7. Crimes, Laws, and Those that Enforce Them

"How do I look?" Oswald questioned his nearest bodyguard. He needed to look good for the camera; it was his big reentrance after all.

"Right as rain, Mr. Cobblepott," he responded without a second thought.

Oswald sucked in a breath of air, straightened his bow tie and indicated to the bodyguard. He pushed open the doors to the precinct only to be suddenly swarmed by the ever-interested drones of the press. The flashes of cameras, the microphoned reporters, the body guards, the debonair clothing: Gotham knew how to make a crime boss feel like a rock star.

Oswald broke through the crowd and ignored whatever bantering questions they were intent on asking. His body guards helped establish a boarder—even to the point where one of them grabbed a camera that came too close and tossed is over the crowd. Oswald just wanted to get in the car as he hobbled down the stairs. They were giving him a headache. If it were up to him, he'd have the whole lot dragged down by their ears and—he sighed. He needed to breathe—his therapist had told him it was good for his health. If he was going to raise his blood pressure, it was going to be for a damn good reason. His driver opened the door and he slipped in quickly.

"Mornin' Mr. Cobblepot," Oswald turned suddenly to see a woman sitting in the seat next to him. She was blonde, skinny, wore horn-rimmed glasses, had her face peppered with freckles, and a voice tinted with an Irish lilt. The woman saw his confusion and made note to greet him with an extended hand. "Peyton Riley, I was your main correspondent and bookkeeper while you were kept away."

"Ah," Cobblepot sighed as he remembered the many, many letters and secret messages he had sent to this person. "Mr. Wilk's replacement, so, you've been running everything while I've been gone."

"Well, at least for the past six month and a half, from what I hear, that's a long time," She nodded.

Ah yes, Riley came after Wilk, who came after Jameson, who came after MacLaine, who—well Oswald's memory seemed to peter out after that. The point was that they had all taken the role that had once been allocated to one very dead Mr. Penn. Even after the madman's brains had been blown out by the Riddler, the job post needed to be filled rather quickly as the legal system tightened around Oswald. He had needed someone and someone fast. That had ensured that incompetence thrived since they were not handpicked. Therefor, the people who were unable to handle loss or complications were swiftly fired from the position. She was right, six months was an unusually long time to be in that position.

"Well," Oswald smiled pleasantly, "Let's hope it's even longer, Ms. Riley." There was a veiled threat in his words. He barely even recognized it was there; whatever intimidation came from him tended to come so naturally now that he didn't even have to think about it.

"Of course," She smiled through the threat. "Now to business." She opened up her folder as the car started to pull away from the curb and flock of reporters. "Now, where would you like to start: the formal reports of gun sales, the police, or the vigilante?"

"Where do you think?" Oswald answered with an air of annoyance.

She quickly riffled through her notes and continued talking, "We were hit for the first time about three months ago; however, before that, there were more subtle raids on the transportation. Some of them go back as far as five months ago. The original thought was that there was a new gang musclin' in on the territory, but that was debunked rather quickly. Each time, the police have been anonymously made aware of the arms and all have been confiscated."

"Yes, yes," Oswald interrupted quickly. "I know all of the basics, your reports got through the mail. They were surprisingly thorough. I want to know: is he working for anyone or is he building his own empire?"

"It doesn't seem like it; as I said, everything is confiscated by the police. If there is any form of takeover, then it's from them. We've lost a bit of revenue. Some have stopped buying from us entirely; they're superstitious lot. He hits others as well, but not as hard—probably because we have the largest territory and supply. If he is helping someone, then he's also hurtin' them. If he's building his own empire then he hasn't hired anyone, and he isn't selling anything."

"Come on, he must be working for someone," Oswald grinded his teeth. "Someone must be paying him." He sighed. "With all my luck he'd end up being the pawn of some sort of cult or psychopath."

"He might be just what they say," Riley suggested. "a vigilante takin' down criminals."

Oswald scoffed, "You're new to Gotham, aren't you. No one ever does anything here without expecting something in return."

"Perhaps he's not from Gotham," Riley implored.

"If he wasn't from Gotham, there would be no reason for him to be here," Oswald said finitely. Why did his best information for the vigilante come from sticking a knife into a juvenile delinquent? "Fine, move on to Gordon."

"Ah, yes, Gordon," she flipped through the pages until she landed on the police's name. "He's been rather busy keepin' everything afloat. Fightin' real hard, but previous people who've had my station have followed your instructions. We've kept out of the limelight. We used to feed him information, so he could make a small bust every now and then, make him feel important. 'Course sir, I—"

Oswald seemed to drift as his anger towards Jim Gordon boiled up. Years of cooperation and a pseudo-frenemy relationship went down the drain within days of the government regaining power. Every criminal was meant to be locked down, situated, controlled; like he would ever let that happen. He thought that after all he had done to save the city from destruction, but all they wanted was blood—blood of the "freaks" and the "insane" who marred the city for a year. Of course, when it came time for Gordon's big forgiving heart to be opened to the saviors of Gotham, he turned them in for some cheap approval. Whatever pardon they were given was only translated into eighty years off in prison, leaving about twenty to serve, nine because he had been "good." Cobblepot resented ever trusting the snake; he'd gone easy on the Anarky kid because at least he shortened Gordon's life by a couple of years.

Seeing his anger, Riley simply asked, "Would you like me to put a hit out on him?"

Oswald almost smiled at the thought but groaned as his greater pride wouldn't let him, then he growled with a fury, "No. If I'm going to kill him, it needs to be right. I need to tear him down, make him watch his world crumble before him, burn everything, then I'll kill him myself." Oswald shrugged allowing the anger to fade. "That's the only way to do it."

"Oh," Riley was clearly taken aback by this sudden anger. "Understood."

"Anyway, if he's not making any moves on my supply like this other guy is, then let's focus on our vigilante pest," Oswald nodded. "Let's focus on the Bat first, then we'll have Gordon's head."

"Understood, sir."

"You ready?"

"Hell yeah," Jason replied as he slipped on his mask.

It was four in the morning or "peak guard drowsiness time" as Selina called it. Both of them were in the alley next to the museum and were in stealth uniforms. His wasn't anything fancy, a simple ski mask and some black sweat clothes. He was also burdened with the task of carrying all the stuff they needed in a bag slung around his back, which altogether weighed about twenty pounds. Selina's gear seemed much more thought out with a tight leather black stealth suit and a custom mask that formed to her face and head unlike his baggy mask. She carried on her the whip she had used on the night she had kicked him out as well as metal tipped claws at the ends of her gloved hands. They had entered a conversation about their attire earlier—not so much a conversation, but a comment from Jason ("Dominatrix much?")—but that led to a swift smack on the back of his head.

She took a moment of pause as she pulled out her phone and tapped something on it.

"Ok kid, outside cameras are running a loop now. Let's move!"

They moved around to the back of the building, having pried open a chained fence to get in. They rounded the building and came across a fire escape with its lowest level pulled up into itself. Selina went ahead under the escape, knelt down, cupped her hands, and nodded to him. Jason put his foot on her hands and was suddenly pushed into the air. He grabbed the bottom railing and pulled himself up and over. Selina then took a running start and kicked off the wall to grab the handrailing and vault over; it all looked like it was one swift, smooth motion.

"Show off," Jason muttered as she took point again up the fire escape. They came to the final landing of the escape, but, just like in the blueprints Selina had been studying, the fire escape didn't reach the top. Selina made a gesture for him to spin around; when he did, she unzipped the bag and pulled out a grappling hook. Jason stood back as she swung the hook in a circle and then swung it over the edge of the building. After scaling the side and pulling themselves onto the roof, they swiftly sprinted on the rock covered roof over to the glass pane that was above the diamond.

Jason set up the lowering apparatus, a crane-like device that he had practiced with several times over the past couple of days. He was pretty good at it, setting new records with each attempt. He jokingly thought about advertising his very specific ability. It was a myriad of pullies, levers, and a crank; apparently, it would help lower Selina and make it easier to support her weight. He had made light of that fact with a joke earlier; Selina had slapped the back of his head—a spot that was slowly becoming sore with each offence.

While Jason was preparing the device, Selina was making her entrance. First, she opened up her palm with her claws on it, created a small hole in the glass, and caught the glass with her claws as it fell through. Then she worked on a second, three-foot diameter hole. She cut her way through the glass and then stuck her hand in the smaller hole to keep the large glass cutout from falling through. She set the glass pieces aside and then strapped on the harness.

"So, why am I the one hauling you down there again?" Jason asked as he used a small wrench to finish assembling the device. "You could just send me; I'm lighter and smaller."

"Because I know that I won't mess up," Selina retorted. "Remember to keep an eye on the crank even if you lock it. I don't want to crash into the diamond case."

"Fine," He mumbled as she used her phone to turn off the cameras inside and the sensors on the box.

She finished buckling in the last bit of the black harness, hooked it to the end of the device, and turned back to him, "You done yet?"

Jason gave a thumbs up, "Yep."

Selina touched a hand to where her ear was and spoke, "You hear me?" The voice came through a small device planted in his ear.

"Unfortunately," Jason replied with a smirk. Then signaled for her that he was ready for her to start.

"If you drop me, I'm going to haunt you," Selina said seriously as she started her descent. At first, she went down as if she were propelling down the face of a cliff, but, once she was dangling in the air, she shifted so that she was being lowered like a puppet on strings. Meanwhile, Jason was slowly cranking the apparatus; it helped immensely that he didn't have to lug her down. Still, it was giving his arms a bit of a workout.

"Alright, stop," Selina came to a halt right above the diamond casing. Jason clicked the crank to lock into place, so he wouldn't have to keep his hands on it.

She quickly got to work. With the sensors in the glass disabled, she was able to put her claws to use again and carve out a small hole. As she did, there was a second where she applied the pressure a bit too hard and the glass cracked outside the circle she was carving. Suddenly, a buzz came from where she stashed her phone. As quickly as it started buzzing, it stopped. That could only mean one thing.

"Uh oh."

"What's uh oh?" Jason asked quickly.

"Nothing," Selina grumbled in annoyance; she would have to have a long chat with the person who sold the disabling device to her. "The silent alarm went off for a second. It's gone now. No one should have noticed; the equipment is old anyway—they'll think it was a bug. I'll try and hurry up anyway."

"Well, that's a relief."

Another night was over. Bruce was driving back through the Narrows headed towards the manor. Yet another cache had been visited by the "Batman"—Bruce didn't know how to feel about that name—and the contents and those guarding it were now in the hands of the GCPD. Now that it was nearing daybreak, there was little he could do. Alfred would probably insist on sleep being the next part of his agenda. Bruce knew he didn't feel tired enough for that; there was still plenty to do in terms of updating equipment.

"Hmm—that's strange," Alfred muttered into the mouth piece.

"What?" He asked quickly; a part of him wished the night wasn't over.

"Well, it seems that the Gotham museum's silent alarm went off, but it was only for a second," Alfred said. "It must have been a glitch."

"Or—"

"Yes," Alfred said sarcastically. "Or it could be a break in. I leave it to your discretion to decide which is which—though I can already imagine your answer."

"Well, while I'm in the neighborhood," Bruce turned the steering wheel and turned down the street that lead to the Gotham museum. Unlike other cities, Gotham did seem to sleep at night. That was partially because any sane citizen feared whatever potential criminal was in the shadows. The streets were often completely abandoned because of it. He hoped one day to make it safe enough to walk down again.

He parked in an empty alley and turned the engine off. He decided to ascend a building opposite of the museum. He pulled out a highly powered night scope and looked through the lens. As he suspected, a small figure was standing near the skylight that now had a gaping hole in it. Bruce crouched down and planned out his attack. One thief on the roof, probably one more below since there seemed to be a crane of some sort on the roof. Zooming in with his scope, he saw that there were no visible weapons on the one thief. It was almost too easy. Bruce started to plan out his attack when he noticed something.

The person in black seemed relatively small. If Bruce were to guess from his distance, he would calculate the height to be under five feet. That either meant he was an incredibly short man or a child, which would raise only more questions. Either way, he knew he couldn't use the force he would on a normal sized man. He would have to be cautious, be careful not to cause trauma to the thief. Gliding in and slamming him wouldn't be the best tactic. Bruce packed up his gear and got ready to confront the thief stealthily.

"Come on," Jason hissed into the mic. "Hurry up."

"You can feel free to come down and do it yourself," Selina huffed as she continued to cautiously cut open the glass. If the device had failed before with a crack, it might do it again. Better to be safe than have the alarms go off.

She continued to cut through while Jason nodded his head side to side to keep his attention off of how little sleep he had gotten earlier that night. Finally, Selina cut through the glass and caught the disk before it dropped inside. She slowly reached her hand in and plucked the diamond from its place. A smile spread across her face as she held it; there was nothing quite like holding a multimillion-dollar gem in her hand.

"Got it!" Selina hissed as she stuffed the diamond in a pocket on her torso. "Pull me back up!"

Jason quickly moved his hand to crank her back up. Suddenly, he felt the black mask he was wearing whipped off his head. In a moment of shock, he simply touched his face to find skin. He swallowed dryly and, in a panic, whirled around. His eyes bulged as he caught sight of the vigilante, clad in blackness like the night he had seen him. Jason remained stone still. He expected to be suddenly attacked, like a monster would in a horror movie, but several seconds of quiet passed over them. The vigilante didn't say anything as he looked from Jason to the crane and finally over the edge to where Selina was still waiting for the redhead to pull her back up. He seemed to be sizing up their scheme.

"Kid? Kid? Jason, you better answer me!" The hiss came through his earpiece. Jason ignored it; he was too focused on the guy in front of him.

"This is a strange place to go spelunking," that was all the vigilante said. A joke? No, it couldn't be; he had a perpetual scowl that seemed to be built into his mask. It seemed like more of a disapproving statement more than anything.

The shadow stared at him again, and Jason stumbled back away from the hole in the skylight. As he walked backwards away from the vigilante, his bag tripped him up and caused him to splay onto his back and spill the contents. He quickly sat back up but didn't dare move to stand as the vigilante approached. He couldn't help but feel absolutely terrified. His mind flashed back to the mugger he saw get his face smashed into the wall. Was that going to happen to him? If he looked at the example of Anarky, it didn't seem like the Bat cared all that much about the age of a person. He was probably going to get the same treatment no matter what.

He did the only thing he thought to do: talk.

"Oh, hey, what are you doing up here?" Jay asked casually. "I was just—" he looked over the machinery to see how he could spin it. "Well it doesn't matter, uh, how did you get up here?" Jason's hand reached behind him to grab a small wrench.

Selina stopped calling for Jason through the earpiece. Something was horribly wrong. It didn't feel like the kid ditched her; it just seemed like he had simply been incapacitated. Either way, she needed to get out. She cursed, grabbed the line, unhooked the harness, and proceeded to pull herself up the line.

"Like, we're here for window repair, and cleaning," Jason was just spouting nonsense at this point; he just needed to keep talking.

Bruce was taken aback by the sudden talkativeness of the boy. It was chattery, nervous, confusing, and almost amusing, but there was an ulterior motive. He saw the boy's hand slowly moving behind his back. There it was.

Jason whipped the small wrench forward, propelling the metal object at him. The vigilante merely leaned to the right and avoided the wrench. Jason paled as his plan—however simple it was—failed in an instant. The vigilante's gaze turned back towards him; he frowned, which baffled Jason because he thought the base frown couldn't deepen. Jason grimaced, but decided not to shrink back.

"Oops, it slipped," He laughed nervously, the smartass nature seemed to peak out even though he knew he was probably going to die. As fear gripped his heart, Jason tried to scramble to his feet and book it away from the vigilante. He flinched as the shadow's hand moved forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He knew he was done for.

A familiar CRACK went through the air and the Bat's hand was snatched backwards as it released the collar. Jason looked past the vigilante to see Selina holding the other end of her whip.

"Really, you had one job, lookout," Selina chided nonchalantly before moving into her next action.

She pulled back and the vigilante was off balance for a second as he stumbled back. In a second, he regained footing, wrapped his hand around the whip and pulled. Selina was thrown by the sudden force of the pull but quickly turned the force into a roll as she went past the vigilante and ended up crouched in front of Jason.

"This is no time to fanboy, kid," She pulled the diamond out of her pocket and shoved the diamond into his hands. "Get out of here while I handle the Bat guy. Escape plan G!"

Without further delay, Jason scrambled to his feet and raced off towards the way they had come. The vigilante immediately turned away to chase after the young man with the stolen property, but the whip snapped and cut some of the exposed skin on his face.

"Sorry, but I'll be preoccupying your time," Selina winked.

That voice: despite slight changes, she sounded just like she did ten years ago. Bruce recognized her instantly even with the mask and darkness obscuring her face. It was Selina. Bruce felt a confusing swell of emotions. He was absolutely ecstatic to see her again after all the years away; he just wished that the circumstances were better. He doubted she even recognized him. The last thing he wanted to do was fight her. He thought about escaping after the kid again but was quickly routed when Selina advanced. He couldn't allow himself to hurt her, but he wasn't going to let her wound him either.

Jason went to the side of the building where the rope was situated. He frowned as he realized that the rope and hook were on the ground below—the vigilante no doubt had attempted to block their only escape—leaving a large drop from where he was to the platform. The platform was narrow, and he wouldn't be able to distribute the force with a roll. He would be lucky if he didn't accidentally hit the railing. Jason looked back to where Selina was fighting the vigilante; he wasn't going to let himself to get caught. In a way, he felt empowered by the fact that he knew that she was counting on him to escape. He inhaled briefly then jumped off of the top of the building. He landed with a loud THUD. He groaned a little at the harsh landing, and his knees almost went over his head as he steadied his landing. After a brief moment of collection, he headed down the escape and went into the alley, disappearing into the night.

Selina couldn't help but wonder what this guy's major malfunction was; for starters, he was dressed in a ridiculous costume. She had heard that the media was calling him "Batman" now—a name that Jason hadn't taken to yet, instead opting for "the vigilante in black"—but she never expected him to dress the part cape and all. Well, maybe that wasn't the most shocking thing in Gotham. What surprised her even more was the fact that he actually seemed to understand how to fight. There was also a strange feeling that she got from their whole encounter: he was going easy on her. It was a gut feeling.

"What, going soft?" When he didn't respond, she added. "Not much of a wordsmith, are you."

She went over what Jason had told her about him during one of her inquires. Perhaps the knowledge about the vigilante would actually help her. She knew that he had a sort of grapple as well as a sort of throwing knife or shuriken. She would have to be careful about that. He also apparently could glide with the cape he had. Glide: she would kill to be able to glide through the night. She almost scoffed at the thought; it seemed absolutely outlandish. Outlandish as it was, there he was standing in front of her. Who the hell was this guy?

Bruce knew that Selina had always had her criminal ties. He knew that she was even a thief at heart; he had been tracking her progress for the past several months. Why did it have to be here that they met again? Another question grabbed at his attention. Would he turn her in? Could he even bring himself to do that? The hardened vigilante part of him knew that he should fight all crime regardless of what personal biases he possessed. That was the whole reason for the mask: to make a different persona and distance himself from Bruce Wayne. The other side knew that he would never forgive himself if he simply abandoned her fate to black-and-white morality and turned her in. While he was slightly distracted by the notion, she got a scratch in across the cheek with her claws. He couldn't focus on that now; he just needed to fight.

Selina kicked at him with a side kick. He caught her right foot in his hands. Suddenly, there was a flash of familiarity. Selina was almost thrown by the sudden acquainted feeling. She'd fought him before; the moves seemed styled like someone that she knew. The moment was lost when her foot was twisted clockwise. Using the momentum, she kicked her left leg up and into his jaw. The Bat recoiled for a moment, and she landed on her feet.

Selina took the chance to run. Jason would be far enough at this point that the vigilante wouldn't be able to track him. Now she just needed to escape. This time though, it was her arm that was caught by a line. Instead of a whip, there was a sort of grappling hook wrapped around her arm holding her from escaping. The feeling of déjà vu returned, but this time, she knew exactly where it was from. Ten years ago: she was about to rip a man's face off with her jagged claw-knives when she was stopped by a device from a certain billionaire.

"No way," Selina breathed as she realized exactly who was underneath that cowl. Her lip thinned into a frown as anger swelled up in her. "Ok, it's personal now."

Bruce didn't hear the words she muttered to herself, but he immediately recognized the change in her aggression. Her stance changed and suddenly, she kicked her leg over the taut wire and forced it to the ground. This time, he didn't falter forward, but she took an opportunity to quickly pry the device from her arm. The banter that she previously had been spouting disappeared in a second, and she viciously advanced with her claws first.

She wasn't going to kill him; she wasn't even trying that hard to wound him. She just wanted him to know to back off. Even if it was just in her mind, even if he didn't know it was her, she needed to establish something of a boundary. He couldn't just barge in and screw up her heist! She felt the need to be able to stand toe to toe with the man who had ripped her heart out ten years ago.

Selina's wild attacks almost overwhelmed Bruce. He spent most of his time blocking her oncoming swings and kicks. He knew he could probably end it sooner. A good punch to the jaw would have probably knocked her unconscious, and to anyone else he would have done in at the very beginning. He still couldn't hurt her, so he bided his time until he could defuse it in the least violent and painless way possible. Then he saw his opening. She took another wild punch at him. He caught the hand. His other hand grabbed her upper arm. She was thrown over his shoulder and landed on her back on the concrete of the roof. Her anger had gotten the best of her; she was losing her composure fast.

"Stand down," the vigilante spoke the words, as she rolled to her feet. He was using a voice changer but there were still hints of his voice in there. That infuriated her even more, as if she wouldn't have noticed his voice. What made her even more livid was that she knew he was right. As much as she wanted to continue sparring to relieve the anger in her, Selina knew she couldn't keep it up for much longer. Her breathing was becoming ragged and her body felt sore. She needed to end it now.

Selina took in their surrounding and decided to use it to her advantage. She pushed him back towards the skylight with several quick jabs that he backed up to avoid. When he was in place, she used her whip for a final time. She quickly snapped it around her head and wrapped it around his leg. She pulled hard and staggered his stance. She needed a final move to complete her action. She continued to pull hard and brought up her leg to kick him.

"See ya, Bruce," She growled quickly.

"Selina, I—"

He didn't get to say anything else as Selina kicked him through the hole in the skylight. He tried to grab at the sides of the glass, but they gave way in an instant. There was a moment of panic as she realized what she just did—what if the kid had been exaggerating for kicks? Selina sighed as she looked over the edge to see the cape billow open and softened the fall as he landed right next to the empty stand.

"So, you do glide," Selina scoffed. She pulled out her phone in a flash and disabled her device.

Wailing went through the museum as the alarms were triggered and the pressure plates beneath his feet went off. Bruce grit his teeth; this was an inconvenience. He glanced over to the security cameras on the wall. If anyone had doubted his existence before, they wouldn't now. He used his grappling hook to pull himself up through the hole he had gone through. When he emerged from the museum, she was gone.

Bruce sighed.

Edward Nygma was sitting at a desk in some Godforsaken cave harbored in one of the most turbulent countries in the world. The arid breeze of Bialya never made its way into the cave where the rebels were hold up. That was probably the most annoying part of his job. The dry heat would burn during the day, but the nights would be freezing cold. Either way, the air would be stagnant and suffocating, stifling any instigation for further mental stimulus. He would often complain to his 'co-workers' that his accommodations needed to be better—maybe even add an AC. They would always laugh him off and shut him back in the room. He scoffed. If that was how they treated their most valuable compatriot, then he pitied any of their grunts.

A newspaper made its way to the man resting at his desk. Hours of decoding messages had left him satisfied, full of purpose, and bored. The initial thrill of the conundrums had faded once the code had been decrypted by himself—in a week no less. He had only taken the job because the Bialyan code was said to be "impossibly encrypted." Propaganda, it was complete propaganda. He honestly wasn't needed anymore, but the gunman outside his door insisted otherwise. He was fine though; there was nothing else in the world that interested him. The only reason he had the paper was strictly for sentimentality reasons and a bit of homesickness. The newspaper was also, the only thing he demanded each week from the rebels—how they got it he never asked.

The paper was from the Gotham Gazette, a paltry excuse for a newspaper; he had caught a plethora of typos and misprints over his time reading—all of which he corrected in his spare time with his green pen. Despite the general ineptness of the paper, he still read it to keep up with the times. He caught sight of the main headline of the paper.

"Oswald's free?" He asked himself as he read through the lines. He sighed at the mention of his old friend, "Well good for him."

A thought sparked in his mind; maybe he could finally return. He immediately dismissed it. He would just be tied up in another gang war. He would follow Oswald through his many mood swings, tirades, and emotionally fueled decisions. A headache sprung up from simply thinking about it. No, it wasn't worth it to simply fall into the job of being someone's advisor or confidant. The Riddler was better than that; he needed a challenge.

Edward finished the crossword in five minutes; the only things that gave him slight hesitation were the pop-culture references and names. He continued, bored, until he came across an article that intrigued him. It was one about the new vigilante that had started to pop up around town and was apparently doing damage to Oswald's business. He read it slightly intrigued; he didn't much care about this figure. He simply caused trouble as it seemed most people did in Gotham. He wasn't fully engaged in the article until a single sentence brought him in:

"The sheer multitude of weapon caches uncovered with the help of the evidence proves that this could have only been solved by the world's greatest detective."

"What?" A hardy laugh escaped his lips, "World's greatest detective!" He announced it like he was a sports caster. The next one was said with disbelief, "World's greatest detective? Those people wouldn't know a detective from a pharmacist." He paused for a moment, then growled pensively. "World's greatest detective." He found his teeth grit as he came to a stand and shouted with disbelief. "World's greatest detective!" That caused the guard outside his door to glance inside out of curiosity, shrug, and return to his duty.

Detectives had wit and brains; they pieced together the hardest of puzzles with minimal clues—a reason he had always wanted to work besides them when he was younger. This "detective"—brute more like—had simply found a couple of weapons stashes, smashed a couple of faces in, and suddenly he was the "world's best!" Oh, how low their standards had fallen.

Edward circled the phrase, highlighting it. He suddenly had the need to pace around the room. He started to do so, tapping his chin and fidgeting as he did. He caught himself. No, he wasn't going to—well of course he was. The people of Gotham were imbecilic if they believed this dreck. No, they were beyond moronic—he was surprised they even had brain function. They had forgotten what real intelligence looked like. Maybe he could show them. Yes, he would show them. He would humiliate the fraud in the worst way possible: reveal the holes in the "detective's" logic, defeat him in the ring of mystery.

He took his green pen and added a new correction to the paper, so it read: "World's greatest detective?"

I was wondering if I should swap around some of the character tags with each chapter. I am using a lot of characters for each new chapter, but maybe I could indicate who each new chapter is about with the character tags. Also, I might update the description soon, because I feel like it needs to be better.

Thank you for your reviews, follows, favs, they give me lifeblood and motivate me to write! Thank you!