Author's Note: Due to the dryness of always writing from Bruce's point of view and the sheer amount of detail required to accurately portray him as both a master logistician and strategist, I have decided the remainder of the story shall be continued from Dick's point of view to keep my interest. Although many more observant readers will note he shares many of the same qualities as Bruce when viewing a situation, it is only because he has been TRAINED by Bruce to do so. Read and Enjoy. Reviews welcome but not mandatory.

Conditions 3

It's after midnight. Bruce still isn't back from the bust. Normally I wouldn't freak out about something like this. But the media outlets haven't said a single thing about the bust; nothing has coverage on it. It makes me think that either A, something's gone horribly wrong and there's a blackout or B, the bust did not happen at all. Everything Bruce has taught me and everything that I've seen as Robin tells me it's option B. I know the big man's drills for a situation like this though:

His first step is always to liaise with Gordon and the GCPD. Next he locates the place they need to hit. His third step is to always relay the information to Gordon. That's the guy's safety net should anything go wrong; Jim Gordon's rapid response. After that, he waits for the sirens to be in range before containing the situation. The last few steps in the chain are a formality; bag and tag the creeps, thank Gordon and vacate the scene for forensics. Then RETURN home. Something has interrupted that sequence of events…something big. Because relaying the information to the police is the only component that's done electronically, that is, without face-to-face human interaction, it has to be where the breakdown occurred. At this point, I'm panicking my ass off thinking it's my fault.

I should've backed him up tonight. I knew it was important. But I got angry. Angry enough to blow him off. Yeah so Laura dumped me; it's no excuse to leave Bruce at Gotham's mercy. Goddamn I'm a cry-baby! If he's hurt then I-what if…he's dead? Oh Jesus! What if I got him killed? Oh my fu-

Calm down, Dicky. Losing your mind isn't helping anyone, least of all Bruce. Let's pull it together and reason the situation out. Okay. Okay…

GPS tracker. Bruce's suit has a GPS tracker built into the headpiece. It's accessible by the main computer terminal. The suit's also got a heart-rate monitor and a video-feed to look over. Just relax. Let's do the detective-investigator thing and check the evidence.

The GPS tracker is working. According to the system, Bruce…or at least his suit is in an abandoned tenement building near Park Row. Heart-rate monitor says his heart-rate is steady so he's alive and still in costume. Heart's at 90 beats a minute though; he's in hot water. Bruce's resting heart-rate is barely above 55; if it's at 90, he's almost panicking. Video-feed has been damaged by something, probably a blow to the headpiece. I'm just spit-balling here, but I'd guess he's still masked-up too. Seeing as how trying to remove or lift it without the proper authorisation code sends 50,000 volts - the equivalent of a police taser - to whoever's doing the moving, it's a good bet.

90 beats a minute. The Boss-man must be surrounded or at least tied up to give up that many beats. He probably needs as much blood flow as he can get; Bruce might have a concussion or some other head-injury. If it were a severe bleed, the guy would SLOW his heart-rate, not increase it; he'd just bleed out faster. Okay. Okay…

I need to get to his location.

"Alfie, we got a problem." I tell my other dad when he comes back down to the cave. I'm already suited up and arming my utility belt with supplies when I say this. "Bruce has been captured by unknown personnel and is being held in some crappy area near Park Row. I think it's time for a rescue, don't you?"

"Should I alert Commissioner Gordon of your findings?"

Good ol' Alfie. I can always rely on the guy to keep a cool head in a pressure cooker like this. "Let's not play Russian roulette with the big man's life by just sending the drummer boy to the rescue, hmm? Get the rest of the cavalry down to that address on the screen."

"You are far more than a drummer boy, Sir; never sell yourself short." Alfie tells me as I finish loading CS gas grenades into my last two pouches. I nod.

"We'll talk about it later. I'll keep a comm-link with the cave, keep you posted on my progress. Is my bike ready to go?" I ask already running for the vehicle park. Other dad's already radioing the GCPD Bruce's map co-ordinates.

"To your immediate right, Master Dick. Do wear your helmet."

I'm on the bike and on the move in very few seconds. I put my helmet on. Alfie is kinda insistent on road safety. The fact I'm doing more than 150 miles-an-hour and weaving in and out of high-speed traffic whilst glancing at what is essentially a very expensive Sat-Nav does not matter; I'm wearing my helmet. Everything's cool. According to the GPS, I'm now six miles away from Bruce's location, approximately 95 seconds from arrival.

"Alfie, how's he doing? Heart-rate still strong?" I say as I close to just a couple of city blocks.

"His heart-rate has now exceeded 100 beats per minute; I daresay the situation has escalated somewhat. Do hurry, Sir."

"I'm there now!"

Yeah, I let go of the bike completely while it's doing 190. Time is really of the essence here; don't have time to brake to a gentle stop. Back flipping off the back of it is probably not the smartest move I could've done in this situation, but the Boss-man needs me now. Not in two minutes, not even in two seconds; Bruce needs me NOW. I charge into the tenement without a second thought or even a coherent plan of attack. I drop a gas grenade into the basement whilst donning my respirator and diving in. It luckily proves to be the right play. Bruce is down here, tied to the wall, staring down a four-man firing squad. Thank God I didn't panic for a few seconds more back at the cave. The big man would be dead by now.

Everyone's overcome by the gas' harsh effects. I wade in and deal with the danger first, disarming all four heavy-set goons with the nerve strike techniques Bruce taught me. They fall like stones to the concrete. I then turn my attentions to my partner. Bruce is suffering from the effects too, but to a lesser extent; guy's used to this treatment from every scumbag with half-a-brain. I untie him and help him get up the stairs. He's been shot a few times.

Kevlar plating in his armour took the brunt of the bullets, but they are gonna hurt like hell for a few weeks. I know from experience. Amazingly, the guy's already back on his feet, the gas' effects seemingly nullified completely. I radio Alfie to give him the good news.

"Boss-man's alive and kicking. What's the ETA on Gordon's arrival?"

"Approximately three seconds, Sir."

Right on cue, the cops burst through the door, guns drawn and trained on Batman and myself. We're not sure whether they'll squeeze the triggers or not. My ass-cheeks are clenched tight. Bruce's hand falls on my shoulder and I relax. That's his signal for 'everything's fine, Dick, we'll be out of here in less than a minute'. Sure enough, Gordon shoves past his guys and runs with the' we were worried sick' speech. Batman's growl cuts it short.

"It's not Steadman. It's Harvey Dent WITH Steadman. We need to find Two-Face now."

I feel faint just hearing that demented freak's name. All I can think about is what happened with judge Watkins, the decision I made…the aftermath…I shake the feelings loose. Can't afford nightmares now; Batman needs my help.

Commissioner Gordon's face is a picture. A picture of a tortured soul. Just goes to show this kind of work doesn't get any easier with time. He speaks what I'm thinking. "Dent only escaped Arkham three days ago. This deal between Gotham scumbags and Middle-Eastern fanatics has been months of planning."

"Dent's been orchestrating the whole thing since his incarceration. He's about to exact his revenge tonight." Bruce says with absolute certainty, the kind he reserves only for when he is indisputably in the right. It sells Gordon straight away…and me.

"You mean you and the boy are his targets? You brought him in after all."

"Too small a piece. He wants the city to burn."

"He's rigged the whole damn city to blow?"

"No. Just half."

The Boss-man was not just making a joke. It isn't in his nature to make those kind of calls. What was once a simple international terrorist swap-meet has been blow-up to mass genocide proportions. Gotham has a population of 4 million. Two-Face wants half of it to go up in flames. He's going to kill 2 million people…just because he's hideously ugly. Damn the man has issues. Concentrate Dicky boy. This is important. Bruce tells the commissioner whatever he can. It's not much.

Apparently the actual exchange of technology had already occurred some two months earlier under the radar. The explosives have already been placed and primed. The whole thing is rigged by a dual-timer hidden somewhere in the city skyline. Once the initial timer expires, all the explosives will arm themselves for detonation and a secondary time will count-down. Once that timer reaches zero, all the explosives will function simultaneously and wipe out half of everything within the city limits. Bruce knows this because Dent told him this in person. What an egomaniac. We don't know where the explosives are, where Dent is or where the timer is…we need to act fast.

Gordon's already on the phone to the bomb squad; they're gonna hate their jobs pretty soon if these terrorist attacks keep up. Meanwhile Batman and I have hightailed it to the car.

"What's the plan, Boss?" I ask as he patches the onboard systems to the cave computer. This is the first thing I've said to him since the 'you were never my friend, you ruined my life' line I spat in the gym. I'm lucky he isn't childish enough to not speak to me right now.

"I have an idea where the timer is. We just need to confirm it." I love this man! Seriously, who thinks about mechanical run-down timers when they're staring death in the face? Bruce is really, truly amazing.

"Tell me where."

"Wayne Tower."

"Why there?"

"Only point in the city high enough. If I'm right, Dent will have wired it to the antenna array on the roof, boosting the power output and giving the timer's detonation signal enough range to effectively function all the explosives." I pose the obvious question.

"So, shouldn't we be heading there like right now?"

"I'm hoping I can shut down the tower's power systems remotely so we don't have to." Right, of course, why didn't I think of that? Guy thinks of everything, makes me feel like such a little kid…Oh, right, I am a little kid. Don't really know why I keep forgetting that.

"I'm afraid the action is impossible, Sir. It would appear Mr. Dent has locked-out the remote access functions of that particular array." Alfie informs us to make Bruce fire up the monster-sized engine and streak off for the tower. The man doesn't even take a second to consider what to do next; he just acts, he just knows. I can't believe I accused this guy of ruining my life. I'm such an idiot. He'd be dead right now if he hadn't 'ruined' my life. I could be dead right now…concentrate Dicky, concentrate.

"Aren't you worried it'll go off?" I ask only to earn a cold stare from my partner. I roll my eyes. "Sorry. Aren't you worried it'll 'function' before we get there?" He likes proper terminology for 'explosive ordinance'; 'go off' and 'blow junk to bits' aren't the correct phrases to use in this situation.

"Remember Harvey's obsession with duality. This bomb should have detonated at 22:22 or failing that, 12:22. Seeing as it's now 12:41, the next most likely timeframe for detonation is…"

"02:22 - the exact time he drowned the judge." Just saying the word 'judge' sends sharp pains crashing into my chest. I let that man drown. I killed an innocent man…over a bet with a maniac…Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it-

Bruce's hand is on my shoulder, squeezing it. "Put the past behind you. We need to stop Dent. WE need to stop Dent." He looks at me briefly. "You with me, partner?" His hand is still on my shoulder. The big man won't let me fall into my own grave without a fight. He needs me. Hell, Bruce LOVES me; there ain't gonna be a repeat performance this time, this time Dent is going down for GOOD. For damn good.

"Yeah, big man, I'm with you."

Our ETA to the tower is three minutes. It's just enough time for a short conversation, the kind with very, very few syllables. He starts it.

"Bike?"

"Yeah."

"Location?"

"Auto-cycle back to home base."

"Ammunition?"

"One CS grenade, ten smoke pellets, six glue pellets, four batarangs, one short-range electronic jammer, two tranquilizer darts and the anti-toxin kit."

"Kevlar tunic?"

"Yeah."

"Scalpel?"

"Yep."

"Grapple-gun?"

"On the belt."

"Good. We're all set."

Our ETA is now two minutes. I hesitate for a while before finally voicing the screaming words in my head.

"Sorry about earlier today. You didn't deserve some of the stuff I said."

"We will discuss this in the cave." I knew he'd say that. It doesn't matter though; I feel a hell of a lot less guilty now I've apologized for being an ass. ETA is now less than a minute.

When we reach the base of the tower, somewhat predictably, we're met with a rainstorm of gunfire from the windows. Bruce is not going to be pleased they've trashed his building. With the amount of fire they're putting down on the car's thick armour, it's hard to tell whether or not they number more than twenty. The big man's solution is to go underground via the parking lot. There's still gunfire, but only a fraction as much. Two-Face is trying to stall us, big time. As Bruce swings the car round to interpose it between the incoming rounds and the elevators, the thugs start to close ranks and pile in. We slip out the car and open the elevator. Once the gunfire's muffled by closed doors, he tells the car to enter its defence mode via a comm-link under his cowl. That's the car safe, as for us, we need to move.

I ditch my short-range jammer in the elevator control panel, effectively rendering the whole system dead and making it very difficult for our admirers to follow. Climbing the elevator shaft using the cables is a real drag. That's why Bruce invented the grapple-gun. We both fire, extending the tension cable in our guns to their maximum distance. The lines find purchase on the rail ladder maintenance crews use and we shoot up. Doing that never stops being cool. Now it's just a straight-forward scale to the top floor. Unfortunately for us, Wayne Tower is the highest building in Gotham by some distance. By the time we're half-way there it's already closing in on 01:30. The gun-happy crowd have finally figured out that we're in the shaft and are no doubt trying to re-initialize the elevator mechanism. Because I embedded the jammer deep in the panel's internal wiring, it should take them a while to find it and even longer to dislodge it. Technology's great, huh?

We use the grappling gun a further two times to shorten the distance, but the thing's like any gas-propelled device; eventually it gets overheated and needs to cool-down. That's why Bruce always says to use it sparingly and as a last resort. At just before 02:00, we plateau at the summit. A heavy set of hands, and a smaller set I might add, force the elevator doors open. There's no-one on the penultimate floor; they're expecting us on the last floor, next to the roof access. By taking the stairs from this floor, we bypass the remaining guards without ever setting eyes on them. It was a risk taking this particular route, given Bruce's propensity for security cameras and the fact that the whole building's security system is being watched, but the guy has the distraction advantage. Judging from what we can hear through the walls, the GCPD has turned up and is creating an epic diversion.

"Thermal imaging's been damaged. I cannot tell if we'll get a welcoming committee or not once we move through these doors." The big man tells me as we press ourselves against the walls on either side of the final door between us and the roof. I shrug my shoulders.

"Guess we'll just have to rely on surprise to get the job done." Bruce nods in agreement.

"No matter what happens, stick to the plan and disarm the timer. I'll deal with Dent."

"You really think he'd be here given what's about to happen to the surrounding area?"

"He's here. I can sense him."

"It really creeps me out when you say stuff like that."

"Ready?"

I take one last deep breath to compose myself. I nod. "Ready."

And just like that, we go.