Night was approaching fast. The bright outer glow of the dark clouds was the last paragraph for the day's progression that would eventually dim to dusk. Below, cars would go at their usual pace, save for the cab that seemed to be in a hurry. At least, that's what he was instructed. Gordon had a tight schedule, and he'd rather rely on someone familiar with the city's streets than his own gut instinct.

He took a deep breath. He imagined what dinner would've been like between him and Barbara on a night that was supposed to be about them only and not some stupid last-minute assignment. The privileged meeting with the mayor didn't feel like such an honor as he had hoped. All it brought him was even more doubt, albeit not about himself. What tugged on the back of his mind was how important this seemed to the man in charge of the city. Of all things that seemed like a priority more than anything, it was about a dinner party more than the procedures of stopping tragedies about the next man getting mugged or stabbed before seeing his family. It was hardly comfortable that he had to be somewhere he deemed insignificant while his daughter was left alone, though he did trust her of taking care of things while he was away. He knew how responsible and prudent she was, even in Gotham.

Gordon stepped out of the cab and looked up, examining the building that was called the Ritz. It was about as exactly he had envisioned when he had been told about it. Looking up its address was problematic, and parking would be horrendous for anyone unless one was willing to pay big money for valet. Hell, he had seen that already. The exterior suggested that the design was definitely meant to stand out from all the other hotels he had seen. A few meters away from where he stood lay a wide set of stairs that heralded towards the entrance. The entrance was a tall narrow curved threshold that lay before the massive lobby within. The large pilasters that were mounted near the entrance stretched far upward to numerous higher floors. The upper portions were separated by decorative and elaborate architraves.

The inside was as big and massive as he had envisioned ever since he laid eyes on the Ritz. The lobby was brightly lit. A warm and inviting yellow was at every corner. The wood was polished without a scuff in sight along with the marble tile floor with the obscure scent of a cleaning element. The foyer was complimented with a water-inducing fountain that sprayed from a bronze sculpture that stood tall, almost reaching the ceiling. Despite that he had a job to do, a tug in him was whispering an ominous quandary.

Gordon's peripheral vision around him informed him that several other officers and city officials were together, either discussing something in private or coordinating with where they were assigned to go. Before he could get an idea of where the Commissioner would be, the familiar gruff voice cried out.

"Jim!"

Gordon's eyes met Bullock, who fast approached him.

"Hope the cab guy didn't rip you off," Bullock commented.

"Do you really think he would?"

Bullock shrugged. "A dead cop. For all we know, we're all next."

Gordon grimaced. Good to see that Bullock was so concerned about the whole thing.

"Yeah . . . So, did Loeb make his announcement?"

"No need," Bullock said quickly. "The Commish already told me that you and I are covering the ballroom area. Looks like you and I will be getting the highlight of tonight's entertainment."

"Interesting . . .,"

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"This whole thing doesn't seem right."

"Whaddya mean?"

"We're cops, Harvey. We should be out there instead of in here. I'm not stupid enough to believe this city is a heaven on earth, but there's a crime war. I was called to work here for that exact reason. For Christ's sake, a cop—a young man—was murdered just about a week ago."

Bullock shrugged. "Mayor's orders. Don't forget that he asked you specifically for this."

An elevator door opened, and Loeb poured outside with an active phone in his hand. His usual relaxed demeanor was replaced with urgency.

"Gordon. Did Bullock here explain what you're doing?"

"Yes."

"Good. I need you both to get to the ballroom right now and cover the ballroom on both exists. I'll have more men at the stairwells. Just make sure no one takes the stairwells."

Returning to his phone, Loeb said, "I want to keep the roll call in every five minutes. Everyone check their channels every now and then so there's no miscommunication. And again—cover all stairwells. No one takes the stairwells unless it's an absolute emergency or a city official. Any signs of suspicion will be taken in by force and be reported to me.

Loeb then tapped the speaker feature on his phone. "We've been given strict orders by Mayor Cobblepot. He wants this to be as smooth as possible. He will not take any sloppiness, and neither will I. Understood?"

The two officers in front of him nodded promptly and Loeb wasted no time hurrying off to a location obscured by his sense of importance.

"Well, ya heard the man," Bullock said.

Taking the elevator, the two officers waited for a long period. The rumbling of the lift's ascension to a higher plane was a slow curtain pull to a show that Gordon was eager to see, let alone be a part of. The smell of constant refreshing and refurbishing of the tiny lift wouldn't help.

"Been here before?" Gordon asked.

"Nah," Bullock muttered. "Maybe once? Long time ago, I guess."

Soon, the rumbling stopped, and the ding was heard, proclaiming their destination. The doors opened, and several officers were standing guard already. Loeb really wasn't kidding around this time. More walking and the two officers were led to the massive room that was highly decorated.

Gordon was rather impressed. In all his years on the police force, he had never attended a party this big and posh. On one hand, he felt honored that he had a chance to experience the sight, yet a deep part in his stomach was tugging at him. He would soon be encumbered by hundreds of Gotham's wealthiest associates. At the same time, he feared this was the primary source of all of Gotham's corruption eating itself out all in one room. He called it paranoia, but it's no secret that the very powerful have one fatal flaw in character—the further they can reach, the dirtier their hands get. Just like Mayor Cobblepot said.

Maybe the mayor can have this much power also.

"Alright," Bullock said. "We have our posts."

Without a response, Gordon huddled over to where he was assigned—a meter away from where one of the exits would lead while Bullock would be headed to the opposite side of the room where another exit awaited.

When Gordon stood at attention, his eyes scanned around him. Soon, the night would truly come, and the hunters would emerge from their resting places.

Alfred turned another lane. The Ritz, without a doubt, would be packed today, so parking would be the most troublesome. Luckily, Bruce had provided him a well-detailed layout of the surrounding lots where he'd be able to blend in without a traffic cop getting their hands on him.

From the back, Bruce held out a hand within Alfred's peripheral vision and Alfred placed the earpiece within his ear.

Alfred made an audible wince. "You'd might want to readjust the outside texture of your devices, sir."

"Clear signal established," Bruce smirked.

Alfred nodded and continued pedaling the gas towards their destination.

Already, Bruce could hear the familiar sounds of a crowd conjure up an uproar of Gotham's brightest. He had seen it before. Then again, he almost missed it. It was nice to hear something else than the dead silence around the corridors of Wayne Manor.

Alfred pulled up until he aligned the car in the dead center in front of the building. The miscellaneous chatter made a sudden crescendo as the car's familiarity made its view.

"Well, here is your peanut gallery, sir."

"Let me know the minute you're parked in a secure location. I'll give you more updates, just keep an open ear," Bruce said quickly just as his hand reached for the door handle, lifting it, and releasing himself to the flashy open world of the public.

He maintained his usual gentle smile as he was greeted with simultaneous formally addressing of his name being shouted. Reporters flashed their cameras like dancing lights at a night club and several others were reaching out to him. Raising a casual arm, Bruce retained his warm face, and he could sense the Alfred-driven car behind him pull away to an unknown destination. He straightened his bowtie with pride and strode towards the steps as more reporters neared him. Bruce was able to compose himself valiantly until his eyes met at the foot of the steps that led to the inside.

There, stood Mayor Oswald Cobblepot with two gorgeous-looking women at both his sides. With a smoking cigar dangling from one side of his enclosed jaws, his grin widened at the sight of Bruce, whose welcoming smile was now reduced to a smirk. Fighting the conflict within him, he strode to Cobblepot's direction.

"Mr. Wayne!" Cobblepot announced loudly with an outstretched hand.

Bruce was able to form a closed smile as he returned a handshake around Cobblepot's chubby palm.

"The Prince of Gotham! I'm so happy that you've made it."

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor," Bruce said.

In a swift motion, Cobblepot, reached up on tipped toes to reach Bruce's overbearing height and wrapped one arm on Bruce's shoulders, opening his other arm with a gesture towards the mob of flashes.

"My proudest contributor!" Cobblepot exclaimed. "Handsome one, isn't he? Without him, we wouldn't have our bright and fair city. Hell, without him, we wouldn't have much of a country! Happy Birthday to Gotham City!"

An applause erupted much to Cobblepot's delight.

"Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot," Bruce said.

"Please," Cobblepot said in a dramatic way of being insulted. "It's Mayor Cobblepot," he grinned.

"Of course," Bruce grinned. Maybe he had been grinning too much. Besides, Cobblepot wasn't going to be "Mayor" for very much longer, and he will see to that.

"Now," Cobblepot said, "please enjoy yourself. Plenty of ladies inside," he winked. "Or boys, if that's your thing."

With a playful elbow shove, Cobblepot descended down the steps and strode gallantly towards someone who was desperate enough to look for an interview. Or maybe it was someone who wanted a photo with him.

Bruce couldn't tell as he then focused on getting to the entrance. He relaxed himself a little knowing that Cobblepot would be too busy outside bathing in the popularity he was getting off on.

Inside, people were walking casually towards the large elevators that would carry them up to the ballroom. After being greeted by hotel staff and several other partygoers, Bruce changed his direction from the elevator corners and started at the stairwells instead.

He paused himself as he caught a man that was standing at a strange-looking pose beside the door.

"Hey," Bruce said in a friendly tone. "Mind telling me where the bathroom is? I'd hate to get started when I have to be emptied."

With a directional arm, the man responded, "just down the hall to the left."

"Thank you," Bruce said. "So, am I not allowed to take the stairs or something?"

"Sorry, Mr. Wayne. Mayor's orders."

Bruce silently acknowledged that to himself before letting out a more warm, "Ah. Okay, thank you."

Bruce followed the man's directions and looked to see that all was clear in front of him.

"Alfred," he muttered. "Have you found a secure location?"

"Yes, sir. I'm parked on the east side of the building. I'm setting up the uplink. Should have access to security in five minutes."

"Copy." Bruce glanced back over the guard's direction. There was a camera within the glass bubble appliance on the ceiling. "I'm gonna need you to keep an eye on the stairwells. They have them heavily guarded."

"Ah. Stopped you, didn't they?"

"I did see a camera up there."

"They stopped you."

"They stopped me."

Trying his best to avoid suspicion, Bruce shifted himself back toward the elevator area, where numerous people were waiting to be taken up. As several other people began shouting out his name, he couldn't help but think back on those men who were beside the stairwell.

Obviously, Cobblepot caught onto something that night he went snooping around for Hobbs. Bruce swallowed. Here he was in the lion's den, yet it seemed that nobody noticed it was him. At least he had that.

Soon enough, he found an opportunity to climb aboard a shaft ride and ascended to the party's final destination. The ballroom was lit brightly and alive filled with numerous people dressed in their finest and most expensive attire. On one end of the massive room was a staging area where a decorated podium was erected. Behind the podium was empty, but soon, it would be occupied by city officials. Soon, he will find Hobbs.

The smell around Bruce was a combination of hotel cleanliness and second-hand cigar smoke that would've been left over from those who tossed away their sticks before coming in. Or maybe they smuggled in some tobacco and decided to light up on the outside balcony. Dozens of others around him were mingling and interacting with each other. It was comforting that Bruce found himself away from the loud crowds. It would be peaceful that he wouldn't have to deal with either the men falling down after a drink too many or the women laughing wildly.

To Bruce, it wouldn't hurt to have at least something for the evening. Showing that he had nothing to hide would provide more cover. During his sips of expensive champagne, he took the moment of opportunity to look around him more. Up above lay a large pane of skylight glass that shined a heavenly beam into the blackened sky. Around him, he saw that there were two doors that led away from the room, yet each were guarded by one person, both on opposite sides of the room.

"Link uploaded, sir," Alfred said on the earpiece.

"The mayor's going to be making an appearance along with the rest of Gotham's officials. As soon as they're out here, I'm going to need a visual update on Cobblepot and Hobbs."

"Yes, sir."

Time passed, and soon, the ballroom gathered attention as the stage area was then occupied by Gotham's highest-ranking officials. The police officers, led by Commissioner Loeb, stood by with them and began lining themselves in rows behind the podium. In front stood other men, wearing business suits. Tobias Hobbs had got to be with them. As they entered, Bruce swiveled his head around for Hobbs; there were too many occupants. Among them, stood Mayor Cobblepot himself. With a wide grin on his face, he stood up and walked over to the podium, adjusting the microphone.

"People of Gotham City," he said proudly.

The crowd's chatter died in seconds, and Cobblepot continued. "I wanted to thank everyone for coming here tonight in honor of our beloved city's birthday. It is truly an honor of working among you as mayor of Gotham City. It's been rough around the curbs and sidewalks, but I am proud to announce that everything we can in our power is being used, and our city has and will continue to thrive. Our businesses remain strong, our public officials continue to trample over injustice, and our contributors to our city have been ever so helpful in these past several years.

"The city has been synonymous with 'crime', but as Mayor, I promise that we will find these little rats that scurry into our homes and drive them out. With our police force and our other law enforcers, we will achieve greatness, so that good-natured people can live here in peace. I'd like to make a toast."

Just like that, everyone raised their wines.

"Here's to our city officials, our D.A.'s who work tirelessly, our Commissioners who help those in need, and for most of all—you all who continue to live here and remain unmoved by the city's shadow."

"For Gotham!"

"For Gotham!"

Everyone sipped, followed by an applause.

"Now, please," Cobblepot said invitingly, "enjoy the rest of the evening. More and more wine to go around."

The chattering picked up again, and Cobblepot walked away from the podium along with the rest of his associates and city hall. Bruce scanned his eyes around the moving crowd from the podium and the rest of the room. None of them matched Hobbs. That snake in the grass had to be here somewhere.

"I have an uplink, sir."

Bruce drew in air through his nose. "Good. Let me know the minute you get a visual on Hobbs. I don't see him in the room."

"Yes, sir. In the meantime, might I suggest you talk with someone, sir? You look quite pale."

Swiveling his surroundings once more, Bruce met a face that screamed familiarity to him. A woman was wearing a platinum dress that was cut down to her shins and golden hair that hanged over her bare shoulder blades. The eyeshadow masked herself for half a second before Bruce's memory confirmed her.

"Bruce," she called. She wore an expression that represented a mix of skepticism and interest.

"Ms. Vale," Bruce smiled, playing naïve.

The young journalist made her way over.

"I'm actually surprised to see you," Vicki said.

Bruce extrovertly shrugged. "To be frank, I'm more surprised to see you, here."

"You'd think I wouldn't fit in your silver spoon club?"

"That's more or less it," Bruce admitted. "But it also doesn't surprise me that the mayor wanted everyone to see his business."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Bruce felt his face pale. That wasn't supposed to be implied.

"I mean, come on," Bruce said, changing his tone to sound more gossipy. "Have you ever seen Cobblepot being this open?"

Vicki raised an eyebrow. "True," she read. "But I don't think I've ever seen you this open. Last I saw you, you were . . . well, certainly not this chatty. You rich people are so weird. No offense."

Bruce shrugged. "You'd be surprised to hear how many times I hear that."

"So, tell me," Vicki said, edging herself closer to him. "How many times do you hear that you've been voted 'Gotham's Most Likely to Die from Alcohol Poisoning'?"

"I don't read tabloids, Ms. Vale."

"Vicki."

"You know, I'm more surprised that you're not having the night of your life," Bruce said, trying his best to hold his tone. This was getting more out of hand every second. "Is this your first night in the Ritz's ballroom? A room full of other people who hold the city together like me?"

"I was hoping I'd get that out of you," she said. Her face turned from fascination to disappointment. "Now, I know what that's worth."

Vicki walked away.

"I hve a visual on Hobbs, sir," Alfred said. "I, uh . . . hope I didn't interrupt anything, sir."

"Not really," Bruce answered. "Where is he?"

"Two floors below, northeast corridor. Uploading to your pad."

Turing his back to Vicki's retreat, he carefully pulled out his mobile device and saw that Alfred uploaded the schematic of the Ritz, including the air ventilation systems and elevator shafts. Bruce tapped Hobbs' location to the second floor below where he was standing and saw the northeast corridor.

"Is he moving?" Bruce asked.

"He's making his way to the east side of the building. Two men are at his side."

"There are two cops in this room, Alfred. One each guarding the exits. I need a way out."

"Copy. I have a visual on Cobblepot."

From across the entire massive room and through a sea of ignorant blissful people stood Cobblepot. The mayor stood with several reporters smiling that grin that Bruce knew was nothing but a crooked façade. A rumbling fire arose in Bruce's stomach. Narrowing his brow, all he wanted to do was tear through the crowd and go for the mayor's throat, but that would've been unwise, not to mention mirroring the kind of mindset that earned him his sloppiness that night. Not anymore.

Scanning the blueprints once again, he looked back at the ventilation shafts. They were massive in size, just large enough to fit one person into the shafts. The shafts spread out in multiple patterns eventually leading to a room . . . including the bathroom if he were to reach high enough.

"Keep an eye on Hobbs. Don't lose him," Bruce said softly before jumping himself forward.

"Sir, may I ask what you're doing?"

"Best if you didn't find out."

Silence was Alfred's response, but Bruce knew that was more or less a silent judgment. Alfred knew Bruce's history of recklessness besides that night of spying on Hobbs. This had to be different. Taking risks was part of this newfound job, and at no point will it ever be easy.

The crowd was much more occupied by now. The talking and chattering were much louder now, excusing himself from the room would be much easier. The drinks and interactions would make him nigh invisible to everyone. Wiggling his way through several groups, Bruce made his way to one of the exits. Putting on a less firm face, he looked and saw the one officer that was posted at this one exit.

"Hey, excuse me. You know where the bathroom is?" Bruce asked casually. "I think that last drink I had was just 'whew!'"

The officer gestured beyond him and the door he fortified. "Down the hallway, just to the left."

Bruce nodded and proceeded past him, obeying the direction where the bathroom was located.

"Interesting display," Alfred commented, knowing all too well the difference between how his master was sober and actually drunk.

The hallway was infested with the temptation to try and make a run for where Hobbs was last seen, but chances are, there would be a police officer in one corner watching his every move. Time was running short.

Entering the bathroom, Bruce checked and saw that there was no one present but himself. He then checked his PDA. The air vent tunnel would start right in one of the larger cubicles. From there, the tunnel would lead out towards the elevator shaft, which acted as the root for all other tunnels that branched out to numerous other rooms and suites.

"Alfred, update on Hobbs' location."

"Hobbs is in a conference room still located on the northeast side of the building. I count two guards at the door. One exit."

Returning his focus, he entered the last stall where the air vent was right above him, before locking it. The bathroom ceiling wasn't as high as he had feared, at least, but it compelled him to stand on the toilet.

"Alfred, see anything outside of the bathroom south of the ballroom?"

"No, sir. So, you are using the air vents."

With one hand, Bruce gripped his fingers onto the edge of the vent. He pulled hard, yet the grate wouldn't budge. Several hard shoves later, and loud metallic pop echoed.

"Alfred?" Bruce warned.

"Nothing, sir. You're still clear."

Lowering himself, Bruce placed the grate neatly on the toilet lid and looked above him. Using his phone's flashlight, the entry point would be an intersection between two ways. With a quick glance at the schematic that told him which way to go, Bruce used all his upper body strength and hoisted himself upward. He gathered the rest of his body upward until his body entered the metal tunnel.

Following the schematic, the air vent was not too far away from the elevator shaft. Using his shoulders and trying to avoid using his hardened black shoes against the metal surface, Bruce shifted himself forward.

A series of turns followed with the most careful shuffling to soften his progression followed, and Bruce found that his path was stopped to face the elevator shaft.

Peaking, the elevators stood still and hadn't groaned to carry any passengers. It had been nearly an hour since his arrival; surely the elevators wouldn't be as busy as they were when the doors opened to all guests. The shaft he needed to go was located just adjacent to his position, albeit a handful of yards below.

"Hobbs is still in the room, sir," Alfred said.

"Still guarded?"

"Yes, sir."

"Copy."

Hobbs paced back and forth. When he saw that his name was on the guestlist for the Ritz's fundraiser, he hadn't counted on spending in a confined room with only a handful of other people who wouldn't socialize with him. He should've seen this coming. How could he be this stupid?

"When can I see the mayor?" he demanded. "It's been half an hour, already."

"Just sit down, Mr. Hobbs," said one of the guardsman, who sounded quite annoyed.

"No, I can't sit down!" Hobbs exclaimed. "I know what this is. I know exactly what this is. What, you think because I'm a goddamn attorney, I don't know how you people think? This is a setup. He wants me dead."

The men showed no emotion. They continued giving him blank stares, the same look Hobbs was given as soon as he walked in through that door.

"It won't be long before the mayor will see you," one man said. "And I highly doubt that he wanted you in here just so he could kill you."

Hobbs clamped his jaws behind sealed lips. This was exactly how they would trap anyone who they plan on taking care of quietly. He wasn't the only lawyer they have their hands on. They would have plenty of other ways to get past the legal system without sticking out like a sore thumb. He continued pacing through the room, softly squirming his head between the clock, the men inside, and the door. He had to get out somehow. Any attempt to escape would mean they'd most likely kill him. Someone else would finish the job with or without the presence of Cobblepot, who always hid behind layers and layers of other people.

He should've seen how things were derailing, especially after that unnecessary killing of that young Gage kid. There was no reason for that. It was different from all the others. Or so it felt. Maybe they all had no reason other than money. According to those who hired him, money was the ultimate inspiration for this madness, yet it always seemed much bigger. Maybe holding books about law and order had to have much more meaning than being paid by these guys. If it was going too far, it was time to stop. He wanted out. He needed out.

Taking a deep breath, soft enough to quiet any noise that indicated fear in front of these puppets of the mayor, Hobbs sat back in his chair.

Once the suit and tuxedo were tossed behind him, Bruce pulled the cowl over his head like a well-protected hood. If he was going to proceed any further, nobody can know that it was Bruce Wayne that made that foolish move against Hobbs and Cobblepot's thugs. Especially if it was going to be in a much more secured premise than the rooftops and narrow alleyways.

Activating the earpiece in the cowl, Bruce said, "Alfred. Can you hear me?"

"Aside from your suit's voice changer, I have a clear signal."

"Copy."

Through the eyehole, which was whitened on the outside, his eyes analyzed the surrounding of the one air vent tunnel he needed to crawl through. From there, it was more shuffling until he made his way to the conference room while maintaining his silent persona.

"Sir," Alfred's voice said, "Hobbs has been moved outside of the conference room."

Bruce stopped in his tracks. "Where is he now?"

"He's moving towards the stairwell now. Heading upward . . . past the ballroom floor. It looks like he's heading to the rooftop."

Hastily, Bruce shifted his viewpoint on the blueprints to the rooftop. The quickest way would be making his way across the elevator shaft into another vent, otherwise, it would take another handful of wasteful minutes.

This circumstance may have made it easier on itself, but if Hobbs was moving to the roof, there would be no telling how long he'd be up there. He had to take him out quickly and quietly. The schematic told him that the elevator shafts would have an air vent that would have a connection to the rooftop itself. The only problem was the possibility that the vent would lead up to the rooftop and that he would have to take the grate off without giving himself away. Either way, he had to hurry and make it to where Hobbs was heading.

Searching more, Bruce analyzed the environment around him. The entire elevator shaft was a massive pit and several beams reached from one side to the opposite. The air vent he needed to go was just across from where he was at about ten yards. Jumping was too risky. Though, one of the beams was conveniently nearby. The only catch was that it was almost too close to the desired vent. There was no other choice.

With quick reactions, Bruce pushed himself out of the vent towards the wall where the desired vent lay above him. He then reached into his belt and equipped a gun-shaped implement. With a quick keen eye and aim, he squeezed the trigger, and a narrow harpoon shot upward and impaled the beam that was exactly right outside the vent's entry. The monofilament wire stiffened, and Bruce allowed himself to ascend.

Right before he reached the vent, he stopped the retraction and he was at eye level with the air vent. With a forceful arm, he yanked the harpoon out from the beam and held the other arm into the vent. It took a stressful amount of strength to move his upper body into the vent, and he tucked his grappling gun back into his belt's holster.

The schematic then said that the rest of his path would be easy.

"Alfred," Bruce panted. "Is Hobbs on the roof?"

"Yes, sir. He's not alone. You might want to engage in a quiet way."

Eventually making his way, Bruce came to a dead end with the only pathway leading upward to the grate that led to the rooftop. Already, he could feel the chill of the autumn air brush through him.

"Alfred, where's Hobbs' exact location? My only entry point is the northeast air vent."

Silent seconds of Alfred calculating proceeded, and Alfred's voice said, "Hobbs and other men are approximately fifty feet from your entry point, sir."

"Copy."

It was fortunate they were a fair distance away, otherwise any further infiltration would be impossible. Pivoting his body, he winched himself on his feet and he was standing at the bottom of the vent shaft, facing the turn far above him to the rooftop. Reaching into his belt, Bruce equipped the very same grapple gun he and Alfred constructed together. He squeezed the trigger, and a sharp-clawed harpoon fired along with thin monofilament wire. The claw hooked itself into the metal surface above, and Bruce ascended.

With one arm, he slid one arm into the opening and held tightly and released the trigger, thus retracting the harpoon back into its position. Easing himself into the vent, he could feel the chill of the night air coming to him. The sky of Gotham came into view through the lines the grate left.

Now that it was much easier to reach into his belt for more things, he equipped one of his bat-shaped shurikens. He slipped the curved blade that resembled bat wings in between the crevice of the grate and pressed gently.

"Is Hobbs still in the same position?" Bruce whispered.

"Yes, sir."

"Copy."