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Gotham City

3:05 p.m November 11

He felt sure now, after finally agreeing to pay a long due visit to Gotham City. Dina was the only reason for that. If it weren't for her, he would have lost his new earned position. Because as he said, public image was none of his concern. He would have lost influence from the board, and seemed unfit to stabilize the coorporation. But he didn't care. Damien did it for Dina, and for whatever ounce of good that might still be in Gotham City.

They were in a private company plane making pass Gotham airs approaching a landing zone at the airport.

"We'll be there in just a few twenty minutes," assured the pilot over his speaker. The only guests were Damien Crest and his personal secretary Dina Willis.

She sat in front of him, their seats aligned facing each other. Damien looked at her. She was beatiful. But despite what others in the company might have thought, that wasn't the way he saw her. Just because he noticed her didn't mean he wanted to do anything about it. Damien Crest has lived his entire life single, he preferred the isolation. Or was it that there was nobody who he could relate to? Dina was an assistant to him, at most even a friend, but he didn't want his relation with her to escalate more than that. And besides, she was happily married.

Damien gave her a sarcastic grin. When she looked up, he remarked, "This. This is all your fault."

She giggled slightly. He joined in.

"Sir," she then said. "I'm really glad you decided to come through with this."

"Aw, it's nothing. I'll manage," replied Damien, still flashing a light smile. "So, how's the husband?"

"Oh, he's doing alright. A bit sad that I had to leave on such short notice, but he'll be doing fine."

They met once at a company function. But he could never get the name right. 'Was it Terrance or Todd?' He had short brown hair the last time they met, and was relatively tall in height. Fit build, works out regularly, a happy guy. He loved his wife, he made that clear everytime someone introduced him, sometimes at the price of her embarrassment. 'What was it he called her? Poochie bear?

He couldn't stop himself. A blaring laughter escaped his mouth, roaring, seeing no end.

"What? What is it?"

"Does he miss his poochie bear?"

She blushed almost immediately. Her face mutated red in a matter of half a second. "Shut up," she demanded, yet smiling herself. But the millionaire continued laughing away, nothing could stop him now. She smacked him on the kneecap, but ended up laughing with him. The pilot called out something from the speaker, but it was barely audible.

"What did he just say?"

"Oh he just said we'll be landing pretty soon," recalled Dina.

"So, who are we expected to meet first when we land?"

The secretary flipped open her black folder and searched the mass of papers, guiding a finger around each document she came across for closer observation. "Uuuumm, here," her finger stopped. "After the port, our driver will pick us up and drive us down to the Gotham City Police Station. That's the first thing. Then you're meeting with the governor's office, he's scheduled a dinner for the evening."

Today was going to be no rest. A busy schedule up ahead, by the time they get to the hotel it'll already be a predicted two in the morning. And that next day was'nt exactly going to be a bundle of joy either. There was going to be a visit to the local hospital, probably even a few arrangements, but nothing guaranteed. Gotham is a greedy crime ring. Salas would probably lose everything. Mob bosses will try to turn things their way, try to make it a monopoly, crush it to piecese. And street thugs will eat whatever's left. Damien was always a realist.

Gotham City Police Department, Gotham City

4:57 p.m

Now was not the best time for something like this. The police already had their hands tied going in after new leads, making drug arrests, both pawns and lords. They've had medium success so far, the one's that really matter end up posting bail, free to roam the streets, again. Now was not the best time for something like this. Jack Napier was out. Escaped from the asylum and managed to kill a few people not even hours after. He's hiding somewhere in the concrete jungle, nobody know's where. That's the worst part. Batman must have missed him the other night, the bastard would've been back at Arkham if he hadn't.

And all the more, some player at the Salas coorporation is planning a visit to Gotham. "Top priority," was what the governor called it, after giving all the blue suits a half hour of sermon on exactly how important this was. No pay would ever be worth all of this.

But fortunately, Commissioner Jim Gordon was never in it for the money. And in this city, that's saying a lot. He'd encountered lots of "propositions" from convicted criminals and crooked politicians over the past years, some that would have easily made him a millionare. But they all learned the same lessons the hard way. Jim Gordon was not for sale. All the good things in the world never are.

The man governor Ellis hailed as Gotham's future hadn't arrived yet. He was stuck in traffic. A few units reported in when escorting him from the plane. This gave time for work.

But another interruption walked past the Gothim Police entrance doors. Governor Ellis Bark himself. It was fairly obvious to everyone that crossed his path what his purpose here was. He didn't want to miss a thing. And he wanted to make sure Jim Gordon didn't screw things up. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy or anything like that. Quite the contrary, Ellis Bark had a lot of faith in Jim Gordon. He was finally doing things right. How they should have been done years ago. But after report of a visit from Damien Crest, the governors been in all kinds of hell. He's gone through sleepless nights trying to make the city look at least managable, especially in the slums. The entire police force was overworked, one could only imagine how he felt. And he was right. Gotham was in desperate need of another entrepeneur, capitalism wasn't doing so strongly in the poor neighborhoods, it's ben especially hard for lower class citizens find legal jobs that paid right. Damien Crest was the kind of person who brought those things. He's been hailed throughout Metropolis and echoing down the entire country. Gotham needs this. Nothing could go wrong. Nobody could afford it.

Wayne Manor, Gotham City

5:22 p.m

Someone shot at him. Didn't miss either. Whoever it was, he or she was a proffesional. Bruce ran a serial test on the bullet, nothing came up. It was a 9mm, unregistered, bought illegally overseas, could be anybody.

But only a proffesional could blow a 9mm bullet straight at his chest in the dead of night from a distance in only one shot. There might be someone new in town. A new enemy. A criminal looking to climb up the food chain.

"Master Bruce, are you alright?" It was Alfred, as always. Bruce was seated this time in the warmth of the Manor, on the dinner table. He tied his hands together and stared blank at the ceiling. Alfred dropped a dish of spaghetti flavored with basil and alfredo sauce, and a copy of today's current event. He didn't even touch the food, rather scrambling through the newspaper to see if there might be anything interesting at all, anything to get his mind off that night.

There was something on the front page that struck Bruce Wayne with a blow. "Salas CEO Damien Crest makes visit to Gotham City." This was obviously the local newspaper, there would have been more important things happening out in the world for the name of Damien Crest to even come close to front page.

Bruce Wayne had heard of the man before, even admired some of his work. A successful entrepeneur turned CEO of a drug company supplying pharmacies with medicines cheap and even more effective than its competitors. The secret was all in Damien Crest, a genius in the field of chemistry. He lead the team that researched all the drugs, made them better, more resistant against disease. In the end, lives were saved, and the buisness soared through the skies.

He also heard in great detail (like many who at least knew his name) about his dark past in Gotham City. Elret Tom and Joseph Wayle, two worthless thugs charged with double homicide and grand theft auto, killed his mother, father, and elder sister. That much Bruce had in simmilar with Damien Crest. They both lost a family. But it ended there. He killed the two thugs with his father's gun, that's where they parted ways.

But who could blame the child. He did what anyone not held up in fear would have done. It was merely self defense, with no drawback besides the granted taste of revenge.

Buce would have tasted it himself. He wanted it back then, nothing would have pleased him more. But it wouldn't change anything, this he grew to accept. It would have been his father's dying wish. "It's always harder to sustain life than to destroy it," said Thomas Wayne several years ago. Back when he was still alive, and everything was perfect.

"Dad!" the young Bruce Wayne called from out the front yard of Wayne Manor to his father who had occupied himself at the moment reading the news. The yell had little trouble following up to Thomas, as he had run out of the house almost as soon as it was released.

Thomas Wayne ran towards his son who was facing the other way, looking down on the cold ground. He stopped in front, and turned his eyes to whatever it was the boy was focused on.

"Is it going to die?" he asked, seemingly concerned. It was a small pigeon lying down, with its right arm dislocated, blood spewing out slowly but surely.

"It's going to die isn't it?"

But instead of assuring his son, Thomas Wayne rushed back into his study, picked up his medkit, and made it back outside.

"It's not going to die Bruce, don't ever say that," was all he could muster up while unraveling a roll of bandages. "There is always hope."

"It's in pain. If we ended it, the pain would stop," came Bruce without going into much more detail, implying rather than saying what he meant exactly.

His father caught hold of the suggestion, and scoffed. "Never say that", he replied almost scolding. "There is always hope. Always. We cannot quit on any life, whatsoever. There is always hope. Another test."

"Test?" the child could see what little relevance a test had to ending a pigeon's life.

"A test. It's always harder to sustain life than to destroy it. And that's what makes it worth it."

An idea came to Bruce.

"Alfred", he called the butler, who was probably in his room by now.

"Yes Master," came the almost immediate reply.

"Could you call and get a hold of Damien Crest?"

"You mean the one that just arrived today sir?"

"None other. Look see if you can arrange for a function here at the manor, invite all the usual guests, and see if you can get Jim Gordon to join."

"Will do sir."

Gotham City Police Department, Gotham City

6:32 p.m

All traces of the sun was gone. Now it was dark. And Damien Crest was still not here yet. This stressed the governor greatly, he made routine circles around the building mumbling random rants to himself, stopping only for a drink at the fountain. Where is he? What is taking so long?

But that's when his prayers were finally answered. A young man clad in an Armani's suit walked through the entrance doors, alive and well. A woman in long black pants and blonde hair right behind him stuggled to keep up. She was fiddling around her black hand purse as if looking for something.

"Gotcha," she said almost aloud, raising a chapstick to the air. Ellis paid little attention to her.

"Hello, Mr. Damien Crest," he called the man over and shook his hand for a brief two seconds. "How was your trip here?"

"Don't ask."

'This is bad. It must have been the traffic. That damn Gotham City traffic! It's given a bad first impression. God why didn't those stupid cops do anything about it! Where the hell is Gordon? He must be in his office playing around!'

"I take it that you're governor Ellis?"

"Oh yes. That's me. It's an honor to meet you."

"And where am I to meet the police commisioner?"

'Dammit Gordon. You stupid man. I'm not going to let this fall because of you.' "Oh, he's busy up at the office doing some last minute paperwork. If you follow me." The governor walked ahead of the gang, showing them to the commisioner's office.

Jim Gordon was on the phone. From an image standpoint, it would have looked like he was working at the time. That's what they saw walking into the room. What they heard however...

"Yeah. No. No anchovies. Half of them plain cheese, and the other half with peperroni. That's right. Okay, goodbye." Then he looked up at his door. Three people stood by, none of them embarassed or ashamed, with the exception of governor Ellis.

'Gordon. If you could only read my mind. I will rip your guts in half and tie them into knots!' steamed flew past his ears, but he tried to conceal it by speaking as casual and inagigated as he possibly could. "Hi Gordon. These are our guests. This is Damien. And..."

It occured to Ellis then that he never bothered asking the girl her name at least. 'Ignorant fool,' he exclaimed to himself.

"Dina," she replied.

Gordon raised from his chair to shake both their hands. "Hi, my name is Jim Gordon, I'm sure you've known that by now. I was just ordering some pizza for me and the guys, it's been a busy night. We're gonna be here working this night a little while longer. Please, both of you have a seat," he pointed a hand toward two chairs behind his work desk, which was now stacked with paperwork.

Once they both complied came the million dollar question.

"So, how exactly is the police force doing?"

The police commisioner had already prepared a minor presentation, governor's orders. It was all in a brown file holder. He pulled them out and handed to the guests.

"Well, we've been busy as you can see. Where we are as of now, is in the middle of catching things up."

Damien flipped through the stack of information, dissapointed. "Mr. Gordon.."

"Call me Jim," he interrupted.

"Okay. Jim," Damien tried out. "These arrest statistics are quite lacking in compliance to the amount of criminal activity. This is even worse than it was a few years ago."

Jim placed both hands on the desk, moving them not an inch. "That's because a few years ago we had a breakout in the marrows. We are still in heavy pursuit, and as I said previously, we are only in the middle of things right now. Progress is rising at its pace, we'll just have to wait a little while longer".

That was unacceptable. "Jim. Crime was high enough as it was when I lived here. And now it's gotten worse. You so easily say that things are getting better as if there's not a problem in the world to begin with."

"That is not true," denounced Jim, bringing his legs to standing position. "I know that somehow you think this is all our fault, truth is, maybe it is. But this is the only shot we have of improving things. We do the best with what we have." Then retreated back into his seat. "Mr. Crest, now if you don't mind, I'm busy. If you want, I can get a staff to show you around the place."

But it wasn't necessary. There was nothing else to say. The police commisioner had told him everything he needed to know. Gotham is encouraged with false hope. There are no guarantees or evidence, just blind words. He picked himself up and motioned for Dina to do the same. When she did, he turned to Gordon and replied, "No, thank you that won't be necessary. I'm tired already as it is," and made for the door. But as a hand felt the cold goldcoated knob, he froze. There had been indeed something else to say. And only now did he remember. He turned to Gordon who had already now long forgotten him. "Jim," he called his attention.

The civil servant glanced back up. "Yeah?"

"Do you know of Elret Tom and Joseph Wayle?"

He said nothing, just kept his eyes focused on Damien. Silence in itself answered the question.

Damien explained as if it was the first time anyone had ever heard. "Junkies. Two junkies so hyped up on dope they couldn't tell if it was night or day. They killed my family in a blind alley. Just like that. Everything I knew. Did you know that they killed five people and were let go when police apprehended them one day prior to the death of my family?" No answer. He snickered lightly. "The power of money. It doesn't take much money these days to buy your own cop. This city, the people, everyone in it from junkies down at the slums to even the damn police! Your people are responsible for the death of my mother, father, elder sister. And here you are talking about progression as if one day it will outweigh all the bad. This city needs a drastic change. Innocence is gone. You'd need to torch this hell with kerosene if you want real progress."

Everyone in the room heard the millionare Damien Crest speak out, but none of them could believe his words. Even Dina, had now began to display utmost dissapointment to her boss and friend. She had never heard the man speak in such a harsh and cold manner, never understood that truly underneath, that was who he truly was. Damien caught her eyes, and again started to regret. It would be hard for her to forget.

"I'm sorry," he took back. "I'm just tired." Still, not one soul made a move. Damien, alone, walked out the door. Dina appologized to the governor and police commisioner, then followed her boss.

Gotham City Police Department, Gotham City

7:43 p.m

Fresh cold air was a good way to help stay awake on the job. Jim took two slices of plain cheese pizza on a plastic plate and carried them with him up to the building rooftop. It wasn't much of a view, the station was no skyscraper. Only thing to see are the surrounding buildings all of which were at least two stories taller.

"How's the night?"

Gordon flinched, again. "Aaah. God. You."

Batman stood a few feet away from him, next to the 'batsignal' which had never been on this night.

"So, how was your first meet with Havington."

"Never do that again."

A chuckle broke out. "That bad huh?"

"I couldn't get Joker."

"Yeah I know. His cell is still empty."

"Someone intervened. A sharpshooter. Sent a bullet at me."

That was bad news an overworked police commisioner could do without. "Did you catch him?"

"No."

"Is he with the Joker?"

"I doubt it. This guy tried to kill me, but offered no other assistance to Joker. Whoever did it's a proffesional."

"How do we get this guy?"

"He or she wants me dead. The shooter will show up again. It won't be that hard. Meanwhile there's the Joker. Going after two different criminals in one night, things will be busy. How have your busts been doing?"

"They're going good. We've arrested a few, soon enough we'll have them talking."

Batman made for the ledge as he always did, preparing for his theatrical exit.

"Wait," called Gordon. "You know Damien Crest. The guy visiting here?"

Batman said nothing.

"Somehow he reminds me Bruce Wayne. What with their family's being killed and all. They were both orphaned at an early age, both rich millionares. Only difference is Damien got to kill his enemies. In some weird way I get the feeling that alters something. We all know Bruce, the happy playboy spending his nights on parties and whatnot. With Damien, it's all different. Nevermind, it's just that I..."

Gunshot! From above! Jim leaned on the closest wall he could find. Instinct reached for his gun, cocked, and scoped for the sniper. He was located on a rooftop west of his viewpoint. The building he presided in was at least two stories taller than the department.

Batman witnessed the gun's flare give light to the sniper as soon as the trigger had been pulled. For only a brief second, he could make out a pair of night vision goggles, green millitary camoflauge suit, blonde hair and blue eyes. He especially caught the eyes. The weapon was a Dragunov sniper rifle, not the same weapon as last time. He probably learned his mistake, coming to realize now that shooting 9mm bullets at Batman was as affective as hurling pebbles.

The sniper realized he had been caught, and decided to make a run for it. 'Not this time.' Batman pounced through the skies, moving at least five times faster than the sniper. There was nothing to do now. His best chance was to turn around and face his enemy.

Batman noticed the Dragunov rifle point slowly towards him. He doubled his speed, and rammed the sniper with his rock hard body before the reticle could even touch him.

The sniper couldn't get himself up. The one they called 'Batman' lassoed the man's legs together with a tiny metal rope.

"Who are you!" the dark knight roared at the sniper.

"Woah, woah man," the sniper overcame a sensation of drowsiness. His head slammed straight at the concrete. "I'm just a proffessional. I work for someone who wants you dead. Oh god please don't."

"Who!"

"I dunno his name, we never do."

"We?" Suddenly another threat was realized. This guy had to be some kind of mercenary of some sort, judging by the marksmanship and green camoflauge outfit. And he was working in a group, someone else is a part of this. But wherever his partners were, the sniper didn't know.

He dragged the sniper by his collar and dropped him down on the police department rooftop.

"Book him," Batman whispered to Gordon who despite standing a few feet away, heard it perfectly. "I'll be here next night. In the meantime try and find out everything you can on this guy."