Wayne Manor looked as if a war had been fought inside its hallowed halls. The stout doors bore evidence of explosive charges being used to blow them off their hinges. What remained spewed across the marble floor in sharp splinters that crunched beneath Gordon's wingtips as he slowly made his way inside. His blood bubbled beneath his skin as he stared at the devastation. Berkeley. His jaw clenched as his fingers curled around the gun he held in front of him. He's to blame for this.

Of his niece, Malcolm Whitly, Alfred, Dick or Jason there was no sign.

Even as Gordon prayed they got somewhere safe before Berkeley's mercenaries arrived, he knew they hadn't. "We're too late."

"Jim..."

"We're too late, Harvey."

"You don't know that."

"Where are they then?" Helpless rage sizzled, was ruthlessly rejected. "Huh? Where are they?"

"I don't know." Bullock heaved a sigh. "I don't know where they are."

"If you are speaking of us, Detective Bullock," a refined voice spoke from behind them. "We are right here."

Gordon spun around, hope burning in his gut. Alfred, looking a little worse for wear, stood beside Dick Grayson. Next to him was Jason Todd with a small kitten nestled in his arms.

Malcolm Whitly and Raya, however, were absent.

"Raya?" Not like Gordon needed to ask. He already knew the answer. "The Whitly boy?"

"Taken."

"Dammit!" Bullock swore. "Berkeley could have taken them anywhere!"

"Berkeley Estate is—"

"Commissioner," Dick interrupted. "I know where they were taken."

Gordon took a step towards the stone-faced boy. "Where, son?"

"The tunnels under Gotham."

"Tunnels?" Gordon's brow furrowed. "Where he was building his underground city?"

"Yes."

Gordon still had nightmares, and the scars, from his last trip down into those tunnels. "How do you know that is where he took them?"

"Batman put a tracker on Raya after Berkeley sent men to Bellevue." Dick held up a tracking device. "He gave Bruce one of these to keep track of her."

"Tate," Bullock barked. "Get on the radio. Have all available units meet us at the waste disposal center." Tate left with a nod. "The rest of you follow the Commissioner."

Gordon heard his officers murmur their assents but was too fixated on getting to his niece and the Whitly boy to respond. He made to leave but a sound, much like that of a dozen tanks rolling down the street broke the silence.

"What the hell?"

That was all Harvey got out before the ground went out from beneath them.

...

All across New York, Gotham, Blüdhaven, and New Jersey, fire hydrants hemorrhaged water as the ground beneath them cracked; split.

Pipes and sewer mains burst, gargoyles plummeted from their lofty perches, cables and wires snapped, and power lines sizzled as they crackled the trembling ground.

All four cities went black as transformers and generators failed.

In Manhattan, Jessica Whitly grabbed her daughter and pulled her into a doorway as paintings bounced off the walls, vases crashed to the floor, and perfume bottles turned over on her vanity.

"It'll be okay," she told Ainsley as she wrapped her arms around her and held tight. "It's going to be okay."

She hoped it would be, anyway.

...

The streets were a sea of pandemonium as Raya pulled herself up out of the sewer. Gotham was pitch black. A glance across the harbor showed much of New York was, as well. Blown transformers and downed power lines, she decided as she turned and helped Malcolm out.

Horns honked frantically as cars tried to stop before driving into the huge holes in the road. Brakes squealed, sirens bleated, vehicles collided.

Panic ensued.

Flames and smoke belched from the gaping holes carved in the street by the cataclysm. More billowed from buildings on both sides. Water gushed from broken hydrants and water mains. Electrical wires dangled, snapping and hissing as they danced over the heads of the pedestrians fleeing in terror.

"My god," she breathed as she led Malcolm out of the path of destruction. "The city has been..." her voice trailed off, words escaping her at the devastation all around them.

"We need to get somewhere safe and dry."

Malcolm's voice was raspy from swallowing a gallon of water. His skin was nearly translucent, lips almost blue. Worry and concern at him either dying from hyperthermia or developing pneumonia shot through her.

I need to get him inside and out of those wet clothes.

There was only one place nearby she considered safe enough, though. "We're near the old GCPD building in Amusement Mile." Raya reached for his hand. It was like ice. "We'll be safe there."

And I can get you warmed up.

They followed the path of destruction over into Amusement Mile. Confused and terrified people roamed the street, searching for missing family and friends, for a safe place. Raya maneuvered through the chaotic maze while dodging downed power lines and geysers of foaming water, smoke and gulping fountains of flames.

They skirted a huge crack in the asphalt and approached the GCPD. The building looked to have weathered the worst of the quake. Only minor structural damage was evident from the outside. No smoke or flames burst from the windows or roof which was a positive sign the interior hadn't sustained any major sort of damage. The worst was the water seeping up from the underground parking garage. It hadn't reached the front entrance as of yet. It would soon, though. Take the positives while we can, Raya decided as she led Malcolm up the front steps and inside. Navigating the entry in the dark wasn't easy. The ground had fractured in many places and there was glass and other debris to worry about.

Malcolm's chattering teeth and quaking hand hurried her along. Hot showers were out of the question and she couldn't risk a fire until she had time to check for gas leaks. Dry clothing and blankets were all they could hope for at that moment. Raya made it to the main bullpen with only a few obstacles getting in her way. Memory had her skirt around the cubicles and desks to reach the locker room.

"Sit on the bench," she instructed as she moved about, feeling for the items she needed. "And start getting that wet clothing off."

"Ah..."

"The darkness preserves your modesty."

"Uhm, okay."

There was a wet slop. His sweater, Raya mused, lips curving. There was another a second later. Then two more. Socks, undershirt, and pants.

"Here." She handed a towel over her shoulder. "Dry yourself off and then wrap up in this blanket while I try to find clothes."

"In the dark?" His skepticism was clear.

"If I find a flashlight, your modesty goes out the window."

"In the dark it is."

"Thought so," she teased as she made her way through the dark.

…

At Claremont Psychiatric, guards worked to keep their population under control while waiting for the backup generator to kick on. Most patients took refuge under their beds to wait for the ground to stop shaking. The few that didn't sat in corners, tearing at their hair, and rocking back and forth.

Mr. David considered himself lucky.

He only had Martin Whitly to deal with.

"My boy," the doctor mumbled. "He killed my boy."

And he was a big enough pain in the ass.

"I deserve overtime pay and a raise," he muttered as he checked to make sure Whitly's restraints were secure. "Gabrielle's right."

For Mr. David, the future held one thing: a well earned vacation.

...

Deep within the Intensive Treatment ward of Arkham Asylum, a man sat in his private little cell, laughing a deep, throaty laugh as he considered the events that just happened. His boring night certainly took an interesting turn when the ground started to shake, rattle, and roll!

Verdant eyes glinted with glee while crimson lips twisted into a grin as he listened to the shouts and cries from the floors above.

He could well imagine ole Sharpie was hiding in his office, fearful for his life, and well-being. And why shouldn't he? the man mused as he rocked back and forth on his cot, cackling. The inmates were now free to run the asylum. Those state of the art communication systems Sharpie installed became unusable once the power went out. The closed-circuit cameras staff used to spy on the asylums diverse population became about as useful as a spatula mixing concrete. All of the security measures Sharpie designed to keep those like him in place were rendered completely ineffective.

The guards couldn't walk their constant patrols. Not with the locks opened and doors to the funhouse tossed wide open. Each and every one of the technological modifications good ole Sharpie made to the asylum's security system to protect the population from those requiring more strict measures were now the ones that'd keep him from escaping. The only thing that'd have made it better was if he had orchestrated things himself. He hadn't been the one to manipulate the string of events that befell the city of Gotham that evening.

Oh, no.

The manipulator of that night's events was sheer dumb luck. Granted, this cataclysm lacked the sorta pizazz and flare that he had.

Ah, well, beggars couldn't be choosers!

An earthquake splitting the city at the seams was still a hoot!

Much like Gotham would be once the dust settled and the animals all left their cages.

He giggled as he stared out into the darkened hallway. The city didn't yet know what its intended fate was. They'd find out soon enough.

Yes, they, along with his dear Dark Knight would soon discover what being part of the madhouse was really like. They, the people of Gotham, could do nothing to stop him from executing his greatest plan. Same as they could do nothing to stop the earthquake that ripped the streets of their city apart.

Gotham had become No Man's Land.

And he couldn't wait to get out there to play in that concrete jungle.

For the Clown Prince of Crime, this earthquake represented one thing, and one thing only: possibilities.

His high, keening laugh echoed throughout the asylum, annoying the other supervillains still confined to their cages, and scaring the guards and staff who only now realized they were locked inside the madhouse with the crazies.

Without hope for rescue.

Or escape.

...

Raya stepped out onto the roof of the GCPD shortly after changing into the sweats and sweatshirt she found in one of the lockers she pilfered. The sweatshirt was three sizes to big, the sleeves hung over her hands to her knees, and the pants required rolling up five times to keep her from tripping on them. They were warm and dry. That was what mattered at that moment.

Memories from another night she walked out onto the roof of a GCPD building played through her mind as she padded across the rooftop. It hadn't been an earthquake that necessitated her reaching out to the Dark Knight that night. No, she had needed him to protect her from the men her father sent after her. Getting in touch with Batman, though, hadn't been as simple as picking up the telephone and calling him. There wasn't a listing for Batman in Gotham's telephone directory.

Still isn't, she mused as she stared out over the ravaged city. Batman still isn't listed in the phonebook.

Well, not the real one, anyway.

The only person with a phone number was her uncle.

That came about after Batman rescued her from her father's men. As had the other means of contacting him. Raya stopped beside the searchlight perched upon its heavy-duty metal case. A larger one sat on top of the main headquarter building over on Bleake Island, and another atop the station at Burnley, the latter formerly led by her uncle before his promotion to Commissioner. The bat-shaped symbol she had fixed to that klieg spotlight to call Gotham's grim hero to the roof of the GCPD building hadn't been pretty, but it brought Batman to her.

Tonight, this searchlight would serve a dual purpose. It would not only send a message to Batman, but to the people of Gotham, as well.

Telling them they were not alone.

Their silent guardians were there still.

They'd keep the monsters in the dark back so their city could do what it always did: rise.

…

Gil stood staring at the calamity before him with disbelief. How could one night have so much happen in such a short amount of time? he wondered.

Was this what life was like for the man standing silent beside him?

A never ending catastrophe?

A cataclysm of events?

He turned to ask but his gaze was captured by a strange image blasted across Gotham's night sky.

"What's that?"

"A message." Amusement mixed with pride.

"A message?" Gil looked over at him, one brow tilted. "From who?"

"Raya."

Gil shook his head, not understanding how the crude image could be a message from Raya. "But..."

"Seven years ago," Bruce explained, gazing off into the distance. "Raya used a version of that image to call a dark and tormented hero to her for help."

"Now she's telling that dark and tormented hero she needs him."

"No." Bruce's lips curved. "She's telling him she doesn't need him to come save her." His eyes met Gil's. Shared secrets. "She saved herself."

"She also saved Malcolm."

And wasn't that ironic, he realized as he looked again at that oddly shaped bat-symbol. A child born to a monster saved a child born to a monster.

The same.

That was what Martin Whitly always said to Malcolm.

Well, Malcolm is more like Raya than he is his father.

They were mirror images.

Near perfect reflections of the other.

Only, one of them grew up and became a hero.

That's it, Gil realized as a cold wind blew. That's why she chose to help Malcolm.

To show him he wasn't a monster like his father.

He was a hero.

Like her.

At that moment, the future started to shine with one thing for Gil Arroyo: hope.

...

At Wayne Manor, Gordon and Bullock helped a wobbly, but still composed Alfred out into the cold night. Dick and Jason, holding the small kitten to his chest, followed a few steps behind, each one covered in dust.

"Do you think the earthquake hit New York?" Dick asked as Gordon helped Alfred into the back of the SWAT van. "Or do you think it only struck here?"

"It definitely hit New York, son." How badly, Gordon didn't yet know. He'd been busy here when the earthquake struck and not been able to receive a status report on the radio. "Won't know how bad things are until we get back to the city."

Where they could resume the hunt for his niece and the Whitly boy. As if he discerned his thoughts, and given how long they had been partners and friends, it was likely he had, Bullock set a hand on Gordon's shoulder.

"Sprockets fine, Jim."

"We don't know that, Harv." Gordon's jaw clenched as he imagined all the ways Berkeley could harm Raya and the Whitly boy. If the earthquake didn't get them, first. "We don't even know where they are."

"Commissioner!" Jason cried suddenly. "Look!"

Gordon turned to see a crude-shaped silhouette stamped on the velvet curtain.

"Amusement Mile..." Gordon breathed on a sigh of relief. "She managed to escape from wherever Berkeley took her and headed for the old GCPD building in Amusement Mile."

"Calling for the Bat to come and save her." Bullock tipped his fedora back and squinted at the sky. "Just like she did seven years ago."

"No." All eyes turned to Dick. A faint smile curved his lips. "She's not calling Batman to come save her."

"What's she doing then?" Jason cocked his head to the side as he let Anna crawl inside his hoodie. "Why'd she put it up if she ain't calling Batman for help?"

"She put it up to let him know she doesn't need him."

"But." Jason frowned his confusion. "That makes no sense."

"Actually, son." Gordon smiled at Bullock and Alfred. "It makes perfect sense."

The world, while bleak and uncertain at that moment, came with the assurance that no matter what, his girls would be just fine.

He and Bruce Wayne, his most unlikely ally, raised two strong, intelligent, and capable woman.

And that filled James Gordon with one thing: fatherly pride.

...

Malcolm stared in disbelief at the city ravaged by the massive earthquake from the roof of the police building. He had never seen such devastation wrought in such a short amount of time.

Not this up close and personal.

Fires burned everywhere he looked. Smoke reached up towards the sky with greedy, grasping fingers. Water geysered from hydrants busted loose when the ground around them split open. Power lines snapped and sizzled as they undulated on the busted asphalt. Screams came from all around Malcolm, flooded into him, through him, overwhelmed him. A ridiculous urge to cover his ears with his hands came over him but he rejected it.

He wasn't a child, despite the way his mother tended to treat him.

Pleas for help mixed with the shouts. Malcolm suspected aide would come to most after it was too late. There was no way emergency crews could get to everyone. Too many people needed help. Not that cops, firefighters, and ambulances didn't try.
Sirens bleated as emergency vehicles tried to reach those most in need, swirling lights cast eerie shapes on the buildings shrouded in shadows, and garbled voices ordered people to, "get back," so they could, "get through."

A flash caught Malcolm's eye and he looked up in time to see flames dancing along the bridge connecting Gotham with New Jersey. Trapped, he realized, heart dropping into his queasy belly. We're trapped here. A shiver from more than the cold ran through him.

"Here." A jacket was draped over his shoulders. "This will help keep you warm."

"No," Malcolm protested. "You..."

"Are trained to withstand this weather."

"You were soaked through like me."

"Batman has Robin and I swim in the harbor and jog to Wayne Towers routinely as part of our training."

Malcolm couldn't begin to fathom the amount of training Raya had received from the Dark Knight. It was yet another reminder about how vastly different their lives were.

Raya Kean might be as rich as he was, and as privileged, but she also served Gotham and its people.

As herself and as Fenix.

Malcolm lifted his eyes to her somber ones.

"I want to be trained like you."

"You will be, Malcolm." Her eyes glowed with the same mystical force they had on the night they met. "You will be."

"But..." His brow furrowed. "The people of Gotham..."

Her head tilted to the side. "What about the people of Gotham?"

"They're going to need Fenix."

And Batman and Robin.

"They'll have Fenix and plain ole Raya Kean, I assure you."

"You're not plain."

Nothing about Raya was simple or ordinary.

She was, quite simply, the most extraordinary girl he ever met.

"Neither are you, Malcolm Whitly." She drifted close as a gust of wind brought the unmistakable scent of burning wood, raw sewage, the brine of the water rushing in below, and night-blooming jasmine. "I'm quite looking forward to showing you how truly remarkable you actually are."

And in that moment Malcolm started to see the future as the one thing he had never seen as it as before: bright.

A/N: Hello, all, and goodbye! I hope you enjoyed this brief bit of insanity. If you did, please leave a comment below. Thanks for reading! Take care!