4. Homecoming

Alfred watched as the young billionaire tried on the suit he had specially ordered for the event, "I am glad that you decided to come out of the shadows, Master B, but are you sure that inviting everyone to the manor is truly safe?"

"Having second thoughts?" Bruce asked with a joking chide as he straightened his bow tie.

"Wonder if someone stumbles upon the triggering mechanism to the cave?" Alfred shrugged.

"The mechanism is safely out of reach," Bruce assured.

"Playing it rather close to the chest, aren't we?"

"That's the only way to play the game." Bruce shrugged. "If I came back only to stay a quiet recluse, there would be questions. So, I need to open up, maybe even a bit too much. Best be a personality if anything."

"And what charming personality would that be?" Alfred asked like he was selecting the color of his clothing. "I certainly hope it isn't the brat persona."

"I was thinking less brat more clueless billionaire," Bruce said with a shrug. "Playing dumb might lead to an advantage."

"Ah yes, but, try not to alienate your closest allies," Alfred nodded. "It would be best if you could sprinkle in a bit of positive traits as well: a little of the old Bruce." Alfred paused for a moment. "Since you are now back, why don't you let Gordon into our circle of trust? It wouldn't hurt to have the commissioner know what you are doing, especially since he has been such an ally to us in the past."

Predictably, Bruce dismissed it, "The circle is as wide as necessary. I only need you and Lucius to operate. I don't necessarily need Gordon; he might end up being a bit of an obstacle. After years of relative peace, shaking things up might make him nervous. He could make the decision to arrest me on a dime if he disagreed with my methods. Gordon would be dangerous if he was at odds with me and knew that I was the vigilante."

"Fair enough," Alfred nodded. "Anyway, I should get back to organizing the staff. There is a last-minute addition, an ice sculpture of a swan that needs to be treated with care." Alfred paused. "I've come to understand that you don't do things simply for the fun of it anymore; there is always an ulterior motive. So, what is the main goal of the night?"

Bruce turned around and exited the room while saying, "Making sure that Bruce Wayne can never be thought of as a vigilante."

Gordon, despite the nice suit and the extra touch of a handkerchief from Lee, felt underdressed. The highlife of Gotham always made him feel a little overwhelmed when it came to style. If he were interrogating them or was speaking to them on police business, then there wouldn't be any intimidation factor. Now, he just felt like a fish out of water. He was currently herded to the side of the large ballroom. The ballroom was massive and held the two hundred guests with ease on both the ground floor and the second-floor balcony that ran across the interior wall. The room was made to feel even bigger as glass windows constructed the wall to the outside. There was a stage placed in the corner of the venue allowing for speakers when ready and a news camera too; apparently, everyone wanted to see the return of the Wayne heir. When Gordon had visited before, these rooms had been closed off, unused. He had never fully grasped the enormity of the manor until that moment. It was rather luxurious too with the decorations and heavy security; there was even a ice sculpture in the center of the room.

Of course, the man of the hour himself was standing in the middle of the crowd and greeting as many people as he could. There were several familiar faces among the guests. Gordon caught sight of Alfred manning almost every station or instructing the current staff member in how to properly do it. His demeanor reminded Gordon of the drill sergeants from his time in the military. Lucius was also there though his time seemed to be monopolized by other Wayne Enterprise board members. There were several other more formal guests like Mayor James and the DA, whom Gordon didn't know all that well. Barbara Kean had elected to stay behind this time citing that she was at best acquaintances with Wayne; she also said something about him talking her ear off at the previous gala. Lee had a reason to stay home as well, though hers revolved around running her clinic in the Narrows. Bruce seemed much more sociable, borderline bubbly. Traveling the world must have done him some good. Gordon decided it was best just to approach the young man; he doubted the interested crowds would allow Bruce a moment of peace.

"Bruce," Gordon walked right up to the man. "Couldn't keep away, could you?"

"Commissioner Gordon," a pleasant smile crossed Bruce's expression as he stuck out his hand to Gordon. "It's been too long. How's the position of commissioner been treating you?"

Gordon sighed, "As well as it has treated previous commissioners, I'm sure; the job has its ups and downs but it's all worth it to make Gotham safe." Gordon felt like he was speaking a bit stiltedly to Bruce. He quickly changed subjects, "I'd rather talk about you. You made quite the impression at the Wayne Tower Gala; no one was expecting you to return. It was a nice surprise."

"Well, I wanted to make an entrance," Bruce shrugged. "I've had nothing but good experiences Gordon. I can't complain."

"If you don't mind me asking, where have you been for all these years?" Gordon recalled a couple of conversations with Alfred over the years. He had often invited the butler to the house, but, whenever he questioned where Bruce was, he became quiet and often gave a non-answer. Usually, the non-answer seemed to signify that Alfred simply didn't know; Bruce had kept it secret from even the man who raised him.

Bruce shrugged casually, "A little here, a little there, never stayed in one place for too long. Spent most of my time in Monty Carlo. Jim, have you ever been to Monty Carlo? I thought you might have since you were in the Navy—or one of those things."

Monty Carlo? Gordon had always thought that Bruce went on a soul search of some kind. He certainly wouldn't suspect the young man to have gone off to gamble in Europe. He wondered why the young man abruptly seemed to be a bit more flighty than he remembered; he got Gordon's military branch wrong as well.

Gordon retreated a bit as the billionaire kept rambling on, "No, can't say they needed boots on the ground in Monty Carlo."

"Really," Bruce smiled through it seemingly oblivious to the confusion. "I'd assumed that you might have. Maybe I could pay for you to take a vacation. See the thing about the place is—"

Gordon was thrown a bit as Bruce started to talk very detailed about the higher social life in the foreign city. The young, stone-faced teen he had known for years seemed to have evolved into a more social, almost even vapid personality. It didn't feel right. The feeling was more confusion than anything else; he thought Bruce left with a purpose, not for an extended vacation. He seemed to have done a one eighty over the past ten years. Gordon almost couldn't believe that it was real. He mentally braced himself as he decided to learn more about who the Wayne had become.

"So, go anywhere else interesting?"

Selina stood on the balcony watching the swarm of socialites and politicians buzz around the billionaire. Honestly, Selina wondered why she tormented herself like this. Why did she come back? The manor had been built practically the same as the first. A rush of nostalgia ran through her as she saw sections of the house that reminded her of the part of her younger years spent in the halls. The lock system was even the same on the windows in the parlor, allowing for a quick entry. Still, she didn't know why she even showed up. No, that was a lie; she knew why. She just didn't want to admit it to herself. She wanted to see him.

She was almost disappointed when she saw him. The way he spoke, the movement of his arms, the way he laughed and slapped the occasional person on the shoulder: it wasn't Bruce. He was putting on a show. He was up to something; she knew that for certain. Damned if she knew what he was plotting. Despite the hope that she had years ago that he would return for her, she knew that she wasn't the reason he came back. There was something else, something more important to him than her.

Selina rolled her eyes, she was acting like a lovestruck child. She was staring at him across the way when she could be doing something more productive with her time. She had dressed up for the event, even sported the Queen's necklace despite the risk of someone recognizing it. Some part of her just wanted him to notice her. Another part burned with all bitterness inside of her. She let the second part win out. She shrugged. Screw him. If he was going to play games, then so was she. She'd at least make herself known by taking a few wallets or maybe steal some valuable from another room, but she wasn't going to contact him. She wasn't going to bow first. If he wanted to fix what he had broken, then he needed to make the first move. She would dance at the edge of his periphery and nothing more. She just had to avoid him, which might have been harder than expected.

There was a moment of eye contact with the billionaire. Selina paused for a moment as Bruce simply blinked stupidly at the sight of her. She turned tail and left the balcony and his gaze. Her heart raced in her chest, and she reprimanded herself for feeling anything. She should have never come.

Contrary to the smile he was flashing every ten seconds, Bruce was not enjoying himself. It was great to see old friends again—it was all he thought about sometimes during his days abroad—but the confused, disappointed looks on the people he met were disheartening. Gordon's look especially had wounded him; he hated to think that he had let Gordon down in some way.

His gaze drifted for a moment as he noticed someone on the balcony. For a moment, he thought it might have been wishful thinking, but he immediately dismissed it. He saw her; he was sure he did. Bruce looked over Gordon's shoulder as she turned away and disappeared into the crowd on the balcony. He was so entranced by her that he didn't notice the worried murmur that started to circulate through the crowd as new, uninvited guests arrived. He turned to excuse himself from Gordon.

That was when shots rang out.

The volley was a quick burst of bullets that were shot into the ceiling. The audience ducked instinctually at the noise except for Bruce and Gordon. Suddenly, they became aware of a small group of people pushing their way to the front. They wore different, darkly covered jackets and machine guns. They were military in formation, almost like guerilla fighters. The action was quick, pre-planned as they quickly carved up the room. As the guest realized the situation, many panicked and started to rush the door. In the chaos, Gordon was pushed quickly to the edge of the room followed by Bruce. The militants swiftly routed their advance by moving to the exit points and shooting into the air; that curtailed their advance. In a second, a man wearing a red-hooded jacket and a partially cracked white mask jumped onto the stage and seized the microphone.

"Alright, if we could have your undivided attention," The man in the white mask spoke into the microphone; malice and spite infiltrated his tone as he spoke. When no one quieted down, he pulled out a hand gun from a holster on his side and shot into the air. "I said undivided attention!" That silenced them, and he continued, "My crew and I will be your entertainment for the night. As you can see, your immediate exits have been blocked by my assistants, so I suggest you stay quiet and enjoy the show."

Gordon didn't immediately spring into action as he surveyed the scene; they weren't directly attacking the civilians in the room. Nine gunmen were in the room: one was the one on the stage and looked like the leader, one was now compromising the news camera, two were up on the balcony, one stood blocking the way out the glass doors and the other four guarded the two exits to the hallway. Those were the only ones that he had been able to observe; he was sure there were more hiding around the house. Gordon looked around for security, who should have been nearby to stop the sudden takeover, but they seemed to have vanished into thin air. The man looked over to the camera as one of the henchmen picked it up and gave him a signal.

"Hello, Gotham, I am Anarky," the man in the mask announced in front of the camera. "Welcome to the penultimate days of the established order. First off, to any half brained heroic GCPD employee out there, I need to make something clear." He held up a small device in his hand. "A little trigger with a dead-man switch connected to the bombs I placed in the center of the room."

He gestured towards the ice sculpture and the camera followed. An anarchist pulled up the drapes that were below the ice sculpture to reveal a wired mechanism tied to gasoline tanks. A soft gasp went through the crowd.

"Just a little poetic justice," Anarky mocked. "The lavishes of their party being their down fall. So, I see police get anywhere close and everything goes up. Also, security won't be coming to save you folks, I gave them a little paid vacation. You see Gotham, that's how little the people working for these swine care about them. So, we're going to watch them burn!"

Gordon slowly found himself pull away from the crowd. He wasn't going to let that happen on his watch. He tried to look around the room for assistance. He couldn't spy Alfred from where he was, but he knew the butler's training must have been kicking in. He saw Lucius glance over to him and give a small look of worry but nodded in show of his support of whatever action Gordon had to take. Then he looked back at Bruce to see what he was doing. Perhaps being in a stressful situation would bring out the determined, serious man he had once known. He was gone. It was almost jarring how quickly he had evaporated into the air. He couldn't see the brunette anywhere. Gordon shook his head it didn't matter the numbers; he needed to do something. Gordon placed a hand on his holster under his suit.

There was a click from the side and Gordon snapped over to find a gun barrel pointed specifically at him.

"No heroics today, Gordon," the anarchist hissed as he quickly disarmed Gordon. He then pushed him with the barrel of the gun, "Move it; get on the stage."

On stage, Anarky was still rambling on with his manifesto, "I was saving it for the anniversary of the reunification, but when I heard the pig prince was fat and back in town, I just knew I had to start here." Anarky grabbed the camera and spun it around to show the guests at the party "When the pigs fry, Gotham, you will be free! Free to do whatever it is your heart desires! You will be free! The banks won't hold you down, the government will be dissolved. The glory of No Man's Land will be restored."

Gordon was pushed up the stairs of the stage and in front of Anarky. Standing beside him, Gordon realized he was a bit shorter and a little leaner than expected. His voice didn't sound all that intimidating either; it was resting on a higher pitch than most men and it cracked a little.

"Ah!" Anarky said gleefully, "our fair commissioner! Hero of the people! The man who runs that joke called our police department!" Anarky paused as the sound of a helicopter started to penetrate the walls. He sneered, "Well, isn't that an uncanny response time. I guess when you have the money, it just takes a few seconds to get the police to your door. Paid protection: isn't that right, Gordon."

Gordon sized up the self-proclaimed anarchist and didn't engage. He knew the masked man was trying to provoke some kind of reaction, create some kind of twisted debate.

"Going to give me the silent treatment?" Anarky jeered. "That's alright, I don't need you to talk." He turned back to the camera. "See, in the face of reckoning, they go silent, plead the fifth, do anything to exonerate themselves and their failings. They respond to our righteous protests with silence!" He chuckled a little; then suddenly kicked the back of Gordon's legs so that he fell to his knees. Gordon had to stop himself from retaliating as he remembered the anarchist holding the machine gun was right behind him. Anarky continued, getting close to the camera lens, "Well tonight, they won't be able to respond with silence. Tonight, we'll make them pay for their ineffectual tyrannical leadership; tonight, they burn. But first," he gestured around. "Where is Bruce Wayne?"

There was a tense silence that went through the crowd.

"Wayne!" The masked man called out. "Where are you?"

Gordon glanced around, if Bruce was the man he knew years ago, he'd selflessly step up. That would blow any cover that the young man could have used. To Gordon's surprise, Bruce didn't step forward. He felt partially relieved that he didn't. If anything, it would buy them time.

"Wayne you coward!" Anarky growled as he surveyed the crowd. Obviously, he didn't see him and the other anarchist looking for him just shook their heads as they came up empty, "Huh, I had an entire speech planned out for him. I guess we'll just have to improvise." Anarky pointed the gun right at Gordon. Gordon didn't flinch. The masked man turned towards the camera. "Your commissioner James Gordon, like many Gotham officials he's a broken the law more times than enforcing it. He's had a couple of murders and gang affiliations swept under the rug because he's a 'good man'. It is sad to think that this city has stooped so low as to dignify men like this with that title. See Gotham it's men li—"

Sudden darkness fell across the room.

The lights went out; the only sight was by way of a few decorative candles. There was a rapid chaos that erupted as the crowd started to get antsy. The anarchists called for silence as threats and yelling filled the room. Gordon was about to charge the red hooded man, but the hand gun was readjusted so that it was pressed up against his skull.

"Don't move," Anarky growled, there was the sound of a walkie-talkie. "Des, what's the situation at the generator?" Static responded through the receiver. "Des?"

Some of the anarchists switched on the flashlights attached to the scopes of their guns. This illuminated the room in sparse cones of light.

"Go check the generators in the basement." He nodded, and they headed out of the room down the hall. There was an anxious mumble from Anarky that only Gordon could hear, "Jesus, that was faster than expected. I need more time." Anarky turned his attention back to Gordon with an astounding confidence, "If the GCPD is dumb enough to think they can get in here, then I surely overestimated them."

Gordon noticed something; as much as he threatened to tear down everything and everyone, he didn't seem keen on losing his life. If he were truly a maniac willing to sacrifice himself for the cause, then he would have blown everyone to smithereens at the first sign of potential police involvement. He wanted to escape, that was why he wanted to buy time. He wanted something bigger than what he was constantly propagating; Gordon could use that to his advantage.

Gunshots came from out in the hallway; it was surely coming from the men Anarky had sent out to check on the generators. The room sat in silence of hushed murmurs and gasps as the crowd waited in baited anticipation of potential rescue. Something slammed into the wall on the other side causing it to quake a bit. After a few moments of yelling and gunfire, there was deathly silence. Gordon felt a wash of worried confusion; it didn't seem like a GCPD action—they wouldn't risk getting everyone killed. Then, who or what was causing such a disturbance. Several moments of silence passed as the anarchists scanned the room with their flashlights.

There was a yell. One of the anarchists on the balcony screamed as he suddenly fell over the banister. Then there was a snap, a line caught, and he was suspended in the air. He dropped his gun as he lost consciousness, but the strap held the gun causing the light at the muzzle to spin a bit in the darkness. There was another sound of struggle and another flashlight beamed wildly throughout the room as something fought the anarchist. Eventually there was a cry in pain and the flashlight clattered to the ground. The anarchists tried to pinpoint the aggressor with their flashlights to no avail. The crowd started to get louder and louder as the chaos broke out. Anarky quickly shifted his gaze around the room, trying to get his bearings on the situation.

There was a loud crack and one of the anarchists near the window went down: sniper fire. Suddenly a white stream of light came in from the glass windows: multiple spotlights. It created a blinding contrast of light and darkness in the room. The police outside had seen the chaos and decided to engage. That was the end for the crowd, they rushed the glass doors of the manor and pushed through to the outside while others escaped through the door to the kitchen. Even a few anarchists started to flee among the crowd. Among the chaos, Alfred did his best to direct the chaotic mob and Lucius helped pull someone to safety. Anarky looked on as the plan was falling apart.

"Damn it!" Anarky pressed the gun to Gordon's skull and grabbed his coat from behind. "Come with me!"

Gordon complied, but only because he was waiting for an opportunity. With the gun against his head, it would only take less than a second for Anarky to pull the trigger. He needed a distraction. As Anarky escorted Gordon out of the room, another thug was thrown off the balcony, this time without the mercy of a line, and he hit the ground with a thud. Anarky filtered out through the door that led to the hallway; the place was now lightly lit with the sporadic glare of the spotlight. He fired a shot into the ceiling to drive away any potential followers. They escaped into the hallway and Anarky was clearly starting to panic. He turned his head into his jacket to speak into the transponder.

"What the hell is going on?" Anarky growled, but there was no response.

Now able to see a bit in the dim light, Gordon took the opportunity to fight back. He quickly sidestepped and knocked the gun out of Anarky's hand. Gordon's next goal was wrapping his hand around the detonator—ensuring that the pressure was kept on the Deadman switch. He didn't get the chance as Anarky put his foot between him and Gordon and push kicked him to the ground. Gordon sprawled for a second. Anarky pulled a second handgun out of a holster on his leg and aimed it at Gordon.

"Fine!" Anarky yelled with a growl as he pulled his detonator hand into the air. "We all go up! Gotham will be better off for it!"

Gordon's heart froze for a moment as potential death loomed over him. Suddenly, there was a sharp sound in the air. Anarky gripped his hand and cried out in pain. From what Gordon could see, there was a sharp object penetrating through Anarky's trigger hand. Apparently, the knife was long enough to hit the detonator as well. The device sparked, died, and released smoke causing the disoriented Anarky to drop it. A shadow flew over Gordon.

"The hell?" Anarky brought up his gun hand and squeezed off a shot at the advancing shadow. It didn't deter it at all as he was disarmed. Anarky stumbled back and swung his foot. The shadow deflected it with a kick. Anarky fell to one knee. In a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand in the darkness, he reached for a concealed knife located in his boot. He didn't get the chance to pull it. The sole of a boot connected with the mask and, with tremendous force, kicked him back. The mask cracked under the pressure. Anarky hit the ground with a thud and stopped moving. The shadow stood tall over the fallen foe for a moment, and Gordon was left stunned.

"Alert the GCPD that the bomb threat has been neutralized, but the bomb needs to be disarmed," he spoke with a booming distorted voice.

He was gone, vanished into the darkness. Gordon was left in the dim light for an astonished moment until light suddenly flooded the room. He instinctually started to stand and whipped out his badge before he heard the entering police shout.

"GCPD!"

It only took a few minutes for Gordon to assume command of the situation. The bomb squad quickly disarmed the device, and, one by one, the unconscious anarchists were arrested and shoved into the back of the police van. The final one to be picked up was Anarky, who still had his mask. Now conscious, he wearily stumbled as an officer shoved him forward. Gordon and Bullock watched as he passed by; Anarky tilted his head as he saw them.

"This—this isn't over," He stammered as he passed them.

"Hold Kowalski," Bullock gestured to the escorting officer and approached Anarky. "This guy's holding on to some valuable evidence." He grabbed the shuriken where it had impaled his hand and quickly pulled it out. Anarky gave a quick yelp in pain. Bullock smirked at the mask, "Oh, and I'll take your costume too."

Bullock grabbed the bottom of the mask and ripped it off his face. Bullock reeled back a little as he saw the face underneath the disguise. The youth in the appearance of the anarchist shocked both Gordon and Bullock, he looked like he was in his late high school years at the oldest. Despite his youth, Anarky's eyes burned bright with hatred.

"What? Not used to seeing the face of the people you oppress?" He growled.

Bullock snorted in disgust, "Get the kid out of here; it's past his bedtime."

Kowalski pushed the protesting young man forward towards the police van.

"I swear, the little self-entitled snots in this town are really getting on my nerves," Bullock grumbled. He looked at the shuriken in his hand, "Wouldn't have done that if I knew he was a minor."

"After today, I don't think they're going to treat him like a minor," Gordon shook his head. "He threatened to kill two hundred people."

"Yeah, but his lawyer is going to eat me for lunch," Bullock sighed as he examined the knife. "Are you packing ninja toys now, Jim?"

"The vigilante," Gordon nodded. "He stopped Anarky."

"The vigilante?" Bullock looked confused. "Wait, like one guy took down all of these armed maniacs?"

"One guy," Gordon nodded. "He swooped in and moved through the darkness; must have had some sort of night vision. He also glided over me like—well, the kid we talked to a couple of days ago wasn't too far off with the 'bat' analogy."

"I think it's more of a motif at this point," Harvey held up the metal hiltless throwing knife. It was carved into the shape of a bat. "Guy has got a bit of an obsession if you ask me. Think he's trying to make a statement?"

"Bats? I don't know what kind of statement he's trying to send. Why bats?"

"Who's to say?"

Suddenly an officer came over, "Commissioner, we've done a head count and we're coming up short. We can't seem to find Wayne anywhere."

Gordon furrowed his brow, "Are you sure?"

Bullock added quickly, "You don't think this was a distraction for a kidnapping."

"I don't know," Gordon spotted Alfred standing in the middle of the situation. "Alfred!" He called and gestured for the man to join them. As Alfred made his way over, Gordon spoke in a low voice, "Bruce is missing."

A look of shock crossed his face, "Missing? What do you mean missing?"

"Bruce disappeared during the attack; we're searching for him now," A look of concern crossed Alfred's face; something else was in his eye, almost like he knew where that might be. Gordon bit at it, "Is there somewhere he might have gone?"

Alfred seemed to hesitate; then he sighed, "I think I might know where he is."

He led the two police officers back into the manor and made his way through the hallway. He approached a door and opened it as it led to a small library. Alfred then strode over to the first bookcase and selected a book. Gordon and Bullock glanced at each other briefly. Bullock opened his mouth for a second, probably to make a smartass statement about Alfred's choice in literature, but there was a click and the bookcase opened up to reveal a door behind it. Alfred grimaced a bit at them and then knocked on the door. The door behind the bookcase opened and out stepped Bruce. Behind him there was a small room, a panic-room, lined with metal.

"Is—is everything over?" Bruce stammered as he stepped out of the panic room.

After several hours of police investigation and questioning, the police had left the other half of the Manor alone and allowed a majority of the guests to leave. That left the parlor, and subsequently the access to the cave, far away from police investigation. Bruce, Alfred, and Lucius were left in the parlor to talk about the nights event.

"Sorry my party was nothing but stress for you, Lucius," Bruce apologized.

"On the contrary, you made my night," Lucius said. "Never had the chance to see the tech in action in the field except for those nauseating POV recordings you send. Now I know everything is working in fine fashion. I'm even more glad that the built-in signal disruptors did their job," Lucius smiled as he checked behind a portrait to reveal a built-in piece of tech. "If anyone wants to blow up Wayne Manor, they're going to have to light a fuse." Lucius paused. "You were relying on the disrupter to pull through, weren't you? It would have been reckless to break the trigger like that without having a backup."

"Of course," Bruce said with a sly smile. "Wouldn't dream about being reckless."

"Yes, that doesn't sound like you at all Mr. Wayne," Lucius sighed. "Well, I'd better get home. I have a meeting in the morning. Bruce, Alfred," he nodded as he headed out the back door of the kitchen.

"I'd say that was an evening to put in the papers," Alfred smirked after escorting the last of the police officers out the door. "The vigilante saves the day and Bruce Wayne cowers in a panic room."

"Better that than anything else," Bruce said. "The last thing we need is to get is a heroic reputation. It's better that Wayne have some sort of cowardly traits: he is just a sheltered billionaire after all." Bruce let a stony look cross his face as he thought for a moment, "A billionaire that attracts crazy people."

"Galas were being attacked long before you came around, Master B." Alfred said. "It's almost like an annual affair in Gotham."

Bruce nodded, remembering a few that he had attended, "You're right. Why not attack the returning 'Prince of Gotham'?" Bruce shook his head. "Still, I should have known about it. Anarky flew under my radar by operating on gas bombs and a small crew. Just goes to show that I need a broader networking system. I've been picking them up case by case and been focusing too much on the arms trade. My information needs to be—"

"You can start all of that tomorrow," Alfred nodded.

Bruce gave him a look, "I should start now, if I'm going to—" Bruce stopped as Alfred's frown became concrete. Bruce sighed. "Alright, I'll get some sleep." The morning was just a little while away, he could afford to waste a few hours.

"Very good, give your body some time to rest. I'll just assist the officers with their investigation. If they need you, I'll wake you," then Alfred left the room to return to the police line.

Taking a few moments to physically rest, Bruce put a hand to the bruise that had been forming on his chest. It ached when he touched it. Despite the armor protecting him from the fatal shot, the close range ensured that the force penetrated. Now he had a black and blue bruise where the bullet fire by Anarky had caught in the armor. He'd have to ask Lucius to start working on something to deal with close proximity shots or at least distribute the force. It would be hard to function if he was sore all the time, or maybe he should have just been stealthier.

He felt a slight breeze in the room. One of the windows was cracked open. Bruce went over to the opening and pulled it shut. That was absolutely against protocol; the window should have been locked. That meant that either someone opened it from inside or, more likely, someone broke in. He opened it and checked the lock; there were the subtle signs of a lockpick scraping the paint of the outer portion of the lock. As another breeze trickled through the open window, Bruce heard the slight rustling of paper. He looked over to the desk to find a letter.

Bruce went over to the letter left on the main desk. It was plain—no address or other information. Bruce ran his fingers over the letter to feel the contents inside: nothing but paper. He retrieved a letter opener from the desk and opened it up. After recovering the contents, he read the first page.

"I can only hope you understand. The reason I am doing this is because I care so much about you. I would not leave under any other circumstance."

Bruce stopped. These were his words; this was a letter he scrawled out hurriedly before a plane took off from the private airstrip. It was well preserved except for a slight cleft down the middle—as if someone considered ripping it to shreds. There was only one person who would have this.

He breathed words of relief, "Selina."

Jay smiled at the recently fixed television when he saw the red hooded man escorted down the Wayne Manor lawn. Anarky started to say something—some nonsense about the establishment—but was quickly silenced as he was shoved into the back of a police van. Jay laughed a bit. Served him right. He was just another idiotic maniac in a string of others that seemed to plague Gotham. It was just one less freak on the streets making it tough for the rest of them. He stretched his arm over his head to release some tension in his back.

Suddenly, his arm swelled with pain as a crack snapped through the air. He jumped in his seat and looked up at his arm. A long whip had coiled its way around his outstretched arm. With a flick, the whip pulled, and Jay was yanked over the couch and sprawled on the ground. The next thing he knew, there was a heeled shoe burrowing into his chest. He looked up and blinked as the owner of the whip stood over him.

She scoffed and shook her head as she demanded, "What the hell do you think you're doing in my apartment?"

Hopefully you like it. I'm still working on how to write fight scenes, so let me know how I did. The next one will be out next weekend.

Thank you for the reviews, follows, and favorites; it motivates me to work harder and faster! Thank you for reading!