The interrogation room in Gotham Central was a small cold room with one way mirrors on either wall. Moths flew around in the dingy air, panicking with the loss of what little light they had had outside. There were fluorescent lights on the ceiling, but they were not on right now. A putrid stench rose up from the floor: a combination of vomit and blood, as if this room were used more for torture than intelligence. In the center of the room, six feet from the door and six more to the back wall, there was a metal table hinged to the ground and an accompanying metal chair. A desk lamp sat on the corner of the table, flickering on and off like Morse code. There were no sounds in the room currently: except the steady breathing of one of Gotham City's most brilliant criminal masterminds, the likes of which had never been seen before.

The heavy steel door to the room creaked open and the overhead lights burst on unexpectedly. Bobby Billiard, the man who killed Batman, seemed unaffected by the light and kicked his feet up on the table nonchalantly. Two police officers came into the room, slamming the door behind them. One cop was a grizzled veteran with a thick moustache and glasses and the other was a middle aged behemoth of a man. The two men circled Bobby Billiard like vultures, scowling at him like the scavengers they were in his mind. The larger of the two men lit a cigarette and leaned up against the wall behind where Billiard sat while the older gentlemen stood in front of the table. Commissioner James Gordon slapped Billiard's heavy black boots off the table and leaned his face in close to the killer's.

"Good evening, Mr. Billiard. My name is-"

"I know who you are, Commissioner." Billiard said sarcastically, cutting off the chief of police. "And I know you too, Inspector Bullock. Now, if I'm not wrong, this is the part where you two beat me until I confess, right?" Just as Gordon opened his mouth to speak Billiard shouted, "Wrong! Let me just save you the trouble and confess. I did it, I shot the Batman." Bobby Billiard leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Gordon the dirtiest, go to hell look anyone had ever seen.

Chief Inspector Harvey Bullock, so angry at his disrespect, was on Billiard in a flash, grabbing him in a headlock and tossing him to the ground. He raised his gigantic fist to strike the delusional young man but the commissioner grabbed his arm in mid-air. Gordon shook his head and so Bullock instead lifted the scrawny prisoner with one hand and slammed him against the wall. Hand over Billiard's throat Inspector Bullock growled, "I just want to know one thing, freak job, before I turn you over to the rest of those crazies in Arkham: how in the hell did you do it?"

"Well that's easy, Inspector," Billiard stated calmly and rationally. "You see, I bought a gun, carried it to a loft I rented and BANG!" Bobby Billiard found his story uncontrollably funny and went into a fit of laughing. In a rage, Bullock flipped the lunatic over his shoulder and sent him crashing onto the table on his spine, his head hanging over the edge. Bullock then proceeded to slap Billiard so hard that his mouth filled with blood and a tooth flew slid across the floor.

"Don't be a smartass with me, Punk. How did you find out the Batman was going to be there?" Bullock saw the look on his superior's face and decided to sit down in the chair and give Billiard a second to speak between blows. He didn't know why the Batman's death was affecting him so strongly: when he was alive, Bullock had hated the Batman. Perhaps it was only now, in death, that he could fully understand what the Batman had truly meant to Gotham City, and to him.

Bobby Billiard didn't say a word. He just lay there, flat on his back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Finally he picked himself up and glared at inspector Bullock, who was still sitting in his chair facing him. "Just think about it, Bullock; who's gonna remember your name when you die. Sure your name will live on with your children and your grandchildren, but what about after that. Hmm? Who is going to remember your name one hundred years from now!?"

"They're gonna kill you in Arkham, buddy. You succeeded where they all failed. And they are gonna eat you up," Bullock said to the psychotic man lying on the interrogation table.

"They'll remember my name, though! 'The infamous Bobby Billiard,' they'll call me, 'the man who killed Batman!'"

Bullock shook his head, picked himself up from his chair, and followed his boss out of the interrogation room. As they closed the door behind them, all they could hear were the sick cries of a psychotic mind. Gordon wanted so badly to open the door, pull out his gun and show Bobby Billiard what it felt like to play Batman in his sick little plan. He wanted to spill the kid's guts all over that interrogation room: but he knew that he wouldn't, because he couldn't. If he did that, then Bobby Billiard would win. He would get to them all, just like he had planned.

"I don't think he's faking crazy, the miserable little shit. What about you, Jimmy?" Harvey Bullock asked, watching Bobby Billiard through a monitor to the interrogation room.

"I think you're right. But there's not a damn thing we can do about it, except try to pick up the pieces." Gordon said calmly.

"Hey boss, I got some interesting information on our killer," Lieutenant Vincent Del Arrazzio ran up behind his two superior officers brandishing documents about the prisoner. "Says here that Billiard works as a mail clerk in the mayor's office and has for about twenty years. He works in the basement, alone, no supervision necessary, and has access to every piece of mail that comes through that building."

"Son of a-"Gordon began, his jaw nearly hitting the floor in shock.

"So that's how he knew, sneaky bastard. The mayor had to ask the governor's permission to give Batman the key to the city and I guess she did it by mail." Bullock stood there flabbergasted for a moment as he took in the gravity of what he had just said. "And looking through other people's mail is a federal offense, so we got him on that too. Give me those papers," Bullock snatched the paperwork from the lieutenant's hands and started toward the interrogation room to bust Billiard with their new evidence.

"Wait a minute, Harvey. Arrazzio let him rot in there for a couple of hours then move him to a solitary detention cell. Then we will bring our new evidence to him, after he's a bit more stir crazy," Gordon advised. With a deep sigh, the commissioner turned to the monitors and observed Bobby Billiard for the first time. He still couldn't fathom how this all came to pass; how an ordinary man like Billiard came to do the unthinkable. If he had seen Bobby Billiard walking the streets of Gotham, he would never have taken a second glance. Bobby Billiard did not fit the profile of a normal lunatic that had a grudge against the Bat. But then Gordon realized the fatal flaw; this was inevitable. With all the lunatics in Gotham City, the police and Batman paid no attention to the people like Bobby Billiard. Not all killers wear masks and tights, they had just been too blind to notice that.

Suddenly, a young redheaded girl in a wheelchair flew into the room where a dozen cops were standing. "Where is my father?" she shouted. "Daddy!" she cried, disregarding the people she bumped into as she flew through the control room. Jim Gordon recognized the voice as belonging to his daughter Barbara and turned to face her. She threw herself from her chair and into her father's loving arms, where she stayed for a moment and cried. Finally she looked into her father's eyes and asked him, "Is it true, daddy? Is he really gone?" Gordon couldn't bear the sight of his daughter, so he dropped his eyes to the floor before nodding his head. He helped her back into her chair and walked away from her silently, leaving her to her tears. Harvey Bullock decided to help the girl he considered his niece out of the building, gently stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her nerves.

As they passed the threshold of Gotham Central and emerged into the dark streets of the city, what they saw overhead brought a tear even to the eye of the emotionless Harvey Bullock. In the sky, shining like a beacon of hope was the famous Bat-signal. For years, that symbol told the citizens of Gotham City that their streets were safe and the Batman was on patrol. But now that symbol was a reminder of what they had lost only twelve short hours ago. Barbara pushed herself away from Harvey Bullock and down the dismal trek toward home. She felt a shiver of fear that she had not known in years as she ventured into the shadows: she knew that this time there was no silent guardian watching over her.

Police Commissioner James Gordon, a long time ally and friend of the Batman, stood in front of the floodlight known as the Bat-signal and let a tear of regret roll down his cheek. He knew the real reason his daughter cried so, but he could never tell her the truth. Many years ago James had deduced the Batman's real identity, but knew that he could never say that he had or risk having to arrest the man he believed to be such a hero. That was why it pained him so to see his daughter date the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. It was not the twelve year age gap, like he pretended, or the man's notorious conduct: it was this. He knew that this day would come eventually and prayed his daughter would never be close enough to know the truth.

But then there was the heroine known as Batgirl. She saved the Batman from a perilous encounter with the villainess Poison Ivy and became a full-fledged member of the Batman team. Jim knew the truth no matter how well his daughter tried to hide it. He could see in her eyes the look that was only present in people who had seen the darker side of truth. He thought that this nightmare had ended when the Joker severed her spinal cord and left her confined to a wheelchair: this had to be the moment when she would grow away from Batman, for her own good. And he thought that she had given up on heroics, until the appearance of the super hacker Codename Oracle. James knew this was his daughter because of a story she had written in the ninth grade about a similar such character. No matter how hard James had tried to save his little girl, it hadn't worked, and now she was as heartbroken as he was.

"He ain't coming boss…" Harvey Bullock said as he exited the elevator and joined Gordon on the roof. "No matter how bad we want him to, he ain't coming…"

"I know, Harv… I know…" James swung around and looked dead into the eyes of his old partner. "But I wish he was."

"I think we all do, Jim… I think we all do…" The two cops looked over the edge of Gotham Central and scanned the night sky. It was darker than usual: a perfect night for the Bat to strike. The crescent moon sat poised in the center of sky like an arrow, piercing the darkness: but it brought no comfort on this most somber of nights. As the two men stared over the horizon, they almost believed they saw a figure gliding across the roof, cape flapping in the wind. But a second glance confirmed their fear: a second glance revealed it to be nothing but the shadows playing a trick on them…

************************************************************************

The heavy steel door to the interrogation room was flung open once again, and Bobby Billiard shielded his eyes from the lights he knew were coming on any second. But the room remained in darkness and an eerie smoke glided into the room. Outside he heard a faint coughing sound that quickly faded into silence. He started to climb onto his chair when he saw a figure enter the doorway.

"Oh please don't get up, Bobby; I'm not here to hurt you. I've just come to invite you to a little party I'm throwing for a mutual friend of ours," spoke the ominous figure at the doorway. He walked toward Bobby Billiard ever so slowly and a slight chortle could be heard escaping his lips.

"Who are you?" Bobby Billiard asked, his teeth beginning to chatter ever so slightly.

"Me? Why, I'm your biggest fan, Bobby! I'm here to break you out, friend," the stranger replied.

"Friend? Who do you think I am?" the young killer asked, his voice starting to croak at the end of the sentence.

"Well you are THE Bobby Billiard right, or do I have the wrong place." The stranger's feet could be heard turning around and heading out the door.
"No, no, I'm Bobby Billiard, but what do you want with me?" Suddenly Bobby Billiard became frozen with fear as the desk lamp flashed on and the light glistened off of a knife in the stranger's hand. The stranger became to laugh a sick, twisted laugh like that of the devil as he tossed the knife from hand to hand, taunting Billiard with its existence.

"What are you gonna do with that, Mister?" Bobby Billiard cried, his voice shaking

"This?" the stranger asked, glancing down at the knife. "I'm just going to help… you… SMILE!" the stranger leapt onto the small metal table and grabbed Bobby Billiard by his collar. The light flashed off again and the only sound in the cold room was the terrified scream of the infamous Bobby Billiard. Then, in the silence, footsteps quietly ran toward the exit: another sound, a scraping, dragging sound closely followed the footsteps. Just as the smoke lifted from the control room, Harvey Bullock and James Gordon exited the elevator and, to their complete shock, saw the interrogation room door wide open. Bullock ran to the door while Gordon examined the body of one of his fallen comrades.

"Bullock, you're going to want see this…" Gordon stood up and pointed down at the body of Lieutenant Vincent Del Arrazzio, covering his mouth with his hand and stifling back his vomit. Arrazzio was unharmed, no bullet holes or stab wounds: but his face was a pale white, the skin around his mouth pulled back into a sadistic, yet all too familiar, smile.

"Shit, I got more bad news for you too, Gordon. Billiard's gone."