The last wisp of sunlight was only just visible on the horizon line, soft red glow shrouded by a scarcely lit skyline, leaving the dark of night to make claim over what remained of Gotham.

From his vantage point, even with darkness sweeping over the landscape, Bruce could clearly make out the destruction. The damage caused by the severe flooding extensive.

Standing above the devastation he found himself inconvenienced with a question. How had it come to this? Two years of fighting, fighting for this city, for it to swallow itself. This single stray thought led him to a tangled web of doubt.

Was all this his doing? After everything, had his actions led to this? Had he ever made a difference?

As the masked vigilante, Bruce utilized fear as a tool, to corral the criminals of Gotham, to leave them paranoid of their own shadow. In doing so, he unknowingly taught those of troubled minds like the Riddler, how to wield such a tool.

Though burdened by these thoughts Bruce didn't have the luxury to be weighed down by unnecessary contemplation. Even with the repairs to the city seawalls underway, areas remained submerged under a mixture of water and trash. The rubbish that had lined the sidewalks now swirled around on the water's surface. It put into perspective for those who chose to be blind to it before, the state the city was actually in.

With the sun's final moments been and gone, and the moon held hostage behind black rain filled clouds, the spotlight beside Bruce was casting a perfect silhouette of a bat on the night sky. Turning to the source of the light he studied the makeshift signal. A rough job but it needn't be more than what it was.

"I was under the impression the whole idea of this, was so I could get a hold of you." The familiar voice came as no surprise, the lieutenants approach alluded to by the rumbling of the elevator.

Bruce turned his back to the skyline, black cape being caught up by a sudden breeze, fabric majestically matching the rhythm of the wind.

"How's the clean up going?" Bruce was straight to business, small talk not his strong suit even without the mask.

"As well as you could expect." Gordon looked tired, the man clearly having as many sleepless nights as Bruce. He approached the Batman, giving a quick look to the scarcely lit city with a stretched-out sigh. "Sorting the rats from the mice has been more of a challenge than I would have liked. Departments infested." Gordon's disgust for the situation was clear.

Bruce knew it was a heavy blow to lose so many officers corrupt or not, in a trying time like this, they needed as many hands as they could get. But they both knew the longer they postponed the endeavour, the more chance the rats had to slip passed them. Best to catch them now before they can hide their tails.

"We'll be able to deal with any stragglers once things ease up." When that would be Bruce didn't know. Several elite Gotham citizens were dead, replacements still being contemplated all while the list of casualties the explosions and waters had claimed responsibility for grew longer.

"On a more positive note. The new Mayor seems to be doing her part." Gordon smirked finding a thought amusing. "Took all of this to get someone like her in a place to fight for this city."

Bella Reál had at first been nothing more than another dead end to Bruce, nothing to put any weight behind. Those elected had always managed to disappoint. What made her any different? Though now he wasn't so sure of his preliminary assumption.

Upon their initial introduction at the late Mayor's memorial, Bruce had been surprised by the immediate subject of their discussion. She clearly had been trying to get a hold of him for a while, something he was unsure if he had been made aware of. Two years in, and the nights had started blurring into one, days spent in the dark, every now and then blessed with the company of the moon. After a while the only way to keep track of noteworthy events or the passing of days was to write them down.

"The people of Gotham need someone to stand behind." Bruce realised this now more than ever. For the first time he found himself helping people without them recoiling in fear. He was helping people without his fists.

"Other than corrupt politicians and dirty cops." Gordon adjusted his glasses, disappointment in the brown of his eyes.

"You couldn't have known. This isn't on you." Not sure how to ease the man's conscience, his response had been delayed. In truth there was nothing Bruce could say to ease the guilt that hung on his heart. It had all happened right under Gordon's nose. In his place of work. That's a wound the lieutenant will not heal from easily, a scar already in the making.

"Maybe. Maybe not." As suspected, the man's soul was not so easily soothed.

A buzzing from the lieutenant's coat pocket caught both their attention. Wind kicked up the edges of the black coat as he retrieved his phone, screen illuminating his face Gordon looked back to the Batman.

"Excuse me." He politely stepped away raising the phone to his ear, moving further into the carcass of the half built abandoned tower.

Bruce took the moment to adjust his posture, adopting a different footing to ease the pain spiking through his chest. In conclusion he was exhausted. Long nights and days helping those affected by the flooding taking its toll, all while the injuries sustained thwarting the Riddler's grand finale a few days previous still plagued him. Bruce's suit may be bulletproof, but each connecting shot still left an awful looking bruise.

He was pushing himself, reaching new limits each day. The challenge of working round the catastrophe invigorating. It was rewarding to him… He was enjoying it.

Gordon wasn't gone long; the phone call having been brief.

"You're going to want to see this." Gordon had a stern look on his face, his phone clutched a little too tightly in his hand.


The warehouse was flooded just below his knees, the tail of Bruce's cape gliding along the surface making a beautiful ripple in the waves. He was greeted with an assortment of stares from the officers around him, some nodding in a respectful manner, others wearing a scowl. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

Following Gordon through the mess, Bruce took the opportunity to get an understanding of his surroundings. On the outside the warehouse didn't offer any tell tail signs of a drug den, from first appearances it looked respectable. Until he stepped inside. The waters had clearly rearranged much of the interior, but the bare bones of a Drops operation were clear as day. Tables were pushed to the sides of the workspace, but Bruce could imagine they once sat in rows, a production line having been in place.

Every step that someone made was accompanied by the sloshing of water. Some personnel were in protective gear, wellies keeping them dry, while others didn't appear equipped for the occasion.

Cameras flashed as evidence was catalogued. Centre of it all stood a handful of officers gathered round a toppled chair.

"On three. One, two, three." Together the officers lifted the chair upright, one man coordinating the effort.

A body emerged from the water. Hands bound behind the plastic chair.

Officers stepped away, passing glances to each other, some eyeing Bruce with uncertainty. Ignoring them he moved closer to stand beside Gordon. Photos were quickly taken, lens snapping at the surfaced corpse.

Duct tape was fastened around the middle-aged man's mouth, skin pale, eyes closed, face bruised and battered almost beyond recognition. It was hard to see through the water but from how the body was positioned in the chair, it appeared his ankles where also strapped down.

"Jesus." Gordon's eyes flicked over the corpse, mentally taking notes. "It's Kenzie." There was a hush over the room with the identity of the body confirmed. It was one of their own.

As the Batman, Bruce had already had several run-ins with the detective. Their first being at the Iceberg Lounge, where he had promptly broken his nose. His face still bore this injury, along with the deep scratch marks gifted to him by Selina. Though it appeared someone else had now done far worse.

"Search and rescue were sweeping the area. Stumbled upon the body." A sheepish beat cop reported to Gordon, the young man Bruce knew as Martinez still in shock from the discovery of his co-worker.

Bruce moved towards the back of the waterlogged corpse; a female investigator busy taking photos of the hands, piquing his curiosity. From the side, someone went to stop him. Gordon quickly intercepted the individual, an enforcing glare all that was needed to return the officer to his duties.

The tightened zip ties told a gruesome story. The plastic had dug deep into the flesh, cutting the wrists, blood having mostly been washed away. He had struggled for his life that was for sure.

Bruce observed what had the investigator taking so many photos. The man's fingernails were gone, ripped clean from the bed. Every single last one down to the pinkie.

Bruce looked up from the mutilated hands. Eyes finding Gordon in an instant, the lieutenant having been watching him closely.

"He was tortured."

"For information?" Gordon came to his side, looking upon the hands of his fellow officer for himself.

"Most likely." Staring back down at the dead man's limbs something stood out. There was a tint of blue evident on the inside of the man's hands. Without hesitation Bruce took a small blade from his boot, cutting the zip ties. There were a handful of shouts of protests, but once again officers were kept at bay by the lieutenant, his hand outstretched to calm the crowd.

Now unbound, Bruce could get a better look at the palm of the man's right hand. He delicately manoeuvred it to face him, fully aware of the weight of several eyes on him.

Something had been written in blue pen. Many of the numbers washed away.

"It's a phone number." Bruce unhanded the man, standing straight he took a moment to compile his thoughts.

"This doesn't make any sense." Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose, taking his glasses off for a moment. "Kenzie was under Falcone's thumb, why torture him."

"Once a rat, always a rat." His words got a few more unfriendly looks from the dead man's peers.

Gordon took Bruce firmly by the arm, leading him to one side.

"You saying someone thought he would talk?" Gordon spoke with hushed words, giving side looks at his colleagues.

"He already had." Bruce recalled their rooftop interrogation. "Someone still thought it necessary to tie up loose ends."

"More officials might be trying to cover their tracks. Hired hit." Gordon proposed.

"If this was a hit, he'd have a bullet in the chest, and two between the eyes." Bruce looked over the table they had neared, recognisable packaging of the addictive drug known as Drops all over the warehouse. He was certain it was in production here at some point. Anything valuable had been cleared out, leaving only the trash. Including Kenzie.

"Killer might not be a pro, sloppy workmanship." Gordon challenged him. "For all we know this could be a poor attempt by a copycat."

They had discussed concerns of a copycat killer rising to take the Riddler's place. After all, he has amassed quite the following, his unhinged message still being preached even with him behind bars.

"Maybe." Bruce wasn't so sure.


Authors Notes

Hello there! There will be an update everyday, the story is basically finished, just edits being made now. I'm in love with this movie and have put my heart and soul into writing this story. When it comes to writing I really try do my best to stay true to the source marital and portray characters perfectly. This story has been a real challenge for me, I only have three hours of a movie to work with, some characters barely interacting or having any screen time! My goal for this story is to seem like it picks up right after the events of the film, as if the film had continued on for another hour or so. I really hope I achieved that and I'm looking forward to people reading along in the days to come.