Batman had five hours to prepare for the meeting at the Bowery. Though the night before yielded results, there were too many questions left unanswered: Where was Miriam? What was the Joker planning? How was he managing to remain undetected amidst such a prolonged assault of brutal violence?

Batman still didn't know anything useful about the Joker, other than he was a sadistic maniac who carved his demonic visage on eight different people and had a penchant for murdering keepers of the law. But none of them were Miriam. Batman needed information, but most of all he needed an expanded arsenal. And he needed them before Commissioner Loeb's memorial parade tomorrow. He needed Lucius Fox.

The paparazzi and try-hard reporters who plagued Bruce Wayne had mostly disappeared, moving on to demand greater action from City Hall against the Joker. Many of his victims were police officers, and Gotham was about to descend into a city-wide panic. The Joker named Mayor Garcia next, and Batman was still unsure how to keep hundreds of people safe at once during an open-air memorial service. It was a massacre waiting to happen. There were talks of calling in the National Guard. Public demand only increased by the hour for Batman to turn himself in.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

Bruce had just met with Rachel. When the Joker took Miriam and started placing his hit list in the papers, Bruce insisted that Rachel stay with him. He failed to protect Miriam because he didn't keep her close, and he wouldn't make the same mistake again. Rachel wasn't happy about the arrangement, and she insisted she continue working with Harvey Dent at the DA's office, which was part of Bruce's worries. The Joker had already tried blowing Dent sky-high only three days ago. Bruce had taken the incentive to put a tracking device in Rachel's coat. It was mid-October, she wouldn't go far without it. Now he had to trust that Gordon, Rachel, and Dent would extract more information about the Joker from the men they had in custody. Whether they would live up to his trust was another matter entirely.

Bruce pulled up at Wayne Enterprises in his Murciélago. The financial centre of Gotham remained untouched by the worst of the rising terror, but the streets stood empty. The food vendors that served much of the area were out of sight. The dying roar of the engine was the only sound; the boisterous crowds that tracked up and down the main street receded down to a trickle. Even in front of Wayne Tower, small clusters of employees sat out front, drinking coffee or smoking cigarettes. Despite the relative calm in the air, they were sticking together in groups. They didn't trust the still atmosphere either, not when there was so much hiding in the shadows.

The men and women in their smart business suits dropped their mouths at the sight of Bruce Wayne. It was a rare occasion if any of them saw Bruce on a regular day at the company. Seeing him at a time they assumed was filled with extreme personal turmoil was unexpected. Bruce dropped his shoulders and ignored them, much like he would any other day, and walked through the entrance. Bruce could feel their eyes on him, on his casual attire and his bruised forearms. He kept his expression neutral, but there was no hiding the purple circles and dark look of frustration in his eyes.

Bruce let out a palpable sigh of relief when he entered the building. Lucius stood at the front desk, waiting for him. He looked haggard and thin. Miriam's disappearance and the onslaught of violence against the citizens of Gotham were taking its toll on the man. Lucius' usual spry smile was gone, and so was his usual bow-tie. They exchanged a solemn look between one another and walked in unison to the elevator. Bruce was eager to see what enhancements Lucius made to his suit and the new gear he developed. Batman needed an edge if he was going to succeed.

"How has reconnaissance been? Anything we can work with?" Lucius asked as they descended to the depths of Wayne Tower.

"I have a location. According to my source, it's supposed to be a large gathering—Joker's men and a group of unknowns. I need extra firepower, as it were."

"I can abide that, thankfully." Lucius quirked up a smile, but it was hollow.

It wasn't long before they reached the hidden treasure trove that allowed Batman to be as successful as he was. The vast expanse of the sub-basement floor greeted them. It looked different to Bruce. More items were uncovered from their previous positions behind tarps, and a long line of items covered rows of tables. The air tickled Bruce's nose. All the displaced dust from Lucius' fervent activity was playing in the air. Lucius walked to the closest cabinet, which was a dark navy with thick metal drawers, and began pulling out pieces of armour before handing them to Bruce.

"Kevlar-woven fibres and separating magnesium alloy plates. This will leave you more vulnerable to knives and gunfire where they separate, but it'll stop a bullet from a direct shot." Bruce ran his palm over the smooth surface. The chest plate had slight ridges interwoven throughout, and it had more luster than his current suit. Bruce touched the plates and picked up the armour. It was lighter, even with the metal enhancements. Bruce's brows shot up, and Lucius was quick to pick up on Bruce's reaction.

"Magnesium alloy is the lightest and strongest metal out there, Mr. Wayne. I still have more." Lucius walked to the first table. Batman's gauntlets sat spread out next to a series of sharpened blades. "These will fire out and bite into any target that gets too close. It responds to a trigger on the side of each wrist brace. There are four rows of teeth in each, with additional refills."

Bruce was still taking in the tech in front of him, but Lucius was eager to continue. Lucius picked up a strange-looking object. It had a similar grip to his grappling gun, but this had two pressurized components sitting atop the firing mechanism.

"A line-launcher. Aim the front and back at a solid target and it will shoot out a cable sturdy enough for you to hang on to. Careful though, it's maximum distance is sixty feet." Lucius set it down and picked up another item.

The new, glistening metal caught Bruce's attention towards the vast array of weapons. Several bolas, batarangs, EMP grenades, and a silver taser that looked like a handgun laid out in front of him.

"I'm going to need a bigger belt," Bruce said.

"Hell, I haven't even shown you the two main events, Mr. Wayne." Bruce raised an eyebrow. Lucius tossed him what looked like, from a distance, a long-barrel rifle. Bruce caught it with ease. The front of the weapon was longer and wider, and instead of a barrel for bullets, Bruce was looking at a series of canisters glowing with blue light.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Why, yes. That's a long-range EMP rifle. Anything with a perceptible electric current gets hit with that, it's done. Should prove helpful, I'd imagine."

"What's the other 'event'?" Bruce asked.

A mischievous grin spread across Lucius' face.

"Well, I know it's more your style to beat men with your bare hands, but I cooked this up. Just in case." Bruce knew what that meant.

Lucius has more fun with these projects than he lets on.

Lucius handed Bruce two thick metal rods. They were about two feet in length, had rubber grips that formed to Bruce's hands perfectly, and possessed a comforting heft. Small switches were placed above the grips. When Bruce pressed them, the metal hissed to life with crackling electricity. The blue sparks gave a dangerous light to Bruce's expression. He had enough tech here to make several dozen men hurt. Badly.

"How long were you holding on to these, Lucius?"

There was no way Lucius developed all these in just three days. He had to have been sitting on it for a while.

"I put them into development not long after you proved serious about taking down the city's organized crime. I knew it would come to an ugly culmination, I just never thought…" Lucius looked away from Bruce's face, off into the empty expanse of the basement. His mouth formed a hard line that deepened the grooves in his face. Bruce knew what he was going to say.

No one thought it would come to this.

"She's a good kid. Sure, she's made mistakes, but I—" Lucius shook his head and gave a mirthless chuckle.

"You find her in one piece, y'hear? I miss having her around to berate." It was Bruce's turn to chuckle then.

"There's enough here to invade Quebec. I can—" Bruce was interrupted by the loud and insistent shrill of his cellphone. Bruce looked down. Rachel. Giving an apologetic look to Lucius, he answered the call.

"Rachel, what's wrong? I thought—"

"Bruce, are you near a TV right now? You need to turn on the GCN." Her tone of voice was enough to stop his heart. His mind was racing and he struggled to stay calm.

"What do you mean?"

"It's Miriam." Bruce shot an alarmed look at Lucius.

"I'll call you back." Ending the call, both men sprinted towards the elevator. Lucius had a television in his office.

It couldn't have been more than a minute since Rachel's call, but each second felt like a thousand lifetimes. They came through the entrance in Lucius' bookshelf and scrambled to turn on the screen. Mike Engel's placid face appeared, along with a thumbnail of what looked like a terrified Miriam.

"—GCN has only just received the video, along with a written threat that if it isn't played, three people will be murdered within the hour. In light of recent events, we take these threats seriously. Sensitive viewers be aware: these images are disturbing."

The video was grainy at first, unrefined. It cleared quickly, revealing Miriam strapped to a chair. If it wasn't for the violent bruises visible along her legs and arms and the cut along her cheek, Bruce would have thought she was heading out for a party. Her hair was curling in on itself, and she was wearing that dress she liked, the white one with all the flowers. Miriam would wear it all the time on warmer days. Bruce noticed that it was considerably shorter than he remembered. His eye twitched when he saw the daisy in her hair. It felt jarring when he noticed the Joker standing behind her. His green hair glowed under the proximity of the light. He looked ghoulish, a wraith waiting on the edge of shadow.

Bruce fought down perilous thoughts. Thoughts about what he would like to do when he had his hands around the Joker's neck. But Bruce couldn't fight the creeping imaginings of horror that permeated his mind. The images his mind conjured, unbidden, at the sight of the severity and placement of Miriam's bruising. At the strange possessiveness of this psychopath.

It took everything he had not to destroy the screen when he saw the Joker's hand wrapped in her hair. Or when Bruce looked at Miriam's eyes, bright green in the poor light, filled with a level of fear he hadn't seen since he rescued Rachel after she'd been poisoned with Scarecrow's toxin. When the Joker leaned in towards Miriam, saying something in her ear that Bruce wasn't capable of hearing, his blood was set ablaze.

"M-Miriam. Miriam Kane." Her voice cut through the chaos, clear as a bell. What he would have done to have her home.

Visions of the Joker choking on his own blood, Bruce squeezing the air out of his lungs, beating his face until it was nothing but a crushed husk of—

Detachment was the only thing that could salvage Bruce's mind. He was on the edge of making several decisions he would regret. Bruce wrestled with himself, with what every instinct, every impulse, was driving him to do—and the cool impartiality of Batman. The latter won out, filtering the experience through a distant third party.

Batman didn't need to hear the Joker's taunts towards Miriam. It was a ploy. An attempt to rouse the terror of Gotham's citizens. Gotham would think of Miriam's smiling face in the gossip columns, of the girl many went to school with, and the idea of Miriam—the idea of happy affluence, vicarious wish-fulfillment, and the natural feelings of envy. Having her there, trembling and crying, her body bruised, and subject to such an open promise of violence would be enough to shake Gotham to its core. A piece clicked in place for Batman.

Would that be the only reason he'd need to do this?

No, there was another part he was missing. As Batman was beginning to realize, nothing was simple with the Joker.

"How much longer are you going to make me wait, Batman? All you have to do is take off your mask and show your face to the world—your real face—like me."

The Joker was focusing the camera on his own face, just like in the last video, making sure to highlight the scarred mouth. He was feeding off Miriam's reactions to him, and the reactions he knew this would illicit within the city. Batman analyzed the background, finding three others blurring with the erratic movements. When the camera spun back to Miriam, a sharp pain went through his chest, a powerful pull that made him feel heavy in his feet. She looked like the kid Bruce knew once, before he left. Frank and open, scared and vulnerable. Feelings he hadn't experienced in a long time buoyed up to the surface—shame and regret.

It seemed as quick as the video showed what might be his last look at Miriam, the camera twisted back to the Joker.

He really can't resist showing his face. When I'm through with him, there'll be nothing left.

He understood why some men were driven to murder and had successfully resisted it for years. He wouldn't kill the Joker, but he'd make the man wish he'd never been born.

"As long as we're going to keep up this little game, I'll just keep picking you all off… one by one."

The only sound in the room was echoing screams of alarm erupting from Miriam. They only saw the twisting distortion of Miriam as the camera spiraled into static. Neither man heard Mike Engel when he reappeared onscreen. His face was sweaty, whether from nervousness or excitement was unclear.

Lucius felt a cold sweat crawl down his back. He was alternating his gaze from the television screen to Bruce before the video ended. He could see Bruce's muscles spasming, tensing and jumping through the material of his long-sleeved shirt. Bruce suddenly stood completely still. Lucius didn't even see the minuscule movements of his chest rising and falling. Lucius felt sick and afraid for Miriam—afraid for the entire city. If the Joker was going to keep killing off cops, soon the only thing left to defend Gotham would be a man driven insane by grief.

"Lucius." It was more of a demand than a name. "I need you to get ready."

"Ready for what, exactly?" Bruce's entire demeanor changed, and it almost seemed unwise to say anything at all. Lucius was never intimidated by anyone, but the cold energy pouring from Bruce was enough to make him inch away from the man.

"The Joker wants to launch an assault on Gotham. It's time I met him in kind."


Before the recession hit, the Bowery used to be one of the most active commercial districts in Gotham. Some of Gotham's oldest shopping centres, banks, and historical sites were located there—until rival crime families like the Maronis' and Falcones' moved in. The entire neighbourhood descended into a popular battleground for shootouts, arms deals, and prostitution rings. Many of the old buildings stayed standing, but they were decayed from years of mismanagement and abuse. Old neon signs flickered across the various rooftops, highlighting businesses long gone and showering the dark streets in blinding hues. It was only a small distance north where Park Row lay ahead, and the Monarch Theatre stood in shambles.

Batman perched atop an old tower adjoined to the Natural History Museum. People had stopped coming years ago, and most of the exhibits were either stolen or relocated to the newer locations in Midtown and the city mainland. It was the perfect location to scout for his targets. The crescent moon was only a small sliver in the sky, and turbulent clouds enshrined the city in darkness. Though the city's skyline winked ahead, it wasn't enough to illuminate the streets below. Switching on his thermal vision, Batman waited. It didn't take long for his comms to intercept what he wanted to hear.

"Fuck, I'm freezing my balls off out here."

"Shaddup, Vinnie. No one wants to hear you bitch. Warren said to wait out here for Joker's guys to show up." The man spoke with a heavy Bronx accent and sounded more aggressive than the other man who spoke first.

The name Warren was familiar to Batman. Warren White was a known fence with low-level mob connections. He had a reputation for selling illicit materials in bulk. The meet up was happening much later than he thought it would. It was approaching 2:15 a.m. and the Joker's party was delayed in their arrival. Batman could feel the time slipping through his fingers. He needed to know where Miriam was. Where this demented freak was.

Patience, he reminded himself.

He needed to be logical. Batman couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Not if he wanted to succeed.

"I don't get why we need this prick anyway. I thought we was doing just fine without making deals with crazies like this."

"You fucking obtuse or somethin'? Boss told us to get this done. They give us the cash, we give them the shit in the back, and we're right as rain."

Batman pinpointed their location. There were five men standing back-to-back next to the old Stacked Deck club with a large black van parked next to them. The club was abandoned last year when Batman took out the managers and most of the Dimitrov family. The men were dressed in thick parkas and knitted hats, their semi-automatics peeked out of the waistband of their jeans.

Batman moved from his position and raced along the rooftops, jumping and gliding from one to the next in smooth arcs, until he was directly above the group, hiding in the dark. Their voices carried up the building and echoed through the empty street.

"The freak's not coming here, is he? I've heard stories. Fucked up stuff he does to his own guys, for Christ's sake. Like Gerry. You guys hear what happened to him?" This was met by silence, but Batman could see a small, but noticeable, drop in the men's body temperature.

"Don't talk about it, alright? Just keep an eye out for the Bat. We get our money and we get the fuck outta here." Now that Batman was closer, he could see that the man was taller and bulkier than the others. And he could also see how the others hid behind his shadow, deferring to him. It hadn't taken long for the Joker's reputation to proceed him, even among the criminal element.

Batman spotted a beat-up white van as it careened around the corner and stopped a few feet away from the group of men. Three men exited and walked up to the gathered group, holding two large duffel bags and TEC-9's. The men looked different from Warren's group. They were dressed in long-sleeved shirts and ripped jeans, despite the temperature sitting close to zero degrees Celsius. They sauntered up to Warren's group, their fingers never moving from their positions by the trigger. Warren's men inched their hands back to their own firearms.

"You have the stuff?" one of Joker's men asked. He was short, thin, and blonde. He didn't look any older than eighteen. Batman took pictures of each man and sent them remotely to Alfred.

"Yeah, but money upfront first. Just like our bosses agreed." The more sensible of Warren's men were taking charge, trying to ensure no one took a wild shot.

The blonde boy smiled, but even from above it looked empty. His eyes were focused, but his face seemed stiff. The boy took the two duffel bags and threw them at the feet of Warren's men.

"Load it up," the boy said, motioning to the white van. The large man stooped down and opened the bag to reveal stacks of rolled up twenty-dollar bills.

The remaining men opened the back of their own van, revealing large barrels and canisters. Batman took out his scope and zoomed in on the labels. Ammonium nitrate, methylammonium nitrate, RDX, and smaller refrigerated canisters of nitroglycerin. There was enough there do some serious damage.

Batman couldn't believe the idiocy of these men. Did they not realize the lethality of the materials between them? Or how dangerous handling them was? Batman made a measured judgment call. He couldn't risk attacking them outright, he could cause a chain reaction that would take out the entire neighbourhood. No, even though it made his body shake in anger, he needed to wait and follow. Taking out the silver gun Lucius gave him that evening, he fired a small tracking device onto the roof of the white van.

The van was nearly loaded, and Warren's men were filing into their own vehicle. The blonde boy stood and watched with a new smile on his face. This one transformed his features into an ugly mask of hate. He gave Warren's men a two-finger salute and lobbed an object towards the vehicle. Batman realized too late what it was.

No—

The van containing all five of Warren's men burst upwards in a shower of fire. Batman rushed to switch off his comms—the ear-piercing screams of both men and metal were deafening. Doors burst off their hinges, and money shot out of the openings like cannon fire. The van upturned on to its side and crashed down with a loud thud. The white van, in the same fashion it arrived, sped off around the corner.

Batman had no choice but to follow. Firing his grappling gun, he shot out after the van. Batman would need backup to deal with the fiery slaughter behind him. He put in a call to Gordon as he kept pace along the rooftops with the van below.

These men will pay. They all will. Or I'll die trying.

Batman followed the men for hours. Swinging from building to building, navigating the narrow streets, and waiting for the men to return to their base of operations was a physical trial that lasted well into the early hours of the morning. He didn't want to admit it, but he was growing weary. His muscles were aching from the lack of sleep, the pent-up stress, and the untapped physical release was taking a toll. But he kept going, his determination greater than his exhaustion. He kept his mind on finding Miriam and stopping the Joker. There simply was no other option.

The sun was breaking through on the horizon, and the van pulled up along the eastern docks of Gotham. It was a salvage yard, but in the last twenty years it was a place where ships went to rot into the ocean and Gotham rivers. The men drove further along the pier and stopped at a dock where a small tug boat was tied. Batman looked ahead. A large freighter sat a half-mile out. It was less broken down than the others, and he could see activity on the upper deck.

A vengeful smile broke out on Batman's face, a plan of action formed in his mind.

Got you.