Greetings dear chickadees. Je vous presente the second installment of the Crest Chronicles, a collection chronicling the quest of reporter Louis Crest to prove the identity of the Batman. (Sadly, he will never succeed. You see, I am the Batman, and I control his every action, so he's screwed unless I want him to figure it out.) Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or any thingies related to it thereof. Boohoo for me.

P.S. I am coming to realize that most of my chapters are depressingly short, which is usually because I try to leave something on which to continue, and because I'm scribbling them down during class and it always feels like I'm writing way more than I am because it takes longer. So apologies if these feel insubstantial.

After being rebuffed politely (and then not so politely) from Wayne Tower by a gum-chewing security guard and an obnoxious receptionist, Crest decided to change his tactics, and target Batman instead of Bruce Wayne.

The handy thing about being a reporter was meeting people from all walks of life. Crest had long since found the universal key to getting such diverse individuals to talk to him: flattery. If you made someone believe you were actually interested, that you wanted to understand them , and to help others understand, they usually started blabbing faster than you could turn on your voice recorder. Unfortunately, when Crest asked about the Batman, none of the babbling was very useful.

"Uh…he's a dude who dresses up like a bat."

"I'm pretty sure it's my brother-in-law."

"An arrogant jerk who thinks he's above the law."

"Those are some damn fine abs."

"I kissed him upside down once."

"I just like the car."

"Escaped mental patient."

"He kind of looks like the brother from 'The Fighter.'"

"I just need to find him," Crest moaned one evening to his boyfriend Philip.

"Why don't you just flick on the floodlight at the MCU?" Philip asked, biting into a powdered doughnut. He was a GCPD patrolman who, in light of the recent 'escalation in major crimes', had been transferred to the Major Crimes unit.

Crest turned to star at him, amazed. "Come again?"

Philip shrugged. "The lieutenant has a giant spotlight on the roof of the MCU building. That's where the Bat signal comes from. It's been up there for months."

"I've seen the shape..." Crest trailed off. "It's just on top of the station?"

Philip nodded. "Yup."

oOo

The light was already on when Crest reached the top of the police station, having 'borrowed' Philip's uniform and walked briskly through the station to the elevator, avoiding eye contact. By the light, he could see a single man standing beside it. His face was round, but drawn with the worry and fear that wrinkled most faces these days. He looked around when Crest closed the door behind him.

"No point," he said dejectedly. "He hasn't come since…" he let the sentence hang, but Crest assumed he was talking about Lieutenant Gordon's death. Philip had told him that morale in the unit had reached an all-time low since Commissioner Loeb's funeral.

He nodded. "I just wanted to talk to him."

The man laughed bitterly. "You don't just talk to Batman. The only person he'd ever come here for anyways was Gordon." He looked up at the huge white symbol on the clouds. "We're on our own now."

Silence fell. Neither man moved. Crest felt horribly intrusive. He was suddenly terrified that even if the Batman did come, he'd recognize Crest instantly as an imposter and destroy the whole story with one fell swoop. He recalled again his vow to be tactful and discreet.

At that moment, the roof door banged open. A patrolman stuck his head through, panting. "What the hell are you doing! We need you downstairs ASAP!"

"What's going on?"

"We need drivers for the convoy?"

"What convoy?" Crest asked before he could stop himself.

"Harvey Dent's convoy, moron. We're transferring him to central holding and Carlson wants as many guys on hand as we can. Come on!" he shouted again and, not knowing what else to do, Crest followed him downstairs.

oOo

Before he knew what was happening, Crest found himself in the passenger seat of a squad car, trailing behind an armored van, driving along a deserted street.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Thanks for reading. Review appersheated.

-esking