Within a week's time…

Hidden within an old oak wardrobe lay the batsuit. The cowl looked out at intruders with an angry scowl.

At the sight of it Bruce felt anticipation.

He hung his cloths on a hook that had been drilled into the stonewall and began to put on the black suit piece by piece. Each piece going on in an order, almost ceremoniously. With each piece he felt stronger, powerful, capable of anything.

It wasn't just a costume. It was a part of Bruce.

No one knew this more then Alfred who helped the man change. "Are you sure you side is well enough for this Master Wayne?"

The slight change in expression that crossed Bruce's face when his chest was covered with the suit had not been lost on Alfred. There had been obvious discomfort.

"Yes Alfred, I'm just a little tender, the ribs have already begun to set."

Not pleased with Bruce, Alfred grimaced.

"Don't worry Alfred, I'll be mindful of them. I need to be there for the meeting between Negly and Vrato. I'll be spying. If I'm lucky I'll come across a patient from Arkham."

While he spoke Bruce rolled his shoulders, fidgeted and tried his best to get comfortable with his tender side. When he was satisfied he let Alfred help put the cowl over his head.

Later that night….

Batman sat perched in the darkness of a rooftop beside an open window, which allowed him to overlook and oversee a meeting between the visiting man and a Gotham crime lord. Even though he was a good distance away he could see and hear everything.

It could have been because every last sense in his body was heightened, as it always was when he wore the suit, when he became Batman.

Or the bugs he had planted earlier in the week.

He had known about the meeting days beforehand thanks to the devices. With a definite time set he had been able to search Gotham for any Arkham Inmates that had gone undetected.

The Prophet, a jittery very nervous man paced while talking. His voice rose when he grew upset. Batman noted every nervous twitch the small man made, as well as the young man in a suit.

The youngest mob king in Gotham, Vrato Jr.

He'd heard enough discussed between the two men to indict them for a long time, but, what they had moved onto turned him cold.

"Look, don't worry. By the end of the week I'll be running Gotham. I already have hits out and by tomorrow every last heir apparent will be gone, by the end of the week there will be no one but me to control the crime in Gotham. Then we'll talk."

The prophet shook his head and continued to pace around the dressing room at the theater, "No no no, I don't like it. Killing so many people in a week! The police are sure to notice."

But the mobster, seated calmly in a dressing chair with his legs propped up on a makeup table simply shook his head. "That is the beauty of it. The police don't care if we kill each other off, it's less work for them."

"Ok, what about Batman?"

Again, the young mobster shook his head, "Why should he care? Less for him to do. Hell, he should be thanking me." He rubbed his trim goatee, "Calm down, you're no good to me when you're hysterical. Don't worry about Batman."

Quickly the prophet turned, he pointed wildly at Vrato Jr., "Easy for you to say! I lost two million dollars because of that…thing! The last thing I need is another scandal or hit to my accounts. These people are starting to question why we're here in Gotham. I had to make up something about the end of the world…who are you going after tonight?"

Curious, Vrato Jr. asked, "Why?"

"I'm psychic remember, I need to wow Gotham with some sort of news tomorrow, if you didn't hear I'll be on the Biff and Diff Radio Show."

Pleased with that answer, the mobster shrugged, "I'm starting with my brothers, the Merozikki siblings, and Gaponenko's niece."

Batman rose, considering going down into the dressing room. Until the mobster put his legs down, "Half of them should be dead by now. Within an hour…we'll have a considerable amount less competition and problems."