Anger did not do justice to the way he was feeling. Rage didn't either. How could it? When a gang began a riot in the middle of the street, attacking anyone and anything in sight, the usual enraged emotions paled in comparison to the vengeful thoughts in his head.

Families wouldn't be the same. Too many mothers and fathers and sons and daughters had been beaten in the streets, some horrifically maimed and others unable to survive their brutal beatings. Even more vile acts like rape and sodomy had gone unabated. While the Batman had managed to stop a few, too many had been left unimpeded until it was too late.

So when he stood on the Powers Hotel, one of the tallest, most opulent buildings in the city, it was with a seething anger that demanded satisfaction; vengeance for the terrible acts that had befallen this night. Currently, the owl-shaped gargoyles that gazed over this wounded city from their stone perches on the building were joined by one of the rioting thugs, the man hanging upside down by a cable tied around his foot. The dark-clad man felt no remorse as he let his captive fall several stories before being dragged back up, his terror-filled screams doing little to placate the vigilante. The cable was currently wrapped around one of the stone owls above Batman, using it as a makeshift pulley as he pulled the goon up.

"Jesus Christ...Jesus Christ..." the thug was sputtering as he came to a stop in midair, dangling in front of Batman.

"He won't save you," the dark-clad man growled, catching the goon's attention. "Now unless you tell me exactly what I want to know, you're going to be finding yourself falling again and this time, I might not stop you from hitting the pavement."

"Jesus Christ," the thug repeated shrilly as he began thrashing about. "Somebody help me!" he screamed.

"Wrong answer."

Loosening his hold on the cable, the thug dropped out of his sight, his screams echoing off the building as he pludged towards the unforgiving ground below. The vigilante could feel the cable burning through his gauntlet as it slid through his grasp. Counting in his head, he finally clenched his hand and stopped the falling man, the thug slamming against the side of the building as the sudden stop in his fall caused a whiplash effect.

Beside the Batman lay his grapple, the source of his cable. Reaching to it, he grabbed it and hit the retraction button, holding it until the terrified man returned to his sight. Once the man's torso was even with the dark-clad man's face, he reached out and grabbed the thug by his collar, yanking him closer to him. "Ready to talk?" he asked, boring his eyes into him.

"Alright, alright! I'll talk!" he hollered. "Just don't drop me again!"

Batman was tempted to drop him, just to further prove he was in control of this situation, but resisted it. "Tell me everything you know about the riot."

"It was the boss' idea," the man immediately responded. "Said we needed to show everyone that it was our turf."

A turf war versus civilians? He didn't buy it. "And who is everyone?"

"You know, the cops, the other gangs…" he then hesitantly added, "...you."

This time, the Batman gave into his urge and let the man fall again, his screams once again echoing throughout the night. Again, he stopped the fall and pulled him up, this time with the man crying, "You're crazy, man! Crazy!"

"I'm running out of patience," the Batman calmly stated, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

That got the thug's attention as he jerked his head towards him. "No, wait, wait! There…there was this guy, see. Weirdest looking guy I ever saw. Had these bandages on his head like he'd been hurt there. He went to the boss and talked with him and then the boss comes out and says that we have to show everyone how strong we are. That we have to kill the Bat. That's all I know, man, that's all I know."

For the first time that night, the Batman believed him. He was alarmed about this bandaged man, but he seemed to be the source of this chaos. "I think we're done here."

"Done? Done how?" the man demanded.

Grabbing him by the shirt again, the vigilante pulled the man towards the building where he slammed his forehead against the thug's. Instantly, the man went limp as he fell unconscious. That settled, the thug would be waking up in a jail cell soon enough. However, this new player on the streets was unsettling to Batman. He needed to know what this man's endgame was and the only lead the vigilante had was with the man the thug had met earlier in the evening.

Seemed he was going to have to pay the gang leader a visit.

GOTHAM BLEEDS

By Vicki Vale

The streets ran red with the blood of innocence. For no reason other than cruel brutality, one of the many gangs that reside in the fallen city of Gotham choose to launch a full scale riot that left 38 people dead, 58 others wounded, and millions of dollars in property damage.

Throughout the streets families were torn apart as husbands, fathers, and sons were beaten and broken by baseball bats, pipes, and brass knuckles. Wives, mothers, and daughters were dragged away to be savagely raped before their rapists granted them mercy and killed them.

As this carnage raged, the police force was incapable of quelling it. If it wasn't for the actions of the vigilante simply known as the Batman, there is no telling what the toll this attack would have had on this city's citizens.

What does it say about Gotham that a man has to don the guise of a bat to fight crime? What does it say about the police force that they cannot perform the jobs they have been assigned to do? What does it say about an embattled commissioner who was seen shaking hands with this vigilante? And more importantly, what does it say about the mayor, who campaigned on cleaning up these very blood-soaked streets mere months ago?

There are no easy answers for these questions. That any politician thought that his landslide election win would allow him to demand cooperation from the city's criminal element is laughable. To be convinced that a police department with an extensive history of corruption and incompetence could suddenly get its act together and stop a crisis as serious as the infamous Night of Ice, much less last night's riot, is nothing more than a delusional dream beheld by naive activists.

It has become painfully clear that something dramatic must be done. The criminals of the city do not fear the political elite or the corruptible police officers. It has become quite obvious they hold those sort of people in laughable contempt.

But the Batman? Now, there is someone they fear. Take a trip into the GCPD jail cells and you'll see them flooded with crying men, their bodies rightfully broken and shattered. Many deserve worse, but for now this punishment is enough until they are locked away by the city's judicial system. Unlike the mob families of Stromwell and Loman, gangs don't have the same financial ties to judges and civil servants, so their incarceration should go without question.

Yet, what does it say about Gotham that it must rely on a vigilante? Is this just replacing an old evil with a new one? Was the commissioner's handshake an agreement with the devil himself?

Again, there are no easy answers for this. As it has become painfully obvious, there is no knight in white, shining armor coming to Gotham's aid. She needs all the help that she can get and she'll take it from any quarter. For now, that help is coming in a much darker form and that's all she can rely on at this point.

A Dark Knight.

"Pretty dark stuff here, Vale."

Vikki refrained from rolling her eyes. "And every bit of it is true, Harry," she countered.

Her editor held his hands up to pacify her. "You don't see me arguing, do ya? I'm running the piece, so don't get your panties in a knot."

The redhead's shoulders sagged in relief. Finally, finally, she was getting off the bench and back into the field.

"Though it still ain't as good as that first one of yours," Harry added.

Though it pricked her, Vikki kept her cool. Those words were being thrown around her a lot lately, though they had died down after Lane had left. They were really starting to annoy her though. Still, she had to maintain a professional image. "So when do I get my next assignment?"

Harry stared at her for a moment before sighing. "The only big story I've got is the police commissioner's IA investigation, but I have Carl on that. There's also that Wayne Enterprises attack, but that one has Feinstien and he's gotten me bupkis on it. See if you can't get anything, I don't care how. Sleep with Wayne if you have to."

Vikki flashed a smile. "You can count on me."

The internet was truly a place of wonder. At times you could find exactly what you were looking for and at others you had to comb through link after link in a vain search.

Elliot was once again reaquainted with both sides as he had used this electronic source of information to gather all he could on the Batman. From news articles he was able to determine how long the vigilante had been at this, though a precise date was elusive. Photos of the vigilante's victims continued to paint the picture of an expert fighter as well as a man who had access to some high tech gadgets. The distorted image of a sleek, black vehicle encased in ice was a testament to this caped and masked man's access to more advanced gadgetry and high-tech equipment.

However, none of it really allowed him to get into the Batman's head. None of it revealed any details of the man's fighting style, or any hints into the true extent of his abilities. That was where the flip side of his electronic searching came in. There were hardly any videos that some fortunate or unfortunate pedestrians happened to take when the vigilante was around.

With the idea of the Batman being a well-equipped and high-tech crime fighter, it stood to reason that he might have been taking proactive measures to prevent being filmed and recorded. Of the recordings that did exist, the majority came from major news outlets, but those all involved the infamous Night of Ice.

He was going to have to rethink his approach. Had he been smart enough, he would have recorded the Batman's actions the previous night. From what he himself had seen, he had more knowledge on the masked man than anyone else did. So what could he do to expand his knowledge? The first idea that came to mind was planting cameras all over the city and hoping that the vigilante would slip up and get his image captured.

That would take a lot of money and resources that he found hard to justify. It was impractical and it stood the risk of exposing him. Again, last night proved that the Batman had strong observational skills. Perhaps the chance of light reflecting off a lens or several lenses would clue him into this scheme.

The risks weren't worth the benefits there.

What else could he do? Elliot could do what he did last night and set up various crimes so that he could personally watch his opponent in action. Naturally, there was a risk of exposure with him being spotted and that only increased with each staged crime. That risk could be lowered if he watched from a distance, binoculars being a good option there. He would need a disguise just in case he was spotted.

All this thinking was starting to give him a headache. He needed to take a break and come back at this with a more fresh perspective. With that Elliot left his study and headed for the kitchen, taking care to close up his computer. Though the risk was incredibly low, who knew who might be watching, physically, and/or electronically?

He wasn't going for a glass of the bourbon this time. Not even scotch. He needed a clear head for this and alcohol would muddle his thoughts too much. A glass of water would have to be a substitute then. He need not worry about the working staff as he had dismissed them earlier in the day.

That was something he was going to have to change. Eventually he would have to let them get back to their full-time jobs. A major change like firing them all, or putting them on paid leave could arouse suspicions. Normalcy was the best facade that could be purchased. Or not purchased. It was something that could be achieved with behavior and actions. He would have to craft a good illusion that could survive intense scrutiny and come out unscathed.

So many issues, so many problems. This was a challenge, one Elliot hadn't had in a long time, but it was still frustrating that there were so many little things he had to watch out for. It would all be worth it once he emerged triumphant, he told himself. The redhead was going to be glad that he paid attention to these seemingly inconsequential details.

His shoes squeaked against the tiled floor of the kitchen as he made his way to a cabinet. Hmm, wasn't what he was looking for. Now where did the help put the glasses? Opening one of the cabinets, Elliot gazed in. Not there. He opened another cabinet. Or there. Another cabinet. Ah, there they were.

A small victory there and he smirked to himself as he opened the freezer next and grabbed a few ice cubes. The next destination was the sink and after filling the glass up with a generous amount, he shut the faucet off and wandered his way to a counter. He sip at the cold water, staring straight ahead as his thoughts returned to the conundrum that was defeating the Batman.

It was obvious the redhead needed to learn more about him. Observation would be key. Keeping a leash on his expenditures was also mandatory. Yes, he had billions to spend, but there was that image of normalcy that needed to be maintained. He was going to have to get a grasp of his spending habits, figure out what was normal from him, then use it to determine what he needed to spend it on.

Elliot frowned as he heard an odd noise, something metallic in nature. It was like a banging and yet not. A tremor maybe? It was hard to describe what it was. Were the pipes settling? Didn't make sense to him, but he was not quite up to date with anything involving home improvement.

Now where had he been? Oh yes, expenditures. Depending on how much he typically spent, that would determine what he could possibly do. Hmm, how much did he have in his bank accounts? The ones in the Caymans and Switzerland? The ones that weren't under his name for tax purposes?

Okay, that noise was back again. Now it sounded like metal creaking. Yes, that was better than banging or settling. Creaking. But what would cause metal to creak?

Elliot shook his head. He was getting off track again. Who cared about some creaking sound? He'd put the help on that when they returned. He had more important things to—there it was again. Now, however, it was louder...and closer. He turned his head toward the sink just as that noise occurred again.

Was there something wrong with the sink? The plumbing? What was responsible for it?

There was no warning as a brownish sludge burst out from the faucet, spraying into the sink and filling it within seconds. Elliot was startled enough that he dropped his drinking glass to the floor, the glass shattering and spilling water onto the tiled floor.

In a display of sentience, the sludge spilled out of the sink as it began to overflow, yet it did not splatter all over the place like with his shattered glass. The sludge piled up on the floor like mud, rising higher and higher until it began forming a humanoid shape. The doctor watched as two thick trunks became legs and a torso formed on top of them. By now he was having a good idea of what this was, but instead of being freaked out he waited patiently for Hagan to form a head.

Though, he was not going to lie, he was pretty freaked out right now. It was weakness to show it and he was not weak by any stretch.

If he hadn't known Hagan was an actor, he would have sworn the man had a taste for the theatrics. The head didn't form until very last, after two thick arms with beefy fingers shot out from the torso, and only then when that ugly, slimy mug made its debut that the unfortunate test subject of Elliot Pharmaceuticals speak.

"What happened to you?"

Elliot blinked and unconsciously raised his hand to his face, the feel of bandages meeting his skin and...oh...that. He hadn't taken them off yet. He was going to have to change them anyway, but for the time being he would keep them on.

"Accident," the redhead shrugged. "It's not really important. I think a more important question would be what was that all about? You could have used the door instead. How did you even do...what you just did?"

"Oh, yeah, a seven foot tall mud monster walking up to your front door would hardly go without notice," Hagan said sarcastically. "Why don't I just put up a big banner on your house telling the Bat that this was where I was coming. What are you, a moron? I just fought that freaking Bat-freak and barely got out of there in one piece!"

Elliot narrowed his eyes at the moron comment. If there was one thing he wasn't, it was a moron. He would get back to that in time, but for the moment, "Yes, I noticed that Wayne Tower was still in one piece. What happened?"

"Aren't you listen to me? I said it was the Bat!"

"And I am asking for details. What specifically happened? How did the Batman chase you out?"

"He threw me out of a window. Next thing I know I'm a giant ass puddle in the street and somehow not dead."

God damn it, this was like the internet all over again. Here he had a source, a living, breathing, direct source of information, but he wasn't getting anything important out of it. "Now I'm curious. You're what, twice his size? How'd he throw you out a window? And a puddle you say?"

Hagan glared at him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hoping the Bat got to me. Did you set me up? Huh?!" At this, the former actor stomped his legs as he moved towards the redhead threateningly.

"Not at all, Matthew, now calm down. I heard about what happened and tried my hand at disposing of this thorn in our side. This vigilante is more clever and resourceful than either of us had thought." Elliot was strict and commanding in his tone. "Nonetheless, right now he is the thing that stands between the both of us and Wayne. That means he has to be taken out first, if you know what I mean."

"And I should listen to you? You're the one that got me in this mess!" At this, Hagan shot a hand out and grabbed Elliot by his torso, lifting him up off the floor. "Now fix me up, you bastard!"

"I would if I could, but while I do have some resources, it's not enough to fix this, Hagan," he calmly retorted. "I have no access to the labs at my company. Who knows what Wayne has in his. That places you at a standstill. I'm your best shot at correcting this and if you kill or hurt me in any way, you can kiss your life as an A-list actor goodbye."

Hagan looked horrified at that, much to Elliot's satisfaction. However, something went on in the brute's head and his mouth twisted into a snarl. The next thing the doctor knew, Hagan had thrown him into the next room, flying until he hit the back of a couch and flipped over it, landing on the floor head first.

"I see what you're doing," the actor said as he entered the room. "I've seen it a hundred times, in my movies. The bad guy always manipulated the side characters into doing what he wanted. Well, guess what? I'm not falling for it!"

Oh great, the chump chose now to grow a brain.

"I didn't become an A-lister for nothing," Hagan continued unabashedly. "I've played those roles too. I know all the tricks to convince someone to do what you want."

Elliot grimaced as he pushed himself off the floor. His head was pounding from the fall and he would be damned if he...huh, that was odd. Maybe that landing on his head was doing something because he could have sworn that the mud-like creature that was Hagan was...changing. He was...shrinking slightly. Becoming more angular. But that had to be a trick of his eyes. Shaking his head to clear up what was most certainly a hallucination, he refocused on Hagan and...maybe that hallucination hadn't gone away.

Hagan didn't remotely look like the monster that had thrown him from one room to another. He was about the redhead's height, but there was still that brown color that was fading away into blacks and blues and tans. Was there something in his water because...because right now it looked like Matt Hagan, Hollywood star and media darling, was standing in his living room. It was unseemly, but he was staring, his jaw slack as he could not think of a thing to say except…

"Look at yourself."

The very human face of Matt Hagan frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

Looking away from Hagan, Elliot search for something, anything, and when his eyes spotted the grandfather clock, he growled, "Just look," as he directed Hagan towards the clear glass.

Fortunately, the actor did as requested and froze. Slowly, he stepped to the clock, staring into the glass reflection of him. "How…" he gasped out in shock. "It's...it's me…"

However, the longer he stared, the more he noticed the change as one side of his face began to droop downward, changing back into that familiar clay color. It then swallowed the rest of his face as his deformed head reappeared. "No. No, no, no!" he cried as one of his arms bloated unnaturally and resumed its previous form. Soon, the mud monster form was back and Hagan's horrified cries were filling the room.

Even though Hagan was finding himself in the middle of a real-life horror movie, Elliot on the other hand was coming to grasp with what had happened. These were side effects of his facial cream that he had never contemplated before. This ability that Hagan had just displayed, there was something valuable to be had there.

He winced as Hagan destroyed the grandfather clock as he fell into a rage, slamming his beefy fist into it. That had been something, ironically enough, that had belonged to his grandfather. Oh well, he had hated that ticking noise anyway.

The ruined clock aside, Elliot needed to take control of this situation before Hagan decided to take his anger out on him.

"Matthew. Matthew, listen to me."

The deformed Hagan swung his head around to glare at him maliciously.

"Calm down, Matthew. Listen to me for a moment."

"Why?" Hagan snarled. "Listening to you is what got me into this in the first place!"

"Did you not see what you did? For a moment you were yourself. You were Matt Hagan."

Hagan paused at that. "Yeah…" he said hesitantly.

"From what I saw, you did it unconsciously. You changed from this...to yourself in your prime. I think it was that role you did, that remake of that old Basil Karlo movie."

"Clayface," the actor responded wistfully. "I was nominated for an Academy Award for that role."

"Yes, the combination of both your talent and your hard work. An achievement that very few can meet. Right now, we are in a similar moment, Matthew. You have a talent, one that you showed just now. Like with your role, we need to add some hard work into it before showing you off to the world in all your splendor." Elliot's voice was soft and patient, but his words were addictive and toxic. He could see that Hagan was absorbing them, greedily drinking them in.

"All we really need to do is practice."