I don't own Batman.

Vigilante.

The Beginning.

None of the people walking down the streets paid Frank Kersey any heed as he walked by them, and as he walked by them he needed to try to maintain his calm manner even if he currently didn't think his attitude was remotely calm. Nodding and smiling politely at the few people he knew although he didn't bother spending time talking to anyone else, Frank was free to get back to his flat.

Frank leaned against the wall of the lift as it slowly rose to his floor, settled in a posture of silent contemplation while his body was geared up for a quick move back through the doors, but he was completely still beside a few breaths rising and falling from his chest. He was pleased to be back home after his walk, but at the same time, he was troubled by what had happened with the joker. It wasn't because he had hurt a boy who was as young as his own children, it was more because he had enjoyed it.

When the doors of the elevator opened and he stepped out and fished out the key of the apartment out of his pocket, Frank wasn't sure what disturbed him more, that he had struck down a joker who'd waved a gun in his face and he had enjoyed the experience enough to want to do it again without caring of the long term consequences, or the fact he'd just lashed out at the joker without a word.

Frank shook off the thought for a moment while he took off his coat and hung it up before he went into the kitchen and started to make himself something hot to drink to steady his nerves but also help him to think. Once he was sipping his tea in the silent lounge of the apartment, Frank couldn't help but look out of the window of his apartment. Night had fallen, and there were lights in the buildings in the distance.

The bat signal was lit in the sky, and absently Frank wondered what Batman was doing right now. Frank was old enough to remember the time before the bat signal was lit frequently despite the GCPD and the media's best efforts to claim the Batman was a myth, and that was before Joker came back, joined by weirdos in weird costumes with equally weird gimmicks. But he remembered how the media and the mayor's office had tried too hard with their assertions; by the time they had reached that point, there was simply too much evidence of Batman's existence, newspaper reports, grainy footage, photographs. When the bat signal first started in the sky, many people in Gotham had believed the troubles of Gotham city would just vanish.

Frank hadn't believed them; while Batman's appearance had an effect, he remembered how cynical he had been of there being any real change. For the last decade, Batman had been patrolling the rooftops of the city, but had there been any real change? While he couldn't deny people like Gordon and even Harvey Dent before the DA's tragic fall from grace during that unholy mess where one side of his face was burnt off by acid thrown at him had done a degree of good for the city, Frank was confronted by the truth nothing in Gotham had changed much.

It was funny. Some time ago, Frank had read a scathing criticism in one of Gotham's newspapers about how Batman and his little gang of kid soldiers (he remembered that part distinctly, remembering only too well how many times in the past he had been disgusted with how Batman seemed to show little to no regard for his helpers) had only made the situation worse while Commissioner Gordon seemed to struggle with his own plans to change Gotham for the better.

While he could argue with a few of the points, Frank had to give the writer of the article points back as well; Batman had done some good, he really had, but the problem was all of those 'villains' he had kept coming back for more. The writer had gone on to say Batman's antics only bred new 'supervillians' for him to fight. Frank wasn't sure what was worse, the fact there were people who had looked beyond what Batman was doing or the fact Batman himself didn't seem to realise he was making things worse in Gotham.

Frank sighed and he took another sip of his tea. Batman might have done a lot of good in the way of defeating Joker and Riddler, but in truth, the man had spent so many years fighting a battle which in all likelihood would accomplish nothing in the end. He certainly had not done much good in getting rid of the jokers or stopping them from spreading their disease. A part of Frank even wondered if Batman even cared.

Remembering his earlier note by chance to contact Detective Bullock about his family's attack, Frank wondered if he should even bother now. The death of his son and wife, and his daughter's vegetative state had shattered him, but when he had attacked that joker, Frank had been elated.

X

"You did a good job today, Frank," the instructor at the Krav Maga dojo told him two months later.

Frank wiped the sweat from his brow. "I hope so,"

"No, I mean it. You're really dedicated to studying Krav Maga. But do you mind if I ask you something?" The instructor suddenly seemed…uncertain about how to best voice what was on his mind.

Frank sighed inwardly. He had been expecting this round of questioning for some time now. Two months ago after he had struck that joker in the face and knocked him unconscious, he had gone back to his apartment and contemplated his actions, and where to go from there. For the last two months, Frank had bene working long and hard on becoming a decent enough fighter.

"Why are you doing this? You push yourself incredibly hard. You have friends here, but you seem to have made it your life mission to learn Krav-Maga," there was only pure interest in the instructor's face, and a touch of concern.

"A couple of months ago my family were attacked by the jokers," Frank said, looking at the instructor with the same kind of hollow pain he always got whenever he thought about what had happened to his wife and children. The sight of their trashed apartment. The blood-red paint on the walls. The bodies of his wife and son as they were taken out. Sonya's empty expression… Frank immediately shut the memories up in a tight box. Dwelling on the matter was always a painful one, talking about it meant facing them.

"Jokers? Oh my god, I'm so sorry Frank," the instructor whispered, clearly horrified by the upsetting topic he'd unintentionally dredged out of his student.

"It's okay-," Frank tried to reply automatically, but the instructor shook his head.

"No," Something in the instructor's voice made Frank look up into his eyes, and he saw the same pain and rage in his eyes. Suddenly Frank realised this man…

"What happened?" Frank asked, unsure if he even wanted to know himself.

The instructor looked down. "It wasn't the jokers or even that laughing maniac. It was the Scarecrow. He- Look, do you remember 2 years ago, when the Scarecrow broke out of Arkham and hit Gotham University with the new and more powerful form of his fear toxin?"

Frank stiffened. Yes, he did remember the tale. "Yes, I do. Who was-?"

"It was my daughter. She was 18 at the time," the instructor clamped a hand to his mouth as he choked. "We thought she had her whole life ahead of her, and yet she was nothing more than a test subject for the Scarecrow. That soulless, gruesome son of a bitch used so many fear toxins on those kids, many of them suffered from heart attacks!"

Frank went very still as the memory of that story surfaced in his mind. The Scarecrow had been incarcerated in Arkham for a while before he escaped. When he did he attacked Gotham with a vengeance, and he pumped large amounts of fear gas in many different and really nasty forms that he had been experimenting with during the lessons in the University. Somehow, Scarecrow got to the ventilation system of the university and he started work there.

But that was not enough for the deranged fear obsessed lunatic.

Oh no. Scarecrow got into the university's canteen kitchens and he contaminated everything with liquid versions of the gas. When he was finished he simply stood back and studied the results.

From what he remembered, only a few students managed to survive. Others were rushed to intensive care and others just died.

"I'm sorry," Frank whispered, unsure of what he could say.

The instructor smiled back but it was like a skull's grimace than a smile. "It's okay. You should be grateful I'm more rational now," he added, worrying Frank with the open way he'd just uttered that sentence because of it what it implied, "When Scarecrow was sent back to Arkham, well, let's just say I wasn't the only one who wanted the skinny bastard to get the death penalty."

"Since this is Gotham it's hard to recall a time when that was used," Frank sneered.

There was a lot of truth to their anger and bitterness. Law and justice had always been in short supply in Gotham, even when Commissioner Gordon took over the police from his really corrupt and easily manipulated predecessor Loeb. But while Gordon had stamped down hard and relentlessly on the crime families of Gotham and quickly making it hard for the vacuum to be filled, although criminals like Joker and Scarecrow took their place quickly, very few criminals had received the death penalty.

Looking at it now, Frank wondered if Batman had somehow manipulated events accordingly so Gotham would never see another criminal executed. No, he doubted that.

It seemed as if the problem lay in Gotham itself, but Frank didn't know-how.

"I want to learn Krav-Maga because I never want to be helpless. The police were or are still investigating the attack, but they haven't heard a thing. If I am attacked in the streets, I don't want to go down without a fight," Frank pulled himself out of those thoughts; the implications of Batman's meddling were far-fetched in themselves, but truthfully he didn't care at this point even if he knew many criminals deserved the death penalty.

"You would be surprised how many others feel the same as you, the same as me," the instructor said, "there are dozens of martial arts schools throughout Gotham. All of them receive new members every day because the streets are a scary place. I'll help you."

Frank smiled at him, knowing that in their pain, they had an understanding. "Thank you."

The End of part 1.

Until the next time...