The air was stifling. A cloud of smoke from cigars and cigarettes drifted lazily up. The air vents were void, only a small fan near the bar blew some of the smoke away.
The bar was relatively empty, save a few patrons who sat on the corners. Those there were either alcoholics or where drifters. Bars like this attracted strangers such as that. A 'no-questions-asked' type bar, where no one cares who you are, just as long as you pay for your drink, and take your fist fights outside.

A barman paces up and down the bar, pouring mostly beer from beer taps into huge beer mugs and slides them to the waiting patrons. Then he resumes drying wine glasses and hangs them in the racks above. The television above was turned on and the sound wafted softly through the occasional clanking of glasses, flicking of lighters and coughs. A newsreader appeared on the TV screen and a picture of a very different New Gotham appeared.

"Barman! Turn it up," shouted a voice from the darkest corner of the bar. The barman grunted and turned up the volume.

"…emergency services representative Charles Raath, has reported that the situation is under control. Although New Gotham general was reported to be overfilled, an emergency field hospital has been erected near Gotham Park. Those critical are taken immediately to…"

The stranger drummed his fingers nervously on the rim of his beer glass.

"…so far 30 people have died and 500 are reported injured. We'll have more on this as it breaks. In International news dictatorship has ended in Zimb.."

The barkeep turned the volume down. He turned to one of the patrons, "I thought New Gotham was indestructible after the first quake."

"It's that bloody architect, Mr Whatsisname, he was smoking his own underwear when he built those buildings!"

Another patron chimed in, "Yeah, someone told me couple of weeks ago that he was skipping on some of the regulations, probably why he went missing after the reconstruction, didn't wanna be held responsible"

The first replied, "I heard he was on the verge of bankruptcy, before the city officials approached him to help with the rebuilding of New Gotham"

The stranger in the corner stood up and hurriedly approached the bar. He was unshaven, unkempt and his eyes were red. He paid the barkeep and then stumbled out of the bar.

The second patron pointed his thumb at the departing stranger and asked, "Wonder what's up with him."

The barkeep grunted and hung another wine glass on the rack, "Just another drifter."

Cris felt exhausted, she and Shaun had spent a good deal of an hour trying to find a way out, but they had no luck. They needed desperately to get out quickly, and get the newborn to the hospital.

She shifted her position on the ledge they were sitting on, only for a brief rest. She looked over at Shaun and the baby. Shaun smiled down at the little bundle, his eyes bright yet also sad.

"You and your wife got any kids?" she asked. Shaun looked up and shook his head slightly.

"Vivica was involved in a horrible accident a few years ago. There had been an accident earlier on, on the freeway, the traffic was back up for a mile or so. She was just about to pass the scene, when a truck driver entered the emergency lane and ploughed into the ambulance, the truck's load fell onto her car, pinning her down. When they pulled her out, she was suffering massive internal injuries. She spent a month in hospital. Since then we've tried unsuccessfully, finally we went to a specialist," Shaun bent his head and looked down at the baby, "Her ovaries were damaged in the accident, she was unable to conceive."

Cris frowned, "I'm…I'm sorry."

Shaun smiled and then looked up, "Somehow I can't help thinking that somehow, just somehow I was meant to take a detour. I was actually late for work, and I meant to bypass this section and take a shortcut, but as I passed the intersection I saw a kid run into the tunnel, and I had this urge that he wanted me to follow him, so I did."

He looked back down at the baby.

Cris smiled.

Suddenly something cold and hard was pressed into the back of her head, "A touching story if I do say so myself," there was a click, a sound that made her blood turn cold.

Barbara stirred from her deep sleep. She heard someone calling her name, it seemed distant and faint. Two hands gently cupped her cheeks. She opened her eyes slowly, a strong white light blinded her.

"Barbara?" Helena asked as Barbara's eyes fluttered open, "You ok?"

Barbara cleared her throat, "yeah." She tried to sit up, Justin helped her. She covered her eyes and looked next to her. Several paramedics were lifting Dinah into a stretcher while another checked her vital signs.

"Dinah…" Barbara tried to say.
"Her pulse is weak, and she has a possible skull fracture," Jesse replied bending down next to Helena, "They're gonna air lift her to Faraday Clinic."

"No, General is closer…" Barbara waved her hand and shook her head.
"General is filled to the max," Helena replied, "Look we need to get you to an ambulance…"

"I'm fine…" Barbara insisted.
"We just need to be sure ma'am," a paramedic cut in as he approached them with a stretcher, another joined him and they lifted her onto the stretcher.
"I need to go with her…" Barbara protested as she lifted he upper body up.
"The girl will be ok ma'am, please let the medics tend to you" said a voice behind Helena. Barbara's eye widened as she recognised the voice. Superman appeared behind Helena's winking at her. Clark! He laid a hand on her shoulder and bent down whispering, "I'll talk to you later." He stood up and turned to Helena, "Good Job" And then flew off into the sky.

Helena turned around to face Barbara, "I'll go with her. I'm glad you're ok." They locked eyes for a moment, both realising how close they had been to not only loosing Dinah's but each other as well. Then Helena followed Dinah's stretcher.

"Turn around slowly, with your hands in the air babe and no sudden moves," the voice, with a slight Irish accent, commanded. Cris raised her arms and turned around. Three men, two armed with semi automatic rifles, and another with a Glock 9mm, stood pointing their gun at Cris and Shaun. They wore orange overalls with 'prisoner' written in black across the chest. All three were skinheads. The leader, the one who had the Glock pointed at her, had an old scar running down from his right eye to his chin. He had a false eye in his right eye socket. He stood well over 6 feet tall. The other two were shorter than Cris, one had a dragon tattooed to his neck

All three had cuts bruises on their faces and hands. Cris looked behind them at what was left of a prison transport bus. Two prison guards lay dead nearby the bus.

"You killed them when they tried to help you out?" Cris asked coldly.

The left corner of the leaders lip curled into a smile, "They were gonna take us back to that hell hole, I couldn't allow it. Now why don't you and pretty boy turn around and lead us out of here."

He flicked the gun in the opposite direction.

Once the doctors had treated her for mild shock and a couple of cuts, Barbara was given the permission to go. She had just manoeuvred herself into her chair when Alfred appeared in the doorway.

"Alfred! You're alright! Oh thank God!" she exclaimed and hugged him as soon as she reached him. Alfred smiled and patted her shoulder as they pulled apart, "It is going take more than an act of God to keep me from being 'alright' Miss Barbara."

Barbara smiled, in more ways than one, Alfred himself was too a hero, "Alfred we need to get to Faraday Clinic."

"I know Miss Barbara, that is why I took the liberty of using Master Bruce's private helicopter, the streets are a terrible mess!"

Barbara smiled again, "Thank you Alfred."

Barbara sighed as she turned her gaze from the pacing Helena to the floor. Her mind wondered surprisingly to Justin, how he had comforted her, how she had suddenly felt a sense of peace before she fell asleep.

The sudden halt in Helena's pacing caused Barbara to look up. The specialist stood in his scrubs infront of them, near the doorway. He looked weary and tired.

"We've stopped the bleeding, and any possibility of blood clotting. But," he ran his fingers through his head, "There's a lot of trauma to the brain."

Barbara reached out and grabbed Helena's hand.

"I think we should talk about the possibility of Brain damage," he finished.