He wasn't really in the mood, but there was little choice now. With everything going on, Bruce had forgotten that his secretary had scheduled his interview with Vesper Fairchild for today. If he had it his way, it would be rescheduled for another day far into the future. The burning of Robinson Park had only cemented the fact that this war between Joker and Strange was far from over.

But, he remembered that not too long ago his neglect of his public persona had cost him quite a bit. Lucius had warned him that he couldn't shirk his responsibilities without a large fallout again, so this had to be done. He even had to talk himself into the idea of getting this over with. At least it would be over and done with.

Of course, when it came to the media, it would never be done. His past experience told him this would be just the first of many interviews with Fairchild. She would leverage this interview as far as it would go and then find something else to keep him as a source, a story she could use when she was running on empty.

Reaching the building of the radio network, he was pleasantly surprised there was a valet waiting for him. It was a young man, a teenager even, dressed in a white button up shirt and black slacks. He held up a sign that said WAYNE on it, like he was waiting for him at an airport. Pulling up next to the youth, Bruce rolled down his window and looked at the kid expectantly.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne!" the teen greeted professionally. "I'm Brian and if you like, I'll park your car for you."

Why not? Bruce found himself thinking before opening his car door. Climbing out, he stepped to one side and gestured for the boy to jump in, sweeping his arm to the open door. "Careful, she's aggressive," he playfully warned him.

"I promise I won't scratch her," the valet promised.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "Oddly specific."

The teen only froze for a second before a goofy smile appeared on his face. "I won't wreck this beauty, man."

"I know, but it was worth us coming to an understanding."

The valet jumped into the car, closing the door behind him. He had to play with the gears for a moment before the car's engine revved loudly and he took off. Turning to the building, Bruce found it to be rather ordinary, save for the radio antenna growing out from its roof. It was painted red and white so it could be seen in daylight, a red light flashing steadily for nights.

Sighing, Bruce squared his shoulders before he walked to the door, opening it, and entering the building. He found another employee waiting for him in the lobby, dressed much like the valet, except he was taller and had a black jacket on. "Mr. Wayne! So glad you made it!" he greeted him, taking a step towards him and holding his hand out.

Bruce accepted the offered hand and shook it. "My secretary worked hard for this, so I figured I needed to reward all of his efforts," he joked. A glance around showed a rather small lobby when compared to the opulent ones in downtown Gotham, be it the hotels, the corporate buildings, or hell, even Wayne Enterprises. Still, it was rather sleek looking, with large black tile flooring, a dark mahogany front desk, and a few leather chairs off to the right, sitting on a large rug.

"I hope you don't mind if we walk while we talk," the man asked, already on the move. Bruce just kept up with him. "I'm Ms. Fairchild's assistant, Walt Jennings. I'll show you to the recording booth for your interview."

Jennings, huh? It was very unlikely, but he had to ask. "You wouldn't happen to know a Brian Jennings, would you?"

"I have a cousin by that name," Walt answered. "I think he...worked for…" he trailed off.

"Used to work for me," Bruce finished as they two entered a hallway, "after he threw in on the wrong horse and lost big."

"I'm so sorry that he was part of that," Walt quickly rushed out his words. He was filled with nervous energy.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I've only known you for ten seconds and I like you better than him," the billionaire assured him. "I can't imagine it's been all that easy for him since his...departure."

"It hasn't," Walt told him, still on edge. "But I rather not talk about him."

"That's fine." Bruce knew very well what was going on with Brian Jennings. He had been forced to leave Gotham following his part as a pawn by Hush to take his company away. He wasn't a bad guy, but anyone that could allow themselves to be duped into removing him as head of his family's company had no place there. While Tommy was a sociopath, Bruce would have had to worry about other ones doing the same thing. He wouldn't let that happen. If it had just been some botched business deal, he could have left it at that, removing Brian and letting him seek opportunity elsewhere.

But no, it had gotten personal, resulting in his oustal, something he could never forgive his former Board. There were no jobs for any of them in Gotham, not even at a used car dealership. Brian had been one of many to leave town in order to find a job. Last he heard, he was somewhere in the Midwest working as a computer salesman. Seemed to be doing alright for himself.

Bruce made a mental note to throw another wrench into Brian's plans.

"So how does this work?" the dark-haired man asked. If Walt wanted to stay on business, then business they would stay.

Fairchild's assistant looked relieved at the subject change. "Ms. Fairchild should already be in the booth, preparing for the broadcast. We'll get you in there as well, have you mic'd up, and do some sound checks. That should leave us with a couple minutes before the show starts."

"Sounds good. Just point me to where I need to go and I'll try to not mess up," he joked.

As they walked through the hallway, there were doors at even intervals. Bruce couldn't help but glance at them, particularly the thin rectangular windows in them. Each one showed some sort of office with computers all over the place. There were markers next to each of the doors, labeling what each office was used for. One they were passing now was for weather; that made sense as there was an antenna here and it might as well transmit to the satellites up in orbit.

They were forced to make a left turn and they entered a second hallway that was their primary recording area. There were large windows next to doors now and Bruce could see that these were the recording booths Walt had mentioned. A long table was in the center of each booth with mics placed on them. There was a computer on one side of the table, the first two booths having them turned off. Comfy leather chairs, two of each side were placed around the tables.

When they reached the third booth, they found Fairchild in there. Walt opened the door for him and Bruce entered. "Mr. Wayne is here," Walt informed the reporter.

Fairchild raised her head from an iPad she had been looking at. "Bruce! You made it!" she greeted him warmly. "Have a seat! We're almost ready to go."

Bruce picked a chair right across from the woman. A quick glance around the room allowed him to spot a few cameras strategically positioned throughout the room. He had been told this would be filmed for other media uses. "Thank you, Walt," he thanked the assistant.

"You're welcome, Mr. Wayne."

"So I hope you didn't mind us rolling out the red carpet for you," Ms. Fairchild said to him. "After all, you're kind of a big deal."

"It was unexpected, but I do appreciate the effort, Ms. Fairchild," Bruce replied diplomatically.

"Please, call me Vesper. My mother was Ms. Fairchild."

"Wouldn't that be Mrs. Fairchild?"

"True."

Walt was suddenly next to Bruce then, attaching a mic to his shirt. "If you could say a few words, Mr. Wayne?"

"A few words," Bruce spoke. He gave a look at the larger mic that was positioned on the table in front of him. In the meantime, Vesper's assistant was making an adjustment to the smaller mic.

"They mic us up out of the wazoo," Vesper assured him. "It's a bit of a redundancy thing, but it ensures we get a complete recording."

"Again, Mr. Wayne," Walt said.

"A few more words. Again," Bruce responded.

"Okay, we're good." Walt gave a thumbs up to Vesper before leaving the booth.

"So how this is going to work is I'll be making a big introduction to the show and then we'll jump right into the interview," she told him. "Any questions before we plunge in?"

"None that I can think of." The billionaire lounged back into his chair. "Hopefully I don't bore you with this."

"Oh, believe me, you're anything but boring, Bruce."

A small frown creased his face. "If your—"

Suddenly, she held up a hand, cutting him off. Over some intercom somewhere, he heard, "We're about to broadcast in three...two…"

Suddenly, a sign lit up the words ON AIR. "Coming live over the airwaves, this is the Big Girl Hour with your host, Vesper Fairchild,," Vesper announced into the large mic in front of her, "where we're anything but balanced and fair. This is WGKX at its finest!"

It seemed they were starting the interview. He sighed internally. Hopefully the next hour flew by.


Turning the corner, Montoya continued her patrol, keeping a sedate pace as she merged into Gotham's ever present traffic. Her vehicle was unmarked, all the better to blend in.

Another tip had come in. The GCPD wasn't unused to tips; they came in every day, every hour, sometimes every minute. There was always someone who felt they knew something and wanted to tell the police about so they would do something about it. More often than not, those tips led nowhere, but they were still important as all it took was for one tip to give them that crucial piece of evidence that could solve a case.

From the corner of her eye, she observed one of the main banks that located themselves in the city. It was a branch bank, an extension of a bigger financial institution, but a bank nonetheless, and the tip that had come in claimed that it was going to be targeted sometime today.

The implication was there it was going to be a robbery. Someone was going to enter and assert control over the bank employees and patrons, making demands and the like, and all of which could take place between five and ten minutes. Nothing so far, no suspicious vehicles or individuals. Plainclothes officers were placed at multiple locations to keep an eye out at as many different angles as they possibly could.

Montoya wasn't one of the beat cops. She didn't normally do patrols through the streets. She was a detective, and would intervene if she happened to see anything. Other than that, her responsibilities were for investigations, collecting information and gathering evidence. This job had you wearing many hats.

Montoya wondered if they were pulling too many people to watch this branch in particular. The super-criminals that had escaped their respective prisons were still unaccounted for, roaming the streets and planning who knew what. If only they weren't so difficult to find. That they tended to wear outlandish and attention-getting outfits made even her more incredulous theories impatient with wanting to know how they kept out of sight.

She made another turn, going around the block. Again she was seeing nothing and sped up a bit so that she could reach the next turn. How much longer would she continue to circle? Maybe another ten minutes, then she'd find parking and sit around a while. Before that, she'd call in and info the other officers that she had seen nothing suspicious yet and find out if anyone had.

As she was turning another corner, pulling onto the street that ran in front of the bank's main entrance, she picked up the radio receiver and began to make her report. No sooner had she begun speaking when the bank's doors were blown off their hinges, a ball of fire propelling them out into the street. Immediately, Montoya braked, eyes wide.

Tumbling out of the smoke and falling and rolling on the pavement was a person clad in purple—that was the Joker. Hell, what was he doing here?

Robbing the bank. The tip had been about this...but no one had seen him enter! How had he—

Something else emerged from the smoking entrance. Robotic and armed with multiple weapons—oh, she recognized that thing. It was a drone, one used by the Riddler. How had they missed that one? Damn it, he must have replacements hidden throughout the city! Where though?

Oh, and there he was in green. Appearing from around his drone, there was the Riddler himself.. Two super-criminals in the same place, what were the odds?

Shifting her vehicle into park, she yelled into the radio confirmation of her sighting, the radio already buzzing with chatter. Her fellow officers were already taking cover and pulling out their firearms. So was she, doing a quick check to see that it was loaded and the safety was off. The drone hadn't started firing yet, but based off of some of the wild gestures the Joker was making as he got back onto his feet, the two criminals were trading words.

They were distracted with each other. That meant they could try and sneak up on them, and capture two of those escapees.

Gripping the door handle, Montoya began to pull on it, then stopped. That drone was also there, and based on what had happened the last time any officer took one on, it hadn't ended well. The thing was deadly and she realized that not only was she about to rush out to try and apprehend two very dangerous men, she was also going to run into the sights of that robot's firepower.

Her hesitation lasted only a few seconds. Danger was part of the job. She just needed not to get herself killed.

Exhaling, the detective forced open the door and slipped out, service pistol drawn and ready to be aimed. She was barely a few feet away when one of the drone's weapons turned in her direction, and then she was changing course as a rocket-powered grenade detonated on her car.

The ball of flames nearly threw her off her feet, and she went into a roll on the pavement

Wrenching her head up, she was just in time to see Joker place his hand on his chest, and a stream of liquid shot out to splash what she knew to be the drone's laser emitter. Riddler made a gesture with his hand, and then Joker was moving around wildly as whatever he had attempt with that emitter had proven to be ineffective. A laser beam cut into asphalt and the clownish criminal was doing his best to avoid it.

Keeping on the ground, Montoya raised her gun and fired several shots. Her aim was true and she heard several sharp bangs as bullets struck the drone's metal armor. Pausing in its laser assault, the drone rotated it's torso, aiming one of its arms at her.

More gunfire struck the machine, her fellow officers coming to the rescue. They still had cover and proved to need it as a barrage of machine gun fire answered them. Montoya took this time to get onto her feet and rush for the nearest cover she could find. The bank's own architecture was the best she would find on such short notice, a slab of concrete only stretched out about five inches away from the building it was a part of.

Tightening her grip on her pistol's handle, all Montoya could hear was the sounds of gunfire, the booms of explosions, and somehow the laughs of a madman. Even as violence was taking over here, the Joker's laugh could always be heard.

This was dangerous, but it was part of the job.

Peeking around her less than desirable cover, Montoya took stock of the developing situation, then once more added her fire into it.


There was violence in the streets. There were arsons, shootouts, explosions—the list went on. People were afraid.

Cobblepot couldn't be more overjoyed.

Supplying the Joker was asking for something huge to happen. It was good for business. Now he had all those other crazies in on the action and it had ratcheted this conflict to epic proportions. The money he was making on supplying the clown and his crazies was quite profitable.

But not nearly as profitable as all of the poor, defenseless citizens. Long ago, Cobblepot had taken notice that when Gotham was burning from its many crises, its citizens sought out protection any way they could. That was an untapped market, one he could not simply ignore. So, throughout the city, he had established some legitimate businesses. Well, perhaps as legitimate as they could be for someone like him. A bribe here, a well placed threat there, and he had a license to sell guns.

That's right, he owned a number of gun stores in the city. What else did you expect? And right now that was making him a mint as Gotham's civilians poured into the stores to buy as many guns and even more ammo as they could carry.

But here was the even better part. See, the Joker was always at his best when he was going up against someone. Usually that was the pointy-eared, pain in the arse, Batman. And while the caped rodent was out there, he was not the clown's main target. No, that honor—such as it was—went to that headcase shrink, Strange. That man was doing everything in his power to bring Gotham's most notorious madman down by any means he could. That stunt at Robinson Park was just one such example.

And of course Strange needed weapons as well. For now, the shrink was preferring more advanced stuff, technology and what not. Nothing that Cobblepot couldn't get his hands on and sell. It wasn't his preferred market, but it had the added benefit of bringing the Joker back to him for more supplies. It was a perfect set-up, one in which he fed the appetites of both warring sides and let them carve the city up.

"Would ya look at that," he crowed as he slapped down a newspaper. Right there, on the headline, in bold print, GOTHAMS BURNS. There was a picture of fire trucks putting out the fire that had burned down Robinson Park. Below that were pictures of the various crazies striking out at various parts of the city. There had been that question mark chap with those rather advanced drones at a bank; there was the crocodile man snarling at something off camera—props to the camera guy for actually staying in front of the brute to get that shot—there were even shots of destroyed buildings.

These crazies were wrecking the city and it was glorious.

"I can't believe I 'adn't thought o' this soon-nah," he continued to gloat. "If I knew they was gonna tear the city apart, I woulda pushed them to it long ago."

"How long do you think this will keep up?" one of his boys asked, standing a few feet from the desk the Penguin sat behind.

"As long as we keep both sides armed, I don't see why it can't keep goin'," he answered. Reaching to a small box on his desk, he flipped the lid opened and pulled out a cigar. Lighting it up, he puffed several times, letting out a large cloud of smoke until it was steadily burning. "The police can't stop 'em; Batman 'asn't been able ta stop 'em. The only ones that can are those two blokes and I can't see them givin' up anytime soon."

"They're starting to destroy local businesses though," another goon pointed out. "That means one of your fronts is gonna get hit at some point."

Cobblepot stared at the man. "Yous must be new. 'aven't yous evah seen how this city works? Someone like the clown always comes 'round and destroys large chunks of this dump. No one is spared. I can't tell ya how many fronts I've lost to the crazies ovah the years." He took a puff of his cigar, blowing the smoke out of his mouth. "But when yous has a business high in demand, all that does is concentrate the demand. Take those gun shops we got. If we lost one o' them, that shop's regulars will just go to one o' our other ones. Sure, we may lose some to the other stores, but it drives the revenue up at the others."

"What about the lost inventory?"

Hmm, maybe this bloke wasn't so dumb. "We lost plenty when Batman crashed some o' our transactions. Some loss is acceptable."

"What if the Bat finds out that you're supplying both sides?"

That actually gave the short man pause. That was a very likely scenario since the Bat always seemed to know what he was up to. His multiple visits over the years was a case in point. If...no, when that pain in the ass found out what he was doing, he would be coming for him hard. Cobblepot took a couple of long, drawn out puffs as he thought about this.

And then a thought occurred to him.

So far he had been taking advantage of the crazies' war on each other. Why couldn't he use the Bat as well? When that pointy-eared rodent found his way over here—and he would—he just needed to point him in a different direction. Yeah, that was it. He just needed a scapegoat, one the Bat would crush in his attempt to regain control.

And he had just the target in mind.

"Then we invite 'im in," Cobblepot finally said, which earned him several surprised looks. "Oh, we'll put up the good fight—can't let 'im think we want this. Then we give 'im someone he can't overlook."

"You mean...like the Joker?" the first goon suggested.

"No, not the Joker." A smirk was appearing on his face. "He knows who put me in my current position. How big a stretch would it be ta say that they 'ave a large appetite for money?'

His entourage all shared a look with each other. "Are...are you sure about this, Boss?" the second goon asked. "Those guys with that new boss of theirs, they ain't playing around."

"Neither am I." The Penguin held his cigar over an ashtray and tapped it against its edge, knocking ash off of its end. "No one controls Oswald Cobblepot—no one. If those Calabrese blokes think they 'as me on a short leash, they're goin' ta learn the 'ard way that I play fer keeps. Besides, the Bat needs all the 'elp he can get. Why not earn some points with 'im and 'elp bring down one of Gotham's last families?"


Selina had yet to change out from her cat burglar outfit. Last night had been so tiring, but it had also been successful. Perhaps in more ways that one.

"I don't get what this is," Nick commented as he turned the 10/6 card around and around, trying to figure out its mystery.

"Snatched it from that guy calling himself the Mad Hatter," Gotham's most tired crime lord said, slumping in a very comfortable seat and stroking Isis' back.

"Put that down, Nicolas," Chris ordered. "You don't know how that thing works."

Shrugging, Nick did as he was told. "Why do they always come up with some stupid names?" her cousin wondered.

"Nobody cares," Antonia stated, eyeing the card like it was a living snake about to lash out and attack them.

"You should be paying more attention to this element," Chris reprimanded. "The Mad Hatter is synonymous for mind control technology."

"Then we have nothing to worry about since he has no mind to control," the older female cousin replied, shooting her younger brother a look.

"What do you plan to do with this?" the lawyer asked, turning his focus back to Selina.

That was an interesting question. What were they going to do with this? It had all the appearance of looking like some novelty card, but somewhere inside of it was tech that could hijack the human brain. However, none of them here knew how it worked. The only person Selina knew who did just happened to be the man she took it from.

Still, she could appreciate the power that thing had. Mind control was no joke, even though it felt like something from a science fiction movie. And yet, there it was, laying innocently on the table.

"There's a lot we could do with it. The question is, do we want to do anything with it?" she said instead.

"How can that be a question?" Trust Nick to be the one to ask that. "It's mind control. We can get anybody we want to do whatever we want."

"That doesn't sound like just any one idea," Selina quipped back. "Anybody includes a lot of people. We only have one of those. Meaning, we can only control one person. If we're to do that, we need to make it good, and not just the first person we see."

"Very well said," Chris remarked. "Diversion aside, were you able to accomplish what you set out last night to do?"

Ah yes, the real reason she went into Robinson Park. "Indeed I did. You don't need to trust my word to know that things went sideways last night. However, I did learn what we needed to know. The crazies are fighting one another. Not Batman. Not the city. Not us. Each other. And to top it off, the Iceman is also trying to kill the other crazies."

"Why?" Antonia was frowning, trying to grasp this bit of information. "He's never gone after the crazies before. Just us."

"It's simple. The crazies prodded the polar bear. That building they destroyed the other night? It was important to him. It's why he broke out. He's after them, which tells us exactly what we need to do."

Here, Selina paused, letting the suspense build.

"We...do absolutely nothing."

"Nothing?" Antonia repeated. Based on the frown, she wasn't a fan of that plan.

Selina shifted in her seat, getting more comfortable. "Remember, these are the people who destroyed the old guard. They are the new underworld and now they're fighting one another instead of us. Why would we want them to target us?"

"They'll either kill one another, or weaken themselves enough to eliminate their own threats," Chris mused, and it was a surprise to hear the lawyer supporting the plan. He always seemed like a stick in the mud, leaning more in favor of the older mobsters.

"And on top of that, that means Batman will be more focused on them," Selina concluded.

"I like this plan," Nick remarked, putting his feet up on the table. "We sit back, do nothing, and let the crazy boys and girls take care of each other for us."

"Who says we're going to be doing nothing?" Selina remarked idly, scratching under Isis' chin. The cat's eyes were closed, the head tilted back to allow better access.

"Um, you did. You said we're going to do nothing," Nick said slowly.

"We're going to do nothing with the raging asylum, but we're not going to sit on our asses. This is the time to consolidate and strengthen our position." Selina flashed her eyes at her alleged younger cousin. He tended to act younger than he actually was. "People are going to be desperate, wanting protection, or an escape. We can be both. We can expand and keep it under wraps if we do it smart. Do nothing to attract attention while getting our little tentacles everywhere.

"This whole fight between crazies is a wildfire. What do wildfires do? They destroy the old and allow the new to grow from the ashes. We can be the ones to grow from the ashes, can't we?"

Antonia was nodding her head as if grasping the logic. Chris was being stoic like always, but there was some respect that could be seen in his eyes. Nick was...well, still Nick.

"Chris, see if you can find out where we're weakest and where we can stand to grow some. Antonia, I'd like to see you get the boys in line and on the same page. Nick, whatever direction these two point you in, follow it and show me why you should be paid the big bucks."

"And what will you be doing?" Antonia pointedly asked.

Resting her hand on Isis back, Selina returned the look her cousin was throwing at him with a lazy smile. "I will be keeping a close eye on everything. No matter what, we're going to need to know how this little school yard fight goes, if it gets bigger, or sputters out prematurely. No matter what happens, none of us can afford to ignore it.

"It's what the old guard did and look where they are now."


The ON AIR sign turned off. The moment it did, Vesper took off the headset she had on her head and set it down on the table. "Great show, Bruce," she complimented him. "I think that went over rather well."

Bruce gave her a hard look. Most of the show had been her trying to corner him into an unfavorable opinion. Anything that could have framed him as out of touch was on the table. He had deftly countered her attempts, but that didn't make him any less annoyed.

"Mind telling me what that was all about?" he asked her after a couple of seconds of silence.

"What was what about?"

"That interview, you were trying to put a bad light on me."

"Was I?" she responded flippantly. Clearly she didn't care about his concerns. "I didn't make you say any of the things you did."

So she wasn't going to take responsibility. Figures. "You do realize that the public's opinion on those social programs you wanted to champion hinge on the public having a favorable opinion of me. If people hate me, they're not going to want anything to do with any assistance I offer. That defeats the entire purpose of this interview."

Bruce paused. "Or was that your entire purpose? Were you just trying to get soundbites out of an 'out of touch' billionaire?"

"No, that wasn't—" she interjected.

He cut her off. "That's basically what you did. Which if that is your goal, that's fine by me. Make your narrative; make me a bad guy."

"Need I remind you that the Court of Owls was comprised of Gotham's wealthy," Vesper quickly pointed out. There was some heat to her voice, indicating she didn't care for his tone. "Whatever image you think you may have, that was squandered long ago."

"You're right, that didn't do the ones not a part of the Court any favors," Bruce acknowledged. "But I had been cleared of any involvement with them. Hell, no one in my family ever had a connection to them and that's been proven multiple times. It took years before the city began to view me as someone that could help them out. All of that good will is gone now."

"Then I suggest you begin building it back up. Again, I wasn't the one to make you say those things."

Bruce stared at her. While he was certain he didn't say anything incendiary during the interview, it was also up to other people's interpretation and with a metropolitan city like Gotham, that was millions of different interpretations, which led to millions of twisted perspectives. "I believe we're done," he finally said.

"I believe so too. Walt can show you the way out."

Bruce shook his head. "No, I don't think you understand."

"What don't I understand?" the reporter replied bemused.

"I mean, as far as you and I are concerned, we're finished. I won't be coming onto your show, or having any business with WGKX. That means Wayne Enterprises and every subsidiary, charity, or company endorsement. And considering Wayne Enterprises' standing in the city, other companies will follow suit. There won't be a single executive that will touch you since they'll rightfully believe you're coming after them with torches and pitchforks. I haven't even mentioned the fact that WGKX's parent company is most likely owned by one of those corporations and you can bet that they will be looking very hard at you going forward. Any future misstep is going to make things uncomfortable for you. Your social media presence is going to be dredged thoroughly for any potential offensive post you've made. They're probably doing that right now. Your station is about to be going into damage control and you can bet you'll be one of the solutions—one you very much will not like."

Bruce stood up. "Have a wonderful day," he ended before leaving the recording booth.

He barely walked a few steps in the hallway before Vesper came flying out of the booth. "Bruce!" she called out. "Mr. Wayne, just a moment!"

"I've given you all the time I intend to," he responded over his shoulder.

There was a rush of footsteps and Vesper shot past him and stood in front of him, blocking his path and forcing him to stop. "Will you just wait?" she demanded exasperatingly. "I can help you fix this."

The billionaire raised an eyebrow. "The same way you wanted to help to tell Gotham about my social assistance programs? I think I'll pass."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I don't have a choice in the matter." There was a troubled look on her face. "Do you know what today's media is like? It's soundbites; it's hot takes; it's releasing unfinished stories that don't have all of the facts because if you're not first, you're last. No media company wants to be seen as last to the party; they want to be the one that breaks the news. They want to be the ones that show the public the next Watergate and they can't do that if they're not reporting in real time. Social media has sped the process up to seconds of an event happening, so traditional media has to be even faster."

"My condolences," Bruce responded blandly.

"On top of that, this is still a male-centric industry. As a woman, I have to work twice as hard to get the same kind of recognition. You think I enjoy having to rile people up on air so that they say something incredibly stupid? That isn't the news, it's just another form of gossip." The reporter was clearly upset, her face taking on a red tinge. "But that is the reality."

"Yet, you think you can fix that radio broadcast we just did?" the dark-haired man questioned. "That was live. There is no editing that."

"There are other ways," she pressed. "We post clips on Youtube all of the time. In spite of the way things went, there were plenty of good and important things you touched upon. I'll make certain we only show those clips online. On top of that, I do write a column for multiple news outlets. I can highlight everything that will help out Gotham."

Bruce stared at her for a moment before, "I want to see your draft before you send it in. If it does what you say it will, we won't have any further issue."

Vesper narrowed her eyes at him. "Why? So you can edit it any way you want?"

"Let me be blunt about this: I don't trust you. After that radio interview, I can't trust anything you tell me," Bruce told her. "For all I know, you'll be writing a hit piece on me. While that has been done before, none of those other journalists had pissed me off to the extent you have. So if you want to have further collaboration with Wayne Enterprises, you will do as you promise and I will read your draft to make certain you stay true to your word because as of now you don't have a leg to stand on."

Vesper stared at him before she numbly nodded her acceptance. "Alright, if that's the way you want to play things."

"It is. I'll be waiting." With that Bruce moved around the reporter and continued on his way to the lobby. He wanted out of this place, the sooner the better.