A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta! "Decisions" written by Tim Becker, Leon Ozug, and Chad Lenig. Recorded by Ascension Theory on their Answers album (Nightmare, 2005). Cass's GED question taken from the bestgedclasses website.

Potential connection
A chance to make things right
Alliance, defiance
A hope for things to change

—Tim Becker, Leon Ozug, Chad Lenig, "Decisions"

Chapter 44—Alliance and Defiance

The rest of Dick's Metropolis visit was fairly anticlimactic. Based on the testimony of the thug he'd intimidated, a judge was quick to issue a warrant for Simpson "Simp" Catelli's arrest. "As you know," Clark told him, "a reporter never reveals their sources, so I can't tell you how I found out, but Simp is so scared of ending up in gen pop at Stryker's that he's willing to name some extremely significant names."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "That source you can't reveal wouldn't by any chance be not so much another person, as a set of ears that become extra keen under a yellow sun, would it?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that hypothesis," Clark replied, looking down modestly. "However, it is fair to say that Intergang will be going through some major shake-ups. The ripples will probably reach Gotham before too long, if they aren't there already."

Dick sighed. "In other words, when Bruce tells me it's still too soon to advise Selina it's safe to come back, you're saying I shouldn't argue."

"Not yet. Simp is in protective custody. Argent moved back to Metropolis recently. I've asked her to keep an eye on him; make sure nobody gets to him before he can testify. However, even with her watching out for him, we both know that things might not go as smoothly as we hope. If anything should happen to Simp before the other cases go to trial..."

"Yeah," Dick nodded. "We can't rush this. It's just... I don't get to see my baby sister enough as it is. And Selina's good for Bruce right now. He's not the same with her gone, even though he's the one who arranged it."

"I understand."

Dick exhaled. "Anyway, I'd better get back to the hotel and pack up. I'm on the 8AM flight back to Gotham, and if I don't start getting organized now, I'll be too rushed and forget something later."

"I could get you a later flight," Clark said. "Without a plane, even."

"Thanks," Dick laughed, "but someone from PMWE might just be waiting at the airport to see me off. To avoid arousing suspicion, I think I'd better rough it in first class."

"Safe trip."

Oswald Cobblepot regarded his underling, his mouth a taut line that revealed nothing of what he was thinking. "Well?" he snapped.

In answer, the hulking enforcer jerked his chin toward a heavy wooden door. "He's in there, Mr. Cobblepot."

"And (wak!), in what condition?

The other man gave him a sinister smile. "We haven't started the fun without you, Boss."

Cobblepot smiled back. Then he headed for the door. In response to his imperious rap, it swung open and two more burly henchmen inclined their heads respectfully as he entered.

Bound to a chair in the middle of the room was a sweating man in his mid-thirties. He was stripped to the waist, revealing sculpted biceps and pecs, and his expression was murderous. "Do you have any idea who I am?" he demanded. "When Mannheim hears about this he'll—"

Cobblepot chortled menacingly. "Mannheim has his hands full closer to home (wak!). It seems that one of his birdies is a rather talkative pigeon. Now (wak!), I think we both know you're nowhere near as indispensible as you like to pretend, or he wouldn't have sent you out here in the first place. Anything I do to you..." He lifted his closed umbrella and gave its tip a savage twist. The tip came off as the center spine extended several inches, becoming a wicked-looking blade. "...will be easily smoothed over by a letter of apology and a bottle of good cognac." His smile grew vicious as he saw a bead of sweat appear on the captive's forehead. "I think it's time we had a frank discussion about Mannheim's plans for Gotham. The more honest you are, the greater the likelihood you'll come out of this without visible scars or (wak!) other permanent damage. So." He reached behind him with the umbrella, snagged a stool, dragged it closer, and sat down. Clasping his hands together, he peered through his monocle and said mildly, "I'm sure, my good man, that under the right circumstances, you can be a fascinating conversationalist. One with many intriguing subjects on which you can discourse at length." He drew closer, smirking a bit when the other man recoiled from the herring and garlic on his breath. "Go ahead," he coaxed. "Intrigue me..."

He spotted her as soon as he stepped into the arrivals area, long before she rolled forward and started waving. He strode toward her, stooped and wrapped her in a bear hug. "Man, you are the proverbial sight for sore eyes."

Laughing, Barbara returned the hug. "You saw me on Skrype not even two hours ago!" she exclaimed.

"It was a long ninety-eight minutes," Dick replied. "Good to be home."

"Good to have you home," Barbara said. "I was hoping you'd have popped in sooner."

"I wanted to, you know I did. But..."

"Yeah." The Intergang situation had demanded more attention than either of them had expected and it wasn't as though Barbara had been home twiddling her thumbs either. While he'd been in Metropolis, she'd been helping both the League and the Society with several serious issues—one of which was not quite resolved, yet. Not that they could discuss any of that freely in the crowded airport.

"Let's go grab your luggage," Barbara said brightly, "and we'll catch up on the way home."

"Catch up?" Dick laughed, trotting to catch up with the wheelchair.

"Well, it was a long ninety-eight minutes..."

Dick was laughing as he reached for the teapot. "They didn't know what hit 'em, did they?"

"They'll be better prepared next time," Barbara grinned back. "Bruce cooked the whole thing up to give the cadets some experience going up against metas, but I think it was good for the Titans, too. I mean..." she looked down, but not in time to hide the pink flush stealing across her cheeks. "You'd think a cop's daughter would know better, really," she admitted, "but when we're out there facing threats, so the police don't have to... it's easy to start thinking that we're doing it because the police aren't capable. One big reason, I think, that Bruce set up the exercise: bad enough when we think that way. If the police think so, too..."

Dick nodded. "We can't be everywhere, much as we'd like to be. Depending on how much activity there is in the city on a given night, it's very possible that they could be going toe-to-toe against some of the Costumes."

"Yeah. At any rate," Barbara continued, "I think that after last weekend, the Titans aren't going be thinking that way anymore. They got their butts handed to them by a bunch of trainees, and a good part of the reason why is that they were overconfident and underestimated the competition." She grinned. "They were good sports about it, though. I think Tim was proud of them."

"Good." His smile dropped. "Now, what's going on with the Families?"

Barbara sighed. "It's like a country with proportional representation the day after the election: a bunch of small political parties falling over themselves trying to form alliances. So far, it's been pretty bloodless. I get the feeling that the heads remember the mob war all too well. They're trying to keep it contained, but it's a powder keg. Sooner or later, some spark is going to ignite another bloodbath."

"Unless someone shows up with a hose and starts soaking all that powder," Dick replied.

"Yes."

Dick frowned. "In your opinion, who among the Family heads would be most likely to listen to reason and most likely to convince others to do the same?"

Barbara barely had to think about her answer. "Don Enrico Inzerillo. He's currently heading a six-family coalition, he's usually deliberate in his actions, and he tries to keep bloodshed minimal, though he will kill—or have others kill for him—if he thinks it necessary."

"Thanks." Dick took a sip of his tea, made a face, and reached for the sugar bowl. "I'll pay a call on him as soon as I have a quiet night, but keep on top of things and let me know if I need to move up the timetable."

Alex leaned back in his chair and smiled. "So, it sounds as though it went well," he remarked.

Bruce nodded, a faint smile crossing his own lips. "When I suggested it," he said, "I think I was concerned that, instead of raising morale, the exercise would lower it. If they lost, I mean. And I know I was concerned that they would automatically look to me for guidance."

"Did that worry you?" Alex asked. "From our earlier discussions about your need to control, one might guess that you'd want them to look to you."

Bruce shook his head. "Yes and no. They were worried about facing meta threats in the field. I'm one person. One person with no meta powers of my own. I can't be everywhere." His lips twitched. "Although I'm not sorry that certain elements among the population seem to believe I can be."

"But you can't believe your own hype."

"I know better." Bruce shook his head. "The one thing I didn't want was for them to sit back and expect Batman to handle it."

"Even though, in the past, one might wonder if that was exactly what you wanted in the real world."

Bruce winced. "Again, I can't be everywhere. But," he admitted, "I suppose I did expect the officers to stay back and let me work, if I happened to be close by."

Alex nodded. "So, what's different now?"

Bruce was silent for a long moment. "I wonder," he began slowly. "To do what I do... what I've done in the past, I've had to justify it to myself. When my parents were murdered, the police were unable to catch the killer. When I began operating as Batman, organized crime had a stranglehold on the city. Police corruption was at an all-time high. I..." he shook his head. "I wonder whether I didn't just automatically assume that the average police officer was, at best, ineffective, at worst... part of the problem. When Jim Gordon took over, he weeded out the worst of the lot, but I think my overall first impressions remained."

"That most police officers were... sub-par?"

"I encountered many who weren't," Bruce admitted, slumping a bit in his chair, "but I think I always took them as the exception, rather than the rule." He shook his head. "This past weekend, I saw an entire class of cadets come together and win a friendly competition against a team of highly-trained individuals, some of whom possessed meta powers, others who possessed high-tech weapons and defenses. In some cases, they had both. They won almost entirely on their own, without my help."

Alex waited. Bruce sighed. "I made the rules. I had to follow them. I got taken out early, leaving the field to the others. And they came together as a team, came up with their own plan, and won." He frowned. "This time," he said slowly, "I wasn't in control. It worked out. But, in the field, they won't be fighting the Teen Titans. I want to trust them. I want to remember their performance this weekend. But the fact remains, if I don't step in and someone pays the price..."

"I think you said it yourself a few minutes ago," Alex remarked. "You can't be everywhere. I'm going to add my two cents to that: there is a chain of command and right now, you aren't at the top of it. It's not all on your shoulders."

Bruce sighed again. "An easy thing to say from behind a desk. A harder thing to remember in the middle of a showdown."

Alex nodded. "I can imagine. But then, that's part of what we're here to work on."

Bruce nodded. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'm fooling myself about my chances of getting there." He took a deep breath and let it out. "But then... I think about one of my allies. Batgirl. She had an... abnormal childhood. It's left her with numerous challenges, not least of which include poor communication skills." His lips twitched. "I don't mean my own... problems with... with opening up. She was raised in an environment without the spoken word. I believe she was completely mute until her late teens—not for any medical reason, but simply, because she was never exposed to verbal language. She was never taught to read. She developed a rudimentary sign language and she can read other peoples' movements, but until she was..." Bruce frowned. He didn't really know how old Cass was; he'd never seen a birth certificate. Still, he had a good idea. "...Somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen or eighteen, that was all she had."

Alex's eyebrows shot up. "You're saying that she would have missed most of the development milestones for language and communication. Those are generally difficult to pick up as an adult. Extremely difficult."

"I know," Bruce nodded. "And she did have some help of a kind not... commonly available. A telepath was able to..." he frowned, thinking about how to phrase it, "to kick-start the language center of her brain. He gave her comprehension and vocabulary, though she had to learn the grammar and syntax for herself. And it's only in the last year or so that she's managed to read. Slowly. She's studying for her GED now. She'll be taking it with accommodations made for her reading disability, but I've seen her struggle to master the material. All of the material; she never studied mathematics or science either, and I'm not positive she had any concept of social studies whatsoever before opening her study guide. Barbara has sent me some of her essay attempts. With the Academy course load, I haven't always had time to read them, but I've looked at several. They are... remarkable, for someone who was still struggling with the alphabet last year."

Bruce sighed. "She is pushing herself to learn in roughly ten months a curriculum that takes most people four years. And from the reports I'm getting, she's succeeding. She may not be excelling, at least," he smiled, "not according to the objective benchmarks set by those who designed the test. But I do believe that she will pass it. And two years ago, she could neither write nor recognize her own name."

He let out another breath. "I'm not competing with her, not exactly. You don't need to repeat to me that everybody has their own challenges, and it's not right to compare mine to hers. That's not what I'm doing. But every time I feel myself growing frustrated with the Academy, with the circumstances that have forced me to enroll, with my... issues, with this past year as an outpatient..." his lips curved in a faint smile, "I find that if I can remember to take a mental step back for a moment and think about her challenges, I can get a better perspective on my own." He looked away, a bit embarrassed at having said so much. "At least, it makes it easier to stay the course."

"It sounds like it," Alex said. "And there's nothing wrong with a little inspiration. As far as other coping mechanisms, I believe that some time back, you mentioned meditation? How has that been working for you?"

Cass yanked her computer keyboard loose and hurled it across the room. It hit a weight machine with a muted bang, rebounded, and landed intact on the mat.

"Um..." an embarrassed voice called from the doorway, "did I forget your birthday or something?"

"Dodge?" Cass asked incredulously as her eyes took in the blond boy in the modified baseball uniform. She shook her head. "Sorry."

Dodge stepped into the room. "So you didn't just chuck that thing at me," he said, walking over to pick it up. He brought it to her.

Cass accepted it with a slight smile. "If I did," she said, "wouldn't miss." Her smile fell away. "GED. Social studies. Too much to remember."

"Yeah?" Dodge walked over to the computer. "What kind of stuff?"

"Um..." She frowned, trying to remember. "Um... Alien and Sedition Acts?"

For a moment, Dodge's frown matched her own. "That sounds familiar," he admitted. "That was... who? Jefferson?"

Cass pulled the headphones out of her computer and replayed the question on speaker so Dodge could hear it.

"Which of the following is not an aspect of the Alien and Sedition Acts passed by congress in 1798 and signed into law by President Adams?"

Dodge slapped his forehead. "Adams! I knew it was one of the guys who signed the Declaration of Independence. I just couldn't remember which one!"

"Sh!" Cass hissed. "You missed choices." She directed the software to replay the answers.

"One: New powers to deport foreigners. Two: Make it challenging for new immigrants to vote. Three: Prohibition of public opposition to government. Four: High sales tax on foreign goods."

Cass made a face as she paused the screen reader. "I can't make it... sink in."

Dodge frowned. "Wait. 'Aliens' means... well, today, it usually means people from other planets, but back then, it meant people from other countries. And 'sedition'... I think that's treason. Like leading a revolution!" He snapped his fingers. "Yeah. These acts were drafted because after the French Revolution, the US was in a kind of... not exactly an official war, but close... with France. The government said the new laws were supposed to be good for national security, but a lot of people thought they were mostly to keep the government in power."

"Oh," Cass said softly. "Okay. I... think I understand. But... the question? Which answer?"

Dodge smiled. "Well, the government's support came mostly from the people whose families had been living in America for a long time. Immigrants tended to support the other parties."

Cass remembered something. "Immigrants can't... vote. Not until citizens."

"Right. But if you're the government and you think that as soon as these people get the vote, the first chance they get, they're going to vote you out of office... What can you do to make it harder for them?"

Cass blinked. "Make it hard for them to vote. So that's... Answer two is not wrong answer!"

"Right. What else?"

This time, Cass replied with more confidence. "Scare them. Make them think if they are against government it could be..." What was that word again? "Sedition. So... So I think... Answers One and Three are also right. So wrong answer would be Four: High sales tax on foreign goods."

Dodge nodded vigorously. "I think so, too. I mean, maybe there was a high sales tax on foreign goods, but you don't put that in with a bunch of laws designed to keep immigrants down. You put it in with the economy or... or... the budget or something."

Cass pressed her lips together. "These laws... acts..." she shook her head. "I don't... Dodge? I am immigrant. Alien. These are not... fair."

"Yeah," Dodge nodded. "I know. My family came over after the Second World War. I'm just third generation."

"What?" Cass blinked at the unfamiliar term.

The boy laughed. "It means my grandparents immigrated here; they're first generation to be American citizens. Then my parents are second. Then's me and Rory; we're third. But except for Native Americans, we all immigrated here. It's just that the longer your family lives here, I guess it becomes easier to forget that when a new group wants to come in."

"Oh."

Dodge smiled. "If it helps, most of those laws didn't last more than three years. And they got enough people riled up that Adams actually lost the 1800 election to Jefferson."

"Oh."

"Anyway," Dodge continued, "with some of these questions, even if you don't know the answer, you can kind of work it out."

Cass hesitated. "You can stay?" she asked slowly. "Help more?"

Dodge grinned.

"You're on your own from here on out," Bruce remarked, as he and Brenner led their mounts into the police stables. "I'd recommend finding time to practice, but you've got the basics now. Just keep working at it and you'll do fine."

Brenner smiled. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I really appreciate your taking the time to..."

Bruce cut him off. "I didn't do it for you, Brenner. I did it because I think we've all run enough laps and performed enough push-ups without being assigned more because someone couldn't keep pace with the rest of the squad. My ulterior motivation just happened to work out in your favor."

"Yes, sir," Brenner repeated in the same tone of voice. As he led his horse into the stall, he added in an undertone, "In a pig's eye, sir."

When Bruce snapped his head to look at him, Brenner was pointedly whistling as he brushed the big brown mare. He decided to let the matter rest.

Bruce had quickly gotten used to the semi-ostracism practiced by most of his fellow cadets and some of his instructors since he'd blown the whistle on Jandt. While some, like Laramie and Farnham had been more forthcoming with jibes and snide remarks, most of the others had pretty much ignored him. They weren't obvious about it. In fact, Bruce might have believed that it was all in his head. Except that somehow, no matter where he sat in the cafeteria, there was always empty space at the table on either side, across from him, and, when his back wasn't to a wall, behind him. Between classes, when the cadets had a few minutes to stand around and talk, they did so in small knots, leaving him on the outside.

There were three exceptions. He wouldn't have considered them friends, though. As his fellow squad leader, Ortega often bounced ideas off of him. And outside of class, she was quick to ask for his help with covering the material. Norton and Brenner made a point of trying to stand up for him—not that he needed, wanted, or expected it—and that might have made it easier, had Bruce been one to invite small talk. Instead, while he did appreciate their efforts, he considered the relationships to be 'friendly', but he didn't think of them as 'friends'. He knew that they'd be better off if they left him alone, like most of the other cadets, and he didn't do anything to encourage their overtures, in hope that they'd figure it out sooner, rather than later.

For the most part, he threw himself into his classwork, focused on not doing anything to earn a collective punishment, and told himself that the way others treated him was irrelevant. Often enough, he believed it. It was easier if he didn't pay more attention to his surroundings than he had to. His academy world consisted of classes, quizzes, and drills, and he couldn't afford time for socializing.

It took him until Wednesday morning—four days after the Capture the Flag event—to realize that Laramie had just wished him a good morning as he passed by. That, in fact, he'd been hearing similar greetings directed at him every day this week and it hadn't registered. He told himself it meant nothing. He wasn't here to be popular. He was here as a means to an end. No more, no less.

Even so, when lunchtime rolled around and Kotsopoulos slid into the seat across from him, mumbling a question about whether it was taken, Bruce's smile was a good deal more genuine than the one he'd been affecting for weeks to show that he wasn't bothered by all the cold shoulders. "Uh... no," he replied. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." He tore open the cellophane packet of saltines and crumbled them into his soup. "How do you think you did on the Radio Communication Codes pop quiz?"

"So anyway," Barbara continued, "that's where things stand now. I'm sorry you're hearing it from me, but..."

On the vid-screen, Selina shifted Helena from one thigh to the other. "I know," she said, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Bruce won't tell me until he knows he's not raising my hopes for nothing."

"Basically," Barbara sighed. "I just figured you could use some good news, even if it's not as good as it could be."

Selina shook her head. "Somehow," she said, "I don't think I can call 'sitting on the verge of Mob War II' any kind of good news."

Chastened, Barbara felt her face grow warm. "You're right," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking that with Intergang in disarray, they'd leave you alone..."

"...But if Gotham turns into another battlefield between the Families," Selina finished, "it won't be any safer."

Helena suddenly beamed at the vid screen. "Bawba!" she exclaimed. "Hi!"

Barbara laughed. "Hi, Helena," she replied, speaking a bit more loudly and slowly. A voice in her mind demanded to know why she wasn't just talking normally. She stifled it, thinking with a measure of pride that she, at least, hadn't resorted to baby talk.

"Hi, Bawba!" Helena repeated. "Hi!"

"Hi!" Barbara waved. Then, glancing again at Selina, while still smiling at the child on her lap, she continued, "Dick is going to try to talk to Inzerillo. He seems like the least trigger-happy of the lot."

Selina nodded. "Enrico's no saint, but he can be made to see reason... if he doesn't let his ambitions override his commonsense. He'd like nothing better than to run the Underworld. If he eliminates Batman, the families will probably fall in behind him... and Penguin won't be in much of a position to oppose."

"You think Dick could be walking into a trap."

Selina shook her head. "I didn't say that. Frankly, I doubt that Enrico is planning to take out Batman. He's not going to order a hit or... or put a price on his head. But if Batman happens to call on him and Enrico thinks he can catch him off-guard... Let's just say the man is capable of making a spur-of-the-moment decision and it might not be the one you're hoping for."

Barbara nodded. "I'll pass your warning on. Meanwhile... stay safe."

"You, too."

Hush listened to False Face's report without interrupting once. When his doppelganger was done, Hush exhaled slowly. "I appreciate your coming around to tell me this in person," he said. "It's becoming far too easy for too many parties to tap other lines of communication."

"What do you think?" False Face asked. "Should we take up Intergang's invitation?"

"You sound dubious."

False Face snorted. "They tried to kill me in cold blood and succeeded with a good many others. I'm finding it hard to be dispassionate."

"They make war that they may live in peace," Hush replied. "But there is a matter of timing to consider."

False Face nodded slowly. "They've ticked off a lot of people with that stunt. We shouldn't get involved until we see how the chips are going to fall."

"Exactly," Hush nodded back. "Right now, those chips are still in the wind. Let's wait until they settle. The more players removed from the board now, the fewer we'll need to expend resources taking out later. I'm in no great hurry. Let's just sit back and enjoy the show."

In times like these, Enrico Inzerillo made a point of surrounding himself with the best protection his money could buy. In addition to loyal members of his family, he had an arrangement with one of the yakuza groups operating in Gotham that could best be termed a mutual defense pact. Street gangs knew that they would be more or less left alone, providing they served as his eyes and ears. He didn't like dealing with mercenaries. He wanted people who were loyal to him, or at least, indebted. Preferably both. Still, with the situation as tense as it was, he'd laid aside his scruples and hired outsiders to swell his ranks.

He was no longer concerned with assassination. However, he was well aware that no matter how good his protection was, there were circumstances under which they could not be relied upon.

There was a commotion going on at the front of the warehouse. Even in his office, behind the main storage area, he could hear gunshots. There were muffled thuds punctuated by grunts and cries of pain, the steel-on-steel clang of what was probably the impact of a gun on a shelf support.

Inzerillo sighed to himself. He might have a lot of good people on his payroll, but he knew when they were outclassed. He beckoned to one of his lieutenants to draw closer and, when the man did so, he said, "Make sure that everyone who needs medical attention gets it. And give the mercenaries an extra twenty per cent on top." If money commanded their loyalty, he needed them to stay loyal. Injuries earned while defending an uncaring employer could sometimes lead to a rethinking of priorities. He couldn't afford that right now. Not when he knew that most of the people targeting him did not subscribe to a no-kill policy.

The door burst open. Inzerillo quickly held up a hand, warning his bodyguards to stand down, as Batman stalked into the room.

"I trust you didn't hurt them too badly," Inzerillo said dryly.

Batman smiled. "Not unless they tried to hurt me first. We need to talk, Enrico."

Inzerillo was silent for a long moment. "Usually," he said finally, his voice as dispassionate as if he'd been giving directions to a tourist, "a man wants to talk, he goes through channels. Makes an appointment. My guys aren't trigger-happy. They would've passed on your request, if you'd made it. Instead, you barge into my place of business, you disrupt my enterprises, and you attack the people I hire to defend me." He regarded Batman with a tense frown. "So," he sighed. "What is it you want?"

For a moment, Inzerillo actually thought that the Bat was embarrassed, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. The Bat took a step forward, his cape swirling ominously behind him. Then he took a breath. "An alliance."

"Come again?" Inzerillo said, trying to cover his surprise.

Batman nodded. "You know what's coming just as surely as I do. I don't think anybody wants a repeat of that summer, nearly four years ago."

"We've taken measures," Inzerillo replied calmly. "It won't happen."

"How many lives are you willing to bet on that?" Batman asked.

"Why come to me? Why not Bressi or Falcone?"

Batman smiled. "I thought about it. They might. But you and me, Enrico? We've had our differences, but it's never been personal. I figured you'd at least hear me out. Things are tense. It's not going to take much of a spark to ignite an inferno. I'm trying to keep things contained, just like you are, but our chances improve if we work together. Besides, neither one of us wants Intergang to come in and take over, right?"

Inzerillo considered. Then he laughed. "They've really got you running scared, don't they? Me? I'm not too worried. See, I don't think they can afford to come in right now, considering what's been going on in Metropolis. Now, you're right about one thing: the city is a powder keg. Thanks to the stunt they pulled, there is a power vacuum in the city right now, and there are plenty of people hoping to fill it. But see, when the chips are down," he smiled, "I've got a feeling I'll be in a pretty strong position. After all," he continued, as his bodyguards cocked their guns and trained them on Batman, "I doubt anybody's going to seriously want to take on the family that snuffed the Bat."