Gotham at night.

It was the only solace he had, despite the dark shadows that loomed even longer and wider then he. Batman however knew that he would have to conquer these shadows in order for him, or for any progress in Gotham, to proceed. He pushed his cowl back while in the Batmobile and pushed his sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. That pit of worry still lingered even in the wee hours of the morning. He should be getting back, should be returning to his Barbara.

Another report came in suddenly. He saw the cleaver's image on the screen. It was the same bloody cleaver that was imprinted in his mind as he pulled over his cowl, tightened it and sped towards the crime scene. He felt his adrenaline pumping as he pulled into an alleyway. There was one or two of the dark, dank alleyways that the GCPD did not know about which he was thankful for. The grappling gun was in his hand on reflex and the air whooshed from his lung as he landed on the roof of the murder scene. He vaulted into an open window and his feet landed on broken glass.

His cowl was around him, hiding his frame and his two hands tracing along the familiar curve of his batarangs. It didn't take him long to see how the brutal murder was performed. Though each chop was vicious, there was a certain finesee to the actions as if someone was used to cutting meat from bone. He made a note to look at butcher's who closed up shop recently. He pushed into the hallway and the two cops guarding it leapt to the side, pulling their guns from their holsters. If he were in a mood he'd knock them both out but instead he raised his hands.

"Where's Jim?"

"Here… Take a look at this."

He made his way towards the old Commissioner now. There was a haunted look in his eyes, one that he knew all too well. The second part of the murder scene was worse, this one more brutal. Two killers? He frowned underneath the veil of shadows as he noted the splatter. No, that isn't right, two hands maybe? A cleaver in both hands as they worked? Hat would explain the variation with each swing and how each blood splattered was different. There wasn't control in half of the swings as while the other was smooth.

"What do you see?" Jim asked him.

"Two hands, this… killer is using two hands in his work."

He gestured to the wall. "His main hand is right and his offhand left, but he seems confident using both."

"I wouldn't want to go like that."

"No one would, Jim."

"He took someone you know."

That gave him pause and his cowled eyes narrowed on him. "Who?"

"A young man, not related to the family. He put up a fight though, looks like he punched out a portion of the perp's tooth. No hits yet."

His brow quirked. "How old is he?"

"Twenty three, apparently his apartment was across the hall."

Interesting, Batman thought. He nodded to Jim in thanks as he left, shooting his infamous glare at one of the officers. He landed back in the alleyway already setting off his Bat-puter, chuckling as he said the name to himself, to look for any hits on the victim across the hall. He got a name and a face and was honestly surprised at what he saw. Unlike Jon his eyes spoke of uncontrolled rage, yet there were no priors.

Just thinking of his former apprentice made him sick. No he didn't want to go down that road again. If he were to pick anyone to take over the mantle it would be Dick, the only obvious choice for such a role but if someone better showed up he'd take them to spare his adoptive son the trouble and pain of being the Batman. Pain wasn't a factor now though, it was time.

He sped through the streets, checking in on old street contacts for this 'Cleaver' and any known associates of his. He was on his third thug when the fourth finally cracked. Most did when they were dangling twenty stories up and Batman's grip slipping from their leg. He tossed him to the ground and leapt on the man. Both of his gloved hands grabbed his collar and yanked him up. The thug smelled of cheap wine, cigar smoke and a faint hint of aftershave. It reminded him how most of the criminal underworld got their money and the poor only got poor. His grip tightened as a snarl formed at his lip.

"Alrigh', alrigh' I'll talk… j-just don' throw me over that building."

"If you provide me with good information, that won't be a problem, will it?"

He nodded, biting his lip nervously. "Look…t-there's an old meat storehouse just a few blocks down from here. This Cleaver guy you're looking for? He's there man, and he's big… bigger then Bane."

"Fear plays tricks on your mind, but thank you for the information."

With that he cracked his forearm along his jaw and let his form go limp. When Bruce stood up, he straightened out his back, scowling as he heard something pop back into place. He was used to being with Barbara now, maybe after this was all said and done he would give Dick a call. Dinner then askance seemed the smarter play. First now though he'd find this Cleaver and bring him to Arkham.

His head pounded.

He leaned up, groaning from his seat and instantly felt a flare of pain along his side. He looked down, seeing a bloody, jagged cut that went from his hip and curved up to his chest. It wasn't deep, but enough that the blood constantly oozed. It would also explain why his breathing felt labored. He managed to roll over onto his good side, clenching his teeth as his body erupted in agony and got to his feet.

He could see old looking hooks holding pieces of meat in the rafters. It was a gruesome scene and none of it looked bovine. He pressed the roughshod bandages to his side a bit more feeling the all too familiar cool blood trickle down his flank. He shuddered without even realizing it. His steps were slow and cautious, not wanting to upset his wound more then he needed to. He saw small gashes in the crates in the storehouse.

"Hnnn… You're awake…Food…"

He rolled to the side as a large cleaver struck down, chipping the concrete away and making his eyes bulge out of his head. The last thing he remembered was the fact he took a swing at this creature. His eyes went along the large, muscled arm and settled the half hidden face. The mask he wore looked between a cross of a hockey mask, and a mechanic's visor minus the mouth cover. He looked at his bloody knuckles and the brute's broken tooth. A shallow gulp slipped from him.

"Oh c-crap."

"Food!"

The cleaver swung down again and narrowly missed him. His adrenaline pumped as he stumbled along, using the large crates and old meat lockers as cover. He had to use the shadows for now even as blood slipped from between his fingers. He slumped down, biting his lip to hold back a groan. He didn't, he could not, make a sound. He needed to stay safe until helped arrived.

Now the question he asked himself was would help get here in time? He looked at his bloody palm and started to pray.

He looked down at the long, squat building. He landed with a soft thud. His fingers traced along the stone, old, older then his father's time. Why didn't he know about this place? He stood straight again and peered into one of the tinted glass. He saw the flash of a bloody cleaver and it swung down. He saw another figure roll away and start running.

"Food!"

The voice boomed beneath him. It sent an unwanted chill up his spine.

He drew his grapple and shot it into the roof above an old, partially cracked window. He took a deep breath and dove down. He curled his body and broke through. The felt a shard of glass cut along his jaw but he didn't scowl. He went into an aerial roll, planting his feet on a crate and landed with a soft thud. Batman moved quickly, scanning left and right and listening to the tell tale sound of a cleaver clanging against metal. The most recent blow was close.

He turned and on an innate reflex he kicked up into the air. The blow struck his foe in the he—wait, chest? He aimed a high kick and it only struck the mark just below the sternum? He rolled back and threw two of his batarangs. The cleaver swung out, smashing one aside while the other dug into the man's shoulder. He pulled it out, grunting as he tossed it to the ground.

"…Food?" the large man asked in a stupor.

"Not tonight."

Two more were thrown and he ran forward before they impacted. His foot planted against the man's paunch and he punched twice into his exposed mouth. He leapt back, swinging out and catching his foot along the side of his head. He dropped down, rolling away before the cleaver swung down breaking the cement and chipping the cleaver's deadly edge.

Batman lunged in, spinning low and kicking at his knee before punching the opposite knee. He saw the man buckle and as he went into an uppercut the Cleaver surprised him, dropping one of his weapons and grabbing him by the cowl. He was caught off guard and his face was slammed against the crate. He saw stars and stumbled back. He swung out with his foot wildly and managed to catch the inside of the Cleaver's leg. He used that as a plant and spun up, slamming his heel into his mouth.

He seized the opportunity as the man was stunned and brought out his taser. With a squeeze both prongs pinched into the man's neck. His back hit the ground and his breath was taken from him. The Cleaver bucked and popped in every direction, dropping his last weapon before he fell onto the ground. He eased to his feet, grunting as he kept the trigger squeezed. He pulled the prongs out and they clicked back into place. The Cleaver was still. He reached his hand up, pressing against his comm.

"Jim, he's down… Send your team in."

"You got it."

Batman now started to search for the hostage. He moved a bit slower, his head was still pulsing, possible concussion but it was minor thankfully. His cowl was reinforced but against such a titanic blow? He was lucky his skull didn't break. He held his own breath, focusing on other sounds. This building was huge, and from the rest of the blood he saw he didn't have time.

He heard a cough. It was wet and faint, but it was there, to his right. He ran, ignoring his own pain, and stumbled upon the half-prone form of the survivor. There was a deep gash on his frame, minor bruising but nothing was severed or chopped off, strange. Maybe the Cleaver played with his food first? Something he'd write down in his personal log. His gloved hand slid out and checked his pulse. It was strong, beating defiantly.

"Nnh… What in th—Batman?"

The man stared at him with dark blue eyes under a head of lazy dark brown hair. He tried to get up but his strong grip kept him down.

"Easy." He cautioned the man.

He nodded, a defiant glare in his eye as he eased back down.

"Help will be on the way soon, sit tight." He brought up his comm again. "Jim, found the hostage. Three crates from the north entrance. It's marked YolokCo Meat Shipping."

"Not sticking around?"

"You know the answer to that Jim. Everyone knows the answer to that."