lettering which read, "The Scarlet Pimpernel by Emmuska Orczy" holding a beautiful thin trim of gold as a border. I knew the story well- A very rich man who turned out to be the country's greatest hero… Something in my brain clicked and I all but flew back to the keyboard, already launching the next key word phrase into the search box- 'Bruce Wayne'. Numerous articles categorized the billionaire play boy's flashy advertisements of pushy philanthropy and scandals involving the Russian ballet and some drunken night at a hotel with runway models. Sagacity was not a friend at the moment. I searched deeper into the database, focusing strictly on dates instead of the much bolder newspaper headlines.

This was it. This was him.

The dates lined up in perfect unison- never once was there a newspaper with stories on both Bruce Wayne and Batman- the insane, fanatical moments of Bruce Wayne never crossed paths with the Dark Knight. The eight years of a missing caped crusader falling perfectly in-sync with the eight years of the suddenly hermitic playboy of Gotham. I was silently surprised- the situation seemed glaringly obvious and stirred in me little faith among the rest of the Gotham population. Or perhaps it was the inexplicability of it all…an enigmatic mystery that gave people their sense of security, an unknown force, strong and willing to save their city single-handedly….After all why question a gift from above?

That is until they practically crucified him.

Was this the fate of the next Batman? A sudden impulse told me that I needed to find him, talk to him- communicate somehow. And if Bruce Wayne truly passed down his title and legacy to him before he died, then maybe I could find something, anything, that would tell me where to look. A sudden urgency came upon me as I attempted to find even the smallest vestiges of the billionaire, tracking down his assets-a link to the here and now. Surprisingly it only took a few moments before something popped up- the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation for Children est. 2012.

"Gotcha".


The gravel creaked and rumbled under the weight of my foot landing next to the taxi. With a ten dollar bill handed to the driver and the attaché case now in my hand, I turned to find the daunting mansion of Wayne Manor standing tall and ominous out in the distance. It was then that my nervous ticks started kicking in; straightening the black collar of my blazer and adjusting the laminated I.D tag I had printed and arranged only this morning. Guilt slowly eased into my presence for the elaborate deception- a work of art lying in the midst of a compulsory masquerade. Brown waves pulled back tightly into a business-like bun, altering the natural lay of my hair into an uncomfortable and exposed position. The make-up I had applied felt foreign and unwanted against my skin, stopping myself numerous times from biting my lower lip when an unpleasant tang of lipstick met my taste buds. A recently purchased A-line black skirt felt absolutely suffocating, and I found myself willing to give anything in order to trade for a simple pair of jeans. Raven black pumps clicked obnoxiously against the limestone pathway to the mansion, and laughable enough they were easily tamable- the secret lying in a need for balance rather than practice. Great wooden double-doors became more easily visible as I neared the entrance from the half-mile driveway, and in my haste I ended up knocking with a bit more enthusiasm then was necessary.

The door was swung open in an eager frenzy a moment later, "Hello!" the voice of a young girl carried from the archway. Golden curls flounced around her small face in a way that reminded me of the happy juvenile freedom of summer. Her auburn orbs shown light with curiosity as they gazed up at me with an excited grin, one of her front teeth missing in a testament to her youth, "Who are you?"

Just then an older lady came up from behind the girl, addressing the small child as she came into view, "Annie. Now you know you're not supposed to be inside."

She began with the cadence of a mother yet the warmth of an old friend, glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes.

"Go out and play with the rest of the kids, hurry along now!" She laughed as the girl perked up and ran down the hall, tackling another child out in the courtyard.

"May I help you?" she queried, finally turning to me in a wary manor.

My gaze immediately shifted from the retreating form of the children in the yard towards her hazel eyes, the lines at the corners suggesting her age within a lifetime full of laughter. Starting with a responsive smile I found it abnormally hard to go into undercover mode, the innocence that surrounded me was fresh and different, something like family…something I had not experienced in years. A remembrance dragging you down. Frustrated with myself, the drive towards an ever-looming deadline of Gotham's fate pressed me further, leaping further into the deception.

"I'm with the HHA…the Happy Homes Agency?" I asked politely as if she really should have been expecting me. Her eyes scrutinized my nametag and formed a confused countenance as she glanced back at me.

"But the agency sent someone just last week!"

I revised my plans quickly- adjusting my faux, black rimmed glasses and careful to give an assuring smile- contributing to an expected professional calm to the situation.

"They were from the home office-I'm a part of the security branch, check on the safety of the buildings and equipment," I waved my hand in a rolling manor to illustrate the situation, a common mannerism for the safe-at-ease. If there was one thing people felt comfortable around, it was with someone who knew what they were saying. She seemed placated enough as I finished my explanation, her brow smoothing back from its recently arched position and an understanding mien seized her features.

"Oh I see, I apologize- what with the crime scares lately it's been getting harder and harder to tell…" voice worried and eyes taking on a slightly faraway look as if she were searching for something long forgotten.

It was people like these- the good people that made me into what I had become. These were the kind of people that didn't deserve to be living the rest of their lives in terror- jumping from every shadow and double bolt-locking their doors. These were the people I attempt to shelter from the unbiased evils surrounding them. And this was the reason I was here. Ramming the guilt of my deceit down to the pit of my stomach and the dark glowering of my anger aside- I was able to give a genuine, sympathetic nod in addition to my concerned expression.

"Well, enough time I've wasted from you, come in- I'll show you around".


"-and this is the game room- for the older kids of course, though all the children seem to enjoy it-" As my escort went on- Mrs. Richardson I had found out after my arrival- she described every inch of the manor in scrupulous detail, not leaving one pad lock or child-proof door knob unannounced.

I had done my part in the charade, nodding and asking questions when the appropriate time appeared, and jotting down meaningful notes on a legal pad which gave me a rough estimate of the lay-out of the mansion. The entire excursion was painfully tedious, seemingly getting nowhere with my hidden agenda. Hopes deflated, I had practically lost faith in there ever being something of substance that was forgotten or ignored, somehow linking Bruce Wayne to Batman's nightly activities. I checked every corner and edge, trying to locate even the smallest of clues, my hopes climbing as high as finding a secret safe containing a map of a hidden room.

"Here is the southeast corridor. Now, by specific instruction in Mr. Wayne's will, God bless his soul, this section is to be excluded from any contact whatsoever. Even the maid isn't allowed in- something about it being dangerous-" when she caught a glimpse of my expression, Mrs. Richardson was quick to finish in her voice that reminded me of wind chimes-"Oh but we don't let the kids go anywhere near it! No one does. And it's safe and sound under tight lock and key".

She seemed rather proud of the fact that it was secured, though upon slight inspection it seemed rather decrepit, rusted and outdated. Perfect. Mrs. Richardson had ushered me down the stairs while I was contemplating a new plan….

"All the other doors leading that way are bordered off as well….Well that's that. If you'll come along with me, I-"

"Actually-" I interrupted with my hand held up so she could guess my pause, "I think I'm going to go on by myself, maybe look around the grounds…I'm sure you have much more important things to be doing rather than me wasting your time," my approach was polite and honest yet clear as a bell in a way that suggests I should be left to my own devices. Thankfully she didn't seem fazed in the slightest, leaving me with a handshake while I reassured her of my report so far. I had started down a different hall from across the room until I heard Mrs. Richardson disappear into the outside courtyard, then quickly turning around; I made my way up the stairs and to the door of the southeast corridor.


With a hurried step I glided inside and quickly but quietly shut the heavy oak door with my weight. The lock had really been too easy, not much of a challenge yet a bit more time consuming due to the rust inside the latch. Placing the attaché case next to the door and venturing out into the middle of the room, my eyes eagerly taking in the space. It was smaller than the others, not something I had been expecting. The original furniture still lied in their respective positions, with large sheets of white cloth spread over them; the room itself was not as extravagant as the others, except for the couch and what looked like a grand piano, the only other furnishings were two bookcases and a large grey fireplace. No eerie array of treacherous weapons hanging from the walls or an entire high-tech lab emerging from the floor. A slight disappointment. Of course the house itself-if one could simply call it a house- was made up of several beautiful masterpieces of architecture, intricate carvings along the bottom edge of the walls showing great craftsmanship in detail, almost telling a story in the way they twisted and curved. Everything previously in the rooms had been taken out and replaced with more kid-friendly items; suggestions of imaginative bookcases containing Shakespeare, Stevenson, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy and Hemingway. Striking, picturesque pieces of art from Van Gogh, Dali, Monet, Da Vinci- maybe even a few of the originals hanging up in proud frames of real gold and silver. In the foyer I had pictured specters from the past of wondrous parties floating around in glittering gowns and costly tuxes, twirling about in a sophisticated manor to the soft piano music and showing off to their social climbing friends. Ice cubes tinkling and twirling in their glass cages as they are swung around in a superfluous manor to the exaggerated hand motions of an animated socialite. It must have been breathtaking- it still was, like a long forgotten painting- the beauty and spirit slightly fading when the artist passes away, no longer there to give it denotation.

I had circled the room, inspecting the dust-ridden edges and cobwebbed corners. What was it about this room that the cryptic billionaire didn't want anyone to see? Traveling over to the covered piano and sitting on the black polished bench, I surveyed the scene once more, perhaps catching something from this angle. And it was out of the corner of my eye that I found that something; the legs of the piano had been bolted down- not entirely uncommon, but I was desperate. The piano was unsheathed in one swift movement, leaving the black gloss of the hardwood exposed, lid lifted and nothing but the normal wires and strings in taught position gazing back at me in a mocking undertone. Glancing at the keys once more, I caught an odd quandary, my eyes quickly catching the discrepancies. There they lay, the remarkable ivories which no doubt once played elegant compositions which echoed through the halls of the entire manor. Three of the keys which lay fairly close to each other had a noticeable amount of dust missing- not by much, but nonetheless it was there.

"What's the story with you three?" The low whisper of my voice hung in the room, vanishing into the walls. I found myself pressing the keys in order from left to right though they were unevenly spaced out. I held my breath, waiting for a reaction….Nothing. The strange tune hung in the air- stale and high-pitched. What was I doing here? Breaking into a restricted area of an orphanage and pressing random keys to a grand piano belonging to a deceased billionaire. Classy.

I really wasn't normal.

But I knew I had to try, just once more, the hope still dangerously clinging to my side. The order was different this time- the one closest to me, the farthest away, then the one in between.

A creaking suddenly sounded about the fireplace and mantle, drawing back into the wall and sliding behind itself in an angry groan. Instead there lay a bar-caged elevator shaft, waiting to be used. I jumped at the chance. Warning lights practically exploded with the energy of trying to get my attention, but I pushed it back- I knew it was dangerous and I was ready for whatever waited for me at the bottom. A silent prayer left my thoughts that the shaft wouldn't fall and crash down several hundred feet to my doom as I climbed in and shut the door to the lift. My heart beat dramatically increased to the tempo similar to that of a drum major, tapping out the most pivotal moment of the song. I let down my hair, providing some measure of comfort to the frantic scenario; though to my surprise it was a rather smooth ride, lasting only a few minutes as I descended down. A mental note was taken each time the temperature dropped further and further, giving me some sort of idea exactly how far down we were. When the barred enclosure stopped abruptly I lurched forward, holding onto the crisscrossed netting in front of me and bruising the creases of my fingers in the process. An icy breath was drawn out into the open air, an eager heart beat almost audible in the sheer silence as I stepped out of the shaft and into the light.

Strident echoes from the pitter patter of my heels resounded into the large cave, taking a moment to slip them off and rest my panty-hoed feet on the damp floor. Looking up, the roof of the cave set me back, causing me to halt in my tracks in silent awe- jagged rocks and enclaves housing hundreds of sleeping bats. How fitting. The serenity of the moment took me by surprise, listening to the nearby waterfall rush down into the rocky depths of the lake. The bay held nothing safe for a series of overhanging lights, creating a rectangular-shaped dome, expended from the roof of the cave. I crept up closer to the edge, looking out and down into the rushing liquid below. Outsized and obscure rectangular shapes lurked beneath the clear water- a curiosity raged within me. Without warning my eyes lurched forward into the few seconds of the immediate future- a shadowy figure coming from behind me- I would meet him, and now was the time.

"You're not supposed to be in here," a husky and abrasive voice came from behind me, composed yet warning. In response I straightened up and turning around with a calm collectiveness, pushing my momentary fear to the bottom of my toes and fighting back the instinct to fight or run. There stood a man, at least five foot ten with a medium build; arms crossed and muscles straining against his white cotton tee as balled fists tensed into his forearms, his eyes hard- analyzing the potential threat before him. I was attempting to understand just how determined I truly was and by what means this charade would pan out; meanwhile contemplating my plan of democracy. Deciding on the tactic of discretion towards the situation rather than plain abstinence, it was with barely any grace that I was able to give some sort of retort with even a sliver of confidence that reflected his.

"And you're supposed to be dead".

A/N: Thank you to all my lovely readers out there! Quick little side note here; the thing here with John Blake and Elizabeth is more of a sub-plot, even though Batman is still a main character and I love him to death. However if any of you were hoping that it would turn into a mushy/ gushy fluff piece of typical romantic fanfics where the OCs turn into helpless Mary Sue-s who get injured every two and a half chapters and need rescuing and have dramatic moments when they finally connect and blah blah blah- then I apologize if that's what you had your heart set on, but that's just not my style :D. Please Review! You guys are the best. Mwah.

Acknowledgements; First off- The Scarlet Pimpernel- fantastic book, read it five times and I was blown away when I found out that it was actually the inspiration for Batman ( and Zorro)! Hence the connecting ideas- AND I thought it deserved some recognition- try it out maybe?

AbbieDabbie97- Thank you! I hope you enjoy what I have in store, can't wait!

Linda Ku- Thank you so much, your encouragement and compliments really put a smile on my face, and yes, that was a line from the Avengers! I loved that part in the movie and wanted to give a little homage moment. Thanks again!

highlander348- I'm truly sorry if it was a bit confusing, at times my thoughts have trouble translating onto paper (or rather, a computer screen), from now on things should start making more sense as we delve deeper into the plot! And yes, she does have mental powers! As to her other perspective abilities, those shall have to be uncovered as we go, don't want to risk giving spoilers ;). Can't wait to see what you think of the next chapter . Thank You!

Guest- I'm excited to see how this is going as well! This idea actually took me quite a while to think through. Thank you!