Hey all, I'm back. Apologies for the delay with this update. Anyways, hope you enjoy.
Gillian Loeb was not enjoying his day. The Red Hood had escalated his campaign against the Falcone empire, and everyone under the Roman was feeling the man's displeasure. As a central piece in that machinery, his own share of Carmine Falcone's ire had been considerably more severe. The growing mountain of nicotine gum wrappers and antacid tablet packaging was a testament to that.
So when the young secretary entered into his office telling him a police presence had been requested for a press conference given by Bruce Wayne of all people, who was promising a bombshell revelation, he had little patience left for the antics of playboys.
"Send someone who needs a headache, then," he grumbled back to her. "Send Gordon."
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"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice burst to life in the small earpiece he had worn for the occasion. "Are you certain about this? If the codes for those headsets don't work then-"
"They'll work, Alfred," he answered in barely more than whisper, approaching the wall of reporters and cameramen that had hemmed him in like a pack of hungry dogs.
"Besides; I've got full faith in you."
Before the stalwart servant could respond his young master stepped forward towards the waiting crowd and was buried under a tide of questions. He stood tall and proud before them, wearing a fresh suit and new scars across his face with hair cropped short – tokens of the Red Hood's affection, battle scars – with equal measures of dignity.
"Hello," he began simply, and in a heartbeat the chatter of the press died back to silence. "Many of you don't know who I am, or why I've asked you here today. My name…" For a moment, his will faltered, but the young man steeled himself and pressed on. "My name is Bruce Wayne, and I want to ask one thing of you. Do you love this city?"
Behind the pack of reporters, leaning casually against his patrol car with a long coat to stave of the evening breeze, Jim Gordon's brows raised at the question, his eyes perked interest.
"I'm serious," the young man continued to the crowd of rapt reporters. "Do you love Gotham? It's a terrible place to live; filthy, expensive, dangerous." He let that last word hang in the air for a moment before resuming, his voice silencing even the most dauntless members of Gotham's press as they stood wondering what he'd say next.
"And yet we suffer through it, we stay, even when all sense tells us to run. There's something in all of us that loves this place, something that keeps us here, and it wasn't until recently that I discovered what that something was for me."
"This place, this city – it's transformative. It challenges you to be more than you are, stares you down with an unblinking steel and concrete eye and says Try it, I dare you. It's a crucible that makes you fight it tooth and nail every step of the way, but if you can overcome it you emerge as something more than you were. Something stronger. That is what I love about Gotham. That's what drew me back."
His face darkened with his tone as Bruce prepared for what would come next.
"But lately that has changed. I returned to this city, my home, to find it a place of terror. The Red Hood Gang has killed and stolen and shattered the spirit of this city with impunity – a month ago they tried to kill me, and they very nearly succeeded. I am here today to say that enough is enough!"
The young man's voice thundered in the clearing of reporters that surrounded him, his eyes stormy and resolute. Jim Gordon stood a little straighter as he heard it – there was a fire to Wayne's words that resonated with him – but a flicker of motion, a flash of red, atop the ACE building drew his attention more.
"This menace to our city must and will be stopped! Inside this facility, the gang is assembling what I believe to be a toxic chemical cocktail, a poison they plan to explode at numerous points around the city in a mere matter of days."
A collective gasp, murmurs, and whisperings erupted in the assembled crowd. Gordon signaled to one of the attending officers to radio the station, but kept his eyes trained on the rooftops until his fears became reality, his jaw dropping.
"I know this because I met the man behind this madness, Red Hood One, and he told me this when he tried to kill me. People of Gotham," Bruce Wayne thundered on, "will you stand with me against these terrorists? Will you help me to –"
His tirade was cut short as Jim Gordon burst through the crowd of reporters to tackle Gotham's prodigal son. "Everyone get down!"
A trio of Red Hood gang grunts had finished shouldering the missile launchers they had hauled to the roof and launched their deadly payload a heartbeat later, smoke trailing down to the front entry of the complex before flame bloomed with a deafening crash just as the pair of men fell to the dirt.
When his ears stopped ringing Jim Gordon staggered back to his feet, glasses askew and coat stained with ash and mud.
"All units," he coughed into his radio as he beheld the chaos around him; a rabble of panicked reporters. "Get the civilians out of here and then form up on the gate – we're going in!" Turning back to where he had fallen, the man slid his glasses back into place after wiping the grime from them. "Mr. Wayne," he began, only to stop mid-sentence – the playboy was nowhere to be found.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, raising the radio back to his mouth. "We in fast and tough, people. And for God's sake, watch your shots – the whole place is a giant dirty bomb!"
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A block away in the back of a van, lost amidst the crowd of similar news channel vehicles, a concerned Alfred Pennyworth adjusted the headset he wore and checked the signal strength as he surveyed the recent turn of events. When his young charge's voice came in over the radio, he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Alfred," Bruce managed between breaths, "I think it's time for plan B."
Cracking his fingers, the Brit gave his agreement and set to work, fingers playing across the keyboard before him. "Bloody maniac," he added under his breath.
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Bruce Wayne slipped through the smoke and screams towards the main office doors, sticking to the shadows once he entered its halls and began navigating towards the cavernous space of the facility's main work floor. Reaching a catwalk that overlooked the vast array of chemical tanks and truck loading bays his breath caught in his throat. Dozens of the Red Hood's men were loading canisters into the backs of trucks, while waves of heat rippled off the massive vats connected by labyrinths of piping.
"Base," he murmured into his earpiece. "It's worse than we thought."
"Yep," a familiar condescending voice answered him, accompanied by the click of a cocked gun and a blossoming pressure on the back of Bruce's skull. "It is."
"How sweet of you, Bruce," the silky voice of Red Hood One continued, more footsteps behind him indicating the arrival of more of his thugs. "We threw you a party on your big day, and you decided to throw us one on ours." More footsteps were echoing down the hall, faster still. "But let's make this party a little more exclusive shall we?"
Bruce Wayne took a deep breath as the doors he entered through slammed shut behind him, angry voices and fists hammering it from behind.
"Damn it, get these open!" a voice from beyond the door howled, a familiar one – the cop who had tackled him, Bruce thought. He couldn't worry about that now, though.
"I gotta say, Bruce," the Hood continued. "I'm impressed, you figuring all this on your own. I suppose you got your uncle to cough up the tracking keys, saw the shape of things."
Two of the Hood's grunts came around and pushed him to his knees as the man himself casually strolled around, arm's spread wide as he stood in his full regalia. His scarlet helmet shone in the wan light of the warehouse, his tuxedo immaculate. A submachine gun sat loosely in his hand.
"But to realize that we were enacting our masterpiece on the anniversary of your parents' death," the Hood managed between laughs, his helmet leaving his voice with its distinctive timbre. "And then to come charging in here like a one man army?" The madman howled with laughter. "Ooh, I've got a newfound respect for you, hoss."
"Give it up, Hood," Bruce growled at his captor. "This place is surrounded."
"By who?" the gang leader shot back. "The police? You should know by now, Bruce that my reach extends quite far. No, here's what's going to happen." With a flourish he pointed down to the plant's main floor. "As we speak," he continued, "my men are loading what you call our cocktail onto trucks, and once they're ready we're going to head out of here through the back without any trouble at all. It's not quite ready yet," the Hood admitted with a shrug, "still bubbling, boiling, and troubling, but so be it. Once the trucks are clear, we'll clear out as well and your good friends the GCPD will burst in just as the whole place goes…well…boom!" A toothy smile stretched out across his thin-lipped mouth below the shine of his helmet.
Bruce Wayne shook his head, his eyes filled with disgust. "You think you stand for something?" he spat at the man, snarling. "You're no better than any other two-bit crook in this town – and when you're rotting behind bars this whole farce will be nothing but a footnote in history. That's all you'll amount too."
The Hood was silent, a slight twitch in his lip betraying his emotion. "Maybe I should just put a bullet in you here and now, then," the gangster hissed. "No need to keep you around as an audience if that's all this whole spectacle will be." With a wolfish smile he cocked his gun and leveled the barrel square at his captive's forehead.
And then with the thrum of dying generators, every light in ACE Chemical flickered and died.
Howling, the Hood unloaded at the spot where Bruce Wayne had knelt mere moments before, but the stream of lead and tracer rounds illuminated only empty space.
"Switch to the night vision goggles," the Hood screamed. "He can't have gotten far!"
"Come out, come out, Brucie!"
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With a scramble of curses the police squadron lit their flashlights and trained them upon the still sealed portal.
"Now's our chance," Gordon called out, slipping his glasses back into place. "Let's move, people!"
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The Red Hood's men took measured and careful steps, their looted WayneTech night vision goggles heavy on their heads as they swept the gaze across the catwalks.
"He's over here!" came a cry as the grunt peered through the green tinted field the goggles left his vision, spying the huddled form of the playboy out on a walkway. The screen seemed to ripple for a moment, a crackle of static shuddering down the screen before with a shout the man watched as a creature made of shadow darted down from the rafters and scooped Wayne up as if he were weightless, a living shadow taking form.
"There's something in here with us!" he screamed, pulse racing as he aimed wildly above. "It got Wayne!"
"Finally," the hood growled in satisfaction. "I knew you couldn't resist making an appearance, he shouted, arms splayed out in spectacle. "It's time to settle this!"
I couldn't agree more, the man made of shadows thought to himself. "Alfred," he whispered. "Do it."
In a flash, every light in the building that had sputtered into the darkness mere moments ago roared back to life – and blinded everyone left wearing a set of WayneTech night-vision goggles. Dazed and stumbling, gang members clawed at their faces to pull the wretched things free, and Bruce wasted no time. Bolas and his custom shuriken flew down from his perch amongst the rafters like fury from above, ensnaring legs and knocking weapons from hands, before in a flurry of black he descended to the catwalks and chose his first victim. The man – still blinded – went down with hardly any effort, as did the two who followed him. By then most had come to their senses, freeing themselves of the goggles that had quickly turned from asset to liability only to realize the new threat they faced. Five of them stood at the crest of a narrow metal staircase leading down to the next tier of walkways, still high above the vast vats below. The man at their head stood like a grizzly bear prematurely roused from its hibernation; big and pissed-off.
"Come here!" he growled, hands like shovels raised in menace.
"Poor decision," the man in black spat back, teeth bared. Sweeping under the man's wide and clumsy punch like a wraith, he countered with a flurry of quick strikes to the kidney before bracing on leg against the guardrail and propelling himself upwards as his hands wrapped around the back of the massive thug's head. Armored knee connected with scarlet mask with the crack of shattering bone and like a redwood the man toppled, bowling over his fellows caught in his path as the Batman rode his felled foe the entire way down the stairs, eyes ever alert for the Hood himself – when he found him, there'd be hell to pay.
In the shadow of a mess of cooling pipes, the Red Hood quietly took aim with a long-barreled pistol withdrawn from his tuxedo. He took his time to align his shot – there'd only be one chance to catch this recurrent thorn in his side unawares. His finger began to squeeze the trigger.
"No!"
A single shot rang out and echoed in the broad chamber, ricocheting of off the Hood's long helmet with a metallic ping before finding a new target somewhere amidst the labyrinth of pipes, a new hissing sound joining the chaotic chorus of ACE Chemical.
"You know," the Hood began, ears still ringing as he regained his balance and leveled his faceless gaze on the man who had shot him. The thug stood with his smoking gun still raised, chest heaving, mere yards away. "I'm glad you finally grew a backbone, 346." He fired a single shot into the traitor's chest. "Of course, you still have to be punished."
With that the man stumbled off – it was time to leave.
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The shot snapped Bruce into focus, and the Hood's words hung heavy in the air.
"346," he murmured to himself, tossing his latest fallen opponent aside before the realization settled in. "Philip!"
A blur of black, he flew to his uncle's prone form and tore the mask from his face. The older man looked pallid, hollow, a trickle of blood coming out from his lips with each breath.
"At least," he wheezed, "at least I did something right." A wet cough wracked his whole body as Bruce cradled the man's head. "Tell my girls," he continued, voice growing distant, "tell them I tried. I tried…"
With a final rasp Philip Kane breathed his last, and within the heart of Bruce Wayne a great rage began to stir.
"Stay where you are!"
The Batman looked up to a wary, weary cop with pistol raised, mouth drawn tight beneath a bushy moustache. Jim Gordon, he thought idly, recalling the man's face from his reviews of police files – he was one of the good ones.
"I am not your enemy," Bruce growled as he gently closed his uncle's eyes and laid the man's head back on the ground before drawing up to his full height. "The Hood is getting away!"
He could see the conflict rage behind the man's bespectacled eyes, but Gordon's brow furrowed once more and his grip on his gun never faltered. "Drop your weapons, and place your hands on your head."
The hiss that had been building since Philip's fateful shot suddenly erupted into a deafening roar as the gases that had been flowing through the pipes ignited. Like a string of combustible dominoes, each pipe joint and boiler in succession burst in a flash of flame and a cloud of acrid smoke.
Eyes watering and throat burning as his body was wracked by agonizing coughs, Jim Gordon looked back to where the Batman had stood mere seconds ago only to find nothing but the fallen gang member they had found him attending too. The fires were spreading to all levels of the facility, its sprinkler systems fighting and failing to keep them in check, and while the flames had yet to reach the main vats it was only a matter of time.
"All units," Gordon croaked into his radio. "Evacuate the building immediately with any survivors. This whole place is going to blow!"
He spared a glance to the rafters before he hurried back to the door, and through the haze of smoke and ripples of heat he could have sworn he saw a black shadow make its way to a window.
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Smoke was billowing out through cracked windows by the time the Red Hood made his way to the roof, flames licking at his heels as he burst out through the stairwell door onto the already shaky footing. Over the roar of the inferno growing beneath him the thrum of the descending helicopter rumbled, its blades scattering the plumes of black smoke as a rope ladder dangled down towards its waiting passenger.
It was a setback, but not a complete loss, the Hood told himself as he grabbed onto the lowest rungs and hauled himself upwards, the roof beginning to groan beneath him as his feet left it. They'd managed to move out a few canisters of the toxin before Wayne had drawn the media circus –and the vigilante –to them, and the loss of manpower was replaceable – blackmail was fun like that.
The helicopter and its dangling cargo began to leave the ACE plant behind them as cracks began to form along the surface of the flattop roof, and through the corner of his masked eye the Hood spotted a blur of movement from within the smoke. A heartbeat later a mechanical claw whirled through the air toward him, a cable trailing behind it, and latched on to the lowest rung of the ladder with a decisive crunch. The line went taut, and before he could process what was even happening a black blur raced out from the depths of the glowing smoke column along the cable, backlit by the inferno it obscured. A heartbeat later it was on top of him, the impact hitting him like a freight train and leaving his grip on the ladder held by only a few precarious fingers.
"You're not going anywhere," the black tangle's voice growled as a gloved hand shot out towards his throat, the soot-streaked cowl and visage of the vigilante emerging from his voluminous cape. "Not this time!"
The helicopter had halted its ascent with the addition of its unwanted passenger, pirouetting slightly to close for comfort above the burning roof of ACE Chemical, the crowds of reporters held at bay by the smoke, sirens blaring in the distance as an army of firefighters and police rushed towards the scene. The two men struggled as they clung to the ladder until with a final cry the Hood's grip failed and the Batman went tumbling down with him. The two crashed down to the smoldering roof with a heavy thud, but before either could regain their footing the already strained construction gave out completely and the floor crumbled beneath them into a wave of heat and smoke.
The interior of ACE Chemical had been transformed into the mouth of hell, a smoky inferno lit only by the glow of the flames as they roared and fed on the noxious chemicals within. The Batman landed with a thud on a blistering hot catwalk that spanned the open air above the facility's main vats, and he watched as the Hood fell not far from him. Just as he struggled to come to his feet, a low rumble climaxed into a deafening boom as the vats below them ignited, a geyser of boiling caustic compounds blowing the lid off and rocketing upwards, the metal covering cleaving through the catwalk like a hot knife through butter. The entire walkway shuddered and lurched, and the dazed Hood was sent careening towards the edge, a single gloved hand catching a handhold on the jagged metal as he dangled above the mess of fire and pipes below.
"Its over, Hood," the vigilante growled as he threw himself toward the edge, extending an open hand towards the faltering criminal. "Don't be a fool!"
The faceless gaze of the Red Hood's helmet fixed itself on his foe, and a toothy grin spread across the man's thin lips.
"What fun would that be?" he intoned. "This is only the beginning."
The Red Hood's gloved hand slipped away from the catwalk as the man himself tumbled down into the smoky abyss, manic grin still plastered across his face, a shrill laugh echoing out over the roar of the fire.
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"Your gamble with the night vision goggles worked, sir," Alfred reported to a bandaged Bruce Wayne as they sat in the cave before the hastily assembled array of computer monitors. "Every Red Hood Gang member apprehended by the police swore in their testimonies that they saw the vigilante known as 'Batman' swoop in and carry Bruce Wayne to safety – the two of you have been cemented in the minds of the police as two separate entities."
"I couldn't have done it without you, Alfred," the younger man said with a pained smile, melting into the deep seat of the large chair they had hauled down to serve the computer station.
"I'm sure the low lighting and the poorly written security protocols on the goggles helped as well, Master Bruce."
"That they did, Alfred," he answered, though his eyes were melancholy and thoughts faraway.
The butler sighed heavily. "Master Bruce, there was nothing you could've done to save your uncle – he made his choice, and he made it willingly. Honor that sacrifice, but do not let it consume you." Alfred Pennyworth reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a crisp envelope, already unsealed. "This came for you from your uncle's attorney, as dictated in his will." The man's face fell for a moment. "Philip added the addendum to the document the night you went to see him. I took the liberty of opening it while you were receiving treatment at Gotham General for the smoke inhalation with everyone else who was inside ACE. "
Bruce accepted the document hesitantly, eyes scanning over it quickly. "He's restored me as majority shareholder," the young man said with some trepidation. "Effective immediately."
"After the news of his death and the," Alfred faltered slightly, "the details surrounding it went public, an emergency board meeting was called for this weekend." The older man's voice and eyes softened as he continued. "Perhaps it's time to consider what Bruce Wayne and his company can start doing for Gotham, not just what Batman can do for it."
The butler turned to leave, heading back to the tunnel that led surface-side. "Remember, sir," he called behind him. "You have your follow up interview with the police and your check-up with the hospital tomorrow – do try and get some sleep, Master Bruce."
With that Alfred Pennyworth left his charge alone to bask in the glow of the computer screens with the letter, the bats, and his thoughts.
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James Gordon heaved a heavy wet cough as he left the interview room – the doc said it would fade over the next few days, a final gift of the Red Hood's poison.
"Any luck with Wayne?"
Detective Essen's voice caught him off-guard, and the man fumbled with his words as he turned to face her, coffee mug in hand.
"Story checks out," he managed at last. "Well, it lines up with what the captured gang members said at least – this Batman swooped in, pulled him out of the firefight, and dropped him on the main floor. He escaped while the vigilante engaged the gang members, right as the place started going up in smoke."
Essen arched a brow at this. "Something tells me you don't believe him."
Gordon simply sighed. "I don't know what I believe," he answered, shaking his head. "At least this nightmare is finally over, though."
The look on Essen's face told a different story.
"We followed up on the name some of the gang's higher-ups gave us for the Red Hood himself," she said with some hesitation. "Found the bastard's body packed into a barrel of quicklime, barely anything left of him. Impossible to tell how long he's been packed in there."
Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose as his brows furrowed. "So the Red Hood we've been dealing with all this time?"
Essen gave a heavy shrug. "Still a John Doe. No way of knowing at what point he pulled the switch with barrel boy. Could have been last week, could have been last year. If he was inside ACE when the main vats blew, though, no chance he's still alive." She gave a half smile. "Take a breather, Captain," she said, "it wasn't the win we were hoping for but it's still a win; the Red Hood Gang is history."
Gordon smiled despite himself. "Suppose you have a point, Essen. After a day like that I think we've all earned some down time. And for God's sake, call me Jim."
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Bruce examined himself in the mirror one final time. His face and hair still showed the signs of his ordeal, but his suit was immaculate; pinstriped blazer and pants complete with a red silk tie and shoes polished to a fine sheen. He stood in Philip's office – his office- trying his hardest to delay the inevitable.
"You'll do fine, Master Bruce," Alfred told him with a quick adjustment here or there to the positioning of his clothing. "If you can face down lunatics like the Red Hood on rooftops, you can face a bloody board meeting of your own company."
"If you say so, Alfred," he quipped back.
"Have you reviewed the dossiers I prepared, sir?"
"Yes, they were…thorough. I should have everything I need." He paused, turning to face the man who raised him and laying a hand on the butler's shoulder. "Thank you, Alfred," he said with a small smile. "For everything."
The older man gave a wry smile back. "It was my pleasure, sir. It will be good to see a Wayne back in this office again." The Brit gave an uncharacteristic shrug. "And if it means I get to watch some of the scum appointed to that board squirm a little, well then all the better."
With a deep breath, Bruce Wayne took his final pep talk from Alfred, held the portfolio containing his weapons tightly, and departed for the board room.
It was anarchy in business casual. Men and women in all manner of finery shouted at each other from across the long polished table, shuttered blinds doing their best to lower the noontime sun's blinding glare.
The conversations died the moment he stepped in the room.
"Ladies, gentlemen," he began. "Good afternoon. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Bruce Wayne – I am your majority shareholder. We've much to discuss today, specifically the new directions this company will be taking."
A middle aged man with a shock of gray hair and spectacles perched on his nose quickly rose to his feet, arms spread wide. "Bruce," he started in his warmest avuncular tone. "By God I haven't seen you since you were a boy. Now why don't we back up and take this one step at a time?"
"Ah, Mr. Earle," the young businessman began, attempting to swallow back his bile. "I wish I could say the pleasure is mutual. I will be expecting a letter of resignation on my desk by tomorrow. Security is waiting outside to escort you into police custody."
All color drained from Thomas Earle's face. "What, but I –"
"My uncle had a number of interesting files on his computer," Bruce continued, cutting him off. "Propping up African warlords who use child soldiers for discounted mineral imports is something I'm sure DA Dent will be very interested in – I hear he's a real spitfire."
Earle moved to speak again but Bruce Wayne never gave him the chance. "Mr. Earle we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Security is waiting for you." Continuing, he turned to the broader board. "The same goes for Mr. White, Mr. Lopez, and Ms. Kirchner – I expect resignations or you'll be hearing from legal, and I don't think you want that on top of the charges I'm sure Mr. Dent will be happy to lay for your no less colorful crimes."
Silence hung in the air for a long moment before the accused rose from their seats with as much dignity as they could muster and headed for the doors. With their exit, Bruce continued.
"Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, this is not the same Wayne Enterprises my uncle ran – we are cleaning house, starting from the top. By this time next quarter this company will be fully divested of the weapons industry."
A riot erupted at this proclamation, and it took the young man all of his oratory might to calm them.
"Unless you have forgotten," he spoke forcefully, cutting over the roar of the board meeting, "the present image this company presents is the charred and toxic crater of ACE Chemical, a Wayne site that a madman used to nearly poison the entire city, whose men were armed with WayneTech weapons." He punctuated this statement by dropping his portfolio onto the glass surface of the table. "That occurred under the watch of this board, and our stock has already plummeted – LexCorp is circling like a vulture. If we are to survive this, then we will need a dramatic change of course and clean operations from here on out. Any questions?"
He took their stunned silence as a no, and with an internal sigh of relief continued. "Excellent. Then let's get started – we've a lot of ground to cover today."
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As exhausted as he was after any training session, Bruce sat collapsed into one of the boardroom's office chairs after the rest of its denizens had left in various states of confusion, apprehension, and panic. Alfred walked in with a silver tea service and a steaming cup of chamomile that that the young man accepted graciously.
"Thank you, Alfred," he muttered, sipping the hot drink cautiously before setting it down. "Makes me glad I had the office renovations started."
"The kettle was one of my favorite additions," the butler answered dutifully. "Which reminds me: whatever did you have done with that garish penny your uncle had placed in the courtyard?"
The young man gave a wry smile. "Oh, I found a place for that, don't you worry," he answered before his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, a cough wracking his body. "Never thought a board meeting could be quite so exhausting – I need someone I can trust to tend to the day-to-day."
"Don't look at me," Alfred replied crisply. "Somehow I doubt my scones could stave off a hostile takeover from the rat Luthor. Though I assume you had someone in mind?"
The younger man sipped his tea calmly before nodding. "I did. My father once called him the smartest man he ever met – he still works here, I checked the personnel files. Philip had him stuck in some dead-end archiving position after he voiced his complaints about the direction the company was going in." He turned to his most trusted confidante and nodded the affirmative. "I know exactly who I need, Alfred," he continued. "Set up a meeting with Lucius Fox."
Well, there you have it folks; the end of Scott Snyder's Red Hood arc. For those of you up to date on the comics I actually don't plan on using too much more of Zero Year, and instead am going to switch back to focusing more on Year One; I just don't feel I could do Zero Year justice, and I have my own ideas for some of the elements later parts of Zero Year incorporated. Anyways, as always please let me know what you think with reviews and comments. Until next time!