Swissotel the Bosphorous, Istanbul. 6 months earlier.

The balmy, light breeze blew through the open balcony window and filled the room with a heady scent of woodsmoke, spices, and the ocean as he rolled over and stared out at the fading late afternoon light. Briefly, he contemplated staying in bed and blowing off the whole thing. He could pretend he was just on another vacation; maybe get up in another hour or two and see what kind of trouble he could get into after dark. Not exactly the reason he was in this part of the world to begin with but he could try to at least keep up appearances, right?

Bruce Wayne, former Billionaire, lay on his back in the king-size bed, wearing only pair of dark grey leisure pants, arms behind his head, and let his thoughts meander. He hated to admit that all good things did come to an end, but he knew better the moment she slipped away in the night. No, there was never any discussion about it, no declarations, no passionate monologues. Not really their style. They were just two individuals that had made hard choices in life and now life was giving them a way out it seemed. He didn't even really know long it was exactly since she joined him at his little, unbalanced table tucked in the back corner of the cliffside Amalfi restaurant; a vision in a cobalt blue dress, hair tousled, eyes hidden behind a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses no less. She smiled at him like an old friend and he ordered them a bottle of Barolo. Salute'. To alter egos and to Gotham. May they never see either again. Bruce exhaled now at the memory. It was hard to accept that he was now letting Alfred down again but if he were truly honest with himself, he knew that such a life of privilege was never meant to be. Joe Chill had made sure of that.

Forty five minutes later, after showering, shaving, and doing several reps of alternating push ups and planking, Bruce slipped on a black shirt, tailored pants and a dinner jacket and made his way downstairs. It was convenient that tonight's event was being held in his hotel as opposed to the venue where the conference had been held all week. He never intended to rent a car or hire himself a driver in order to keep a low profile but had opted to get around the city via taxi; not something he had done often and it didn't take long for him to remember why.

Waiters and bussers on their way to and from greeted him as they passed him on his way and a doorman nodded politely and opened the door for him when he reached the grand Asuka ballroom. Loud live-music from a 10 piece band hit him as soon as he entered the lavishly-decorated space. There were people everywhere laughing and chatting in groups as they ate away on various grilled vegetables, seafood, lamb and other Turkish cuisine. His stomach let out a faint growl as he walked by some woman's laden small plate, but instead he settled on swiping the last glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

He wandered the perimeter of the room, glass in hand, studying the smiles and gestures of the couture-drenched and well-coiffed attendees. The gala was the final event being hosted by the Zurich Institute but in actuality was being financed by Rupert Thorne, the enigmatic CEO of Thorne Industries. Only someone with Thorne's grasping ambition would spend money so conspicuously to secure the necessary donorship base, and attract them he did. Every day that Bruce had been spent at the Manifest Destiny Conference held at the regal Ciragan Palace Hotel, Bruce had seen the cream of Silicon Valley's crop, the brightest minds from scientific institutions from Hong Kong and Norway, and every oil and real estate mogul just dying to live forever, or at least discover whatever new drug Thorne was looking to manufacture. As unfamiliar Bruce was with the biomedical field, he was at least aware of the esteemed scientist whose eye Thorne was really trying to catch. Dr. Victor Fries, co-founder of The Zurich Institute, was the fragile, but brilliant keynote speaker for this particular conference due to his extensive research in the field and the supposed honoree for this fundraiser. Whatever Thorne's next business venture would be, more than likely had the world of medicine in mind and Bruce had a hunch that Thorne had found his very own Dr. Frankenstein.

There was no sign of the doctor however, which didn't surprise Bruce in the least, but he spotted the man himself, Thorne, deep in conversation with a comely brunette in a long red evening gown. Although her back was to Bruce, the look on smitten Thorne's face was a dead giveaway; any disappointment at Dr. Fries' absence surely vanished as soon as that red dress showed up. Bruce also took note of the 8 members of hotel security stationed at various points around the room. Sipping his champagne from the minimalist-designed flute, Bruce started counting the plainclothes police officers that were there. Events like these were usually very secure but the presence of an undercover force was interesting. If anything, it meant a guy like Thorne was nervous but more than that, it meant he had something nearby worth protecting. At least Bruce knew he had been led to the right place.

Satisfied with his scout, Bruce handed off his empty glass to a server, slipped from the ballroom and made his way to the elevator bank. He punched the button for the top floor and as the elevator rose, he went over the evening's schedule in his head. Thorne would be giving a speech in 22 minutes after which he was expected to make a brief errand to Bruce's destination. He had timed everything precisely, giving himself a spare 3 minutes in case anything should go south. He hadn't planned on bumping into Thorne while trespassing in Thorne's office, but Bruce knew with her involved, it might make things a little more...complicated.

Exiting the elevator, he removed the small tension wrench from his pocket and headed towards the boiler room located at the far end. Picking the lock in just under 13 seconds, Bruce slipped inside and pulled a ladder from the wall and set it up in the back corner of the room. He found the loose ceiling tile and shifted it to the side. Hoisting himself, up and through, he made his way through the ventilation system until he reach the opposite end and pushed the grated opening out. It clattered to the ground below, signaling that he had reached the restricted access stairwell. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the top and another door that this time would only be locked from the outside.

Pushing the door open, Bruce cautiously made his way onto the uneven rooftop and looked out over the city nightscape. In the distance, he could see the golden orbs lighting the spires and domes of the Hagia Sophia shining in the darkness; below the lively streets of Istanbul as packs of tourists strolled the streets, meandering from bazaar vendor to vendor, taking selfies, or enjoying a nice sidewalk dinner in the warm, darkening twilight. He could even hear the faint pulse of a nightclub reverberate faintly in the night. Since arriving in Istanbul three days before, he had spent very little time absorbing the Turkish nightlife and its sensual enticements. He had convinced himself that there was still more work to be done and that Gotham's defense sometimes lay way beyond its city limits.

He walked to the edge or the roof and peered down at his target, the neighboring building where Thorne had his clandestine office from which he had been operating since last November. It would be quite the challenge to get across and Bruce was suddenly wishing he still used that bloody cane once in awhile. Suddenly, he heard a tiny meow out of the darkness. Bruce listened, smiling to himself and decided to follow the animal's sounds. The purrs grew louder as he approached until a pair of eyes glowed back at him and he could just make out the black and grey feline, perched on the edge of the roof.

"Here, Kitty," he whispered, slowly approaching the ledge.

The cat simply stared back at him for a moment before meowing nastily and leaping off. Bruce rushed over just in time to see its lithe, furry form land on a narrow strip of concrete jutting from the neighboring building. The cat continued its descent from ledge to windowsill before landing safely on a balcony. Was he really about to let a cat show him how to scale a building? Shaking his head, he looked around for a more feasible route until he spied a series of rails attached to the neighboring building. The distance between the two buildings wasn't what worried him, nor the height exactly. It was whether he was any good without the suit.

It was a question he had asked himself more than a few times and each time the answer was less and less conclusive. Physically, the years, the criminals, the Joker, the Asylum, Bane, the pit….all had taunted the Batman relentlessly, pushing his body further and further towards the breaking point. Nevertheless, Gordon always had faith in Gotham's Dark Knight and he had yet to disappoint. Only Alfred knew what it was costing the man underneath the mask. Would Bruce Wayne worth much if he couldn't fight for justice in the shadows? Justice always had a price, his friend Harvey had taught him that.

He shut out the voice in his head and swung his legs over the side. Carefully, he let himself down the side of the building, his hands finding purchase in the various crevices on the building's exterior until his foot found a wide enough ledge just within range of the rails. Lunging across, he closed the gap and seized the top rung and made his way down two stories to his target. Using the same tension wrench, he worked a window open and let himself into an empty room that was in the midst of being repainted. Quickly, he made his way across, opened the door and out into the level where Thorne had purchased an office. Bruce checked his watch before striding over to the Thorne's office door. He pulled out a duplicate of the chip card that he had made and slipped it through the card reader, unlocking the door.

Pushing the door open noiselessly, he pressed himself up against the wall and stopped. Even though the room was dark, he had memorized the blueprint layout of the room from when he had studied it. Technically, it wasn't even Thorne's office, more of a makeshift satellite office for the new business he suddenly acquired over the last 14 months; business Bruce was certain that Thorne Industries' board of directors were woefully unaware of.

Silently but swiftly, he crossed the room, eyes fixed on the back inner office. With the fundraiser in full swing and Thorne thoroughly preoccupied with his intimate conversation, Bruce estimated that he would only have about 8 minutes before the next security sweep. He knew that the two cameras, one at the north end and the one one the south had been hijacked with pre-recorded footage which had made his entry into the office easier but would only work until Thorne's detail came to do a live check of the office itself. Which meant she would only have about 3 minutes.

To all appearances, the office door was locked and had most likely been that way until she found a way to disable the digital entry. He decided to see just how well he knew her and gave the door a slight nudge. It swayed open a little and Bruce squeezed himself through the smallest opening he would hazard. The office was dark as expected except for the infinitesimal glow coming from just the interior light of Thorne's now open vault along the back wall behind his desk.

He stood for a moment as he watched the familiar figure with the custom night vision eyewear over her head route around inside the vault. He didn't know whether to be impressed at her skill or disappointed at how they had both fallen so easily back into old ways.

"You know you could probably see better if you turned the lights on," he announced evenly, before flipping on the switch, flooding the office with light.

If she was startled, she didn't show it but instead turned around slowly, stood and lifted her special eyewear over her head. In lieu of her signature full-length black bodysuit and boots, she wore a rather delicate looking blush-hued evening gown of chiffon, a large diamond choker adorning her neck.

"Somewhere there's a joke here about bad pennies but you've probably never seen one," she answered tightly.

"I know what pennies are," he replied. " They're those uh, they're the ones you leave under kids pillows, right?"

Selina snorted "Figures...cheapskate," she muttered and turned back to her task at hand.

Bruce stepped further into Thorne's office watching her remove several small items from the vault.

"Is this about that gelato place we went to? I'll buy you three scoops next time."

Selina laughed and shook her head, sighing.

"Florence was fun, Bruce. And I did love that stracciatella."

"So why leave?" he asked, moving closer but still observing her every movement carefully.

She shrugged. "Nothing good last forever. And it was time a girl got back to being bad."

Selina lifted her leg, the garments gauzy fabric of her evening gown falling open at the thigh slit, revealing a black garter a little more than 2 inches wide around her left leg. She zipped open the tiniest opening no more than 2 cm big and slipped something into her leg accouterment.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked.

She shot him a derisive look and lowered her leg.

"I meant, you do realize that the man who owns that vault probably won't have any qualms making sure anyone who steals from him disappears for good? He's not exactly about the due process of the law. "

Selina gave him a saccharine smile and clutched her hands to her chest.

"Aw, are saying you'd miss me? Aren't you a big softie."

"No, I mean it's hard to return a dress when you're dead."

"Oh, good. Won't need to blow open that safe after all."

Bruce and Selina turned at the sound of a deep baritone as three men in identical uniforms of dark green pants, black long-sleeved and dark green vests entered Thorne's office. Unlike Bruce and Selina, they clearly hadn't been dressed for the Gala downstairs and were most likely carrying concealed weapons. Bruce could tell from the way they moved across the room and positioned themselves between the exits and Bruce and Selina, that they were most likely ex-Military. It wasn't clear exactly, whether they were associated with Thorne or were a third party that Bruce would have to add to his growing investigation.

"Sorry boys," Selina cooed. "Finders, keepers."

"You sell those to whoever hired you to steal them and your billionaire boyfriend over there is going to be more than a little pissed off at you," the man baritone added.

"He's not my boyfriend," Selina rolled her eyes.

"Look, whatever you want, you're going to have to take it up with Mr. Thorne," Bruce said. "I've never done any business with Thorne."

"I wouldn't exactly call you business partners either, but here we are," the one who apparently was the group's spokesman, said. His English was flawless for what seemed like a non-Native English speaker accent. Bruce couldn't place it with certainty, but thought it leaned heavily Central European. He was the tallest of the three but also the most slender, a scar running from his left temple and along his jaw. The others were built rather solidly and probably around 200 lbs each.

"What are you talking about?" Bruce asked gruffly.

"Bruce," Selina cautioned.

The man with scar smiled broadly, amused by Bruce's reaction. "You wanna tell him whose name is written that drive you got tucked up under there or shall I?" he asked Selina, pointedly.

"What's on the drives?" Bruce said. He was doing his best to keep his voice even. Any sign of distress could easily give scarface and company more of an upper hand.

"One drive holds something very important to my boss. The other is a list of account numbers to where you've been keeping that rainy day fund of yours after that freak drained you dry with his little stunt at the stock exchange."

Bruce looked over at Selina who stood motionless, arms folded.

"He's bluffing," she replied, stone-faced.

"What do you care?" Scarface scoffed. "Not your money. So hand over the drives and I won't rearrange pretty boy's face over there." His other three partners then all reached into their vests and pulled out their handguns- all with silencers, Bruce noted. He looked over at Selina who raised an eyebrow and leveled her head.

"Don't do it, Selina," Bruce warned.

Slowly, Selina leaned over, reached down into the slit of her dress and pulled out the drives.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," she answered, gingerly handing them over to the thug standing at her side, who then gave them to Scarface.

Bruce remained still and looked back at Selina. She wore a frightened look on her face that almost had even Bruce convinced but he didn't matter. She had them and only he knew just how this would end.

"You should be," Bruce replied. "Those account numbers are worth 50 times more than your dress."

"How would you know?" Selina asked, her voice shifting to subtly playful. "Did I leave the tag on again?"

"You didn't exactly buy that dress," he replied.

"Guilty," Selina smirked. "But you know I look good. "

It was barely a fraction of a second but it worked and the one who was standing by her took his eyes off Selina's face and looked down at her dress. Stupid but effective.

Selina threw her elbow up straight into his nose. Disoriented, he took an unbalanced step backwards, allowing Selena to ram her knee straight to his groin, causing him to double over, dropping his gun. Selina bent down, grabbed it and quickly fired it at the other two before ducking behind Thorne's desk.

Bruce seized their brief element of surprise and swung his foot into the back thigh of the man standing next to him. The man sank to the floor and Bruce brought his arm down hard on the man's neck. Bruce moved quickly but not enough time for him to find cover before Scarface aimed his gun at Bruce. Two shots rang out and he jerked backwards, dropping his gun.

Selina had managed to shoot from behind the desk and hit the man in the arm and leg with the gun she had snatched.

"No guns, remember!" Bruce heaved.

"If that was a 'thank you'," Selina spat, "You're welcome!"

The man whose nose she had probably broken, struggled to his feet and lunged towards Selina but she was too quick for him and thrust the butt of his gun back in his face, knocking him back flat on his back. Bruce managed to also strike both Scarface and the third man unconscious while Selina scrambled to retrieve the drives she had handed over and which had scattered across the floor after she shot him.

"Thorne's on his way," a slightly winded Bruce warned.

"Right behind you," she said, as they rushed back through the office and out into the corridor. This time he led them to another stairwell which they took down three flights.

"Here," Selina said, motioning for them to exit the stairwell, bringing them out into what looked like the hallway of a post-war style apartment complex, chandeliers lighting the tan and gray interior, a large 6 foot arched window at the opposite end.

"Little overdressed for a work night, don't you think?" he asked, following her down the hall towards the window.

"I don't know about you, but I was at fabulous fundraising gala all evening," she heaved, straining to force the window open. It opened with a crack and she was able to slide it all the way up.

"So that's the story you're going with this time?" Bruce said, amused.

She flashed him a saucy grin and began tying her long blonde, hair into a ponytail.

"More or less."

"Any idea who your little fan club in there was?"

"No clue. My competitors, perhaps?" Selina shook her head. "Getting harder and harder to make an honest day's living, honestly."

"Seems like the market is getting a little crowded then. Why Thorne?

Selina let out a deep and exasperated sigh.

"Look, Bruce, I get a job, I do my job and I get paid. I don't ask questions and I don't get involved with guns for hire. Whatever those guys wanted, have nothing to do with me. Why don't you ask the shady billionaire himself?"

Selina unclasped the delicate diamond choker around her neck, flipped it over and began to break it off into sections. She reached for the custom garter she was still wearing and dropped the necklace into yet another hidden compartment.

"Fair enough," Bruce nodded. "Can you at least hand over what belongs to me?" he asked, extending his hand.

"You've got to be kidding," Selina replied with a straight face.

"I almost let you hand them over to whatever that was back in there and judging from their appearance, whoever hired you is most likely not any more scrupulous," Bruce said, slightly impatiently. Time was of the essence at this point and whatever storm was headed their way would be a lot more than just one extremely pissed off tycoon.

"And while you're at it, just give me everything you took. Thorne can be my problem."

Selina eyed him for a moment as if determining how much trouble it was all really worth. The one drive was labeled Wayne after all, but the others, one marked 'M.T.' and the other 'Banco Santander' were probably just as important to somebody if Thorne had needed to store them away in a vault in the middle of Istanbul. Guyer, the individual who contacted her, had said to poach only the Wayne and the M.T. drive but the Spanish bank one looked promising and well, she'd consider it her commision for a job well done. But Bruce had been right before and if the people Guyer was working for her just as unsavory as Bruce was leading her to believe, there was no way she was coming up short.

"Always the optimist, Bruce," she answered finally, producing the 3 USB drives in her hand and dropping them into his palm.

"Old habits," he replied, turning around and checking the hallway for any curious tenants that might have appeared or been lurking about. "Speaking of which, don't you have a dress to retu- "

Bruce felt a solid thud to the back of his head.

She was out the window, drives in hand, and down the the remaining floors by the time hit his head hit the floor.