The bombing at the Den had been assigned to Sawyer as soon as it had come in. Even though the city was under assault, there were always the opportunists and domestic crimes also needed to be looked into. And she was a detective, so it was still her job to investigate.

Based on statements gathered from eyewitnesses, this didn't appear to be an overly theatrical arson case. Apparently, this place used to be a hangout for a local gang, their name too dumb to be remembered.

But Sawyer was a professional, so she knew they called themselves the Wolfpack. A bunch of nobodies with too much time on their hands who saw themselves as a gang. They were dangerous, yes, but tended to give ground when push came to shove.

So who would target them? Prior to the bombing, it was reported that the gang was running out of the place, like their lives depended on it. They were going to have to find a few of them who had been here and get some answer from them. Unfortunately, because of their ranking on the totem pole, Sawyer had no idea of any of the names of the people she should be looking for.

So until this, it was shifting through the ashes. Not her, or the local beat cops. Forensics was picking through the smouldering mess while everyone else secured and canvased the scene.

Right now, she found she could do with an unapologetic quip from Bullock, or maybe some back and forth with Montoya. Despite being in Gotham for a shorter amount of time than the other two, she had come to find comfort in those detectives. Montoya was very shrewd, detailed oriented, and was what you thought of when it came to detective work. Bullock was everything Sawyer loathed in an officer of the law, but his looks and lack of manners hid his intelligence.

They couldn't be cleared by Gotham General faster.

"Lieutenant Sawyer!" Hm? Oh, one of forensics was trying to get her attention. The nylon jacket gave away that he wasn't an uniformed officers. In one hand, he held an evidence bag, something black held inside of it.

"Talk to me," Sawyer stated, turning all attention to the approaching man.

"Found this in the wreckage. Thought you would need to see it," the man told her as he held up the evidence back. Taking it, Sawyer turned it over, examining it. Thanks to the fire, the object did not have many identifying features.

However, one could make out a face, and there were spots that were still white in color. It was not the color that made her frown, but the facial features. There was what looked like a mouth, but whether it was open or not was hard to tell. Should it be closed, it would appear like this face was smiling. If open, like it was...laughing.

"What are your thoughts?" she looked up, wanting to see if maybe the lab geek—thanks a lot for sticking that in her head, Bullock—might know.

"It's kinda hard to tell, but if I had to guess, it might have been a part of something. I'm betting the bomb itself."

Sawyer raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Honestly, you see it once, you know what it is. That would look like a Joker face before the fire was done with it."

That was a name Sawyer had expected to run into sooner rather than later. She had heard the stories, had listened in on some of the veterans' talk about this particular criminal. Unlike back in Metropolis, where law officers would sometimes brag or boast of being involved in the takedown of one of Superman's enemies, none here spoke of the Joker in such terms. At first, she thought it was because no one had apprehended the man except for a certain bat-themed vigilante.

Then Bullock had broken it down for her. The name Joker brought forth uncertainty; the only thing that was certain would be the suffering of the people they knew. A successful capture wasn't a cause of celebration, because it was bittersweet. Because they had to step over the bodies of their blue brothers to do it. To have to endure defeat after defeat until they got lucky.

She had never been face-to-face with him, but she didn't need to be. A couple years ago, a similar face had been worn by the Man of Steel himself. Not even the Angel of Metropolis could emerge unscathed in a fight with this man.

Now, now it was her turn to see the horror for herself. To go through the trial of fire that had burned this city more than once.

Then the radio in her car began to crackle to life. An endless stream of reports to and from dispatch pulled her away from her thoughts. Enough about the Joker, there were shots fired in North Gotham. Handing the evidence bag back to the forensics technician, and issuing an order to get that to HQ as soon as possible, Sawyer directed her attention to what else the radio was saying.

It took a second, but she soon realized that the chatter was talking about multiple reports of gunfire, and not the same incident. Something was going down and it was happening right now.

Reaching down to the floor of her car, she pulled up on a small latch and popped the trunk. If she was going to respond to this, she was going to go in prepared.

Anthony Bressi was a man who had seen a lot in his time. The rise and fall of crime families, vigilantes, and crazies, and he had outlasted them all. The key was to change when things started changing. Sometimes bigger wasn't better. Sometimes you needed to go small and out-wait everything.

Or you could try to go legit. Also known as Tough Tony, he had become a union boss. So, semi-legit. Everyone knew what he was about, expected he was involved with shady stuff, but did nothing about him. He was even below the radar of the Batman; that was a source of pride if there ever was one.

But times always changed. Sometimes it was subtle, others loud and noisy. Right now, things were loud and noisy and Bressi was unsure of where things were going.

At first.

This Bane guy made his intentions known. This self-made man of Gotham found that everyone was under attack. This invader wanted it all and he had no intention of sharing. Not even he could go under the radar. So when things changed this drastically, one found themselves acting drastically.

Which is why Bressi had answered the call and retreated into North Gotham. H kinda wished he hadn't now, instead choosing to dig a deep hole and wait this thing out. Turns out, the person who had sent out the call, and was turning the Italian neighborhoods into a private kingdom, was another native with a very recognizable name.

This guy was Mario Falcone, son of the Roman, and he was here to remind everyone that the Falcones were not going to fade into memory. The Batman was gone and now was the time for the return of the old way, the good way. Little Mario was going to lead the charge against Bane and show him how they did things here in Gotham. While the prick knew how to rally a bunch of wise guys into thinking they stood a chance, Bressi wasn't too sure himself.

The people who made the most noise tended to be the first to fall. Maybe coming here was a bad mistake.

That maybe would turn into a hell yes when it started getting loud and noisy outside.

Mario was the one to figure out what was happening first. "I'll be a son of a bitch. That bastard's coming for us." Then, brazenly, in a way that no real mob boss ever did, Mario pulled out a gun and cocked it, those who were loyal to him copying him. The ones who were armed were just grunts, hired muscle, and any chance to show what they were made of were eagerly taken.

The old guard, like himself, weren't quick to take out their guns. They had people to do that for them. Bressi, though, had no illusions of what he was going to do. Staying here, while letting Mario brag about himself, was not an option. If Bane was here, he was coming after all of them for one purpose.

To eliminate the competition.

Leaning towards a man on his right, he said lowly so as not to be overheard, "We're leaving." His man looked over at him, questioning, but seeing the older man's expression, nodded.

You didn't last as long as Bressi did by trying to fight everyone.

That was when the faraway booms of explosions could be heard even in here. Someone had brought some firepower and were clearly willing to use it, and he was willing to bet it was the guy attacking. Mario, meanwhile, was yelling out over the noise of the armed men, "We're going to show this fucker who's really in charge. You have Falcone backing you guys, so don't hold back! Drive those bastards from the streets! Better yet, send them all to the morgue! We'll do what that freak couldn't!"

Underestimate the competition at your own peril. Never underestimate an enemy like the Batman.

Bressi was already moving towards the back and to a door. Let everyone think him a coward, he would be the one living. Besides, if everyone died here, there would be no one left to reveal the truth, right? Thanks to doing this, though, he exposed that whatever attack was happening outside, it was already in this building as the sound of gunfire grew exponentially louder. Immediately, Bressi came right back through the doorway.

As one of his men jerked back from being shot, Bressi pulled away while a couple of his remaining men began returning fire.

"We got company!" he yelled, attracting the attention of the rest of the wise guys in here. By then, the automatic fire of the guns Bane's men were using had already turned his men into bloody Swiss Cheese. Not good, and he had liked those two.

"Son of a bitch, trying to shoot us from behind," Little Mario swore.

"Alright, folks, I'm in. I have eyes everywhere."

"Well, that's certainly comforting," Green Arrow said.

It was a war zone, one Oracle assumingly had eyes on. Bane's men had gone in, combat-ready, guns blazing. The mercenaries had struck at three different spots, each one an obvious weak point in the Italians' defenses. The Italians had returned fire promptly, but the drone of machine gun fire was making difficult to determine who was winning.

That was where the Network came in.

There was a plan, one made upon putting actual eyes on what was going on versus digital cameras and satellites and whatever eyes Oracle had shanghaied. With three entry points made courtesy of Bane's men, that meant three strike points.

The Batclan was staying together; they were the most inexperienced and there was safety in numbers. The Birds were pairing up, including Green Lantern. Huntress was going solo and had immediately taken off into the action.

Someone had been hanging around the Bat a little too long.

Black Canary was with Green Arrow. The two had entered at the north entrance to the building where most of the action was taking place. The walls were riddled with bullet holes, the floor covered with the dead bodies of Italian gangsters and mercenaries.

Carefully, Black Canary weaved her way amongst the bodies, Green Arrow following her as he held his bow in front of him, arrow notched and pointed towards the floor. Bullet casing were sprinkled about, their feet stepping on, or incidentally kicking them across the ground.

"Alright, Oracle, where are the baddies?" the blonde vigilante asked, a hand pressed against her ear. If they were going to coordinate with the hacker, they might as well use her.

There was a moment of silence before, "The hall up ahead and to your right, I see three gunmen. Judging off their wardrobe, I gotta say gangsters."

Neither vigilante replied. If those men were right up ahead, any further contact would alert them to their presence. Carefully, they made their way to the hallway in question.

By the time they reached it, Italian men appeared right in front of them, holding handguns and turning their heads from side to side. This immediately stopped the moment they saw them. "Holy shit!" one of them exclaimed as he moved his gun to aim at them.

Immediately, Green Arrow reacted, pulling his notched arrow off the bow string, moving the bow out wide while he crossed his arrow-holding hand across his chest and then swiped it back across his body. The end of the arrow collided with the barrel of the gun and knocked it to a side an instant before it went off, the sound of a gunshot blasting through the corridor. Thankfully the bullet missed both vigilantes as it flew right between them.

Black Canary launched herself at the man, slamming a fist into his face, which sent him stumbling to a side. Green Arrow followed it up by leaning back on one leg as he raised up the other, kicking it forward and landing a solid kick to the man's chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor.

By then, Canary was on one of the other men, keeping her punching hand extended, but bending it at the elbow. Lunging towards her new foe, she rammed her elbow into his face, causing the man to cry out as he jerked backwards, one hand shooting up to his face. Dropping low, the blonde woman kept one leg extended out as she leaned to one side, putting all of her weight on that one bent leg. Swinging her leg, she kicked out her opponent's legs, dropping him to the floor, where the back of his head collided with the corner of the wall, knocking him out before he hit the floor.

By then, Arrow had notched his arrow back to his bow and fired it, sending the bolt right into the gun barrel of the last standing gangster's gun. The gangster didn't realize this, or failed to see the green arrow shaft sticking out of his gun as he squeezed the trigger. Instantly, the weapon backfired, exploding in the man's hand as he screamed in pain, quickly snatching his now-injured hand back as he gripped it with his other one.

Seeing the opening, Black Canary shot up onto her feet and rushed at him, jumping up at the last moment as she extended one leg out, her body leaning backwards. Her foot slammed into the side of the screaming man's face, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing headfirst into the wall. He fell into a heap on the floor even as the blonde woman landed on her feet at the same time.

Eyeing the fallen man, she then turned to find her fellow blond vigilante standing behind her, his hands grasping his bow at one end, and swinging it low like a golf club. The bow cracked against the side of the face of the first gunman they had attacked, knocking him out cold.

"That's three down," the Emerald Archer commented as he moved his hands back to their usual spot on the bow. "Who's next?"

"Oracle?" Canary immediately responded, a hand pressing against the button on her comm link to connect with the hacker. "Where's the next group of baddies?"

There was a rabidness in Katana that wasn't always obvious. She was a calm, cool customer, always professional in the field and rarely let her emotions get the best of her.

From Manhunter's perspective, she was letting a bit out.

There was no one more proficient with a sword than her. On the Gotham riff-raft, she always went for non-life threatening cuts. Weapons would be cleanly sliced in two, shallow cuts would be delivered to arms and legs, and occasionally the sword would be used in interrogations.

None of that was going on here. As the Asian woman darted between two of Bane's mercenaries, she swung her sword from one side to the other, timing it perfectly to cut both men with one swing. The sword slashed into the side of the man on her left, blood bubbling out the moment the blade slid out of the man. Arching out, the sword began its return to Katana, slicing into the man on her right's chest. Immediately, both men dropped their weapons as their hands clutched at the sword slashes in their bodies.

Katana wasn't finished, however. Using the momentum from her sword swing, she leapt into the air as she continued to spin, swinging out a leg and timing it perfectly so that the heel of her foot collided with the side of the leftmost merc's head, knocking him out cold as he immediately dropped. Much like her sword swing, the red-and-yellow-clad woman continued her spin as her swinging kick slammed into the other man, sending him crashing into the wall next to him. Like his friend, he dropped to the floor unconscious.

By the time Katana had landed, Manhunter had completed her own awesome maneuver of using her bo staff as a pole vault, sticking one end onto the floor and hauling her body up into the air, launching herself feet first into the face of the last merc standing. He was immediately thrown backwards, slamming hard into wall behind him, and dropping into a heap on the floor.

Landing, Manhunter only paid enough attention to make sure that there were no more immediate threats before she looked to her friend. "You're cutting those guys a little close to the bone there," she commented.

"Nothing vitals," the Asian woman shrugged off as she knelt down and cleaned her blade of blood with the pant leg of one of her fallen foes. "The body armor will provide enough pressure to slow the bleeding. They'll be lacking energy, but that is a common result of blood loss."

"Just be careful with that thing. We don't want anyone thinking we're crossing the line."

A small smile appeared on Katana's face. "I am always careful."

Well, at least they were clear. Onward then! Moving down the hallway they were in, the two vigilantes headed for a forced left turn at the end of the corridor. This was followed by a quick right and another left, a weird design in the building, but hey, there had to be a reason for it, or so she thought.

The sound of gunfire immediately got their attention. Looks like they found some more baddies. Picking up their pace, the soon reached an open doorway, one that was singed black, probably from some sort of explosive. Peering through the doorway, the two caught sight of two pro-Bane guys as they finished off riddling a few Italians with bullet holes.

They could handle two easily.

Darting into the room, Manhunter led the charge, Katana pulling up next to her a second later. Both leapt into the air, drawing back their respective weapons before they swung them forward. For the brunette, she swung her staff like a bat, slamming it into the side of her merc's head and knocking him clear off his feet. It was a good hit too as she felt her arms vibrate from the force of the blow she had delivered. As for Katana, it seemed she took her words to heart as she held sword with both hands, ramming the butt of the handle into the back of her man's head. The guy cried out as he stumbled forward. Bouncing off the floor, Katana hit the man in the back of the head again with the sword hilt, this time causing him to fall headfirst to the floor, where he didn't so much as twitch.

An alarm went off in Manhunter's head then, just as she caught sight of light flashing off a metal surface, one that was flying through the air with unnatural speed towards her comrade.

And with inhuman speed, Katana spun around on her heels as she sliced with her sword, the clanging sound of steel-on-steel ringing out. A moment later, Manhunter saw a knife clatter on the floor, skidding across it for several feet before it came to a stop. Quickly, the brunette shot her eyes to the source of the thrown knife, the sensation of blood freezing in her veins overwhelming her.

"It seems we meet again," the thin, bald Zombie said coolly, a gun in one hand, his other pulling out another knife. His eyes then slid over to look at Manhunter. "I see you are doing well."

Katana raised her arms up, keeping one at shoulder height as the other crossed her body so that she could grip her sword with both hands, the blade extended out and pointing diagonally to the floor. "As are you," she responded simply.

"This is a situation I will rectify," he informed them as he began to twirl the knife in his hand, belying his skill with the weapon; not that Manhunter needed to know, after all he was the man that had nearly killed her.

"Katana," Manhunter spoke up, earning herself the attention of the room. "You go on ahead; I'll handle this."

Zombie looked amused by her words as he continued to toy with his dagger. "Neither one of you will be leaving this room, I'm afraid."

Katana ignored the man. "Are you sure?" she questioned her, not once looking to the red-clad woman.

"Oh, I'm sure," she replied. "I have a score to settle with this guy and there's too much going on here to keep two of us to just one guy. I'll be fine, don't you worry."

Simultaneously, both women moved. Katana shot off to a side, running right for a wall even as Manhunter ran right for Zombie. Zombie didn't seem the least bit concerned with her approach as he raised his gun and pointed it right for Katana.

However, if he thought he had enough time to squeeze a shot off, he was sorely mistaken. Accelerating, Manhunter held her staff across her body before she swung it upward, arching it before she brought it down, timing it perfectly so that the end of the staff collided with the top of the gun, knocking the barrel down just as her opponent pulled the trigger. The handgun went off, but the shot went right into the floor.

In the meantime, Katana had reached the wall and jumped at it, one foot pressing up against it as her leg bent to absorb the impact. Immediately, she ricocheted off the wall, launching herself up to the ceiling, where she plowed right through the apparently-flimsy ceiling tiles. The one she hit broke like cardboard and the Asian woman disappeared into the roof.

Which left Manhunter with Zombie, just the way she wanted. Like she said, they had a score to settle.

Why was it now that they decided to start investing in transport? It would have made their early patrols so much easier. Figured it had to happen after he had to leave, but whatever, Red Robin wasn't about to complain too much. Already he could hear the sounds of gunfire as the three bikes closed in. Sounded like the actions was starting already.

"What's the plan?" the teen inquired into his earpiece. The helmet helped to isolate his voice as well as let him hear the answer.

"Stick together. Take out everyone we come across," came the answer Kinda figured.

"Perhaps a little more detail. Who do we hit first? Go for a sneak attack? Head on?"

"This isn't rocket science. Knock out everyone who's in our way." That was not Nightwing's voice, and was too masculine to be any of the girls. It had to be the new guy, Red Hood.

And why did they now have two guys with the word Red in their names?

"Oracle? What are we heading for?" And Nightwing was looking for some intel. It took a bit before their resident computer hacker answered.

"Someone's set up a blockade where you're heading. Looks like Bane's men. These won't be like the gangbangers you're used to, so when you hit them, do it hard enough that they don't get up."

Huh, sounds like someone was taking a cue from Hood over there. Well, it was the best plan he had heard so far. Tightening his grip on the motorcycle's throttle, he increased his speed, ignoring the arms of his passenger wrapping tighter around his torso. Spoiler better be careful back there, or she might start making it hard for him to breath.

Nightwing, naturally, took point, speeding up ahead of them and making the turn.

And right there, dead ahead, was the barricade. It looked as if someone had pulled as many cars together off the side of the street to make it and were hiding behind them, poking over them to fire out some high-speed lead. Even from here, Red Robin could tell those weren't gangsters using it; it had to be Bane's men.

The masked teen couldn't help but let his lips smirk. Time for some action, and unlike when he was last in Gotham, he had been boning up on his hand-to-hand combat skills. He had to thank Cassie for being willing to be his, ahem, sparring partner. That girl was not one to hold her punches, both metaphorically and literally, so yeah, his technique was on a different level than before.

And these were some volunteers that were about to let him show them off.

Removing one of his hands from his bike's handlebars, he pulled out a—groan—birdarang and readied to throw it. Through his earpiece, he heard Nightwing say, "Now Bluebird!" From behind the older vigilante, the punk-looking masked girl stood up and held what looked like a rifle over her driver' head.

Red Robin was about to say something about it, but before he could, he saw that rifle fire a bolt of electricity that struck the car-based blockade. Thanks to the metal in these vehicles, the entire thing was electrified, and anyone touching them in anyway was having a bad day. Which meant all of Bane's men were hit with a bolt of electricity and were blasted away a moment later.

Well, that was one way to do it. It wasn't as awesome as beating them all of with his fist, but hey, that meant more for everyone else. Hold up, he might have spoken too soon. There were a few of those paramilitary-like guys picking themselves up, looking very stunned but not unconscious.

Time to fix that.

Immediately, he sent the birdarang whirling through the air, striking one of the still conscious guys and finishing the job. To his far left, he saw Nightwing jump off his cycle, simultaneously Bluebird dropping back down into the bike's seat and grabbing the handlebars, cutting the throttle. The older vigilante continued forward, propelled by momentum and struck two guys who were side by side with his feet, and that must have broken a couple sternums there.

He wanted to say "show off," but then the new guy, Red Hood, gunned his bike and jumped off at the last second, rolling on the street while his motorcycle rammed into the last still conscious Bane goon and crashed the poor guy into the car blockade.

Yeah, that guy was not going to be getting up any time soon.

"Did you see that? Fucking awesome!" Red Hood crowed.

"Hope you didn't break it; that's your ride home," Nightwing retorted.

Bringing his bike to a stop, Red Robin cut the gas and slipped off it. Such a nice ride, but here was where it needed to be left behind. No sense ruining the paint job. "What's the plan?" he called out as he took off his helmet.

"Just like we talked about, Bluebird, get somewhere high and take whatever shots you can. Watch our sixes, 'kay? The rest of us are going in there; take down everyone you find and try not to get killed."

So simple and helpful. Glancing to his passenger, Spoiler, he asked, "You ready?"

"You bet!" is what she said. However, he could have sworn she swallowed, a sign that perhaps she wasn't. Guess it would be best to keep an eye on her.

"Stay close; you watch my back and I'll watch yours," is what he replied, as he turned to begin dashing towards the car blockade, he paused as he caught movement from the corner of his eye. It took a sec, but he spotted what looked like a moving shadow, one moving fast enough that you could miss it if you weren't paying attention.

Instinctively, he looked up into the sky and caught sight of a bird flying overhead. Nothing to be worried about, but for some reason his gut was telling him that there was something about that bird…

"Rob—I mean, Red Robin! Rear in gear!" Nightwing called to him.

Forget about the bird, he'd worry about it later. Right now it was time to kick some ass.

The roof was quiet despite all the gunfire that was going off throughout the neighborhood. The Italians had done a good job holing up here, turning it into a verifiable fort. They even had guards up here to spot incoming threats.

Key word being had.

Standing over the unconscious form of the fourth guard she had taken out, Huntress gazed at him coolly before turning away. Though it had been a long time, she had known two of the four men she had knocked out since she was a little girl. Family friends that were practically cousins to her and she felt very little for them. It was a stark reminder of how long she had been removed from the family business.

It did get her thinking though; how much of her family was actually here? The Bertinellis, while very much apart of the Italian Family, had not enjoyed the same success as other clans. A lot of that stemmed from one fateful night, when the entire family had been wining and dining, only to have the big, bad, Batman crash the party. The repercussions of that night haunted them, even though all had been sworn to secrecy. Despite that pact, someone had talked, telling others how Batman easily dispatched the guards and how the Bertinellis cowered under the dining table. The Bat even had his back to them all as he interrogated their leader, her father, without worry. The damage had been unimaginable, other families using them as a punchline, a cautionary tale of false bravado and cowardice.

Huntress had drank it up greedily and without shame.

Many had left Gotham after that incident, cowed and shamed. Others had latched onto other families, obviously as grunts since no one would ever give them a position of power, not after that night. Whoever was left would be the gunmen, not the guards, or the men calling the shots.

And whoever they were, they were going to be dead men.

Spying a roof access, Huntress began making her way to it. The Italian leadership would be on the upper floors of the building, of this she had no doubt. Falcone the Roman ran his empire out of the top story of his headquarters; Maroni the Italian had done the same; these upstarts would be no different.

Suddenly, the door to the roof access flung open, revealing a few Italians in the doorway. They were reinforcements, she realized a second later. Fortunately, the men froze as they stared at her dumbly.

Huntress had no such hesitation.

Leaping upward, she grabbed onto the top of the metal door frame, her fingers managing to get enough of a hold to keep her up in the air as she pressed both of her legs together and swung them forward. The bottom of her feet slammed into the face of the first man, knocking him clear off his feet as he went sailing backwards. His friends jerked out of the way, save for one that was too slow to move, the flying man crashing into him. As it turned out, the stairs were right behind him and the two men went tumbling down the stairs, stopping when they collided with the wall on the landing.

Letting go of the door frame, Huntress landed inside of the roof access, the last two men off to her right. Immediately, she swung a fist, slamming it into the face of the closest gunman, causing him to cry out as he went stumbling backwards, both hands clutching at his face. With the same arm, Huntress bent it at the elbow and jerked it to a side, landing the blow to the second man's chest. He too stumble backwards, his back coming into contact with the railing that kept him from falling down to the next set of stairs. Frantically, he shot both of his arms down to grab onto the railing, steadying himself.

Twisting her body, the purple-clad woman reached out with her other hand and grabbed the second man by the front of his shirt. She then yanked on it as hard as she could, which caused the goon to go stumbling forward, passing right by his friend and into the wall in front of him. Withdrawing her hand from her opponent, Huntress again bent it at the elbow, pulling the arm to her body before she jerked it back, her elbow ramming into the back of his head, forcing his forehead to collide with the wall and effectively knock him out.

As that man dropped to a heap on the floor, Huntress put the rest of her attention on the last man standing. By now, the man had removed his hands from his face and was frantically trying to pull out a handgun from its holster at his side.

Leaping towards the railing, Huntress grabbed the top bar with both hands and used it to lift herself off the floor. Legs coiled up to her abdomen, she turned her body to her right side as much as she could before she lashed out with both legs, her feet slamming right into the man's chest and knocking the wind out of him. As he jerked into the corner of the roof access, Huntress landed back on the floor, spinning around while simultaneously throwing a vicious haymaker. Her blow nailed her last foe in the face, this time knocking him out cold as he immediately dropped to the floor.

Letting out a deep sigh, Huntress backed away from the carnage she had unleashed, making her way out of the roof access. There would be plenty of time to go back to it once she made a quick survey of the surrounding area; if there was one thing she had learned from Batman, it was to make sure you always had the high ground. In this case, if there were anymore wise guys positioned on the roofs of the surrounding buildings, she'd eliminate them as threats so that her Network friends wouldn't get shot by a sniper.

Hoisting herself up onto the roof access building, Huntress stood up and began looking at the neighborhood around her, doing her best to ignore just how much of a war zone it looked like. For the most part, she didn't see any more activity on the rooftops, meaning this building was the only one being protected. That meant the Italian Mob Bosses were here.

However, because of her vantage point, she caught sight of movement down below. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a group of mercenaries making a beeline to one of the nearby buildings. However, there was something different about them.

Quickly, Huntress pulled out her pair of binoculars and looked through them. The sight of Hispanic men filled her vision and she slowly moved from one person to another until she found what she was looking for. While all of the men were dressed in black combat fatigues, there was one that wasn't. He was a mountain of a man, a virtual wall of muscle. The mask on his face was a dead giveaway that he wasn't just some special mercenary.

Bane.

These coños didn't know how to fight. Some of them literally stood in one place and fired their weapons without stopping. Others tried to take cover, but their shields were pathetic. They were easy pickings for the disciples of Bane.

They knew how to fight. They controlled the bursts of their machine guns, conserving ammo, but making more lethal shots. Though slow, they pushed back the Gotham gangsters, whose spirits were breaking much like the backs of those who felt their master's knee.

It was only a matter of time until their líder brought this to an end and completed his conquista. That this great man saw fit to allow them to follow and serve him was an honor. Any sacrifice they could make to his name would be worth it.

"¡Empújalos! ¡Empuja a estos perros hacia atrás!" one Santa Priscan cried out as shot a fleeing gangster in the back.

"¡Conseguir un poco de!" another agreed with a war cry, shattering car and store windows with several controlled bursts of bullets.

Yes, it wouldn't be long now. It wouldn't be…

One of the mercenaries paused in his fighting, a peculiar look on his face before he collapsed without warning.

His fall went unnoticed, though a comrade of his suffered a similar fate. With him, though, there was a blur that swept by him. The third man, however, caught a gleam of light in his periphery, and as he turned to face it, something long and made of metal sliced into his body.

A sword slid out of him, the Santa Priscan mercenary opening and closing his mouth as shock took hold of him. That blade, dripping with his blood, swung and removed his head from his shoulders.

His brothers-in-arms would soon suffer a similar fate.

They were forced back from the meeting room, and for a group of gangsters who considered this their turf, that was very embarrassing. Not for Bressi because living was so much more important. It was obvious by now that it was Bane attacking, and whoever his hired muscle was, they were good. Real good.

Good enough that career criminals, some of whom thought themselves hot stuff like the Bertinellis, were falling apart, practically every man for themselves. You could tell who the real rats were here and only the ones who were truly loyal had your back.

To his surprise, Little Mario's boys were sticking close to him, doing their best to keep the Falcone legacy from doing something stupid.

"These fuckers have no idea who're they're messing with! Get the fuck out of my way! Shoot those goddamn sons of bitches!"

Little Mario was making their jobs all the harder.

Turning to the man beside him, Bressi commented as calmly as he could in the face of this massacre, "I think it's time we get the fuck out of here."

"Where can we go?" the man asked, reloading his gun. The table they were hiding behind wasn't going to last much longer but right now, it was the best cover they had.

"This is life or death; we'll have to make our own way," the union boss retorted. "If we have to make holes in the wall, do it. Otherwise, we're not getting out of here alive."

The other man nodded. What else could be said?

"Get off of me! I'm not leaving until I kill them all! You hear me? All of them!" What the hell was Little Mario screaming about now—oh, his boys were shoving him out an exit. That definitely looked like the kind of place he wanted to be right now. A shame it was all the way across the room.

Wood splinters clipped off the edges of the table and fell onto his head.

"I think we have a way out. Shoot everything we got until we're in the clear," Bressi ordered, getting ready to run as if his life depended on it.

Right now, it did.

With a swipe of one of his escrima, Nightwing knocked aside the barrel of the military-grade machine gun that only a second before was aimed right at him. With the other, he slammed it against the head of the mercenary holding it, snapping the man's head to a side and dropping him.

Without stopping for a second, the vigilante was lunging towards the next one, doing the same as before and knocking the man's aim off before striking him down. With each hit he landed, electricity flared from the escrima, its voltage upped intentionally so as to speed up the incapacitation of these goons.

He didn't look behind him, knowing that Red Hood was making sure no one was taking potshots at him. There had been a time when he had been concerned that the newest Batclan member wasn't up for something like this, but it seemed like Hood was rising up to the challenge. It seemed like the past few weeks, he had been working on his fighting skills, and had including using throwing projectiles in that training.

While they weren't the explosive kind that Red Robin liked to use, they were still effective in disarming the mercenaries. Red Hood would then go in for the kill, beating his fists into faces and stomachs, though it seemed like he was going out of his way to hurt these guys first before knocking them out.

That meant Hood's skirmishes lasted longer than Nightwings. One thing Bane's goons could do was take a hit. Like the one he was fighting now. Red Hood had decked him hard in the right side of his face, but the mercenary had rolled his head with the blow and lessened its impact. Pulling out a very well-taken care of Bowie knife, the mercenary slashed at the masked former hoodlum, managing to get a cut in the teen's suit.

Hood naturally made a hop backwards, eyeing this killer warily. Spotting how another merc was taking aim at Hood's back, Nightwing thought he could use a little help. Adjusting his grip on his escrima, he threw it like a missile, voltage sparking off its front end as it spun like a football through the air. It went over Hood's shoulder and struck the armed man behind him directly in the face, taking care of him painfully.

The knife-wielding mercenary paused, his body freezing if only for a second as he saw his comrade get taken down. To his credit, Hood took advantage of the hesitation, clapping both his hands on the flat sides of the blade and twisting, disarming the trained killer. The older vigilante widened his eyes as Hood relocated one hand to the knife's handle and then try to use it against the merc.

The merc was quick to grab Hood's arms and stop his own weapon from stabbing him. However, that whole thing turned out to be feint as Hood picked up a foot and jabbed it into the side of the man's knee, forcing the leg to overextend and throw him off balance.

Yanking the blade away, Hood made another stab with it and got the mercenary in his upper right arm. The man gave out a cry, which ended when a vicious punch nailed him in the jaw.

That was a little bit too violent for Nightwing's tastes, but now didn't look like a good time to get on the younger vigilante about it. Later, then.

Meanwhile, across the street, Red Robin and Spoiler were turning out to be a dynamic duo. There was a little bit of pride he felt as he saw the former Robin literally swooping in and dealing some damaging blows to some mobsters, intentionally shoving a man here and there into Spoiler's path, in which the hooded girl would finish the criminal off with a well aim throw to the pavement, or ramming a head into either a parked car, a building, and just now a telephone pole.

Those two were starting to come into their own. He could praise those two later, it was time to get back to work.

A bolt of electricity struck a mercenary further down the street. And Bluebird was in top form tonight too. She was being careful with her shots, not over doing so as to keep these warring criminals off their guard. They were practically done with this street at this point and were getting close to entering the heart of all this madness.

If they kept this up—

—that thought ended abruptly as explosions tore into the street, Red Hood tackling him out of the way of a screaming rocket that tore into a bullet-riddled car.

"They brought fucking bazookas!" Red Hood yelled.

So that's what they were. Quickly, he searched for the other two down on the ground with them. Initially, he couldn't find either Spoiler or Red Robin, until he looked higher up and found that the latter had the former holding on to him while his cape was spreading out impressively into a pair of wings, a trail of smoke following after his feet.

Suddenly, Nightwing felt that Oracle was favoring one of them with the better toys.

From a rooftop, another rocket was fired, and it was going straight for the pair of flying vigilantes. Already taking evasive action, Red Robin twisted the two of them out of the explosive's way, and gliding out of sight, a building blocking them.

Crap. "Spoiler! Red Robin! Talk to me!" he ordered into his earpiece, wincing as another rocket detonated close to his and Hood's current location.

"We got to move!" Red Hood bellowed.

"We're gonna take the roofs," Red Robin responded at the same time, cutting out as quickly as he had called in.

Lovely.

"Let's go!" he told Hood and scrambled to his feet, darting further down the street, he took a second to pick up the escrima he had thrown earlier and with his younger partner, the two of them pressed further into enemy territory.

To Guest: Many good questions there. Only time will tell