Second Overture

10:01, Huntley's digital watch read. He had defied the Conductor's orders twice before out of sheer anxiousness—he peeked over the cherry picker's rail. The first time yielded no consequences nor results. The second was at 8:02 when Huntley saw a figure through the binoculars, back facing away from the windows. A closer view revealed that the figure wasn't even Bruce Wayne but an older man whose behavior seemed servant-like. A butler of Wayne's, Huntley discovered. At least I'm aware of who and how someone could catch me.

He ducked back to the freezing steel platform on an adrenaline rush that didn't seem to have an end. The sway of the cherry picker from the wind and the cold shivers going up and down his spine also kept him alert. So when 10:00 crept onto Gotham City, goosebumps and sweat became the surface of his skin. But, much to his disappointment, no movement nor silhouettes were known for the whole half-hour integral to suspect Bruce Wayne. Nothing to pin onto the Dark Knight; nothing to report to the Conductor. At least not yet. Yes—Huntley would stay for the whole night, towering above Gotham. He was completely unaware that two lives were trapped in separate seas of gasoline and that only one would escape alive. It was all due to reckless logic and fifty-fifty chance. The survivor would adopt the cruel method.... That fate decreed? Was it fate to have one extreme outcome over another?

Purplish-blue stuffed the sky, making the world seem gloomy and hopeless even to Huntley who felt nearest to the heavens. Dawn had begun to pass through Gotham. He sluggishly and carelessly dragged his body upwards, fighting gravity and scratching his head. Huntley trained his binoculars on the living room and carefully adjusted them when locating blurry subjects.

Bruce Wayne sat, head drooping, staring at... A black cowl?! Huntley did a quadruple-take then sunk down to his knees. Every element was in place. The suit was on him and fit like most of the footage actually captured shown and didn't appear much different. His face made him naked to world. But it didn't seem as if he cared at the moment. Huntley saw too many people hurt throughout his life and Bruce was definitely crushed. Possibly questioning if he should continue the role Batman? Yelling at himself for a mistake on-the-job? Huntley whipped his head out those empathetic feelings. He kept telling himself it didn't bother him to uncover another man's—the Batman's—precious secret to his worst enemy.

Huntley numbly punched in the digits and waited patiently for his Conductor to pick up. Once he had made a devotional act to anything, he didn't dare sever that dear connection. Failing to do duties or actions to live up—best to surpass expectations—to the object of adoration, well, that would be death.

He held his breath until a metallic clack greeted him. All the breath rushed out at once, "Conductor, sir. I have confirmed that, indeed, Batman is--"

"Bruce Wayne," they spoke in a hushed unison.

The voice-box of the Clown Prince was just getting warmed up.

… He's left.... But she's gone. Bruce saw the huge explosion. Within the same millisecond, his heart dropped and retreated to the impassive-as-a-brick-wall Batman. Having slammed the Joker into a brick wall not too long before he dashed to the rescue, the vague mention of Rachel in danger triggered Bruce to the surface. Even the deep and low Batman voice growling at the Joker made him feel self-conscious that he'd slipped up somewhere in his speech or his actions. But nonetheless, that moment of Bruce's vulnerability blinded him to the Joker's mind-tricks and only sent him to Harvey's location. He wanted both their lives to be spared, of course. But the Batman congratulated him for saving what would be his new stand-in. Bruce was obviously in pain, blaming himself, trying to mourn the sadness from his soul then have enough strength to don the cowl tonight.

Alfred was going to say something to me... Bruce calmly dismissed it, believing that it was a small task that Alfred would leave up to himself in the time to cope with the loss. But who was he kidding? Alfred was hurting just as much. Maybe less, Bruce selfishly thought. He had ran back to his habitual ways—running to Alfred for comfort. He didn't care if he should be sensitive to other's feelings because he knew better than the 8-year-old that sulked for his dead parents. Perhaps the stunted-growth of this life skill was another trait he should frown at himself for. It was just a matter of training and intense self-discipline that would create a stronger defender of Gotham. Bruce purposely brooded for an hour longer so that he could sweat it out, punch it out, beat it out—punish himself—later.

After all was said and done, Bruce morosely called in for personal time off and decided to get dressed. Not that he really cared about how clean-pressed or hygienic he was at the moment. Just perform the motions. Alfred called for him down the hallway. Bruce glanced apathetically and analyzed the white envelope Alfred carried.

Bruce stood in the doorway, eyes wide, dress shirt unbuttoned, and a black tie dangling undone from his neck. "... A letter, Alfred?"

Batman can take everything.... He needs to! The Batman sped away from Commissioner Gordon, away from the cops he urged to chase him, and away from the severely scarred face that was less damaged than the man's soul. Harvey.... I wish I could've seen the injuries inflicted from that fall... Bruce, the man inside the masked vigilante, bit his lip. If only I could've mentioned that letter without giving away anything! Would his good side still commit to obligations with friends? Great, the Dark Knight practically mouthed. Not only do I have to watch out for the police, but Harvey as well!

Black gloves enclosed on the Batpod's handles unconsciously with such power, it jolted the vehicle to greater speeds. It shocked both the man and bat from rage. Now for the task at hand—safely and with deception, lose the G.P.D.. When Bruce used the Batpod, not only did he feel as if he entered another level Batman's character, but he melded with the night. The Batpod was designed long and low to give the rider a sensation of flight. He was aware of the rapid pulse in his palms after squeezing its handles; the sheath that protected his arms helped for maneuvering turns and was an extension of the Bat's arm, making him a cyborg; the way the machine allowed for his head to be ducked low; the rubbery smell the front tire gave off when asked the most of; and the tug of his cape on his shoulders from the fastest runs. It was all going on right now.

Adrenaline poured thick through the Batman's blood. The vehicle continued to climb to higher speeds. He bolted through a narrow alley. The Bat logically reaffirmed his sensitivity and decided not to rely on his instincts for the moment. I'd imagine they are going to try and lure me out once they find they can't catch me. Well, looks like I will drop the first few lies about the direction I'm headed.

As always, Bruce could only trust his nighttime persona to get him through it. Not only did the Dark Knight have to ignore his true identity intertwined with his love and morning of Rachel, but also the plots of Gordon and the rest of Gotham's police force. Don't believe what the eyes see until the second intentions are known. This was a philosophy Bruce Wayne constructed after rigorous martial arts mastering, after pouring over epistemology, and just before he hit Gotham's streets the first night as the Batman. Bruce knew full well that the craving for vengeance could senselessly throw his judgment out the window and his body into action. That is why a set, unwavering plan had to be made in order for the Caped Crusader's identity to never reach daylight of this corrupted city. Total commitment.

However, the decision of what to do next made both Bruce and Bat sigh: No choice; I'll have to end this quickly by throwing out random devices and, most important of all, the Batman straddled his vehicle's seat tighter to his knees, sacrifice the Batpod. He simultaneously felt obligated to his plan yet feeling sad to destroy his wheels as if he were a proud teenager with his first car. You'll fund another one, Bruce.

Teeth and determination set on edge, the dark figure veered sharply to the right once emerging from the alleyway. He aimlessly tossed batarangs at the second building he passed. They clung and jutted from the wall, waiting to be discovered. Next, Batman completed a 180 and passed to the left of the alley. There's a tunnel around here that seems to have a pretty cheap tiled interior. He sped dangerously, noting the material that could hold if pulled violently. A total of three autos were in the same area with him. With care, he lightly scraped the tile walls with his mangler grip, getting rougher and rougher—closer and closer—to the wall. Bruce was steadily managing the balance of the Batpod until he reached the site of the near-future crash. The bend is... Here! The orangey, florescent-illuminated Dark Knight added some sound to echo and some black tire marks to the roadway of the tunnel. In the same instant, he immediately turned his torso, spotted his safe landing, and launched his grappling hook in the opposite direction. The smell of burnt rubber, the sound of metal and glass colliding, and a brief flash of the equivalent of a supernova ceased behind the Batman once he flung to his landing point.

Bruce glanced briefly at the wreckage; a tangle of black junk with lop-sided tires spinning slowly and regretfully. He had timed the impact to ensure no or minor injuries would occur. Luckily, he had done this job right—he hadn't hurt anyone else so far. He retracted the grappling hook and took off to the alley—allowing himself no reaction—and closer to those he wished to work with but were now major threats. Surprisingly, the vigilante had enough time to dash to the closest building outside of the tunnel entrance, whip out the hook for the second time, and disappear from sight.

Less than a minute later, a pack of Gotham's loyal tracker K9s with a winded police force peered from out the alleyway. They hesitantly split in two to look in both directions for the alluding Bat but were baffled by the very clues he left in his wake. After contacting the Commissioner, Gordon walked with indignant haste towards the policemen a few minutes later. The policemen led Gordon to the batarangs where Gordon shifted his angry glare to the men, crossing his arms, and regarding them with a few loud, frustrated statements.

"Ova here, Commish," a burly officer yelled.

Commissioner Gordon forlornly stepped into the tunnel that had been closed off an hour ago for investigation. He solemnly noted the bear-claw-like marks dashed across the right wall. Sighs: "What is it, Bullock?"

"Down here, at da turn," he pointed down in front of them. "We found this utta piece 'a evidence left by dat bat. Should we call for a few detectives, Commish?"

".... Of course not," Gordon felt conscious about his words reverberating throughout the long tunnel. "Look. I know you just got called in for this case since your promotion but, Bullock, you either haven't paid attention to the details we gave you or you haven't been watching the news."

"Bu-But I'm tryin', Commish, I'm tryin'! It looks like dat ting dat came outta Bat's tank-like-mobile! I jus' didn't think dat jumpin' ta conclusions would solve anyting!"

"Well, Bullock, you'll learn by working on the crimes involved with the Batman that most of the time, you need to let your instinct jump. There isn't much time to waste with a determined citizen taking the reins up himself. Otherwise, everything will be left up to him.... That's not our job."

Harvey Bullock went silent and Jim Gordon sauntered over to the remnants of the Batpod. He nudged what was left of one of the arm holds with a toe, hands in his pockets.

The Commissioner gave a shrug and frown at the same moment and lamented, "How could he manage to do this? If he entrusted this bike's care to me, I would've had it freshly polished every morning!"

Author's Note: * Cues dramatic music * BRUCE HAS BEEN FOUND OUT! * Dum, dum, dum * What could possibly happen next?! XD Wait and find out, kiddies.

Sorry for the tons of transitions (and the huge wait)! That's the only way I can move the story forward to the actual climactic stuff! DX And the last line in Bruce's 1st perspective is from chapter 3 on purpose; I'm doing complicated time lapses. Although it is necessary to stay loyal to Nolan's portrayal.