A picture was worth a thousand words, and Gordon was beginning to think there was some truth in it. In this case, the picture, or pictures, were of the KnightLife Stadium and the results of their trap. They had apprehended four of Bane's men, killed three, and the last three had escaped. Unfortunately, Bane was one of the three to escape.

Make no mistake, last night was a gamble, just another one of many he had done during his time as commissioner.

The location had been the big one, the stickler. The stadium was huge, a security nightmare, but just focusing on a small portion of it had been the selling point. If they could control just a small amount of space on one floor, that would be much more manageable than the entire building.

Based on initial reports, the plan had been working. They had their guys holed up in one of the box suites—as planned—brought in some heavy artillery, put enough pressure on the bastards until they either surrendered, or went down as a suicide by cop. Everything had been going their way.

The giant hole in the wall was not predicted. Other than a smoke bomb, no incendiary devices were reported used. They had several SWAT officers in the hospital with differing degrees of injuries, about four were in intensive care. Bill Petit was still pissed off about the outcome of the whole thing. On top of that, Bressi was spooked enough as it was, and with the failure of the operation the union boss wanted out of Gotham now.

The Commissioner understood because only an idiot wouldn't be able to connect the dots. Bane so far had shown that he was no idiot. There was only one thing to expect with absolute certainty.

And this was on top of several bombings linked with the Joker, a rampaging "Monster Man," and the murder of Quincy Sharp. The GCPD was been stretched to limits it had never known before and it would only be a matter of time until something snapped.

"So what now?" Sarah's voice broke him out of thoughts, bringing Gordon back to the here and now. There were other eyes on him, from other officers to administrators of other precincts, right down to Petit and Sawyer. Everyone waited for his answer, though they didn't need to. He understood why they did so; these were uncertain times and even the loudest of them were at a loss of what they could do.

The Commissioner, he was happy to say, wasn't.

"If Bane is anything like the people who came before him, there will be retaliation," he stated. "We can expect no less, and everyone is going to be watching him for what he'll do. Bane can't afford to let this slide, otherwise he shows weakness. Our question is where and when he'll strike."

"That's bullshit. We can't just sit on our asses and wait for that asshole to tear us a new one!" Petit practically exploded in his seat.

"What do you expect us to do?" Sawyer spoke up unexpectedly. "We have no idea where he is now, nor do we have anything he wants badly enough to risk coming back into the open. Using Tough Tony again won't be enough to draw this guy out."

"And what, wait like sitting ducks?" Petit demanded.

"That's something we can't do. We know retaliation is coming, so we need to head it off. The best way we can do that is to limit what options he has so that if he does try something, we'll be ready for it," Gordon stated. "Let's come up with some ideas while we still have the time."

He allowed for a moment of silence before the others in the room began to shoot out ideas and others warm up to them or knock them down. Some sounded alright, but there was something missing from them. Yes, go after the money, but how? Where? Who? Based on what undercovers knew, Bane was getting a stranglehold on all criminal activity. Where he began and ended was still unknown.

A shake up seemed fine, but again, where and who. Then there would be the accusations of police harassment and brutality. Sure, a stake out could be considered, but it always came back to the two questions of where and who.

Whatever it was these ideas were missing, the Commissioner didn't know, but he was sure he'd be able to recognize something that would be what they needed to do. He just had to hear it and then he would know that was the ticket. But so far, everything was too...cautious. Not that that wasn't something they needed to be.

A knock on the war room door was heard, but Gordon didn't pay it any attention. That was someone else's problem. Sarah's problem, as it turned out, when she got out of her seat and listened to what the officer on the side had to say. A moment later, the Lieutenant—and his wife—returned to the table and dropped a bombshell.

"How about a raid?" she asked.

"Where?" Sawyer asked, the "who" question waiting as a follow-up.

"An anonymous tip just came in. There's a weapons dump at a storage facility, something like a U-Store-It. The tip said that two individuals of Hispanic descent were seen there and with some heavy firepower—the kind that would give any of our officers probable cause and take out their firearms."

"And this was from an anonymous tip?" Sawyer questioned, clearly skeptical.

"As I said, we only just received it." Sarah shrugged her shoulders.

As a back and forth began, Gordon thought about that information. A weapons dump with some Spanish speaking men? Sounded like Bane might be involved. Still, they had rules they needed to follow so some follow up was needed.

"Was there anything more to the tip?" the Commissioner asked.

"Tipster gave the number of the storage unit," Sarah added.

How convenient. How did this person have such important information, or more importantly how did he get it? It sounded like the kind of intel that they needed right now. The Commissioner couldn't help but be suspicious about it.

However, what if it was all true? In that case, they couldn't afford not to investigate and seize this potential weapons dump. If it did belong to Bane, it would help to weaken his position, wouldn't it? His men tended to use military-grade weaponry, not the kind of stuff you found at your local wholesaler.

"It wouldn't hurt to check it out, and if there is something, we can take the initiative," Sarah was arguing now.

"With this kind of information, we're going to need a warrant first. This isn't just probable cause and we can't legally enter a place owned by somebody, probably a private citizen," Sawyer pointed out.

"If it even is a citizen," Petit snarked.

"Do we have anything else?" Gordon cut in before it went any further. After waiting a moment, "We check this out. If it's legit, and Bane is involve, this could hurt him. We can't afford not to take the chance. I'll contact the DA's office, get us a warrant, and then we'll go in."

It was always important to test your creations before you went all in on them. Crane knew this and wasn't about to throw away his former life as a researcher. Thanks to his change in fortunes, as well as the increase in free time, he had been hard at work on a new strain of his fear toxin.

So far, what he had hoped he had developed was a strain that had all the fear-inducing effects that his original formula had, but with one key difference. In the original, it had to be in aerosol form and absorbed through the lungs to have the fear response activated. This new one was intended to be a liquid version of the toxin.

There were many more applications to it if he could figure out the correct molecular structure. No more would he have to rely on having a tool that could be neutralized by a common, store bought, cloth-based air filter. A liquid version could be utilized in so many different ways.

The previous night, Crane believed he had found his new strain. So, when his new partner-in-crime struck out to find that traitorous Hugo Strange, he had donned on his old Scarecrow wardrobe and had taken to the streets himself. The outfit itself was worn, fraying, and patched in way too many places. It made him look not only penniless, but homeless as well, and not the ones that still had a few of their possessions with them.

Unlike the homeless populations, he had a new accessory in the form of a gauntlet, one that allowed him to attach syringe needles to the tips of his fingers. The device was filled with the new fear toxin, ready to be tested as well.

Unfortunately, due to the increase in violence in the city, people were keeping off the streets, hiding themselves away until morning when it was marginally safer to be out and about. On the other hand, the former scientist had no qualms with doing a little breaking and entering himself.

Which is exactly what he did. The where was irrelevant. So was the who. All that mattered was that someone was home, and indeed they were. Already to bed, a young couple unaware to the world as they slept the night away. Completely oblivious to the danger they were in.

A quick search of the home did not provide anything suitable to bind the two with, such as a rope or perhaps a pair of handcuff in case their sexual appetites leaned in that direction. The young male, though, did have some belts in the closet, and while not ideal, they would serve so long as he tied them correctly.

There was some anxiety, a concern that the two would wake up while he was looping the cheap leather belts around wrists and the slats that made up the headboard of the bed, but thankfully earlier childhood experiences had given him the unique skills to accomplish the feat. Or perhaps the pair were a couple of heavy sleepers. Either way, it resulted in success. Now, to wake them up.

Another simple solution; like all adults these days tended to have, there was an alarm clock on the bedside table. Though an alarm was set, Crane merely had to turn it off, fiddle with it for a moment and reset the alarm to a more present time. In fact, it should be going off right...about…

The shrill beeping of the clock filled the room and disturbed the sleeping occupants. Their heads instinctively jerked up, bodies tensing before relaxing. Sleep muddled minds had yet to detect their current restrained state, though the male's arms began to jerk with a groan accompanying them. He was going to try to turn the clock off.

Was, being the key word, because only now did he detect something was wrong. "The hell?" a sleep-addled voice swore as a head slid against the pillow to look up to the headboards.

"Why can't I move my arms?" the female subject groaned.

"Don't be too alarmed," Crane spoke at last, waking the pair up and attracting their attention. "This is just a little experiment, don't be frightened—yet."

"Who the fuck are you?!" the male swore, struggling with his bondage. Hmm, who knew how long that belt was going to last? And the headboard didn't appear to be very sturdy either. Best to hurry this up just in case.

"I may not appear like it, but I am a scientist, and I am in need of some guinea pigs for a little experiment of mine. I need to see what it can do and you happen to be the lucky two I picked," the costumed researcher explained, all the while fiddling with the contraption on his right hand.

Straightening his fingers, he smiled in triumph behind his mask as four needles slid up along the back of his digits and settled on the tips of his fingers. Thin, clear tubes extended back along his hand to his wrist and to the store of his new toxin waiting to be injected.

"Shit," the male said, eyes glued to the needles.

"Do save you breath," Crane recommended as he took a step closer to his two test subjects. "You'll be needing it very shortly."

"Keep those goddamn things away from me!" the male swore trying to squirm away and pushing right into the female.

With his other hand, the Scarecrow pressed down on the male. "Hold still. This is the first time I'm testing this invention of mine." Without waiting to clean the area with some alcohol first, the ragged-looking man stabbed the needles into the male's chest and watched as a yellow liquid fill the empty tubes and enter the syringes. The male cried out, struggling against the masked scientist, but was unable to escape the thin man's unlikely strength.

Pulling the needles out, he turned to the female who squeaked and tried the same futile escape as her beau. Into the chest, right above the left breast, he injected his toxin into her while the injected male's breathing began to quicken.

"We'll give it a minute," the Scarecrow remarked as he took a step away from the bed. "Once the toxin has been in your system long enough, we'll begin talking."

That, perhaps, might not be as long as he expected. The male's eyes were staring straight at him, dilating as sweat began beading on his skin. Already, he could see the familiar signs of the fight-or-flight response. It seemed like it was fast-acting, more so than he had anticipated.

He couldn't help it; the masked man gave a chuckle and only then did the screaming start.

He wasn't sure he should be doing this. With the advancement of technology, you would think this wasn't a problem anymore. Yet, old habits die hard. While it wasn't an Earth-shattering decision, it could be consequential to many people.

Should he, or should he not call his girlfriend before her plane took off?

Airlines always made the request for passengers to turn off their phones before take off. It had something to do with the phone signals interfering with the traffic control tower and their relaying information to pilots. There was a long line of aircraft crashes that were blamed because someone couldn't hold on ten minutes to make a phone call.

Now, there were some differences with this case. For instance, Queen Industries' company jet would be taking Dinah and Red Robin to Florida, so it wasn't like a couple hundred people would die if he were to make the call. On the other hand, he kinda liked these two, one more than the other.

Decisions, decisions.

Absently, Ollie hit the call button and dumbly stared at his phone's screen as it initiated the call. Faintly, he heard one ring, then two. It wasn't too late to hang up now.

A third ring, and then he heard a familiar voice. "Hello?"

Immediately, Ollie shoved his phone up to his ear and spoke into the receiver. "Hey, Pretty Bird," he greeted.

"Hey yourself," Dinah replied good-naturedly. "To what do I owe this expected call?"

"Oh, I just wanted…" he trailed off as the blonde's words made sense in his head. "What do you mean 'expected'?"

"Well, we've hardly talked the last couple of days. I figured you'd want to talk before I hit the Caribbean beaches."

"Am I right to assume that you plan on a short vacation, one that requires not-so-modest swimwear, if any?" the billionaire questioned.

"Well, now that you mention it…"

"Tell the pilot to not take off. There's been a change in passengers. I'm sure that Red Robin kid will understand."

He heard Dinah chuckle on the other hand. "I'm sure he will. Anyways, is there something you needed to talk to me about? If so, better make it quick. The pilot's getting ready for take off."

Ollie found himself rubbing the back of hisnheck with one of his hands. See, he hadn't really planned this phone call out, so he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. It was quite a quandary. Still, he had made the call, so he might as well make the most of it.

"I just wanted to wish you a safe trip. Don't do anything too dangerous," he ended up telling her after a moment.

"I appreciate the concern," Dinah responded warmly. "Don't get yourself killed watching over Gotham for me."

That made the blond man pause. "Heeey, what's that supposed to mean? I'll have you know I've watched over my own city, thank you very much."

"And I'm impressed, really. Though, I do doubt your city has suffered two different prison breaks and had a muscle-bound hitman try to take it over one block at a time."

Well, she had him there. "Touche."

Suddenly, his phone made a ringing sound in his hear, causing Ollie to pull it away from his face. At the top of the screen, he saw a text banner, one that told him another of his company's jets had taken off from Jump City. Moving the phone back to the side of his face, he said, "Hey, I just got word that your back-up just took off from Jump."

"Thanks. I'll let Red Robin know." A pause. "In all seriousness, Ollie, take care of yourself."

"You don't have to worry about me, Pretty Bird. I'll be right as rain."

He could practically see the smirk on Dinah's face. "You better be. Alright, I have to go now. You be safe and I'll be right back."

"Hey now, careful with that. People have a tendency to not come back after making that promise."

"Since when?"

"Tom Hanks in Cast Away."

Now she was shaking her head while fighting back a smile, Ollie was sure of it. "Behave."

"You sure? Because I thought you liked it when I misbehaved."

There was a pause before, "Yeah, I do, but now isn't the time. Later, Ollie."

And with that, the call ended, the cell phone beeping to indicate as much. Lowering his phone, Ollie looked blankly at a wall. It wasn't an exciting wall by any stretch of the imagination; it just happened to be right in front of him.

In all seriousness, he hoped those two would be alright. This prison place did not sound like a pleasant place to be. Still, if there was anyone that could take care of themselves, it was Dinah.

She just better not drop the soap in the washroom.

The air was musty and old. This was due to the room being locked away, sealed tight to keep all sounds and smells contained.

The room itself was nothing more than a glorified cellar—a basement if you will. However, it was dank and musty from leakage, stained with fluids be it water or bodily.

Ra's al Ghul entered the room, his face a permanent mask of fury and disdain. His men had secured the room earlier in the evening, their presence visible to him. Each man stood an even distance away from the other, lining the wall all the way to the opposite wall. They were at attention, hands at their sides, posture stiff.

"The room is just as it was found, Master," Ubu informed the Demon's Head, the manservant standing to the right and behind the older man. "Nothing has been disturbed."

Ra's sincerely hoped so. His senses told him something wrong had been done in this place. The air, the stains, the scene, it was all wrong.

There was little to concern himself at the entrance of the room. What drew the ancient man's attention was a small stone altar towards the back of the room, perhaps two-thirds of the way in. It stood to waist-height and was stained with an old, dark substance long since dry considering the flaking present. This was the primary reason for the sense of wrongness in the room.

After all, Ra's knew the sight of dried blood.

The dark stain itself was deep within the stone, indicating multiple uses, though the number itself was indeterminable. At the very least, it had not been used recently. Moving closer to the altar, Ra's scowl harden. There was only one reason for such a sight and he detested it.

As if to confirm what he already knew, his steely blue eyes moved to a mantle that was situated at head-height on the back wall. There were many totems on the shelf, all undoubtedly with some sort of symbology. There was a small bell along with a set of antlers from some creature, perhaps a deer. There was a small box as well, partially opened with pentagrams drawn into its surface. An old chalice, its luster long lost due to poor maintenance, was next to the box.

However, at the center of these items was a totem Ra's knew all too well. Whomever made it was adept in the art of cryptotaxidermy. Ra's was certain the creature used as its base was formerly a bat, one that had its lower body transformed to a humanoid form, with longs legs and a bloated stomach. The upper body was much like a bat's, its arms spread out wide and its fanged mouth open. It was covered in bat hair, painstakingly applied all over the totem.

The very sight of it disgusted Ra's. He had suspected to find the followers of Barbatos in this dark city and he was not disappointed. One only needed to take into considering the occultists' fascination with bats. All over the world, they had been in action, performing despicable rituals that should have long since been buried and forgotten.

Black Magic—in particular, Blood Magic—Ra's detested it. Ever since he had come across it in his first century of life, he had made it his mission to destroy every semblance of its existence whenever he found it. Temples, places of worship, and even its practitioners had been hunted down and burned, erasing their existence from the face of the planet.

While the Demon's Head had once considered using such magics, he had reneged on the idea due to what such magics did to the planet. Blood Magic had a way of twisting and ruining everything it touched and the environment was not spared. To this, Ra's was adamant on making sure its practice was never performed. It was one of his many lifelong crusades and one he was most successful at.

After all, how many blood mages were in positions of power?

"Make records," Ra's ordered then, his voice carrying throughout the room. His eyes never wavered from the totem of Barbatos. "I want everything as it was to be documented—then destroyed. Ensure this room never suffers such desecration again."

With that, Ra's spun around on his heels and swiftly made his way to the exit. He had no doubt his orders would be carried out in full.

However, this was only one more piece of evidence. Barbatos and his followers had turned their eyes to Gotham, no doubt with something nefarious in mind. It had been perhaps a year since he had found one of the first hidden sacrificial altars, and each subsequent one had led him to the Detective's city. How the Detective had missed their activities, he did not know, but with his current whereabouts unknown, it fell to him and his Fangs to correct that oversight.

Though Ra's had every intention on leaving, he found himself stopping just before the doorway. A glance to Ubu had told him the manservant had news for him.

"Speak."

Ubu's head tilted towards him. "Master, we are currently being watched."

This did not faze Ra's in the slightest. "By whom?"

"A man in black, heavily-armed, and wearing a mask resembling an owl."

Ah, another matter the Detective had failed to resolve. What a mess he had left behind. "See that he is captured and brought to me. Living or deceased matters very little."

To Guest: He better be quick about it, whatever it is. Tough Tony ain't no one's fool. He'd be hightailing it out of the city very quickly.