"When the snow lay 'round about, calm and crisp and even…"

Beneath the Englehart Bridge, on the banks of the ice-choked Gotham River, music welled up through the driving winds. The voice was deep, unpracticed, with a Slavic accent. It belonged to a man in a ragged coat sitting beside a fire in a rusty drum. A light sleet fell from the sky, with the forecast predicting a changeover to snow later in the week. But since he had nowhere else to go, he sat by his fire and sang. As he sang, he plucked at the keys of a lira and cranked its handle.

"Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cru-el."

"Would you quit it with that thing?"

Another man, ill-shaven with a filthy scarf, rubbed his hands together a few feet away.

"Bah," the musician grunted. "Where is your holiday cheer?"

"I live in a tent under a bridge, I can't afford holiday cheer. Doesn't help you've been playing this shit since Thanksgiving."

"Well," the lira player began, pulling a flask from his coat and taking a swig, "I remain cheerful. Things are not so bad. Cold? Yes, little bit. A hot meal would be nice. But without one, I will warm my bones with song."

A large storm drain near their camp rumbled as a rush of frigid, brackish water came tumbling out. It was a common sound - somewhere in the city an icy blockage in the runoff sewers must have loosened itself.

"I guess Fritz isn't joining us tonight," the bearded man sighed. The wind howled, and they huddled deeper into their collars.

"He is probably at new shelter in Harlow. Perhaps we should be as well."

"Heh. Nah. I'll take my chances out here."

"Hmm. You have never liked those places."

"You weren't here when Mitchell was running the show. They were more worried about getting us out of sight than getting us off the streets."

"Mitchell is no longer the mayor."

"Like it matters. Reál may talk the talk but when a nutjob blows up the seawalls we get bumped right back to the bottom of the list."

"Perhaps. Even still -"

A louder, heavier splash alerted them to the drain. The shape they saw laying in the slush was unmistakable - and most definitely not ice.

"Aw, man," the bearded man whistled.

"Perhaps he also decided not to shelter," the musician said. He stowed his lira and walked toward the body.

"What are you doing?"

"Should we not call the police? This is no place for a grave."

The corpse was bald, a pallor of frostbitten blue across his skin. His face, and the garments he wore, were plastered in a thick coating of frost.

"If we get the cops, they'll pin this on us! Or worse - they'll sic the Bat on us!"

"You worry too much. It is plain to see what has happened here. This man floated here from upstream. He has been dead for some time."

The corpse suddenly convulsed. The two men screamed, the musician nearly slipping on the ice before being caught by his companion, and they fled into the night. The last thing they saw before the fear spirited them further away from the river was the frozen figure picking itself up, lurching forward a few paces, and then falling headlong into the frigid runoff with a splash.

As the water cascaded over his body, his pulse slowed. He curled into a ball, gently sobbing in the sleet.


Sunday, December 18th.

Gotham is preparing for its first Christmas since the flood. After a year of rebuilding, the city breathes a collective sigh of relief. The people feel safe again - safe enough to celebrate.

In Grant Park, a place that not so long ago was underwater, a crowd cheered as the city's towering Christmas tree lit up, row by row. At the back of the crowd, a mother and child craned their necks to watch the spectacle, their arms full of shopping bags.

Maybe they are safe. Maybe the worst is behind us. The water has drained. Parts of the city that went months without electricity are back on the grid. The GCPD has undergone a major restructuring under the new mayor. Together, we've cracked down on the looting.

A digital "8" flickered inside a neon wreath over a banner that said "DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS" at the Gotham Holiday Market. Children were gawking at a display of chocolates. Across the way, a bored-looking woman sat at a t-shirt stall. A man with his coat drawn up close to his face approached from the crowd, thumbing around for something in his pockets.

Maybe I'm just paranoid. Afraid to let my guard down. Step out of the shadows.

As they continued around the park, the boy stopped. His eyes traveled up a full-length mural on the wall of a building they were passing. From three stories up the eyes of a towering, dark figure swept out over the park from behind their mask.

The Batman has become visible in a way I hadn't anticipated. Exposed. I have my allies, and I know who to trust. But now everyone knows I'm out there.

He was painted in such a way that his cape spread out behind him in dozens of points, and he held a torch in one hand. Someone had attempted to make the mural more festive by hanging several cords of red lights as though they emitted from the flame.

But then… maybe that's the point. I created this mask, this life, to strike fear into the criminal element. Where I went, they would stay away. And so whether the city knew it or not, I would make them safer. But there was a truth I denied myself. Something I wasn't ready to accept. When I go out there, it makes people safer.

The man stepped up to the stall and handed the man a crumple of bills from his pocket. He pointed, somewhat embarrassed, at a gray shirt with a black bat symbol printed across the chest.

"It's all my kid will talk about," he said sheepishly.

They feel safe because they know I'm out there.

At the park, the boy stole a few more moments grinning at the painting before his mother beckoned him back.

But I'm not out there tonight.


A black Corvette pulled up at the University Dome to a flurry of camera flashes. A tall, lean man in a trim overcoat smiled weakly at the valet and passed over his keys. His hair, usually hanging loosely down to his temples, was combed back. A pair of gold cufflinks emblazoned with the letter W was the only real embellishment on his outfit.

"Mr. Wayne!"

An event official rushed to meet him as he entered. "They're waiting for you upstairs Mr. Wayne. Right this way."

Tonight, Bruce Wayne was invited to a charity show, benefiting the reconstruction. It was mostly about appearances. People being able to see him outside the mask meant they wouldn't look for him under it. At least, that was what Alfred had insisted.

Bruce was led up to a VIP box overlooking the arena floor. It seemed he had been the last to arrive - a number of Gotham's most notable public figures were already milling about the box. Among them was Jim Gordon, Batman's closest ally. They didn't know one another very well off the job, however. At the center was Gotham's mayor, Bella Reál. "Severe" was the way Bruce would describe her sense of style. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a tight bun, and she wore a simple but finely pressed blazer. Bruce supposed she had to keep up appearances as well.

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne," Reál shook his hand. "Thank you for coming."

Bruce nodded.

"I… didn't realize you had so many guests tonight."

Gordon nodded at him sympathetically.

"Welcome to the circus, buddy."


The backstage area was a flurry of activity. Gymnasts with plumes of feathers in their hair hurried out of their dressing rooms to take their places. Clowns stocked their sleeves with various trick items. And peering out from behind the curtain in the tunnel was a boy.

He was dressed in stockings and a glittering red and gold shirt, and he kept his focus on the noise of the crowd out in the arena.

"Hey, coming through!" A gruff stilt-walker muscled his way through the tunnel. The boy pressed himself against the wall to make room.

"Dick?"

A woman in another red and gold outfit wove through the crowd.

"Dick! It's almost time, we need to finish getting you dressed."

"Sorry, mom."

She led him back to a private dressing area. A third acrobat; a tall, muscular man with a dark pencil mustache, was limbering up inside.

"Hey, there's my little man! What's the matter, Dick, getting cold feet?"

"Dad, stop! I'm not scared! I just like to look at the crowd. It looks like a full house tonight."

The man, an older and slightly grayer version of his son, smiled.

"Well, I should hope so! This city's been through a lot. It deserves a night out. Now, please put your shoes on."

"Okay."

He laced up his shoes in silence, before he said;

"Dad, do you ever get scared going up there?"

"Well, sure. What we do is scary, I think any normal person would agree. But fear is a weight. If you focus on it too much, it will stop you in your tracks. If you try to live without fear, you might be able to float. But if you can reckon with that fear, it can give you momentum. You can fly."

He looked at his son.

"Do you know what I mean?"

"I guess?" Dick offered.

He laughed.

"That's why I'm a trapezist, not a motivational speaker."


"Let's see, introductions," Gordon sighed. He really didn't seem like he wanted to be there.

That makes two of us, Bruce thought.

"Come now, officer."

A slick, blonde haired man stood up and came over.

"Surely some of us don't need an introduction."

"Dereck Powers," Bruce said brightly. Even if he wasn't leading a double life he would have had to fake a smile.

"It's been a while."

"Bruce and I went to school together for a few years," Powers explained to Gordon. "Until he dropped out, that is."

"That's right," Bruce said. "We were in the business program. Wasn't for me. What brings you out tonight?"

"He's my guest!"

A man with a bright bowtie and a plastic smile approached.

"You might know Commissioner Loeb," Gordon said. Came to Gotham after a stint with the Bludhaven Police.

"I like a challenge, what can I say?" Loeb laughed haughtily. "Then we have this handsome devil here, Gotham's daring new District Attorney."

A man who had been sitting quietly in the front row stood up to shake Bruce's hand. He had wispy black hair and an olive complexion.

"Harvey Dent, nice to meet you," he nodded bashfully, which Bruce returned.

"Good old Hollywood Harvey," Loeb grinned as though he were a political cartoon of himself. "I tell you, Mr. Wayne, Jimbo and I-" he put an arm around Gordon "-I'm telling him all the time that Harv is the best PR thing to ever happen to this town."

"Oh yeah," Gordon puffed. "He's very conscious of PR."

"Of course I am! Why, our new mayor has a lot to prove in the wake of those ghastly terror attacks. She needs all the help she can get, and appearances are everything in this business."

Through all of this, Bella had been watching silently. Bruce could tell she was paying attention rather intently. Before anything else happened, though, a voice cut through the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The lights dimmed. Spotlights swept around the darkness. They met in the middle of the arena, where a portly man with a long handlebar mustache and a shiny black top hat appeared.

"Boys and girls of all ages!"

He raised a sequence-gloved hand in a dramatic flourish.

"Gotham State University Arena is proud to present the one, the only, the world famous - Haly's Circus!"

Bruce took a seat next to Harvey, and the show began.


As the spectacles of the circus played out, Dick watched from backstage. By chance, he happened to turn around just as a man was slipping out of a doorway leading deeper into the arena. He wore a knit skullcap tight against his head and was bundled in a bulky jacket. He made eye contact with Dick and his eyes briefly flashed with surprise before hardening into a sneer.

"What are you lookin' at? Friggin' brat!"

He hurried out of the room and into the crowd beyond.

"Hey!" Dick shouted. But he was gone.


"Haven't been to the circus in years," Harvey Dent said, the first words either he or Bruce had used since the show began.

"One of the last times I went out anywhere, a serial killer set off a bomb in my house."

"Ah. I heard about that. Scary stuff. I'm glad your bodyguard recovered."

Harvey thought for a minute.

"You say that like if you hadn't left, the bomb wouldn't have gone off. But Riddler still would have planted it, and someone would have opened the latter. Therefore, you leaving the house could have saved your life."

"Are you… cross examining me?"

"Maybe. But I've definitely had people say to me 'you know, it wouldn't kill you to get out more.' And now here we have evidence!"

"Heh," Bruce chuckled in spite of himself.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I know, I won't quit my dayjob," Harvey smiled. "But maybe it does say something about being a shut-in like the two of us. What do you think?"

"I think… that you and Alfred would get along."

Below them, a slender woman danced with some glowing hoops.

"So," Bruce said. He felt the need to break the silence. "What do you like about the city so far?"

"And answer honestly, Harvey," Derek grinned.

"No pressure," Harvey chuckled.

"I love the spirit of this place," he said. "Gotham is a fixer upper, to be sure. But the people here are resilient. When I first came to Gotham downtown was flooded and people were in dire straits. We've come a long way since then. I just hope we're ready for what comes next."

"You don't think we're ready?" Bruce asked.

"Call me paranoid, but when the waters receded, so did the National Guard. Gotham is on its own again. And the criminals know it."

"We aren't entirely alone," Gordon offered.

"The Batman has made great progress in the areas we couldn't get to during the flood."

"The Batman," Loeb's smile turned into a smirk, genuine this time but with an ugliness to it.

"Really, Jim, I don't know how you can stand it. That skulking freak is an affront to our very profession!"

"Batman operates at the pleasure of the Mayor," Harvey said. "A lot like you, Gil."

"I like to surround myself with different opinions and perspectives," Bella said.

"The Batman is a vigilante, which is something I cannot fully abide by. But his contributions to the city cannot be discounted."

She grabbed at her shoulder.

"I owe him the benefit of the doubt, at the very least."

"I suppose I can respect that. But mark my words - confidence can be betrayed. I have no doubt that Batman will eventually show us who he really is. And that's going to be a fight only one of us can walk away from."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Commissioner," Dereck clapped him on the back.

"The police in this country have enough problems without Batmen eroding trust in our civil institutions! Wouldn't you agree, Bruce?"

"Hm," Bruce shifted uncomfortably.

Bella Reál rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Wayne is one of those people who still has trouble trusting City Hall, Mr. Powers. That's why, I imagine, he's gone to such lengths to take back the land his parents donated to the city, and why he's reluctant to participate in any of my reform initiatives."

"Reacquiring the Wayne Estate was… not inexpensive, Madame Mayor. And the Wayne Family Trust is not what it once was."

"I don't care about the money you do or don't have to give," Reál cut him off. She was tenacious, which Bruce could respect.

"It's your action. Your family is very influential. If you could work with me - if you could trust me - we could do great things for this city.'

"I like you, Ms. Reál," Bruce said wearily. "A different person might have folded coming into office on the heels of the Riddler. But trust is… hard to come by. There are people here that need our help, it's true. Keeps me up at night. Would I be helping Gotham with my money? Or would I be just another rich man thinking he could help, like my father?"

"Some unfortunate news has come to light about your father thanks to the Riddler," Real said. But whose word are we to believe? A deranged killer disillusioned by society, or the man's own son?"

"I don't really know what to believe," Bruce sighed. "And I can't get any answers from Carmine Falcone anymore. But I'd of course like to believe my father wanted the Renewal Fund to work. The problem is, it didn't. Gotham has always been my home, Madam Mayor, but I haven't decided if it actually wants me here yet."

Bella looked at him long and hard.

"But you're still here, Mr. Wayne. That counts for something."

"I know that Riddler isn't who this city is. He can't be. So… I trust Gotham that far."


"Mom! There was a weird guy in here a second ago."

Dick's mother was waiting at the base of a metal ladder when her son ran up.

"Not one of the other performers?"

"No, he was in regular clothes."

She frowned pensively.

"Okay. After we go on we'll go right to Mr. Haley and let him know."

"Are you two ready? It's time to shine!" His father called from above.

"He's right," she smiled. "Let's break a leg out there, Dick."


A trio of clowns finished capering about the arena and bowed. The portly man from earlier in the evening - Haly, the owner and ringmaster of the circus - clapped his hands as they exited.

"Let me tell you folks, some acts need no introduction and some acts simply demand one. And this next act is really something special. It's got high-flying thrills, it's got death-defying chills. The family that gravity forgot, the triple threat without a net - Gotham University Arena, give it up for the Flying Graysons!"

The spotlights panned up and up until they found a platform atop a high pillar. On it were three people - a man, a woman, and a young child. Dick and his family beamed as they waved down to the crowd. This was the stuff they lived for. As the music started, signaling the beginning of the program, Mr. Grayson ran forward with his trapeze and swung out into the void. The spotlight followed him as he flipped off of the bar and onto another pillar. The crowd reacted in awe as Mrs. Grayson did the same. Then it was Dick's turn, venturing out onto a tightrope hanging over the arena. He stumbled just once - a planned maneuver designed to whip up the crowd - before letting himself fall so that he was hanging upside down by his knees. As the audience held its breath, he spun 180 degrees into a one-armed handstand.

The lights darkened, and the spotlights returned to the Grayson parents. Dick watched them both swing out once again, this time both towards the center. As the lights merged in the center, his mother leapt from her trapeze and his father leaned forward to catch her. There was a brief, tense moment where there was nothing connecting her to solid ground. The audience roared. Mrs. Grayson linked arms with her husband and they soared beyond the view of the spotlight. When the trapeze returned to view, there were no acrobats on it - and no bar.

Maybe it's paranoia. Or maybe I know the city better than most.

A wave of gasps passed through the audience, turning to screams as they noticed the two shapes lying on the darkened floor of the big top. As the crowd began to panic, the various security details of the VIPs in the mayor's box began gathering their charges.

Bruce stood amidst the chaos. As soon as the frayed rope came into view his eyes were - against his own better judgement - instinctively drawn upwards.

This city can change. But what price will Gotham ask for that change?

There he was. The lighting program for the acrobat show was still going on, and now they were all focused on the boy watching from above. The sight made his stomach lurch.

How much do I still have left to pay?

Bruce and the others were escorted out of the box. Everyone was dazed. Not even Loeb had a comment.

"You should… stay clear of the area, Mr. Wayne," Gordon said, not really making eye contact with him. "I have some calls to make."

"So do I…" Bruce muttered as Gordon disappeared into the crowd.