Max Shreck calmly set the phone down. He sat behind his desk, one hand laying on the phone receiver, the other cupping his chin. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the news he had just received.

The destruction of Gotham's less savory locales had been interfered with. Of the seven locations, only two had gone up in flames. The GCPD were currently investigating, fire marshalls shifting through the rubble to discover the cause. They would find accidental gas leaks that caught fire, or at worse, attempts by the owner to destroy their property for insurance purposes.

However, more of the men hired to perform these jobs had been arrested. So far, none of them had talked. That would only last for so long.

He could expect one team failing. There was a reason for so many locations chosen. It was an occupational hazard that there would be someone that failed. However, there were five teams that had failed. While not statistically impossible, it was highly improbable.

So what had happened? Well, that's where a third member of each team came in. Though two men were supposed to set up the explosion, there was a third keeping an eye on them, ready to step in should something occur, like a random police officer spotting them.

According to all of his lookouts, it hadn't been the police.

Women in costumes had struck out of nowhere, vigilantes inspired by the Batman. Max didn't care to know their names, he knew what their objections were. Now, had it been their groups coming across his teams, that was happenstance. Bad luck that had been planned for.

But no, one had been seen at each location, which meant they had been either solo that night, or they had split up and cased these specific locations. All seven had its own protector and their interference had left only two ideal places for his power plant.

Somehow, they had found out about his plan. There was no other explanation. The odds, in this case, were impossible without prior knowledge. How had they found out about the plan?

Well, there was only one explanation for that.

There was a leak and they had managed to get words to these vigilantes. How Max detested leaks. A round up of everyone that knew of the plan would need to be done. Because of the sensitivity of the plan, that restricted that number to manageable levels.

The door to his office opened. "Dad," his son greeted him as he strolled into the room, the door closing behind him. "How did the fireworks go?"

Max shook himself out of his thoughts. "Not as many went off…as we would have liked. There were…party poopers."

"Party poopers?" Chip repeated. "Who? How?"

"People in fancy clothes. Somehow…they found out. I want you to look…into a possible leak. I don't care how you do it…just get it done."

"I'll get right on it," Chip said before he spun around and left the office, leaving Max all by himself. He could trust Chip to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, he would need to shrink his inner circle to those he knew he could trust, like Chip. He was the only one that knew the full scope of the power plant plan, so he could be trusted in all things.

Everyone else, however, were suspect.


Something was off.

Cassandra sat in the chair, staring through the bulletproof glass that separated her from her father. He was still in those orange prison clothes, something she felt herself growing to detest. It proclaimed loudly that he had done something wrong when she knew he hadn't.

The moment he plopped himself into his own chair, she got a good look at his face. He wasn't clean-shaven, a stubble noticeable over his chin, cheeks and neck. Her attention, however, went to his left eye, where a dark black eye was.

There was something wrong. She could see it in his body language. He was stiff and tense. She didn't think he was in danger; he knew how to protect himself. So why did it seem as if he were on edge?

Cassandra picked up the phone receiver to her right and held it to her ear, waiting expectantly for her father to do the same. When he did, she couldn't help but notice the abrasions on his knuckles. Between those and the black eye, and she knew he had been in a fight recently.

He didn't say a word as he held the receiver to his ear. That wasn't too unexpected, but she wasn't certain how to proceed. "Hi," she greeted shyly.

"Hi," he grunted back.

"I came to see you. I hope that's okay."

"It is."

This was awkward. Last time, Lucius was here to lead the conversation and there had been important things to go over. This…this was the equivalent of small talk and she wasn't certain how to go about it. In all honesty, she just wanted to see him and know that he was okay.

She was suspecting he wasn't.

"Did something happen? You have a black eye."

"Something like that."

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Those short answers she expected between him and the cops, or a suspect, or anyone that wasn't her. "Can you tell me what happened?" she growled in annoyance.

"A few of the inmates got rough, that's all. It's nothing to worry about."

"But I am worried." The words had escaped her lips before she could stop them. "What's wrong? You're not like yourself at all."

He bowed his head slightly, his eyes staring down at some point low on the window. "Don't concern yourself with me. Prisons are known for having inmates attacking one another."

"Did one attack you?"

His eyes darted up. He stared her in the eyes before he glanced up to the ceiling and back. There was something significant about that look, but it was escaping her. "Did someone attack you?" she pressed.

"There are recorders, Cassandra."

"I don't care. You shouldn't be attacked! Tell me who did this!"

"They aren't any of your concern. You have more important things, like not being in the office with Lucius."

"I told him I was coming to visit you. He said it was alright and to come back by lunch."

Her father's eyes narrowed. "How generous of him."

That's when she noticed his free hand seemed to be twitching. It was like the jittery gesture addicts made when they weren't getting their fix. Blatantly staring at his hand, she then demanded, "Are you doing drugs?"

"What? No! Of course not."

"Then why do you look like an addict craving their next fix?"

He realized she was blatantly looking at his hand and he quickly pulled it out of sight. "I'm not doing drugs."

"Then what is it? You can tell me."

Her father sighed. It sounded loud over the phone receiver. "I'm…missing our time at night. Being locked up in here is not letting me do what I've gotten used to doing."

Their time at night? They didn't do much of anything at night except be—oh. Ohhhhhhhh. Okay, that was as far as they needed to go with that. She tried to say something to assure him she understood now, but she couldn't think of anything except, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

They fell into an awkward silence. Cassandra was uncertain as to what to say and her father wasn't helping her. It wasn't until a guard came by and gruffly ordered, "Finish it up. You have a minute."

Her father looked over his shoulder at the guard and nodded. "Listen, Cassandra, don't take this the wrong way," he began, which confused her. "I like seeing you, but this isn't the place that I ever imagined us meeting up."

"Me too."

"Thank you for seeing me, but make this the last time."

What?

"This isn't a proud moment for me, being behind prison bars and seeing you for five or ten minutes at a time. It's just a constant reminder of what I'm losing. So I'm asking you, please, don't come see me here again."

What…but why? Why was he saying this thing? Why was he doing this?

Abruptly, her father hung the phone receiver on its hook and stood up. He only gazed at her for a moment before he turned and walked away.

And Cassandra just sat there in a daze, the receiver melded to her face.


That had been one of the hardest things he had to do.

As Bruce left the visitor center, he could still see the stunned look on his daughter's face. It was something that would haunt his dreams tonight, assuming he actually fell asleep.

She was very perceptive of his current situation. Her incredible ability to read body language had seen right through him. And her concern, it tore at him, the figurative eagle ripping through Prometheus for his liver. He couldn't look at her and not feel bad; bad that he was in prison; bad that he couldn't be there for her.

It was too much.

"Wayne, the warden wants to see you."

Bruce stopped, a guard moving in front of him, a pair of handcuffs in his hands. The guard didn't hesitate as he slapped the cuffs on him, tightening them to the point they began digging into his wrists. He didn't verbally respond; questioning the guard would not end well.

Which was how he ended up in Warden Zorbatos' office, a guard just behind his chair as he was roughly forced into it. Zorbatos just stared at him from the other side of her desk, one eye focused on him like a hawk, an eyepatch covering up the other.

"Mind telling me what the hell you're doing in my prison, Wayne?" the Warden demanded.

Bruce stared at her like a babe in the woods. "I don't—"

"Save it," she interrupted him. "I'm certain you know who Herman Gantz is."

Oh, yes he did. Apparently someone had found the rapist and his friends in the boiler room. "I believe I do," he replied after a moment, doing his best to sound hesitant.

"Then mind telling me why you beat the unholy hell out of him?"

Alright, he had fought back against Gantz, but he hadn't beaten the man that badly. He would know, he had done it to criminals before. The actions he had taken were in self-defense, and aside from some pelvic trauma, there was nothing done that one could say was brutal.

You know, aside from the crotch kicking.

"You…you think I beat him up?" he sputtered out.

Zorbatos narrowed her eye before leaning towards him. "That's exactly what I'm saying, Wayne. Now cut the bullshit. You were seen leaving the yard with Gantz and now he's in the infirmary with the others. Now tell me what the hell you did to them."

Well, he had that against him. It seemed he needed to spin the story. "I did leave with them," he admitted, "but that's because Gantz had been holding a knife to me."

Zorbatos moved a hand out of sight, then revealed a plastic bag, the shank Gantz had used contained within it. "You mean this?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"So you're telling me you beat those men in self-defense."

"Beat is a strong word."

Zorbatos set the shank-containing bag down on her desk. "Then let's put it this way: I've got one man whose face is black and blue, another man with third degree burns to his face, another with a crushed nose and broken jaw, and then there's Gantz. He currently has more broken ribs than unbroken ones, both of his legs are shattered, and he has a concussion."

Bruce had to resist frowning. There was no way he had caused that much damage. All he had done to Gantz was kick him in the balls and pile drive his elbow into the man's head. At most, the concussion he could be blamed for, but where had the broken bones come from? And that third man, the one with the broken nose and jaw, he hadn't done that either. That had to be the man that ran away before he pummeled the other one.

Something wasn't right here.

"I didn't break any bones, Warden Zorbatos, I can promise you that," he said earnestly.

"Then tell me what happened; tell me every last detail if you know what's good for you."

The dark-haired man nodded. "As I said, Gantz and his friends forced me to the boiler room. They demanded I…" he trailed off.

"Fuck them," Zorbatos supplied. She was as blunt as ever.

"Right," he acknowledged. "So I pulled Gantz's pants down and pushed him over."

"Push him over?" the Warden repeated skeptically.

"Yeah, with his pants around his ankles, he lost his balance pretty easily. He tripped because of them and fell onto the floor."

"Then what?"

"I stood up and kicked him in the balls. I figured if those hurt, he wouldn't be able to…as you say, fuck me."

Zorbatos slowly nodded her acceptance. "Keep going."

"That's when one of his friends, Sampson I think, tried to take over. I started to back away, but tripped. As I started to fall, I grabbed onto him and he lost his balance. He ended up falling onto the hot water pipes and it looked as if it burned him."

"And the other two?"

"I don't know those. I know one guy ran off and the other guy I saw trip over Gantz. I took off running after that."

Zorbatos stared at him. "You expect me to believe all of that?"

"I can only tell you what I know happened," he shrugged.

"And I say that's bullshit, Wayne."

He remained silent. Trying to explain himself further would only get him into worse trouble. Bad enough Zorbatos thought he assaulted those men.

"I know Gantz is a piece of shit human being," the Warden told him. "So are those guys he associates with. Clearly, you're claiming self-defense and a couple things you've said match up, but that's not all that happened. I can tell you're keeping something away from me, and if you know what's best for you, you'll come clean. Try my patience and you'll find yourself in an awful predicament. Now, quit wasting my time and tell me what the hell happened."

Bruce stared at her. Gone was his cowering, innocent rich man and in its place was a man not the least bit cowed. "That's all I know happened. I left as soon as I could. Between the time I left and the time they were found, anything could have happened, including someone else finding them. They're monsters, so I'm certain there are other people they've attacked. One of those people could have taken that as an opportunity for revenge."

Zorbatos stared at him. "And that's your story?"

"Yes, that's my story."

She continued to stare, trying to intimidate him with the stony look on her face. It was a look he had used to good effect on the streets, so there was no way she was going to be able to use it against him. "Get him out of my sight," she finally relented. A hand grabbed onto Bruce's shoulder and he was pulled out of the chair he had been seated in. "Just know this, Wayne: I'm going to figure out what happened in that boiler room, and when I find out it was all you, I'll put you in a hole so deep, you'll be a fossil the next time anyone sees you, understand?"

The dark-haired man simply nodded before he was led away.


The pain was unbearable, but not nearly as bad as the humiliation that it was caused by that filthy usurper. His honor was offended, damaged by that one punch.

And why did it have to hurt so much!

Even when it wasn't hurting, it throbbed endlessly. Damian wondered just how long that would last. Was it something that would go on until he was dead? A constant reminder that the Usurper had gotten yet another one over him? She would pay for this; oh yes, she would pay. She would regret laying a hand on him when he drove his katana through her guts. She would regret ever taking his rightful place from him.

But that would have to wait. For now, he needed his mother to heal him.

He did not wait for permission to barge into her office. No one would dare tell him what to do. As he flung the doors open, Damian was surprised to find the room empty.

Where the hell was his mother?

Here he was, her only son, her very reason for being, and he was in excruciating pain. And she was the only one that could make it better! He couldn't take it anymore! Where the hell was she?!

"MO-ther!" he shouted, or at least he tried. The first syllable had been spoken loudly, but that required opening his mouth wide and the pain seared into him, which caused the next syllable to come out much softer. Tears nearly welled up around his eyes, it hurt so much.

He looked around the room, searching for her, yet still not finding her. It was office hours, was it not? She was required to come to the business and oversee its operations. So where was she?

"Servant woman!" he called out. In response, the assassin passing off as a secretary appeared in the doorway behind him. "Where is my mother?"

"The princess is meeting with the Gotham press, my prince," the woman replied. "She will come here shortly."

"Tsk," was all he responded with. Count on his mother never being around when he truly needed her. He held a hand up and waved it, signaling for the assassin to remove herself from his presence. The sound of the door closing confirmed that nonverbal order was done.

Sulking, he headed for the desk, plopping himself in the chair. If his mother were here, she would demand that he sit properly in it. Since she was not here, he took advantage by slouching in it.

Could this day begin any worse? Assaulted by the Usurper and now ignored by his mother; it was unacceptable. And how did the Usurper knock him out with one hit? He was an accomplished warrior and assassin, so it should have taken more than one hit to defeat him.

Yet, she had done so with ease. How hard had she hit him? Based off of the pain, it must have been hard. Yet, he would have noticed a windup, the preparation for such a powerful blow. Raising a hand up, the tips of his fingers pressed gingerly onto the joint where the jaw connected with the skull. It was there he felt the greatest discomfort. He only applied light pressure to determine if there was something broken and felt nothing.

She must have been proud of this latest victory. Even now, Damian could see that smug look on her face, lording over him with false superiority. She was not his better, not now, not ever.

Unfortunately, he could recall his mother's lessons, specifically the one that demanded he pay attention to the Usurper. He could not ignore her abilities, and as unfortunate as it was, she was the better fighter. Age was certainly a factor there, so she naturally had more knowledge and skills. Still, the only time he held an advantage was during their first encounter in his father's base of operations. He had kept her on the defensive until the end.

And then it had been an endless line of insults and…and…

I can't take this anymore!

Damian nearly flung himself out of the chair, stopping to remain seated on its edge. There must be some sort of medicine he could take in the desk. His mother complained of the occasional headache, so there must be something here she kept to cure it. He opened the main drawer and found nothing he could use. Shoving it closed, he began opening the side drawers one at a time, roughly slamming them shut with ever increasing frustration.

Completing the search of one side of the desk, he went to the drawers on the other, starting at the top. The items contained within the drawer rattled as he pulled it open, the boy nearly shouting with joy. There was a small bottle of ibuprofen next to a phone, which he snatched up. Yes, this would do nicely.

Now as long as the child-proof lid didn't stop him…

Damian paused as he clutched at the medicine bottle. For a brief moment, he forgot about the pain in his jaw, his eyes darting back into the drawer. Lying there was a cellular phone, which was rather odd. His mother carried hers whenever she was performing her duties to the company, so why was this here? Reaching into the drawer, he picked it up and pressed a thumb on the on button.

The screen didn't immediately light up, telling him it was completely off. Pressing down longer on the button, it took a couple seconds before the screen lit up.


This sucked. Like, it sucked worse than that time a robber took pity over her. That was straight-up embarrassing, but hey, she was just starting out.

Stephanie was seasoned now. She had been doing this vigilante thing for years now; she had been receiving training, and that was some tough, make you go home crying kind of training. Hell, she had been kicking some serious ass in her first solo.

And then came the flare and the entire building went up in flames.

Batgirl had protected Crime Alley. Bluebird had protected her home. Why was she the one that failed? Why her? She had a couple of wins under her belt. She had beaten the freaking Riddler of all people! She was one of this city's accepted vigilantes.

So why was she the only failure?

Stephanie hated this feeling. She hated being the screw-up. She didn't need her dad's voice in her head telling her she had to do better. She practically had visions of Cassandra standing in front of her, arms crossed over her chest, demanding she get back up and get her ass beat again during one of their spars.

And Harper wasn't helping at all either.

"Shit happens," the blue-haired girl said, trying to be comforting. It wasn't working. "We don't always succeed."

"Easy for you to say," Stephanie grumbled from where she sat on a bench. Her less-than-comforting friend was right next to her, though she preferred social distancing at that moment. "You're not the one that let their location blow up."

"And I'd be homeless if I did. At least your place was empty. Manhunter's was full of crack addicts."

Oh gee, hers wasn't as bad as someone else's. That was soooo comforting—not. "You know what's going to happen, right? Cassandra's gonna come through that door at any moment, say that I didn't do enough, and ground me. She's going to ground me again."

Harper raised an eyebrow at her. "Weren't you the one that said we needed to follow her every command? I was the one chafing at being stuck in this BatCave of ours. You were being the teacher's pet."

"That's because I knew I needed to get better. Towards the end it was frustrating, but I got why we were doing it that way." The blonde girl sighed. "But we've been doing things lately and…I can't go back to that. I was actually winning all by myself. You weren't there; Batgirl wasn't there; Batman wasn't there. It was all me.

"For once, I didn't feel like I was in over my head. The training was working! And then…boom. It all went up in smoke the moment that asshole fired that flare. It's like I'm back at square one again."

"No one's perfect, Steph," Harper replied. "Every one of us struggled at some point, even Batman. I have told you that time I saved his life, right?"

Stephanie rolled her eyes. Yeah, she had heard the story and she had her doubts. Harper claimed to have jump started a man's heart with a car battery, which was highly unlikely. It was too damn far-fetched to be believable. Unfortunately, she had convinced Cullen to back up her story, so it was hard to argue it.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard your story," she groaned.

"And it's a hundred percent true, just ask Cass," Harper said. "The point is, every single one of us has a setback at some point, even the best."

As if that were magical words, the iron door to the BatCave creaked opened, the hinges shrilling screaming as it was shut. Here was the best, their leader, coming to tell Stephanie the…bad…news…

The moment the blonde girl laid eyes on Cassandra, she knew something wasn't right. The dark-haired girl looked as if she had the life sucked right out of her. She was in a daze, shuffling through the chamber.

Alright, Stephanie knew she was wallowing in self-pity, but the way Cassandra was acting was enough to get her out of that hole. Even Harper noticed the odd behavior. "Hey," she called out to the girl as she slowly approached them. "Is something wrong?"

The girl didn't even acknowledge the words. Unconscious, Stehpanie stood up from the bench she had been sitting on, the same with Harper. There was something really wrong about this.

Cassandra lumbered over to them and plopped herself on the bench, arms dangling so that her hands ended up on the inner side of her thighs. Her head hung low, her eyes glued to the floor. The two teenage girls shared a look with each other. "Hey? Cass?" Stephanie ventured as she held a hand out, placing it on the girl's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

There was silence, which seemed to be all the patience Harper had at that moment. "Okay, this wounded puppy business is not like you," she said bluntly, earning her a "shut your dumb mouth" look from Stephanie. The blue-haired girl either missed it, or completely ignored it, most likely the latter. "So, either tell us what's wrong, or we spar it out of you. The way you're acting, all we'd have to do is push you over."

"How nice of you, Harper," the blonde teen grumbled. "Why don't you tell her ol' Yeller dies at the end?"

Apparently, Harper heard that and actually looked towards her. "The heck is ol' Yeller?"

"Oh, come on, that's been popular culture for centuries," Stephanie replied exasperatedly. "It's like saying you haven't seen E.T."

"The heck is E.T.?"

"...you're either being serious, or you're just messing with me right now. I can't tell which."

Harper stared at her before rolling her eyes. "Whatever, the point is our glorious leader needs to start talking, or I'll punch the answers out of her."

"Seriously? Punch it out of her? Why don't you pull her fingernails out while you're at it?"

"Hey, punching people works for Batman."

Had Stephanie not had her hand on Cassandra's shoulder, she would have missed the girl stiffening upon the mentioning of her dad. This drew her attention away from the blue-haired girl. "Cass? Is something wrong with your dad?" she questioned. "You just went rigid when we mentioned him."

The girl didn't look up. She just continued staring at some point on the floor she found fascinating. "You can tell us," the blonde said gently. "We're your friends, so we can help."

Finally, Cassandra did something other than look like someone had killed her puppy. Her lips began to move and sounds came out. Unfortunately, those sounds were mumbles, so there was no telling what she said.

"I didn't catch that. Can you say it again?"

"...I went to see him."

Him…was him Batman? "You went to see your dad?" she guessed. "Was something wrong?"

"He…" the dark-haired girl began and trailed off as soon as she started. "He…told me not to…see him again." She raised her head up, her face so full of hurt that it made Stephanie ache for her. "Why? Why did he say that? Did I do something wrong?"

Harper suddenly sat on the other side of the distraught girl. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "No, you did nothing wrong," she told their friend, her voice surprisingly gentle. "It has nothing to do with you."

"But it hurts. I don't understand."

"You're not going to. You can't. You haven't gone through what he's going through right now."

"I can help him. I am helping him." There was a spark of life in her that was starting to grow. "So why is he tossing me aside?"

Oooooh. Stephanie couldn't help but wince. If there was one thing she had learned about Cassandra over the last year, she was very sensitive about her family situation. Her mom was a world-renowned assassin and her actual, sperm-donating father was unknown. The man she had thought was her father was a glorified kidnapper who taught her how to kill. Then there was Batman, who took her in, gave her a home, only for some snot-nosed brat to come along and constantly threaten to take it away from her. So basically, it was a powder keg that could blow with the right fuse.

"Why don't you tell us what happened? What was said?" she ventured.

Cassandra sucked in a bunch of air before snorting it out loudly. "I went to see him, see how he was doing, and he told me not to visit him again. I don't understand why. I mean, he looked like he had been roughed up, but I've seen him hurt worse than that."

Someone…someone had roughed up…the Batman? Stephanie had a hard time reconciling that in her head, but then she figured Blackgate was full of guys he had put in there personally. Even Batman couldn't fight off an army by himself, not without that mech suit he apparently had in that cave of his. At least, that's what Cassandra claimed was in there.

"You have to realize something, Cass," Harper then said. "This has nothing to do with you, first and foremost. It all has to do with him. He's embarrassed about being in jail; a lot of men are. It's not something they're proud of and it's not uncommon for them to tell their family not to see them like that."

"How do you know that?" the dark-haired girl questioned.

"Cause my dad is in jail."

That got the attention of the other two girls, both turning their heads to look at their friend. "Unlike yours, mine did what he's in jail for. He's constantly in and out. He's also pretty manipulative too. Last time I talked with him, he tried to guilt me for not giving him a place to stay when he was about to get out. Cullen and I cut him off around then, which wasn't easy."

"I didn't know that," Stephanie murmured.

"That's 'cause I never told you. It's not something I'm advertising, you know."

There was silence. Then, "What do I do?" Cassandra asked. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, the way I see it, you have two options," Harper answered her. "You can either do what he says, or you can ignore him."

"Ignore him? But he's the Batman," Stephanie interjected.

"And we're women; since when do we listen to dumb things that men say? And what he's saying is dumb."

"But…he's Batman…"

"And Batman can't say dumb things?"

"When was the last time you heard him say something dumb?"

"Just now, when he told Cass not to see him. I get that this whole experience isn't easy for him, but it isn't easy for her either. If this isn't a time for family to lean on each other, then I don't know what is."

Huh, Stephanie hadn't thought of that. A look to Cassandra told her that she was considering those words too. It seemed that was what she needed to hear as she no longer looked devastated.

If only life's problems were that easy to solve.