Cassandra wasn't there. She never really liked the luncheons with the al Ghuls and had been keeping her distance for a while now. Bruce couldn't blame her considering how one of the last ones ended.

Her absence was a pleasure for Talia and absolute joy for Damian. Instead of the sullen fits he had when Cassandra was around, he was exuberant and bubbling with energy. This only pleased Talia more.

"Quite the predicament you have going on," Talia casually remarked, dabbing a napkin around her mouth. "I heard of the going-ons with your enemies."

A subtly blunt comment—one that would get people's attention if they heard it, but not tell them at all what it was about. Bruce Wayne having enemies would definitely get some people's attention, but they would have no idea who they were. They would want to know, surely, but who were they to guess it comprised of an entire unit at Arkham?

Still, it didn't mean he didn't like the phrasing. "Should I be surprised that you know?" he responded.

"You should know better. However, even I was surprised by the ingenuity of it all, if that helps."

Trust a group of Gotham's supervillains to surprise a hardened assassin. "I don't see why any of them are kept alive," Damian proclaimed. "With all of the deaths they are responsible for, why haven't they paid for their crimes?"

"A good question," Talia agreed.

"Not all of them are maniacs, Damien," Bruce replied quietly, taking a sip from his water glass. "Some of them are sick and you don't kill an unwell man. You heal them first."

"Those sick men killed people because they are sick," the boy rebutted. "There is no cure for that!"

So they were having this conversation—great. Well, let's see just how far Damian was willing to stand on his principles. "So killing people should be punished with death," Bruce surmised.

"Yes, absolutely."

"Some of these people are responsible for kidnappings and beatings. Would you say that deserves death as well?"

"They violated the law and others. Of course, they do," Damian said. A quick look to Talia showed she wasn't opposed to this. She was listening to her son with a look of amusement. The boy took this as encouragement.

"So any law should be punishable by death," Bruce inquired.

"I see no other punishment that wouldn't end crime. These criminals have shown they have no interest in changing their ways, so why give them chance after chance?"

An interesting notion to be sure. "These people have done something as mundane as breaking and entering, mundane when compared to murder anyways. A person should be killed for that?"

"I say yes."

"Then all three of us should be on death row with the number of times we've trespassed onto property," Bruce pointed out. "I've done it on a nightly basis for years; I know your mother has done it for her father numerous times, and I'm fairly certain you've been involved with some of your mother's missions, not to mention that you entered my house and attacked Cassandra."

That stopped Damian in his tracks. Talia gave Bruce a hard look, but she couldn't help but see how their child would get himself out of this verbal trap.

"But...we're doing it for good," he stumbled.

"It's still breaking the law, no matter what our intentions are," Bruce pointed out. "And according to you, all lawbreakers should be put to death, especially when we show no intention of changing."

Damian pouted for a moment before he perked up. "But I didn't break into your house. As your son, I was coming to my home. I didn't expect to find...the girl there and thought she was...trying to...steal something."

"A home you had never been too until that moment?" Bruce questioned as he raised an eyebrow. "And there's no legal documentation stating that you lived there prior to that moment, not to mention neither I or Cassandra had met you prior to that incident."

Each sentence crushed the boy and he seemed to cave into himself. Point made. Bruce then reached over the table to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. "There's a point here, Damian, and an important one at that. The world isn't black and white and never has been. While I agree that murder should never be excused, not every murder is the same. That's why we have a system in place to make certain the wrong people aren't unduly punished. It doesn't work all of the time, but it's better than mob rule, where all it takes is one moment of misunderstanding and someone suffers because of an untruth. Hell, with a system like that, all I have to do is make a convincing lie and rile up the loudest people in the room."

"An interesting point of view, Beloved," Talia murmured. "I believe you've won this one."

In the short term, yes, but it would be the long game that would prove if his words made an impact. It was clear that Damian had absorbed Ra's al Ghul's teachings. Some of them were even poignant and wise. Others were too rigid and gave no room for extenuating circumstances. It was only a matter of showing Damian there was more to the world than his childhood lessons.

"I suppose that calls for a victory drink, but I think I've had too much water," he joked. "If you'll excuse me."

Bruce stood up, pushing his chair back as he did so. He turned and began to make his way to the restroom when he came to an abrupt stop.

At the table next to his was a surprising and unwelcomed sight. "Bruce!" Max Shreck called out from the opposite side of his table. The side had given the white-haired man a direct view of the dark-haired billionaire. Shreck quickly wiped his mouth with his napkin before he stood up.

Well, this was going to be uncomfortable.

"Max, I didn't realize you were here," Bruce greeted him, politely moving to shake the other's hand.

"Nor I, you. If I had...I would have said hi sooner," Max returned, taking the offered hand and giving it a shake.

"You don't have to do anything on my account. In fact, I was just on my way to the little boy's room. Nature calls and all," Bruce tried to excuse himself, withdrawing his hand.

"Then I won't hold you up any further. I was going to wait until this afternoon...but here and now...is fine to tell you the news."

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "The news?"

"There's...another bidder for Computron," Shreck told him. "And their bid is...much better than yours. If you're serious...about Computron...then I would encourage you to reconsider your offer."

Bruce knew what this was. Shreck was clearly trying to improve the Wayne Enterprises offer for his subsidiary, not that he blamed him. Because of the fallout with the Riddler, he was able to knock down his offer quite a bit because Computron's reputation was utterly destroyed. It didn't help that its former president had committed suicide either. All in all, Shreck had taken on losses, but he was not one to take that lying down. A second bidder he could use as leverage to restore the previous offer, or at least improve on the current one. Bruce couldn't blame him as he would do the same himself.

"I'm curious to know what that bid is," Bruce said. "It'd be something for Lucius and I to discuss."

"I'll see to it that you have a copy," Shreck told him. "Not all the details, of course. Just the main points...like price."

He expected nothing less. "I look forward to it. If you would excuse me."

Bruce removed himself from the encounter. As he headed for the restroom, he couldn't help but wonder just who was throwing their hat in the ring. Too many of Gotham's other corporations had been burned by Max Shreck over the years to do anything big with him, so it was most likely a group outside of the city. Unfortunately, that expanded the number of possibilities into the thousands. He needed to learn something soon about this and quick.


He had had all night to stew about it and Oswald was not happy. He hadn't been happy before it had happened. He hadn't been happy while it happened. He still wasn't happy about it hours after.

He had thought the Bat was the only thing to worry about. Somehow, there was a sort of understanding between the two of them, one he hadn't anticipated, but was taking full advantage of. While he despised stool pigeons, those white eyes tended to change a person's perspective a tad.

The minx that had snuck in and thrashed his boys, on the other hand, was something entirely different. She had skills, no question, and she was much more assertive than he liked in his women. The claim that she was his new boss on the other hand…

Oswald operated as if he was in charge. Everything that happened under his roof was his and his alone. There were the interruptions that Batman made, but how was anyone in their sane mind supposed to stop him? Other than that, he had been receiving a lot of reminders that he still had a leash.

For a while, it was easy to forget that while he was in charge of the Iceberg operation he had running here, the real owners were the Calabreses, and they had so far been hands off. At least until last night.

It hadn't taken long for him to learn just who she was. Everything from that incident with the Riddler was relatively fresh and there were so many images of her. Not a bad figure and the athleticism...what a waste. Really could use more of that kind of eye candy here. But she had a brain in her and one that was fighting for dominance. She had gotten it in spades, forcing him to submit over and over until he practically broke down.

Once she had left, he had been quick to make contact with his leash holders. Damned if she hadn't been lying. She was the new boss.

He knew exactly what she was doing. She was making an example out of him. She was trying to get everyone else in line who had any doubts about her leadership, or were thinking about replacing her. He was picked because he was one who wasn't in line, acting more independently than any of the other blokes, and being someone less conspicuous with his activities.

On the outside looking in, it was a good move, Oswald would admit that. From the inside, it pissed him off like nothing else, and he had Batman dropping by on the regular. What was he going to do? How was he going to respond?

Because he was going to respond, damn it. He was Oswald freakin' Cobblpot! The disrespect was galling that it warranted retaliation. Except, he would be attacking the guys that had kept him from going back to Blackgate, and quite frankly, he had spent too much time there to last a lifetime. That was considering that they wouldn't kill him if he acted up.

This cat lady was the new boss and that meant options were limited. Too limited. As in he had no option but to suck it up and keep a stiff upper lip. Oh, how he hated doing it. This only made him angrier, and with no one else to take it out on.

The only thing that was certain was that he was going to find a way out from under the Calabreses' thumb. How he would do so was something he needed to figure out. It would take time and patience, and trying to do what he did with Bane may not be the best way going about it. Bane had ego and enough self-confidence to blind himself to most underhanded tactics. Given enough time, that brute would have figured out the double-cross. The Calabreses weren't Bane, though. They were looking for anything underhanded. They had their eyes on him and weren't going to be taking them off. His boys were no match for that cat lady anyhow.

Time was his only option, and given enough of it, an opportunity would present itself. It might not have the prettiest packaging, but hey, he wasn't big on appearances. Well, at least when he came to his establishment and flow of money into it, then appearances were all the more important. Opportunities, on the other hand, could look like a right ugly bastard, but the prettiest canary was needed here.

Pretty or ugly, all canaries went the same way if taken deep enough.


The man was a genius without a doubt. However, the man had his weaknesses, ones that made him easy to predict.

As Strange had sat in Arkham, slowly licking his wounds from his last venture, he was pleased to learn another of his "timebombs" had gone off. It was glorious, the stakes upping every day. Naturally, Batman found a way through to claim victory, and this time he, Hugo Strange, did not suffer any blowback.

He knew his timebombs, intimately you could say. He knew their habits, their limits, their flaws, and could use every single one of them to track them down to their hiding places. Each one had a history, one that would limit the number of places they would hide. Even if they had no connection to their current locations, they were still possibilities to investigate.

Even from Arkham, he had kept abreast of the investigation. Watching this timebomb in particular, he knew that they weren't finding everything. The man was smart, smarter than anybody truly realized. Like the Batman, with enough time and planning, this timebomb could be unstoppable, if only he didn't have one incredibly easy to identify flaw.

This genius of a man had an obsessive need to be the center of attention. Not just the center, but also the smartest around. Intellect was highly valued and he wanted everyone to know how great his was. Strange had picked up on it during their very first session, and had, how would you say, encouraged the development of this obsession. Combined with the need to be the smartest around, this pawn had done most of the work himself; Strange had only needed to provide direction.

The insights he had gained into this individual was what allowed the professor to locate him. He strolled in as if he owed the location, glasses concealing eyes that scanned everything. Coming to a stop, Strange let the atmosphere around him settle before calling out, "Edward? If you would come out, I wish to speak with you."

His voice boomed, acoustics augmenting it. The former psychiatrist remained standing where he was, waiting. There would be a response in time.

Then again, time was a luxury.

"I seek your services," he continued. "It concerns a riddle. A baffling one. There is no other person I would turn to to seek an answer for it. If you would come and speak with me face to face, we may negotiate how exactly we may go about solving this conundrum."

Seconds passed and then a door opened. Strange did not bother turning, or looking for the source. Odds were good that this door was not obvious, or even in this room. Footsteps that clacked against the floor was confirmation that he had been watched and now had piqued this man's attention.

"A riddle, you say?" Edward, alias the Riddler, remarked as he came out of hiding. "A better riddle is what I should call you. Should I call you Doctor, Erie? Or should it be Professor, Hugo Strange?"

Strange closed his eyes, though he kept what he believed was a pleasant smile on his face. "Forgive the deception. It was not you who I was eluding at that time."

"I personally don't care," Edward said, fidgeting with a cane, one with a distinctive curve at the top reminiscent of a question mark. "I'm more curious about how you found me and here of all places."

"You once bemoaned mankind's stupidity and did so on the airwaves," Strange pointed out. "I am not one of the mind-numbed masses. You left clues behind when you walked out of Arkham, challenging anyone smart enough to identify them to come and find you. I have. And now, I ask for your aid."

A wry smirk formed on Edward's lips. The butt end of his cane came to rest on the floor while the man leaned on it. "So you think yourself smart, and yet here you are, asking for help. This riddle that you can't figure out, is it that difficult?"

Strange narrowed his eyes in challenge. "No one has figured it out. You enjoy puzzles and this is the most difficult of them all. What say you? If nothing else, at least hear this riddle first, then come to a decision if you want to solve it or not?"

Edward gazed back at him, his face a careful mask of stoicism that gave nothing away. A marvelous poker face if Strange did not think so himself. Then, giving a shrug of his shoulders, the thin man said, "I suppose I can hear you out. What harm can come of that? So then, Professor, what is this riddle?"

Strange could not help himself; he smiled, exposing an expansive row of teeth. "Who is Batman?"

Edward did not look impressed. His eyes were half-open and his disdain was plain to see. "That's not a riddle."

"Isn't it?" the former psychiatrist asked in reply. "Three little words, and no one has the answer to them. Who is Batman? What is the name of the man whom Gotham worships as a hero? After all these years, someone must have found out. As of this moment, they are not talking."

"I'll admit curiosity, but that alone is not enough to bring me in," Edward said dismissively with a wave of one of his hands.

"So is it a riddle that the smartest man in Gotham is unable to solve?" Strange challenged.

"Appeals to my vanity will get you nowhere," his former patient retorted. "Besides, what would be the point? As soon as you find out, you'll tell everyone, and then everyone will know. Once everyone knows, it's worthless. A riddle that everyone knows the answer to is just common knowledge then. How would it prove my brilliance anyway?"

This had gone in a direction that Strange had not anticipated. Yes, he knew about Edward's ego, and his need to be intellectually brilliant, but to want to hoard knowledge instead of displaying it…

"Who said we have to tell everyone?" Strange pointed out, not wanting to admit failure.

"Then we're dead," Edward immediately answered. "As if the Joker will let anyone live if they know. I overheard your little conversation—"

"So you would allow the Joker to be the smartest then? A man who has done more to confound the masses than anyone else alive?" There was some heat in his tone and Strange knew his frustration was getting the better of him. How far was the reach of that clown's influence?

"Confound? Perhaps, but I believe I was able to accomplish the same thing," Edward sniffed, looking miffed. "Randomness for the sake of randomness is lazy. A true act of confounding takes time and effort. It needs to be planned out."

Despite his frustration, Strange was able to hone in on that. It appeared that he had inadvertently found another avenue, so to speak. Ego and pride were the way to go.

"I understand and appreciate such efforts more than, how did you put it, randomness for the sake of randomness. However, that lazy randomness possesses more attention from the Batman than the carefully calculated and planned out scheme. He considers the Joker a greater, more dangerous threat than the man capable of planning their own confounding plots."

Green eyes seemed to jerk and zero in on him. It had been too long since he had been face to face with this man, but attention had always been a need Edward had, one he could not be cured of.

"So what would you suggest?" his former patient asked icily.

Shrugging, Strange answered, "The simplest course of action is usually the best. Prove that the one thing more dangerous than lazy randomness is a man with a plan. And who better to prove than those intelligent enough and capable of planning for the long term? Like a riddle, the answer is in plain sight, but most only see it after the fact. So I put it to you. How would a man solve the greatest riddle of all, and do so in such a way that no one can deny its brilliance?"

Edward appeared thoughtful. Then, his lips parted into a wide smile. "I already have a few ideas…"

Perfect.


There were many ways to find a person. Most of the time, you would see if you could pick up a trail. That trail could be made of paper, or memories. That was how the cops and the Batman operated. However, there was another, if not less known, option.

The criminal underworld tended to keep check of itself. Who was doing what and when. Where do you need to be when something was happening? What was going to happen and did you want to be part of it, or not? If the answer was no, then stay out of the way.

One of the big reasons to choose avoidance was fear and no one understood fear like Crane. When you add the name Joker to anything, fear would always follow. Big shots and big egos suddenly wanted to be scarce. What were they avoiding? Where were they avoiding? For how long were they avoiding?

Triangulation became helpful, and that was how…

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny! Whatever are you doing on my doorstep!"

Crane's thin lips curved upwards slightly. You couldn't tell because he had chosen to wear his mask, burlap and with poor stitching. If you were to approach one like the Joker, you needed your armor, so to speak.

"I happen to know something I think you would be most interested in," he answered as calmly as he could.

Joker's grinning face suddenly looked hopeful. "Is it the answer as to why hot dogs come in a package of ten, but the buns in eight?"

Had he been walking, Crane would have stumbled. Instead, he found himself temporarily speechless. "Sorry. I...have not been able to discover that."

"Darn!" A snap of the fingers and a pout graced the lunatic's face.

"I think," Crane tried again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "that you would be interested to know that Strange approached me. He—"

"Yawn!" Exaggerated stretching ensued. "Hugy's up to his old tricks. So what else is new? Hurry, hurry, before I become bored, and you wouldn't like me when I'm bored."

A veiled threat, or a passing remark, who could tell? Crane straightened his shoulders and braved it nonetheless. "He wants my fear toxin. Take a guess as to why."

One eye narrowed while the other widened, the pupils looking straight up. "To see if it comes in grape flavor?"

"He wants the toxin to use against Batman. I told him to take a hike," the former professor explained, crossing his arms. "I think he's up to something."

"See my previous yawn. Why should I care?"

"Because as a betting man, I'm willing to wager I'm not the only one he's going to approach. If anything, there were plenty of us who left Arkham at the same time and are running about. There are so many of us, with our skills and knowhow. He's going to do what he always does and recruit how ever many he can. Then, it will be a united front, one that both Batman and you will have to take on. You can duke it out with Batman, no problem, but could you take on an army of, for lack of a better word, super-criminals? Could Batman?"

Joker opened his mouth to retort, yet no words were spoken. The white-faced and green-haired madman became thoughtful, tapping a foot. "Batsy could probably do it in his sleep...but then he'd get tired...and another pro wrestler reject might beat him up again. We can't have that, now can we?"

"I know that not everyone will agree to work with Strange, but he can be very persuasive when he wants to be," Crane pointed out. "Someone will say yes. Multiple someones I would imagine. But there are those he burned bridges with. They are the ones with a grudge against him. I happen to be one of them and I was thinking that perhaps we can help one another out."

Now a finger was tapping against that prominent chin. "You do bring up good points for a guy who's never heard of the Salvation Army."

Ignoring the jab, Crane pressed, "So what will it be? Shall we partner up? Put Strange six feet under?"

"Tempting, tempting," Joker mused. A menacing smile grew, splitting that white face. "It might be a blast, actually. Heh heh!" Then, his voice boomed, shouting, "Harley! Get the car ready!"

Distantly, a bubbly voice yelled back, "Which one?"

"Good question, which one, which one." More musing, more tapping of the foot. Eyes suddenly lit up. "The bus!"

A few seconds passed before there was another yelled reply, "Which bus?"

Joker made direct contact with the Master of Fear, and Crane straightened up his posture as best as he could. That smile on the clown's face was very toothy.

"The small bus."