The following is a non-profit, fan work based off the respective works of Rei Hiroe and Christopher Nolan

All rights belong to the original creators, Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc., and Madhouse Inc.

The Bluefire Phoenix presents...

A File from Operation Dusk Hour...

Chapter XIII: Not Dead Yet

Home...

I never wanted to go home more than the moment Wilson kicked me over the ledge. He got the drop on me. How was I supposed to be the next Batman when the bad guys were sneaking up on me?

It was bad enough that the mission went to shit not long after we arrived on the scene. We watched the Prime Minister and the cabinet like freaking hawks. Everything seemed sound for a while then boom. Explosions everywhere. Gun shots fired. And Slade Wilson walked across the plaza like he was some conquering hero.

The Question was on the scene first. I guess he was going to talk him down or something. He was right there on the scene when he just stopped. Then he said to take care of Wilson myself. No rhyme or reason for it. Kind of an asshole move seeing as I was going to drown.

Death was something I thought I dealt with early on. How many times did the streets almost take my life back in Gotham? How many more times after I became a hero? Honestly I lost count.

Over time I accepted my fate. I didn't have anyone to leave behind. No friends or family to mourn. A martyr for a cause no one else believed in. I was probably insane to anyone on the outside.

That thought was enough to bring a smile to a dying man's face. Maybe that's why The Question picked me. I was the only dumb ass crazy enough to make an attempt at being Batman.

Speaking of, Wayne was going to be pissed. More pissed than usual I should say. But I was going to miss him and the kids a lot. I'd miss Mia's evil glares too.

Rushing water finally engulfed me completely. The inky blackness of death crept in. I fought to the end against the crushing liquid. The last bubble of air exited my lips in a string of small bubbles. I entered the nothing.

My eyes fluttered open, irritated by a ray of light. My heart skipped a few beats. I immediately regretted missing Mass all those times as a kid. A tingly feeling crawled over what I thought were supposed to be my feet.

I began twitching my fingers. Blood started flowing once more. I forced myself up, opening my eyes wide.

No pearly gates, just the apartment that served as our base. I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or not.

My chest burned as I forced my legs over the side of my bed. I was able to get up. Pain shot through my legs with each step. A grimace curled onto my face in order to hold back expressing that pain.

I was able to make it to the bathroom without to incident. The mirror looked like someone mistook it for a freaking punching bag. I counted nearly a dozen impact sites. The smell of chemicals bothered my nose.

I turned on the water and rubbed in some on my face. A refreshing chill tickled down my face. I rubbed my eyes and stepped out into living room.

It was a mess. I mean messier than when I left. The many intricate maps, pictures, and charts had been ripped off the wall. Their shredded remains were scattered over the floor. Instead there were five pictures along with a collection of newspapers and documents connected into a wild, wild web of connections.

"I apologize for the mess," a voice croaked out. The Question was hidden in a corner. He was using his trench coat as a blanket, his face still masked in his usual manner. The man threw it off and stood up, straightening out his suit a bit. He kept his right hand tucked in his pocket. "I take it our Mr. Wilson wasn't like the punks you're used to fighting."

I nodded. "He was able to get me good. How did you find me?" I asked. My voice sounded like rusty gears scratching a chalkboard.

The Question dug into his coat's inside pocket and tossed something from inside it to me. It looked like a computer chip. The only thing I recognized was the Wayne Enterprises logo on it. "Am I supposed to know what this is?" I dryly asked.

"That is a military grade GPS beacon. I installed it into your armor, just in case."

I sat down in a chair by the dining table. "So you do care," I said. A smirk couldn't help but curl onto my face. The Question shook his head.

"That crap is expensive. I didn't want to lose it if you ran off or were killed."

"Are you really that paranoid?"

"I'm still alive right?" The Question retorted. "Anyway, we need to plan our next move."

I slumped over in my chair a bit. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," I muttered.

"Don't go angsty on me now Blake. I need you focused," The Question coldly rebuffed me.

My body started to tremble. "What exactly am I to you? Wayne at least treats me like a person. You act like I'm a freaking pawn!" I accused him. I wasn't ready for my first encounter and he was constructing a second one so soon? Sure time was a factor, but I wasn't willing to get beaten down again so soon.

The Question started to laugh. It was a low, spine chilling chuckle. I could make out a grin under his mask.

"I prefer the idea that you are an actor under my direction," he finally admitted after a minute or so of disturbing laughter.

My brow furled as I stood up. "Does that mean I'm your puppet then?" I spat.

The Question nonchalantly pulled out his right hand. It was bloodied and bandaged. He started to carefully examine it. "All the world is a stage, is it not? But believe you me, I'm as much an actor as you, Blake," he lightheartedly mused.

"What the hell does that even mean?" I demanded. The Questioned straightened up and locked eyes with me.

The Question's bandage clad hand clenched into a tight fist. "It means that even I have limits, Blake."

I angrily slammed my own fist on the table. It rattled around a bit. "And what? You think I don't have my limits too!"

My chest heaved up and down as I stared at him. The Question just stared back. I saw into his eyes for the first time. They were…zombified for lack of a better term. A tired sigh left his mouth. "That's because Batman can't afford to have any. You can't afford to have any anymore," he calmly retorted.

I stopped for a second to catch my breath. "You really are crazy, aren't you?" I asked. The Question leaned forward.

"Do you think Bruce Wayne could have done all those feats that Batman did?" he asked.

"I don't know. Maybe?"

"It doesn't really I suppose. After all Bruce Wayne died in that ally too," The Question pointed out. He released his fist. "The dead don't have limits, Blake. That alone made Batman able to make the decisions others simply couldn't do."

My brow rose in suspicion. "Are you implying that I need to die?" I asked. The Question examined his bandaged hand.

"You need to die for the moment but come back. Men like Wayne and me, we're cynics and loners. Our faces are our masks, and we dance only to the dance of the dead," he somewhat lamented. He looked up at me. "Don't let John Blake stay dead."

I leaned back. I smiled a bit. "Don't worry, I'm right here," I reassured him. I recalled my training with Wayne. Even when he was with his children, he seemed distant. It was more like he was interacting with them from another dimension. Actually, he acted that way to everyone save me. I think he just enjoyed making me miserable.

"When you met Wayne, Batman, for the first time: what did you think of him?" I asked. It was random, but I was curious as to The Question's initial thoughts on the man.

"It was a different world. Green Arrow was only days away from his first appearance. The Huntress had yet to start her first violent crusade," he said. "Wayne was beaten down from his defeat in Gotham. His condition wasn't help by the abuse he went through before I was able to execute my rescue plan."

"How did you know he was in Thailand?" I asked. The other man shot me a somewhat skeptical glance.

"I can tell you what Lex Luthor is going to have for dinner tomorrow, how it will be prepared, as well as his wine selection, do you think tracking the location of one of the wealthiest men alive is that difficult for me?" he sarcastically shot back. "Anyway, I…I didn't pity him exactly. But it's hard to look at a man who fought so hard to end up with such a terrible fate and not feel something. But I certainly wouldn't call it pity."

"And here I thought you really were just a heartless ass."

"Cute, Blake. We met for the first time, in the village where you found him. He was tired from the trip. I had to let him sleep before we could discuss the business of finding a successor."

"What about that Rock guy?"

"What about him?"

"He escorted Wayne to the village right? What happened to him?"

"I gave him his payment and he left. I haven't seen him since."

"It's unlike you to let an asset like him go."

"Who said I let him go?"

"What you murdered him?"

"No, I put him somewhere safe. You don't stay alive long when a section of the Russian Mob has a price on your head by sticking out in the open."

"Can I ask you something?" I said before an awkward silence formed between us.

"I suppose so. But then we need to get to work."

I took a deep breath. "Who were you before you became The Question?"

To Be Continued...

A/N: Welcome to the May Blitz. Why this? Well for one, I need to get things set up for act three and this is a good way of getting everyone up to speed. Plus these three are pretty interconnected so it would be a dick move if I just stopped it here given the scheduling shake up that I'm going to discuss later.

So this chapter is mostly for expanding on Blake and The Question's relationship. I also wanted to touch on what kind of Batman Blake is supposed to become. Which I think is the most interesting part of superhero legacy. Whether you were selected to replace a hero or you pick up the mantle after it had be vacated, you have certain expectations to meet. However your morals and attitudes will inevitably vary from those of your predecessor. You have to balance your personality against that of what your heroic alter-ego represents.