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IX - Day Of Judgment

Paget, Berger & Associates Law Office, Central Business District, Gotham City

Miranda parked her silver Mercedes along the street and looked up at the antique three-story building matching the number on the card she had in her hand.

She stepped out from the car and began to cross a long boulevard surrounded by trees. The place was empty – not a living soul in sight. For a moment, the sound of her heels clicking along the concrete path was the only detectable noise.

She announced herself and a brunette receptionist escorted her to the main conference room. Once inside there, she was met by a group of attorneys, including her owns.

An old, white haired man rose from the head of the table seat, a wide smile on his face, his hand extended to her. "Good morning, Miss Tate."

She took the hand he offered. "Good morning, Mr...?"

"Berger. Those are some of my collaborators and the members of the investigative committee," he motioned toward the group, "and Mr. Graham and Mrs. Lee, your attorneys."

Miranda nodded towards them in acknowledgment as Berger gestured to her to take a seat at the other end of the table.

"Miss Tate, I'm not sure if you're completely aware of the nature of our meeting. This is not a hearing neither a trial. Sworn testimony is evidence given by a person who is under oath and has made a commitment to tell the truth about the facts and information contained in the statement," he explained. "If the witness is later found to have lied whilst bound by the commitment, they can often be charged with the crime of perjury."

"I understand," she said.

"Your testimony will be recorded for future reference," he told her. "Do you have any doubts?"

When she spoke again her chin was high, her voice steady and strong. "No, sir."

"Then, shall we begin. Raise your right hand," he said holding out the Holy Bible. "Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury."

"I do," she said after placing her hand on the Bible. Miranda felt a tight knot in her gut because she was not going to tell the truth, she was going to try anything she could to get out of this. All of this was basically a useless game perpetrated by Wayne Enterprises competing companies. There was no point in blaming anyone for the terrorist attack due to the fact that nobody would gain anything with Gotham's destruction except the terrorists themselves.

"State your name for the record."

"Miranda Tate."

"Miss Tate, do you understand you are under oath?"

"I do."

In the next two hours, she testified before the committee, answering all questions with resourcefulness and confidence.

When asked about how those terrorists had been aware of a top secret project and how they had got access to its location, she said that the project was of public knowledge and security failures could have happened.

"As I have said many times, as the company's former CEO and the project's major investor, I do feel responsible for the construction of the reactor. And nobody is more committed to getting this right. Mr. Wayne wanted me to take control of Wayne Enterprises and the energy project. He wanted to destroy it. It was me who didn't listen. I put my money on it. I believed in it, not as a weapon of mass destruction, but as a promise of free, clean energy for an entire city. Nobody could imagine that a terrorist group would take us as hostages and blackmail us to take away the reactor from its chamber and turn it into a nuke. But what difference does it make?! It wasn't me, or Wayne Enterprises or Mr. Wayne himself who built a bomb, threatened an entire city and killed hundreds of people. Today is more important to find the people who really did all this and bring them to justice."

Minutes later, Miranda slid her sunglasses on her face as she exited the building. She wished it were as easy to walk away from the glaring auto-disgust that held her stomach in a tight knot as it was to walk away from the building. At least she knew that her efforts to protect not only her, but her son and the company were working out.

I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family, she mused as she got into her car and went away.

Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits

On this day, Damian agreed to meet Bruce for lunch in the Manor. Since his mother would have a busy morning, testifying before the investigation committee, and would spend most of early afternoon addressing the last pending issues concerning the purchase of her – their – new home.

She had decided to sell her modern loft and buy a house that had an extra deep backyard for Titus. The property was a newly-renovated, four-story, five-bedroom, five-and-a-half bath brownstone, dating from the mid-19th century, located in the heart of Irving Grove.

A yellow cab dropped off Damian and Titus at the bottom of the driveway to Wayne Manor. He walked to the knocker and knocked twice. Expecting to see him, Alfred opened the door.

"Master Damian, it's good to see you," he said, giving him a warm smile. "I see you brought your loyal companion."

"Hi, Alfred. It's nice seeing you, too," he replied softly as the butler led him around to the rear of the house. Titus followed, leaping, circling and wiggling his tail.

"I couldn't leave him alone. He's becoming a spoiled brat. Even mom is providing him with lots of gifts and pampering him around."

Alfred chuckled. "Do I sense some jealousy around here?"

Damian frowned. "I'm not jealous of a ball of fur," he said flatly.

"If you say so, sir," Alfred replied. "Now, come. Let's feed him and put him in the kennel."

The kennel complex was a warehouse in tudor style designed to house up to five large dogs or slightly more smaller dogs. The place could be heated or air conditioned and managed for elderly or sick dogs, including a quarantine area. It also had a roofless space and a bathing and grooming area.

Titus would be definitely enjoying five-stars facilities.

"Where's dad?" Damian asked Alfred as they were walking to the kennel.

"He's wrapping up some business issues," the older man simply replied.

"Just business or that other type of business?"

Reacting quickly, Alfred's gray eyebrows flickered at the same time his mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. "For his own sake, I hope it's just issues related to the company's business."

After taking care of the dog, both them returned to the main house. While they were washing their hands Damian asked if his father would mind if he interrupted his work.

"I'm sure he won't. At this point, a break would be welcomed. Tell him lunch is ready."

Moments later, Damian knocked on the study's door.

"Come in," Bruce answered softly without taking his eyes of the computer's screen.

"Hey, hello!"

Damian's voice made Bruce to stop whatever he was doing and look up. "Hey! How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," he replied, standing few feet away from his father's desk. "Alfred has been waiting for you so we all can sit down and eat together."

"I'm coming. Just reviewing some points of this thing," his eyes turned again to the screen but he kept talking. "He told me he was going to do your favorite dish – steak and french fries."

The simple thought of food made Damian mouth water and he started to get eager to eat.

"Do you have any news on your mother?" Bruce asked nonchalantly.

The kid shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Not yet. She's having a busy day with her testimony and settling the new house stuff. Don't you need to testify too?"

"I've been summoned to do it. So does Fox, Gordon and some city authorities."

"Do you think they would press charges against mother?" the teenager asked, really concerned.

"I personally don't. Wayne Enterprise might be charged, but not your mother alone," he stated with confidence, glancing up, so they could face each other again. "Besides she can handle it easily. She's totally boss." Not to mention she's a flawless queen of deceitfulness, Bruce added only in thought.

The lad smirked and got closer to the desk, noticing that there were some newspaper clippings over it. News from the last days about the new sinister wave of crime that was sweeping around Gotham.

The False Face Society was spreading rapidly through Gotham. Gordon and his team had succeeded in arresting a few petty criminals, who was allegedly involved in more than half a dozen incidents of abduction, disappearance and possible murders of prominent executives. However, according to the news, nobody was able to point or find out who was their leader. Each member of the False Face Society wore a distinctive mask, which caught Damian's attention.

"You've been keeping yourself up to date with the scum of Gotham."

"Old habits die hard," Bruce replied wryly, still focused on his task.

"You're making school. Did you check this out?" the kid pointed to the clippings. "They have a taste for the theatrical."

"Theatricality and deception are powerful agents," Bruce stated and then added quickly, "Done! I've finished. Shall we have lunch?" he asked as he pressed the enter key, rose from his seat and headed toward the door.

"About time," Damian said and immediately followed his father. Taking long strides, he caught up with Bruce.

By this time, he was familiar with Wayne Manor's dining practices: breakfast and the midday meal on the casual dining area adjacent to the kitchen, and dinner in the formal dining room.

"Now that you're here, we can finally sit down to eat," Alfred announced.

Seconds later, everyone sat at the round table on the breakfast room. Goblet's at all places was filled with chilled lemonade.

The meal was filled with a light conversation. Damian informed them he was about to start private lessons and summer school at Gotham University to further develop his academic skills in preparation for University studies. Though his IQ was above the average and his grades at the distance learning school were excellent, still was not enough for him to be accepted into a so-called Ivy League school. A step that apparently his parents had encouraged and expected him to do.

Also, he was in the process of getting his driver's licence and Miranda had promised to give him a car of his choice. Bruce promptly objected, saying it was his role to do it. Actually, Damian did not care about it. He was not so fond of the idea of dealing with Gotham's nagging traffic jam.

Alfred was genuinely interested in the boy's life and welfare and was more like the grandfather that Damian never had. Occasionally, the older man had made a witty remark or told funny stories about Bruce's early life. The teenager almost fell off his chair laughing while his father just kept giving Alfred a long, penetrating stare, silently pleading to the older man to stop making fun of him.

"You think you know everything about me, don't you?" Bruce asked Alfred.

Alfred raised his eyebrows to hammer in the emphasis. "I diapered your bottom; I bloody well ought to, sir!"

This definitely made the boy burst out laughing. Even Bruce could not control himself and made no effort to hide a small laugh.

"Well, I think I've embarrassed Master Bruce for long enough," Alfred stated as he rose from his seat. "Now, if you gentlemen allow me, I'm going to tidy up everything."

"I'll help you," Damian said promptly.

For him, it was lovely to spend time with Alfred – and with his parents, of course. It had been a long time since he had felt so loved and secure. Over the past years, Damian had always dreamed of belonging to a real family, and his dream seemed to be coming true.

Gotham Memorial Cemetery, Charon, Gotham City

His hands trembled, for soon he would command the spirit power of the material from which his mask had been fashioned. The ebony lid of his father's coffin, from which he now took the mask.

Donning the black mask always recreated him, killing his former identity. Even while giving birth to his new identity and the new identity was death.

Outside the crypt, criminals were assembling around the stone chamber. The group quickly and silently moved through the dark narrow lanes of the cemetery, using only flashlights to guide their way.

"This is it... The Sionis family crypt," one of them pointed out.

"If Laroca didn't swear that membership in this gang paid so good, I'd never come here," another one said.

Black Mask – the leader of The False Face Society – welcomed them with promises of big money for little work.

"You may enter, initiates. Enter... to join the swelling ranks of the faceless. Enter... and become soldiers in the army of Black Mask. Enter, and be welcomed to The False Face Society Of Gotham.

Know that the mask destroys one identity while creating another. Know that the mask recreates its wearer. Know that through the sublimation of personality, inhibitions die and the nature of the wearer is altered. So that deeper drives and more primitive instincts rise to the surface."

Thugs gathered around some kind of makeshift stage over one of the tombs and watched attentively his master's speech. Each of them donned a mask.

"We are all new beings here, and I am your master. I am Black Mask... and I will make you rich. In return you must serve me in other ways... in matters not of loot but of vengeance. There are those who must pay for destroying my former identity. Those who must die for giving birth to my new identity. For creating Black Mask."

Suddenly, he pointed to some thugs. "You two... bring our sheep to be sacrificed."

The men did as Black Mask ordered him to do so. Soon, an executive of a pharmaceutical company was brought to the stage. In front of everyone, Black Mask pronounced his sentence.

"This glop is the defective makeup that caused so many faces to shrivel..." he said as he poured a strange substance into a white mask, "... and you wanna know why I poured it into this mask?"

The captive man just muffled in response. A gag prevented him from speaking. He wriggled and struggled in vain, trying to pull away from his captors. The grip was too strong.

"Because you're one of the pigs who ruined a long-lived family business," Black Masked stated and put the mask over the man's face, "and now you must pay."

The man behind the mask struggled for twenty-nine seconds of agony. By the half-minute mark, life had left him. But the mask did not fall away. It kept stuck onto his face.

"One more down," Black Mask announced, loud and clear as his thugs collected the body to discard it somewhere else.