Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.

I have resigned myself to commercial travel. I am taking a ship back to America. I think it's going to San Francisco area. I don't honestly know and it doesn't matter much.

The ocean is big, too big for me to fly across in one shot, and I never had much luck with deserted islands popping up just when I need them. Maybe a little more than halfway is when I'll take off and finish the journey on my own. I have to sneak onto the ship though because I don't have a penny to my name.

It's relatively easy to get into places when you have to ability to fly. I steal over the side and into an empty room, and pray that it continues to be so. Dinnertime comes. I had eaten right after waking up in southern China. I had to steal it, of course, because I had dismissed my ridiculous plan from the night before. I don my long, bulky coat and navigate my way to the kitchens.

I am almost there when the seasickness hits. Ship was a bad idea. I spend the next few days in the janitor's closet that was the closest thing to me when I started vomiting. When I re-emerge, I find out from a particularly helpful kitchen staff that we are only two days out of San Francisco. He supplies me with all the food I can eat, and I thank him gratefully. I like nice people.

The day before we are set to arrive, I climb to the top deck in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, one of the crewmen in the navigation room spots me and yells at me. I hide my face and jump off of the rail of the ship and the man screams.

But his screeches are soon quieted as I rise above the boat, soaring away on a wind current. This feels amazing. I stay close to the water, because it's really rather warm. I twist and turn gleefully. After a few more minutes of frolicking above the waves, I get higher and start picking up speed. I am flying over the land before day breaks.

As the sun peeks over the lip of the earth, I land right outside of a small town. A car pulls up behind me and a couple offers me a ride. I decline with few words. No way in hell am I getting into one of those metallic death beasts.

An hour later I arrive at the town, and I see the couple just leaving. They have stopped at a bank to get some money. I watch carefully for the pin number, because a part of me really knows how to be a criminal. They pull away in their snarling ticket to hell and luck is with me for once.

The next car in line pulls out the forgotten debit card and gives it to the banker. Perfect. I run into the bank, out of breath, and tell the sole banker that works there that I forgot my debit card in the machine. She gives it to me without even asking for a name. That surprises me greatly, but I barely think twice about it. After the banker leaves, I take all the money I need from the ATM machine. I feel sort of bad, but not all that much. This should get me to the Catskills, where I have a little secluded cabin and a nice stash of money.

That went easily, too easily, for me. For the whole duration of my flight to New York I am jumpy and tense. Karma has a funny way of coming around and biting me extra hard in the butt.

I get there a few days after, because I can only fly at night, and the little place has never looked so inviting. My bed is soft and comfy, and my cupboards are full. My fridge sadly isn't. I emptied it before I left. The very first thing I do is open my dresser drawers and pull out a pair of faded gray sweatpants and pull them on.

They are without a doubt my favorite article of clothing. They are so worn that the inside fuzz has turned almost to steel. But they are well-loved.

I am happy to see that after ten years my electricity is still in place, because I am stealing it from the closest town and I was sure someone would've noticed already. I have a few friends in some close towns, including my electricity supply, but I don't go to visit them. I'm not sure how long I'll be staying.

The next month passes in a blissful haze. I fly a lot, just because I can. Freedom has truly never tasted so good. It feels kind of like having my own personal storm cloud following me around for ten years, zapping me occasionally, and then walking out into a summer afternoon and watching it dissipate in the bright sun.

Bruce is on my mind quite a lot. I can't help but wonder what happened to him. He has to be done with his training by now; he almost was when I left. It's like a plague, this curiosity, and I can only think of one cure.

I vary the towns that I get my food supply from. One day, a headline catches my eye. It's in a newspaper called The World Weekly News. The name means nothing to me; it could be The New York Times for all I know.

Man-Bat Terrorizes Gotham City!
Police are Clueless.

Man-Bat? Gotham? I read the rest of the article. It says that this man-bat has taken to crime fighting, like some sort of masked vigilante. There are excerpts from interviews with people who saw the thing.

My mind jumps to Bruce, but it seems stupid. Than again, that was the reason Ducard was so interested in Bruce. He believed that Bruce could help them take down Gotham from the inside, burn it to the ground.

I have never personally been to the city, but I've heard the stories of its cruelty and crime. It doesn't sound like a nice place.

I skim through the rest of the paper, and most of the rest of it has something to do with aliens. I almost decide the thing is a piece of crap, but then I see a fuzzy picture on the second to last page with the headline:

Angels Among Us?

I stare hard at the picture and then read the article. It states that this picture was taken in Utah. I was in Utah. I squint at the picture again. The story recommends that any other pictures or information of the angel should be sent in immediately. I feel kind of famous actually. Not really angry at my security lapse, because I look at the Letters to the Editor, and there are four of them that say they are the angel, and another two that claim to know it's place of living. One was Atlantis, the other was heaven. Nice.

I put the newspaper onto the register. The clerk gives me a disgusted look and I shrug at her. She rolls her eyes and pops her chewing gum. Teenagers, I sigh. But I want to show Bruce my little claim to fame, so I waste the ninety cents it costs.

I have officially made up my mind to go to Gotham and pay Bruce a visit, now that I have convinced myself that he's home.

In truth, I'm wary of my upcoming visit. I don't want to go and fully realize that Bruce is a member of the League of Shadows. It's kind of better not knowing and being able to pretend that he never went there and that he's living a happy, full life as the billionaire that he is.

On my way out of the grocery store, I catch one more headline, and it seals my fate. Bruce's picture is on the front, and he looks quite drunk. I frown at it.

Billionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne Back in Gotham.
The Ladies are Already Lining Up.

This from a bland tabloid. It ponders over where Bruce has been for the last seven years. Seven years? I didn't know that. I don't give the tabloid any more of my regard, because I can tell that one's full of crap immediately. Bruce doesn't drink. And playboy doesn't exactly fit his persona.

I set out for Gotham the next morning. I consult a map and figure it will take me only a day to get there.

Sure enough, the following afternoon I am entering the city limits. Downtown Gotham looms in the distance, dark and menacing. I almost turn back right there, because I hate cities and this one doesn't look very pleasant. But my burning curiosity over Bruce's fate prompts me on.

Author's note - Ugh, that was short. Sorry :)