Chapter 1: Dummies

I hear him calling. Echoing down the corridors, resounding off the walls, from the darkest corners of this room to the inner sanctums of my mind. He calls to me.

I thought he was gone. I watched as they took him, dismembered his limbs, tossed him into the voracious maw of that blast furnace, laughed as he cried out for help. I thought I he was gone forever. But I should know better. He'll be here, always.

People called him ruthless, vicious, maniacal and bloodthirsty. But what they don't understand is that what he's trying to do is protect me. Protect me from the City.

The City is an abattoir. A Roman Coliseum where people kill each other for the amusement of some twisted deity. All he was doing was defending my life. It may be fighting fire with fire, but who's to question morality in this Gomorrah?

The lost ones of the City depend on the Bat. As the dirty boots of the muggers crack another of their ribs, they will look to the sky and cry his name. When they stand behind the counter of the dilapidated convenience store, staring into the abyss of the shotgun, they whisper their pleas to him.

But who can depend on him? Who can depend on a man, who dresses in a costume? As people die, their final thoughts will be of the Bat saving them.

The Bat is a false Idol. He will prove it, once and for all.

Hey, dummy! He shouts with his rasp from just around the corner.

"Coming sir…"


Ron grunted in agony as the beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. He had suffered many types of strange and outlandish tortures before, but this one was beyond the human notion of evil. Exhaling heavily, he collapsed against the crème wall, hoping to black out before he could endure anymore.

"Come on Ron," Kim chided as she set another of the boxes on the ground, "my shoes aren't going to move themselves."

The blond-haired boy uttered another pained groan. "How many more?" He whined.

"Two boxes," she responded factually. Ron responded with another audible protest.

"Oh, suck it up Ron," Kim scolded as she relieved him of the rectangular tan container, "we've been through much worse than this before."

"Yeah, tell that to my shoulders," he grumbled and began rubbing his aching blades in a soothing manner.

Kim smiled and shook her head. Logically, hiring professional movers would be quicker and easier (with much less complaining to boot), but she wanted to spend as much time as possible with her best friend as she could.

As the blond-haired man dropped the box gracelessly and stepped back out into the hallway, muttering half-hearted curses as he retreated, she turned to take in her dorm room once more.

It wasn't as big as she'd hope, nor as luxurious, but it would suffice. Wooden floorboards tried their best not to squeak underneath her feet, occasionally slipping up and making a small chuckle. White curtains festooned the gaunt window that overlooked the campus. Flanking that was its bulky bodyguard, the bed. Decorated with assortments of blankets and Cuddle Buddies, it looked simply regal.

Angling her head upwards, she looked at the bulletin board that hung over the bed. Covering every bare inch of the rectangular surface were all types of visual media. Photographs, sketches, newspaper clippings, essays she found online, fanfiction. Despite the diversity, they all had one thing in common. They were all about Batman.

Taking a step back, her emerald eyes embraced the entire board, as well as the bed. The light whites and poignant pinks offered a sharp contrast to the all-encompassing black above it. Her bed was like a prince, bowing in respect towards its dark knight protector.

Kim could not believe that she had never heard of this cowl-cloaked vigilante before. She'd heard about the man in red underwear and a cape who protected Metropolis, and had even rumours of an Amazonian princess had penetrated the protective shell of suburban life in Middleton. But then, Gotham liked to sweep its urban legends under the rug, hoping it'd get buried with the dirty little secrets and filthy big secrets that kept the city standing.

She was captivated with this masked man. How anyone could do the things that he'd done was simply mind-numbing. Not that she condoned his actions, by any stretch. The man was a menace to the already-fragile city of Gotham. With all the gangsters and drug dealers, and the even dirtier politicians, the last thing this city needed was some freak who dressed up like a winged rat and beat up people on the streets. The city needed a defender who was organized and well-known. Someone they could rally behind, instead of shrink in terror at the name. Someone like…her.

A loud crash against the wall, the unmistakable sound of unskilled hands propelling a hefty box of shoes into a wall snapped Kim out of her lethargic trance.

"Ron, be careful!" She scolded as she wheeled around to face…someone who was not her best friend.

Standing at the threshold of the door, a box at her feet, was a chestnut-haired woman in a light red top, and jeans rolled up to reveal her alabaster ankles. Her azure blue eyes widened as her ruby lips formed a charming smile.

"The guessing game was never your forte, was it?" Stepping over the box, she approached Kim, "Hi, my name's Chloe," she said, teasing Kim with the emphasis on her name, "I'll your roommate."

"Sorry about that. Hi Chloe, I'm—"

"Kim Possible. I know. I followed your exploits back when I was in high school. You were my hero."

"Oh, well, it was…" Kim began, making her usual modest excuses. She couldn't deny that she loved the attention.

"Don't sell yourself short. You were a hero," Chloe carried on, "Everyone on campus is envious of me for getting to room with a real live superhero! They're hard to come by in Gotham. The only other one we have is…" The brunette trailed off as her eyes glimpsed at the shrine hanging behind Kim.

"Well, I guess you already know who that is," Chloe finished.

"Who? Batman?" Kim queried as she turned to face the bulletin board, "He's not a hero."

"What are you talking about?" Chloe asked, "What else would you call a man who keeps these streets safe to walk at night?"

"A psychopath." Kim stated factually. "Trust me on this one Chloe, I've fought against freaks like him for years."

"When you're born and raised in Gotham City, you need a savior. Trust me on this one, Kim."

The auburn-haired girl was readying her counter, when the familiar grunts and curses coming from the doorway interrupted her.

"Kim, I don't think my arm is supposed to bend this way!" Ron shouted.

Smiling sheepishly, Kim stepped out into the hallway, with Chloe right behind her.

"Chloe, I'd like you to meet my very good and slightly clumsy friend, Ron—"

"Stoppable," the brunette said, cutting off Kim for the second time that day. "You're Kim's partner from Team Possible. I saw you on television once. You were in your boxers."

Ron's broad smile diminished at that last part of that comment. "Ouch, are you always that good with the backhanded comments?"

The girl grinned, "Chloe Wentworth, glad to meet you."

Temporarily forgetting the weighty package in his hand, Ron reached out and gallantly accepted her hand.

"YOW!" He hollered as the box crashed atop his foot.

Trying to contain their laughter as the hapless boy hopped around the room, Chloe reached out and grabbed him on the shoulder.

"Calm down Ron, I'll take the rest of the boxes in for you."

"My savior," he squeaked out, before resuming his frantic dance of pain around the room.


The Gotham evening gave no respite to the unbearable heat. Rubbing a chilled water bottle across her forehead, Kim leaned back in her comfortable chair in an effort to relax.

It had been several hours since all her stuff had been brought up from the truck. She'd get to unpacking it tomorrow. Ron, after limping his way over to a nearby nurse's station to make sure he had no fractures in his foot, had treated the two girls to dinner. Disappointed that Bueno Nacho had not yet expanded into Gotham, he reluctantly settled for one of the city's many fine-dining restaurants. Turning down repeated offers to stay with them for the night, Ron found himself a halfway-decent motel to stay at for the night. He'd be heading back to Middleton after bidding his farewells to Kim the next day.

"…I just can't wrap my head around people wanting to be saved by a man who wears a Bat costume." Kim stated out of the blue.

Ever since they had met, Kim and Chloe had been debating on-and-off about Gotham's favorite urban legend. The heat was too stifling for them to put too much effort into it.

"Gotham's a lot different from Middleton Kim," Chloe retorted, "I know that you've generally come to a conclusion that people who dress up in costumes are insane, but is it not possible that maybe he's an exception."

"He isn't though, Chloe, that's the whole point. Look, I saw him up-close and personal. What he did to that guy, even if he was a punk, crossed a line."

"Unlike if you had caught him, and kicked him around for a bit, right?"

Kim opened her mouth to disprove Chloe's theory, when the girl suddenly uttered her to hush, and pointed to the television screen that had been flickering in the background for awhile.

Chloe reached forward and turned up the volume as the screen displayed a bank cordoned off by bright yellow police tape and accentuated by searchlights from hovering helicopters. A young reporter with impeccably-combed hair stood in front of the camera.

"—porting from Gotham's First National Bank, where the police are in a desperate standoff with Arnold Wesker, a.k.a. the Ventriloquist, and his gang. Wesker is, of course, the infamous crime boss who had recently been released from Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. The police have been unavailable for comment, but it is certain that they will be unable to make a move until the Batman shows up."

"Just sit back and watch this Kim," Chloe urged, "then we'll see who's really right about Batman."

Kim just stared at the screen with a shocked look on her face. "I don't believe this. The cops are waiting for that….that freak to show up? Is everyone in this city dependent on a man in black underwear! I'm going to do more than just watch Chloe, I'm going to get this city's senses back, even if I have to knock it back in."

Using the fullest of her athletic talents to hop off the chair, she landed a few feet in front of the open door, and broke into a full run. Part of her mind wondered if it was wise to charge headlong into a new environment without knowing anything about her surroundings or her opponent. But that was the part of her mind that she never listened to. By now, the adrenaline was already flooding her veins, and her brilliant mind was creating possible tactical situations for her. This city needed a role model, not a psychopath, in the public limelight. And if she was the only one capable enough to accept those duties, then so be it.

"Kim, where are you goi—" Chloe yelled down the hall, falling onto deaf ears.


The rush of wind under his cape created a chorus of screaming. The sound of a city in need.

He'd heard all the news reports, read all the editorials about the Bat. How they cursed him, called him a fascist, a monster. How they claimed he was the root of all society's problems.

The fools. They didn't know. How could they? They had never faced a real tragedy in their lives. They never had to stare down the barrel of a smoking gun, wondering whether or it would be the last thing they would ever see. They never kneeled beside the twitching bodies of their parents, and stared into their lifeless eyes as the footsteps from the scum that shot them laughed into the pavement he trampled. They never knew how it was to be truly alone.

He may be a fascist, a villain, a monster, but so long as he lived, no one in the City would ever feel the same way he did. Lying on the ground, crying, cold. Alone.

"Batman? Can you read me?" A soft voice asked through the communications device in his cowl.

"What's the situation, Oracle?" Batman grumbled as he landed atop the Wayne Industries building.

"The Ventriloquist tried to rob Gotham Fist National. The cops have got him surrounded, but he's threatening to start killing off hostages unless he's allowed to walk out of there."

His teeth clenched. Arnold Wesker. The mild-mannered man plagued by multiple personality disorder that manifested itself through a puppet called Scarface. He thought that Wesker had been cured this time. He was wrong.

Why? Why did he let this happen? Why did he let the City play such games with him? The only thing that could possibly result from this sick little waltz that he and the City engaged in was another boy, orphaned by some gun-toting thug who got a little nervous. And the blood would be on his hands.

"Hello? Batman, are you still there?" Oracle had been hailing him for the past two minutes. Wrapped up in his reverie, he didn't notice it.

"Yes. I'm on my way. Wesker won't escape. Batman out."

As his Batrope latched onto another building, and the Dark Knight drew himself ever closer to the bank, he heard the line go dead.

Once again, he was alone.


Kim breathed hard as she knelt behind the counter. Her body was alight with the liberating feel of power.

Getting by Gotham's finest was a simple task. She managed to slip by the fat, slothful detective who was guarding part of the perimeter without exerting any type of effort. Slipping inside the bank itself took a little more effort, but for the girl who could do anything, it was child's play.

.But now it was time to really get down to business. She had managed to get close enough to overhear the members of the gang chatter.

"Jack, whatt're we gonna do now? The cops've got this place surrounded!"

"I'll tell you what we're gonna do, Bricks" the man named Jack, who's voice sounded like he was gurgling on Tylenol, replied, "we're gonna sit tight and wait for the boss's orders. Now shaddup, yer givin' me a headache."

Kim managed to poke her head out from behind the desk slightly. She was too far away for any of the thugs to notice her. She quickly noted the psychical features of each member. The man in the middle was tall and thin, with blond hair that was plastered down due to his sweating. She pegged him as the nervous man who spoke first. Behind him was a man with shaggy, unkempt black hair, and a thin moustache. His intense hazel eyes were focused on his nervous comrade. She assumed that he was Jack. Finally, standing over a group of petrified hostages, was an overweight man. His grey beard matched his snowy hair, and a cigarette was clutched in his teeth. Each man wore black pinstripe suits, and matching fedoras.

Well, the woman thought as she took in these details. Their suits, hats, oversized "tommy" guns, and demeanor were like something straight out of a bad 1940s gangster movie. They're doing nothing to destroy the stereotype.

"Hey!" A sudden, coarse shout rang from the other side of the bank.

Kim, fearing that she had been spotted, swung back around the corner, and crouched low. She began to feel around for any gadgets she had with her, when she realized that she had raced out of the dorm without even changing into her mission clothes. The only crimefighting device she had on her was her Kimmunicator.

Damn, she hissed. This would make things more difficult.

It was then that she noticed that none of the gangsters had advanced, and they were now talking to a new person who had joined them.

"What's going on here?" The harsh voice cut through the air like a machete.

"U-uh-uh, nothing Mr. Scarface," the nervous voice of the blond-haired man croaked out.

"Have you joiks packed up the money yet?"

"N-n-n-no-no Mr. Scarface," It was clear that whoever this "Scarface" person was the one in charge.

"Then why do I hear talking, when I should hear working!" The voice of Scarface roared.

"Umm…Mr. Scarface…sir…" Jack, the once confident goon, started, just as nervous as his cohort, "Bricks was….he was just wondering how we was going to get out of this mess."

"Oh, I see," the voice suddenly softened, "Well then, Mr. Gricks, could you please explain to me why you have doubted my plan?"

"I-i-i-it wa-was…i-it-it-was j-j-just that the-the-the cops, a-a-and Batman—"

The sudden, splitting sounds of roaring machine gun fire drowned out all sound in the bank for a moment. When it abruptly ended, the screaming from the hostages replaced it with an equally ferocious timbre.

"I don't want to hear about the Gat, and I don't want to hear about my plan. We're getting outta here, so shut your traps and get gack to work!"

"Yessir Mr. Scarface!" Jack hollered as mightily as he could. It came out as a weak murmur.

Kim sat frozen. She had been through a lot during her years as a crimefighter, but, in all that time, she'd never been close to death. Though she didn't actually see it, she knew that the stuttering man—Bricks, he was called—was now dead. She was outnumbered, with none of her gadgets, and in an unfamiliar environment where there were no rules. To say she was a bit frightened was a staggering understatement.

Ignoring the adage about the unfortunate cat, Kim's curiosity caused her to stick her head out again, to get a glimpse of the mob boss that had murdered one of his own men in cold blood.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to comprehend what she saw. Standing over the body of Bricks was a short, plump, middle-aged man with a bald head and thick glasses. He wore a tweed jacket, and had a red-and-yellow polka-dot bowtie that hung limply from his collar. That in itself was an oddity, but what was draped over his hand was even more bizarre.

Upright with maniacal glee was a ventriloquist's dummy. He had on a pinstripe suit with an oversized rose on the lapel. A wide-brimmed fedora covered his wooden face, which held two crazed blue eyes. A large scar ran across his cheek, and a fully-lit cuban cigar hung from his jaw. In his hand, he clutched a miniature-sized tommy gun, still smoking after shooting his flunkie.

Kim had seen a lot of things her life. From genetically-altered British archaeologists, to blue-skinned madman with superiority complexes, but this was easily the most inane thing she had ever witnessed.

What the hell is wrong with this city? She asked herself.

"Mr. Scarface," a new timid voice, one belonging to the man manipulating the doll began, "maybe we should consider surrendering to the police."

"What's the matter with you!" The dummy roared, "Did the good doctors in Arkham do something to your grain? We're making off with the dough, and if you say something stupid like that again, I'll pump you fulla lead."

"Yes sir Mr. Scarface," the balding man said dejectedly.

"Jackie Goy," the dummy ordered, "get on the phone to the coppers, tell them that they've got ten minutes to gack off, or we start killing hostages."

"Y-yes sir Mr. Scarface!" the moustached-gangster stated before heading off to find a phone.

"Dealing with these grain-dead imbeciles," the block of wood mused to himself, "they're gonna give me an ulcer!"

The musings of the cigar-smoking homicidal dummy were cut short as the skylight of the bank exploded suddenly, sending a shower of glass onto the ground.

"Gatman!" He screamed, firing off a burst of bullets into the air. "Louie, get Jack and Tony, right now! That freak makes one more move, and we start gumping off hostages!"

The overweight man watching the hostages nodded quickly, and headed off to find his compatriots.

"Come on out, you cowardly gastard! I'll rip you in half!"

Kim's fear began to subside as the realization that other people's lives were in danger started to sink in. She had to stop Scarface's soldiers before they could start executing innocents.

Executing a summersault that would turn most Olympic gymnasts green with envy, she managed to get to the other side of the room without the insane ventriloquist or his dummy noticing. Hopping over one of the desks that the tellers usually stand behind, she closed in silently on the huffing gangster, already out of breath.

"Sorry Mustache Pete," she quipped as she delivered a powerful kick to the back of his knee, sending him to the ground, "you're not going anywhere."

He groaned, and reached out for his gun, which had spiraled across the floor, just outside of his grasp. The heroine sent her foot flying, connecting with his neck, and knocking him unconscious.

One down, three to go, she counted silently. And that wasn't including Batman.

"Who the hell are you?" A familiar hoarse voice called from behind her. Kim wheeled around to face the fat old man and the block of wood that was known as Scarface, staring straight at her.

"I'm Kim Possible. And I'm taking you down. Now."

"Wouldn't count on it, girlie," he barked, before firing off a deafening burst in her direction.

Kim's instincts had kicked in, and she managed to dive behind another of the ubiquitous desks. However, the bullets had come close. One had cut across the shoulder of her t-shirt, grazing the skin slightly. A trickle of blood stained her white shirt. She stifled a gasp.

She heard a door open, and the sound of feet smacking against the ground.

"What's happening?" One of the gangsters yelled.

"Some nutty girl thinks she's geing a hero," Scarface rasped. "You two take care of the gitch, I'll handle the Gat."

The auburn-haired girl shut her eyes, wiped the sweat off her brow, and began to mutter a prayer. To her left were two gun-toting thugs, and to her right was a lunatic with a dummy on his hand threatening to kill everyone in the building. She hoped that this was all some horrible nightmare.

The impacting thud of bullets into the desk assured her that it wasn't.

At that precise moment, Kim Possible's brilliant mind kicked into gear. Jamming her hand into her pocket, she retrieved her Kimmunicator.

"Wade? I need your help right now!"

"What's up Kim?" The pudgy boy asked pleasantly as he appeared on the miniature screen.

"No time for small talk, I need you to hack into the Gotham First National Bank surveillance cameras right away!"

"Piece of cake," he said simply, and pounded a few commands into his long-suffering keyboard.

"Which one do you want?" He asked.

"Cycle through until you can find the one with me in it, and hurry!"

"Sure thing," he said. A moment later, he disappeared as the feed from the camera replaced it.

The two goons were slowly advancing behind her, fanning lest she try to make a sudden break for it. Scarface was stepping backwards, looking into the air for the Dark Knight that seemed to have disappeared.

In her mind, dozens of tactical scenarios played out, none with a good ending. She was trapped, and there was no other way around it. She was going to die.

A sudden whizzing noise from above and the pained groans of the two men alerted her. She looked at the screen as their guns clattered noisily to the ground, and bloody wounds appeared on their hands. Imbedded on the tiled floor were two black projectiles, shaped like….bats.

Just as abruptly as this attack occurred, the screen went black.

"Wade? Wade!" Kim screamed desperately into the device.


In his room, Wade's attention was devoted to the computer as the feed from the camera suddenly dropped out.

Hammering a combination into the keyboard, he hoped to re-establish the link. Instead, he was greeted by something else entirely.

A strange insignia appeared on his screen. It floated across the screen for a few moments, mesmerizing the boy, before suddenly the machine shut itself off completely.

"No way," the boy mumbled as he began to comprehend what had just happened. "There's no way that could've been…"

He'd heard the stories before. But they were more like urban legends. He couldn't believe that they really existed. But no wanna-be could ever out-hack him. This had to be the work of the legend.

"Oracle.."


In the rafters, cloaked in the embrace of shadows, he watched on.

"Oracle, have you disabled her uplink to the surveillance cameras?" He asked stoically.

"Whoever she's got working for her is a clever one, but yeah, I managed to shut him down."

"Good," he responded simply.

"Are you sure that was a wise idea? She's completely blind now."

"And hopefully, she'll realize that without the advantage of sight, she cannot continue this fight. I want her out of this, before she gets a civilian—or herself—killed."

"Stay sharp Batman, this girl's tougher than you expect."

"Tough doesn't mean anything in this type of fight. Experience does. Something she's lacking. Batman out."

He stepped out of his hiding spot. A light from inside the building cast his hellish shadow along the wall. It gave him comfort as he leapt down to face the gangster.


"Wade! Where are you!" She hollered into her Kimmunicator. When she got no response, she flung it to the ground in frustration.

A thump against the caused Kim to peak out over the side of the desk.

"Wesker, you're going back to Arkham," it commanded. The redhead knew the voice. She had heard it in that alleyway weeks before. It was the voice of the Devil himself.

"Gring it on Gatman, I'll shoot you into pieces." Scarface threatened.

Before the dummy could even react, another of the bat-shaped weapons was launched from the black-clad tower of a man. This one cut right through the wood of the dummy, severing his arm and the gun from the rest of his tiny body.

"Ah! I've geen hit!" He cried out.

"Mr. Scarface!" His operator shouted weakly.

"I'm fine," he said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small pistol with his remaining hand. "Louie, Jackie, take this punk to the cleaners!"

His two wounded but still functioning soldiers charged at the Bat.

Kim stared on as the two massive henchmen threw themselves at the caped vigilante. An elbow lashed out, hitting the man named Jack in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, his nose spurting out blood like a cherubic fountain. The other man—Louie, attempted to uppercut the Bat, only to have him sidestep, causing the lumbering man to lose balance and fall forwards. As he headed towards, the ground, Batman sent a crushing fist straight up, hitting the goon right in the solar plexus. It would make sure that he stayed down.

"This game's over Wesker. Drop the gun or I'll make sure that your dummy doesn't come back this time."

As he turned to face the demented puppeteer, Jack slowly rose from the ground, raising his hands in an axe handle right behind the masked warrior.

"Batman, look out!" Kim shouted, hopping over the desk. Landing on the ground, she corkscrewed into the air, and sent a crippling roundhouse kick right to the face of the bleeding man, putting him out of commission.

"What do you think you are doing?" The man behind the cowl hissed. It was the quietness of his voice that scared Kim the most. Nonetheless, she tried to remain strong.

"What am I doing? I just saved your life there pal! The least you could do is show me a bit of gratitude!" She yelled.

"I knew he was there. I was going to take care of him. What you just did was reckless and stupid. You could've got yourself killed."

"You're unbelievable!" The disbelieving girl yelled to the man in the Bat costume, "Do you have some sort of messiah complex or something?"

"Uhh…I hate to interrupt this lover's tiff," Scarface stated. Even the block of wood was confused by the surreal scene that they were in, "but I've really gotta jet. See ya around, Gatty!"

Yanking back the hammer on his six-shooter, he pointed it at Kim and fired.

"Get down!" Batman yelled as the girl stood petrified. Jumping in front, the bullet impacted with his chest, knocking him backwards, right into Kim. The two tumbled gracelessly to the ground.

Kim looked on as the man lay at her feet before him.

Is he really…dead? She thought, looking at his motionless body. After hitting the ground, his cowl had rolled up to just past his nose. Almost involuntarily, Kim's hand reached out, landing against the fabric of the mask. She slowly began to push it upwards.

An iron fist reached out, grabbing her wrist roughly, and tossing it to the side.

"You….you took a bullet for me." The exhausted heroine proclaimed, the realization just sinking in. "How are you still alive?"

"It was a .38, an antique."

"But…"

"Wesker's escaped, and he has a hostage with him. You've gotten in my way for the second and last time. You're here in this city on a scholarship. That's the only reason I've let you stay this long. Cross my path one more time, and I'll make sure that the rest of your life becomes very, very unpleasant."

Kim couldn't even form a sentence as the man rose to his impossibly tall height, pulled out a grappling gun from his bright yellow belt, and ascended into the air like a dark angel.

Kneeling on the floor of the destroyed bank, the things Chloe had said to her finally began to make sense.


"…Where a violent showdown between Arnold Wesker, a.k.a. The Ventriloquist, and Gotham's local hero, The Batman, took place. It appears as though new arrival in Gotham City, Kim Possible, another globetrotting hero, was also at the scene of this crime. Fortunately, none of the hostages were hurt, and the only death was that of Gerald "Bricks" Sedici, one of the members of Wesker's gang, the Scarface Mob. Despite this, Wesker managed to flee the scene by taking one hostage with him. The hostage was found on the street a few blocks away, without any injury. The police are still hunting for Weskers. If anyone has any information, they are urged to call this num—"

The broadcast was abruptly ended as the television was shut off.

"How went your mission?" The man sitting behind the desk, cloaked in shadow, asked.

"I lost a few men, no one irreplaceable. And I got the dough. Dummy, get the bag!"

"Yessir Mr. Scarface," Arnold Wesker mumbled apologetically as he reached down and picked up a heft sack, walking forward timidly and placing it on the desk.

"Good," the figure in shadow responded emotionlessly.

"The Bat?"

"He's downright vicious. He took one of my arms!" The doll roared, shaking his stump in emphasis.

"This is also good. He's angry, and it's causing him to be sloppy. What about this other 'crimefighter' you dealt with, Kim Possible?"

"She's fast. But if it wasn't for the Gat, I'da put that dame six feet under. Just wait until I meet her again!"

"Your role in this operation is over, Mr. Wesker. Your portion from the robbery should be sufficient enough to keep your operations up and running for some time now. Make good use of it."

"You're the goss," the doll muttered, "let's go dummy."

The shadowed figure from behind the desk watched as the schizophrenic gangster exited the dim room. He leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers.

All was going according to plan. Batman was off-balance.

Turning to the intercom on the desk, he pressed a button.

"I want you to compile a dossier on Kim Possible. She's a threat that must be eliminated first."


End Author's Notes: I'm not dead! No, I'm just really busy, and I had to shelve this project for a little while coughthree monthscough. Anyways, thanks to the reviewers (both of 'em), and I hope that, if you're still out there, you enjoy this new chapter!