I do not own the city Gotham nor its inhabitants. They belong to the DC Comic people and the mastermind Christopher Nolan.

There were two men in this one tragic individual. Bruce and Batman both suffered after the recent events that had befallen Gotham under their watch. Yes, the Joker had been caught, but at what cost? So many irreplaceable damage had been done, so many lives lost. Batman was only one and before it had been enough, but now it seemed that there was no way he could challenge villains alone. He considered simply being Bruce and only Bruce. He considered putting away the cowl, the weapons, and simply settle down. He thought of this, but then his thoughts would always drift back to that madman, Joker. The man had without even a hint of effort nearly toppled all the work he had accomplished over the past year. In doing so, he had taken away all the things that he had loved, he had taken away Rachel.

He remembered what he was supposed to be doing at the time, organizing a relief donation mixer for those who had suffered severe losses during Joker's brutal attacks or could not receive proper medical care now that the city's largest hospital Gotham General had been reduced to rubble. Today he was to be Bruce Wayne, one of the world's most elegant and rich playboys. He was to be somewhat of a fool but a good natured one, and he was to be somewhat bubbly in demeanor. As he paced his bedroom he couldn't help but scoff at the idea of pretending when he should really be spending time hunting down criminals. There were times when he wondered who he was, who was the pretender in this body? Was Batman the real person, the true owner? Or was it Bruce, vapid bachelor of Gotham? He ran his fingers through his hair trying to ease the tension in himself.

Just breathe.

He inhaled deeply and held his breath for a few moments before releasing. He inhaled again letting his hand fall to his side. He took another breath and then tried a Bruce Wayne grin. The bubbly persona fell on him instantly and he decided he would go with the tailor made suit that cost more than one his private jets.

The mixer was held in his penthouse and it was going splendidly. He was pleased that many of Gotham's more well off citizens were so eager to help the less fortunate. He briefly wondered what the Joker would think if he were here to see how gracious and kind the upper class Gothamites were being. He shook his head a little attempting to clear his head of the clown faced devil, there were other matters that had to be dealt with and Batman had no place here.

"Hello, everyone as you may already know this mixer is for the benefit of those that have suffered under recent events. When I say events I mean the tragedy that the mad man Joker caused , the loss of our White Knight Harvey Dent, and my dearest friend Rachel Dawes. Donating today could change lives for the better. It can help ease the pain of loss and help do the good work that Harvey had set out to do. To the White Knight," Bruce said solemnly as he raised his glass. The guests raised their glasses as well.

"Those were very touching words, Master Bruce," Alfred said approvingly as dusk proceeded to wash over Gotham.

"I meant every word. Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Being Batman, is that what the city needs right now? After taking the blame for those murders that Harvey…well it almost seems as if I should wait."

"I'm afraid not sir. This is the time when you can do the most good. Right now the scum of Gotham are still in fear, and you can keep it that way."

"You mean since they think I killed the mob boss and the dirty cop."

"Being Batman means taking the weakness of your opponent and making it your strength," Alfred encouraged as he laid a hand on one of Bruce's broad shoulders, "being Batman means that you have to be relentless."

Once again as he sat in that chair and looked out over his city Bruce wondered where his path would lead him. After a few moments Bruce stood up. "I guess that means I have to get dressed then."

"S'pose it does."

Falling had now become a sensation that emitted no fear. Falling is simply a means of travel from one locale to the next. Falling had become something that Batman could do at any moment, but after each fall he knew he was sure to rise. Patrolling the streets was now something that he did out of habit. After the Joker it seemed no one was really vying for that position unless they wanted to be the focus of Batman's wrath. As he leapt from building to building he listened to the police communication lines. Even they had noticed the sudden disappearance of the less than straight-and-narrow citizens. Batman scoped the area below and noticed a scuffle between three young men. He swooped down and approached the scene.

It appeared to be a fight over drug money. One man had said the other had stolen it the other claimed to be the victim in the whole ordeal. The larger of the three was already reaching for his pistol deciding that whomever he shot deserved it. A batarang sliced open his hand causing him to drop the gun and kneel over his now bleeding palm. Seeming to seep from the shadows Batman made his presence known. The three young men scrambled to get away. Batman delivered a blow to the back of one's head knocking him unconscious. The one young man with the gun took a few shots but they made no difference to the Kevlar that made up Batman's armor. Batman delivered a blow across the man's face sending him to the ground. Finally after dispatching the first two Batman chased down the other one. This one seemed to have some speed on him and so from one of his various weapons Batman found one that shot out ties which, with careful aim, wrapped tightly around the young man's ankles. The man fell over awkwardly on his shoulder making him cry out in pain. Batman stalked over to him, looking even more like a demon from hell.

The man, Batman noticed, as he approached was a boy. He could be no more than eighteen, no more than one hundred and twenty pounds. The boy was struggling to crawl away, furiously wriggling to get free. Batman flipped him over with e boot and pressed down on his chest. The boy struggled to get the boot off his chest.

"Please, don't kill me! God, no," he screamed hysterically.

The boy could not see it, but the Batman had flinched. The pure terror that this boy was feeling was not simply the fear of being incarcerated. It was the unflagging fear of someone who believes they are seeing death. That was his symbol now, death. He was not certain that he could ever reclaim his title of unwavering justice.

He removed the boot.

"Who took the money, where are the drugs," he growled in a voice that seemed to be forced past a throat edged in stone and glass.

"Romy, took the money. He was playin' Jace the whole time. Romy- Romy's the one. Now-now please! Let me go!"

The Batman crouched down, his face directly above the young boy's. "I will not kill you or anyone else, never again."

When the police arrived on the scene there were only the three boys tied side, by side by side. There was a note pinned to the wall with a batarang it read simply:

-I am paying for it. I will pay for it all.

The officer that took the note sighed as he pocketed it in a baggie for evidence. He knew that all of this was a game, a ruse, but he would not renege on his word. He would continue to chase the Batman, though his heart would never be in the chasing. He would continue to know the man was innocent of all crimes, but this is not what hurt the most.

What was killing him was the fact that the bastard who had done all this damage wasn't being punished as he deserved.

Gotham's finest hero, hunted, only Gotham would allow this to happen.