Author's Note: Merry Christmas, folks, and we are back. I know it's been a while since Seventy-Seven Shattered Souls, this story was still in the process of being completed. Here we are though, middle of Christmas season too. Perhaps consider this first chapter a special Christmas gift from ShadowMajin and I to all of you. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: We do not own Batman

Yuletide Slaying

While later in the year than normal, the air was chilly this night. From above, snow gently fell from the sky and while it at first melted against the ground, enough began to build up, creating a white coating for Gotham.

Winter was sweeping in, but not everyone was huddling indoors. It was more than just a seasonal change, it was also the holiday season. Reds and greens decorated the streets from wreaths and pine-themed streamers, candy canes, stockings, ribbons, countless lights, and of course the Giant Christmas Tree located at Gotham Plaza. This was perhaps the one time of the year in which Gotham was lit up.

For Rico, it was away from the lights he was along with his crew. In the industrial sector they were, entering into an alley-like space that was in the center of what had once been a mighty factory. A shadow of itself now, this little section had little traffic in it, enough space in it for an eighteen-wheeler to back up into to drop off freight, though.

Don't get him wrong, there was still some traffic, but not like in the glory days before outsourcing was a thing. You maybe got a truck back here every two to three days. When not having trucks backing into it, it would be empty save for a dumpster for the trash, some fire escape ladders that were a hold out from decades ago that were bolted to the side of the building, and whatever snow piled up down here.

It did make for a nice niche, though. A good place to do some dealing. The kind of dealing that got cops and other self-righteous assholes kicking a stink, and let's not forget about Batman. This was his thirteenth time being back in here, and so far no one was the wiser.

It was just him, and some of the boys, the local reps for the Calabreses. They were making a comeback, right here in what was now Batman's turf. Ha! Mr. Halloween didn't seem to have a clue! So long as everything was kept under wraps…ah, and here we go. Driving on down towards them, the "customer."

Nice sedan there. A bit old, but hey, the oldies were golden for a reason. As the vehicle came to a stop and some Asian types started climbing out, a bit of his eagerness went away. So, muscling on the classic look, huh? Chinese, Japanese, whatever they were, they needed to stay in their lane. But! Couldn't fault them for their taste.

Rico gave a look to his boys, and his boys were keeping an eye out. Some were looking up too. You had to in this city. With snowflakes crunching under feet, the Asians walked up to him.

Obviously, the short one with a balding head, hair combed over to hide it had to be the main muchacho. Beside him was a much taller, pencil thin guy who looked like he'd fall over with a stiff breeze. There were at least three large Asians, though—didn't know they grew them that big—and they had to be the muscle.

Not bothering to check his watch, Rico greeted, "Evenin' gents! Glad you could make it! Let's make this quick, and get out of here. Cold, if you know what I mean."

The pencil thin man immediately began to talk some freaky Chinese or Japanese, or whatever, same difference. All choppy and everything. Sounded the same too. Short and balding responded in the same language and then pencil spoke in spot on English.

"You brought what we are promised?"

Ah, business! Right! Gesturing with a hand, one of his boys drew closer, holding up a very wide briefcase. Rico put in the combination to the locks while his man held the case parallel with the ground. The lid opened and his boy tilted the case so that the Asian could get a good look at the goods.

"Calabreses always keep their promises. Question is, do you?" he quipped back.

Short and baldy stared intently at the briefcase's contents, then gave what sounded like a quick command. Two of the Asian muscle stepped forward, each with briefcases of their own. Opening them up, Rico got a good look at the green within. Really loved that color, though the Feds really needed to knock it off with adding additional colors. Green was good enough, and the amount they were promised had to be in there.

"This will satisfy your boss, correct?" pencil man asked mildly.

Definitely. Not gonna say it out loud, though. Closing his case and locking it once more, Rico took it by the handle, ready to turn it over. "I'd say so. Now let's make this quick and leave. Places to be, other business, you understand."

Keep this quick and simple. See the goods, make sure they're there, make the trade, and go. Four easy steps, two down, two to go, and then they'd all be having a holly, jolly night.

Asian muscle closed their cases and stepped around their boss and the translator. Two of Rico's boys approached to accept the cases while Rico himself made his way to short and baldy. Couldn't spend the time to learn some English, huh? Not his problem.

Holding the case to the man, Rico opened his mouth to give a nice little quip to end the night on.

He never made it as the lid to the dumpster opened, bags of trash falling out, and then the rapidfire of machine guns ending the silent night with a holey one.

Rico had been turning his head to look when the first bullets tore into him. His Asian buyers did the same. His boys were pulling out their guns, but that was all they could do as the rapid gunfire continued. There was nothing to hide behind except for the sedan. They tried, but didn't get far, whether they were muscle for Rico or the foreigners. Car windows bursts, littering the ground with shattered Plexiglas and anyone else who might have been in the vehicle fared the same as everyone outside of it.

It was over as soon as it had begun.

From the dumpster, two men jumped out. One was of average height, wore a turtleneck sweater with slacks and a ski mask over his head. He carried his automatic weapon easily while darting towards one of the briefcases. Beside him was a much larger man, one that towered over him and wearing a similar getup, sweater with slacks and a ski mask. From above, climbing down the fire escape was a third man, one that was shorter than the other two, armed just the same, and making quick work of his descent downwards.

Landing on the cement ground, he too dashed for a briefcase, leaving the largest of the three to pick up the last one. Without waiting, they booked it, briefcases in one hand, automatic weapons in the other. Turning the corner, they kept close to the factory, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Keeping to shadow, they made their escape, until the first true obstacle came into their paths.

It was a chain link fence, one that surrounded the factory grounds. Though the shortest, he proved to be the fastest and so with a leap, the short masked man managed to hook the toes of his shoes into the chain links. Tucking his weapon under an arm and using the tips of the fingers grasping the briefcase handle, he scurried up and over the fence, dropping himself on the other side.

The average sized man threw both of his possessions, the gun and the case, over the fence as he gave a jump, and while his climb up was slower in comparison, he made it to the top and over all the same, landing on his feet and picking up both gun and case.

As for the tallest and the largest, he lowered his head, picked up speed, and crashed through the fence. The man had strength, weight, and serious power, all of that combined with momentum had him tearing through the chain links without a care.

On the other side now, the three masked men ran through foliage coming out through the other side where a truck was in waiting. In its bed were two porta potties tied down with rope. The short man ran around the truck, climbing into the passenger side and ducking down. The other two climbed into the pickup bed and slipped into porta potties, locking them behind them.

The truck then rumbled to life, and then with a lurch it began to drive off. It did not speed, and even used turn signals as it drove away. No cameras caught its leaving; any in the vicinity happened to be aimed at the nearest traffic intersections. With the driver going the speed limits and obeying the lights, there was no reason for even a picture to be taken.

The truck slipped away into the night while dead men stained the snow red in their blood.

Sleeping in not so heavenly peace.

Newspapers were slowly becoming a thing of the past. Some still clung to it, renewing subscriptions, but that was a dwindling number. Why limit yourself to a set amount of stories that could fit into a limited amount of space when the internet could provide so much more?

Max Shreck still held a preference for newspapers even in this day and age. The internet was to supplement, but there was always something to holding it in his hands. No need to be distracted by colorful pictures and advertisements, no new windows popping up, no need for ad blocker. What you saw is what you got.

The main headlines always drew the most attention, but on this day, it was not so for Shreck. What did was a small article on page four, tucked away and easily missed or dismissed, yet it was perhaps the only one of note for the business mogul.

City's Plans For New Power Plant Proceed Apace.

First, who even knew what apace meant nowadays? It was almost impressive. Second, the contents of this article were very, very infuriating. He had forgotten how long he had been hawking his plant, starved for capital, and denied. Even his attempts to gain some promising property had gone up in smoke, and not in the way it was suppose to.

Somehow, somehow, his grip on the city council had been broken. No one was interested in his grand plan anymore. Another power plant was green lit, and capital was pouring into it once that trust fund goody-goody Wayne got on board.

How? How was this possible?

Shreck could practically see it. His legacy was slipping through his fingers. His empire was fraying at the seams and crumbling. What would there be left for Chip? What would his son pass on to the next generation?

This was not how it was suppose to be. Where had it gone wrong? When?

More importantly, how could it be corrected?

The mogul was far from finished. You would have to pry his dreams from his cold, dead hands first. However, knowing where to start was always an issue. Figuring out where the first cracks started needed to be found, and only then could the foundation be repaired.

But how?

Almost distantly, Shreck heard a voice calling for him, one that was muffled, but he almost recognized as "Dad!" A second call was easier to make out, and then the door to his study opened and there, standing in the doorway was his pride and joy. Chip was much younger than him, strapping, athletic, all-American, and perhaps the one person he could honestly claim to love with all of his heart.

This pleasant interruption reminded the older Shreck of where he was. Home, in his personal study, right behind a strong, mahogany desk that was passed down to him from his father. The old man had been proud of this, unable to part with it even as it was pried out of his grasp. A real role model.

A glass of…what did the label on the bottle say? Whiskey? He hadn't remembered taking that bottle. The burn of the booze was not enough to erase the fury he was feeling; perhaps something stronger was needed?

"Dad?"

Shaking his head, Shreck pulled himself out of his thoughts, and paid all due attention to his son. "Yes? Did you need something?"

Chip glanced at the bottle, then back to him. Not saying anything about it, the younger Shreck dived right into it. "I think I might have something, Dad." With his phone in his hand, Chip moved his finger across the screen until he found what he was looking for, then showed the elder. "Recognize her?"

Shreck took hold of the phone, eyes narrowing. What was he looking at? Looked like a young, beautiful, blonde-haired woman. Not his tastes, to be honest. Chip did get his dirty blond looks from himself. The woman, on the other hand, hers was a very bright shade of it. Really stood out. A bit familiar…

Looking back to his son, "Who is this?"

"Word around town, she's talking about building a power plant of her own. Managed to get some of ours to pick her to get the one being built." Chip stuffed his hands into his pockets, shoulders relaxed as he spoke. "Calls herself Selina Kyle."

Looking away from the phone, Shreck made eye contact with his son. "Selina Kyle?" he repeated. The name didn't ring a bell.

"Did some digging. Foster home kid. Sealed juvenile record which of course I got a hold of. Funny thing, she just…disappears. Goes off the grid. Then she shows up out of nowhere, selling a power plant."

Chip would need to work on that wording, however, everything he had been hearing so far was very interesting. Still, there was much that wasn't there. "Anything…from when she…goes off the grid. There has to be…something."

The younger Shreck shook his head. "Nothing so far, but I have guys on it."

Finding out more about this Selina Kyle was important, really it was, but Shreck was a man who trusted his gut. This woman came out of nowhere? Hardly. If she was able to get her claws into Bruce Wayne, someone had to make the introduction somewhere. Perhaps within the same circles the two businessmen frequented? If so, who got her there?

"Chip…keep trying to dig up dirt…but while you're at it…find out who her…partners are." He gazed intently into his son's baby blue eyes, again the same hue as his own. "She needed starting capital. Where'd she get it…and who from? We're talking money…the kind that gets you…to our level."

A nod. Good, he understood. "I'll get someone on that."

"See that you do," Shreck agreed. Another thought occurred to him, "Oh, and Chip? Check up to see what our…helpful…union guys are up to. Fast as this plant is being built…I suspect a lack of…union."

The trucks drove up in single file, the only way they could, towards the site that was lit up as close to daylight as possible. They weren't the only trucks, in fact, they had been in line for some time behind massive vehicles that trudged slowly ahead. Dead ahead was a massive building, one still under construction and around the clock to boot.

This was a power plant, at least that was the plan. Someone wanted it finished ASAP, and so there were shifts, morning, afternoon, evening, and graveyard. Long, thick poles topped with lights suitable for a stadium lined the site from all angles. There were workers all over the place, and that included every single checkpoint.

As the trucks reached their particular checkpoint, the drivers pulled out their IDs while helpfully pointing towards a window sticker on the windshield. It had taken quite a bit of time to get a hold of these, and the moment of truth was at hand.

They pulled up to the checkpoint, the man on duty gave their IDs a look and glanced at the sticker. They waved in, one truck at a time, but all waved in all the same.

There were workers that guided them in, using arm gestures to direct them. Like patient, well-behaved employees, they followed the directions, bringing themselves to where they were allegedly supposed to go. The further they moved onto the site, the more chaotic it became, which allowed each of the men hunkering in the truck cabs to start slipping out. The drivers would continue along, playing ignorant.

The group of men that had slipped out quickly flowed into the comings and goings of all the legit workers, picking up vests and hard hats along the way to blend further in. The men did not carry much themselves, why would they need to? The site itself could meet their every need.

They were The Helpful Union Guys after all.

Eventually, the infiltrators found their way to a portion of the site that didn't have much traffic. What it did have were building materials and the like. Important stuff and what you would want extra of just in case. It would be such a shame if anything were to happen to it, let's say an innocent fire breaking out for no reason. Construction sites were just one careless mistake from a major accident.

One of the men found a container. Unscrewing the lid, he took a whiff and pulled back. Practically fumes coming out of it; had to be flammable. Giving a short yet sharp whistle, he nodded to a few other containers. "Spread this stuff out. Be quick about it."

Two of them did just that, unscrewing lids then splashing about the brownish liquid within. It splattered against the ground and against anything else, from seventy-five pound bags of concrete mix, spare bolts and nuts, inside the cab of bulldozer, and even around more flammable materials. Especially around the flammable materials. A good boom might shake this place up.

Three others snuck off, unsheathing knives. They were going to tear into things that aren't supposed to be torn into, like tires. Give them some time, do a little damage, and—well hello. What was this? Tanks? Oxygen tanks for welding, yeah, you didn't want to heat these suckers up. Let's get them a bit wet, that ought to hold off an accidental flame, right?

Now, what else? What else to…fix? Something that people would miss. But what? Pausing, the man looked over his shoulder, only saw one of the others opening up another container of gas. Wasn't there another one? Probably went off with the others. No big, just needed to slink off once the fireworks started.

"Meow."

Frowning, the man looked over his shoulder again, found that his fellow helpful union guy was nowhere to be found. A container laid on the ground where he last saw him, liquid pouring out of it. Standing a little straighter, he looked around further, but wasn't seeing anyone, at least anyone nearby. There were workers over there, but he was far out of their line of sight.

Turning around, he came to a stop when he found a smirking face glaring at him, one that was upside down and very clearly a woman. An eye winked, he dropped the container he still held in his hands, reached for his own knife, then a leg swung from behind and hit him, forcing his head forward and right into the nozzle of an oxygen tank.

Stars flashed before his eyes, vision blacked, and then his back met the ground. On either side of his head, booted feet landed inches away. A very sharp point poked into his nose, and that slowly drew him out of his daze.

"Your lot has been showing up here a lot lately," a feminine voice mocked. Slowly, features like the mask and the black bodysuit came into focus. "You're causing a lot of trouble, and frankly I'm getting sick of it. I think I have no choice but to make examples of you."

There was a crunching of gravel, and then she was moving lightning quick. A whip snapped the knife out of the approaching THUG, a flick of the wrist had the whip wrapping around the arm, and then a pull jerked him forward. He must have been twice her height, but her fist flew and struck the throat. Feet flew forward, and then the man was slammed onto the ground and it was over.

The other three soon came running in, overhearing the commotion. From where he laid on the ground, the still dazed yet conscious man watched as the costumed woman made quick work of them. They hadn't brought any guns because they didn't want to make any noise. Her whipwork disarmed every knife, then she ran in close.

There was a punch to the face, a knee to the stomach, and then a flip and sent the first one into a stack of bagged cement mix. The stack wobbled and the top three bags fell off, landing on top of the now prone body.

The second THUG had recovered and tried to grab the woman from behind. An elbow went into his ribs, an arm was hyperextended, and then an uppercutting fist struck the elbow. The THUG cried out, then screamed for another reason as a boot that was high heeled hit him right in the crouch. Onto his knees he went, where a one-two punch combo put out his lights.

That left the third who tried to make a run at her. The woman dodged the first punch, then the second, caught the third one and pulled on the arm, leaving the third THUG wide open for several kicks to his stomach. Winded, the man was vulnerable, and the woman showed a sadistic streak as she moved in close, a hand racing in. Nail-like claws pieced into his face and then were drug down, leaving two large, bleeding scratches in their wake. Seemingly amused, she quipped, "Tic," swiped again with the nails and left two more bleeding scratches, "tac," a palm rammed into the nose and down he went, "toe!"

It was over so quick, and the last conscious man could only stare dumbfounded. The woman slinked her way back to him and crouched down. "So where were we?" she purred, and he could only tremble under her gaze. "Ah yes, an example. I think your friends got the picture, but it's the bosses who need to figure it out."

Lips curled into a bloodthirsty grin. "Don't worry, I won't kill you. You'll just wish I had."

The police tape fluttered in the winter breeze. Snow blanketed the ground, piling up along the alleyway's edges. Tire tracks broke up the snow, along with a number of footprints. Quite a few people had been walking around this crime scene.

The bullets in the walls and the snow tinged red with blood were the giveaways.

Batman posted himself on the fire escape. He didn't want to contaminate the crime scene any more than it was. The police had gotten here first, obviously, and had done their job. It just made it messy for him to come in after the fact, which was why he preferred to get to crime scenes first.

According to the initial report, a deal had gone south. Two groups had met up, one Asian, the other Italian. IDs had been made of the Asian group, belonging to a Triad cell. Word on the street was that the Triad were trying to make inroads into Gotham. They hadn't done any big jobs yet, but they were working their way up.

As for the Italians, there were also IDs as well. Rico Suvani was one of the dead, clearly the front man for this deal. He was a small-timer with connections, though. Last known affiliation was with the Calabrese family. The men he was with confirmed that as they were all Calabrese.

A car had been towed here, which explained the tire tracks. Investigating the car would be next to pick up any clues that indicated why the Triad and Calabreses were meeting. It all had the hallmarks of a buy, but what was being sold? The one thing the lead investigators noted was the lack of money and goods.

All of this Batman knew. The reason he was on the fire escape was so that his latest student could examine the crime scene.

That student was his son.

Creeping around the scene, Damian purposefully stepped into the footprints already present. He was trying to minimize his presence, which was a good thing. Keeping to established tracks helped in this, though if it turned out he was stepping in the perpetrator's tracks, then he was potentially destroying evidence. If there had been two or three sets of footprints, that would have been a problem. There were easily ten to twelve here though, so the original footprints were well-hidden, or utterly destroyed at this point.

Gone was his blue-and-white body suit though. Following the events with the Titans and Raven's constructs, Batman felt the boy needed an upgrade in armor. No way was he going to allow his son to pursue their nightly activities under-equipped. Now he wore armor in black, red, and gray. Much of the suit was gray, black covering his shoulders, arms, and his cape. Red outlights added a splash of color, along with some red gloves. The underside of his cape was yellow, a callback to the armor's original color.

Yes, this suit had been more colorful. Red, yellow, and green had been the primary colors. Damian had taken one look at them and wanted a change. He was clearly trying to emulate Batman's suit, at least trying to incorporate night camouflage colors into it.

The last callback to the armor's original owner, there was a stylized R over the left breast.

Yes, this was Red Robin's Robin suit, before he left Gotham. Batman had talked with the youth before he departed back to Jump City, asking him to put the Robin armor to use. He had agreed and the suit had been passed down to Damian. The way Batman saw it, the suit wasn't seeing any use and hadn't since Harvey Dent's attack on the Thorne Convoy. Instead of making another suit, why not use one that already existed.

Still, he didn't see Damian wanting to go by the alias Robin.

He was still without a proper code name, having all but discarded his Son of Batman moniker. It was a placeholder for now, but Damian was trying to come up with a new name beginning with an R. He kept the initial and wanted to make use of it somehow.

And now he was investigating this crime scene.

"I'm finished," Damian announced as he stood still facing his father's direction as he looked up to him.

"What do you see?" Batman called back.

"It's just like the police report. Two groups met here and were killed. The killers were approximately where you're standing."

Batman nodded. Indeed, some of the shots had been taken from where he stood, but even from where he was, he could tell some of the bullet holes weren't angled for that to be true. They were at a lower angle, but one higher than ground level. He already knew the answer as to why.

"What else?"

"That is all there is to find, Father."

That was disappointing, but Damian was just beginning his training. He was no longer grounded due to his actions with the Raven constructs. That had taken months. Initially, Damian fought him every step of the way the first month. As they got halfway through the second, he began to realize just how firm his will was. Only then did his punishment begin.

He complained how unfair that was, but Batman needed to prove a point. His rule was law and if Damian wanted to work with him, he would obey him, whether he wanted to or not.

There had been multiple phone calls to Talia during that time, venting sessions naturally, but she had done right by him by not contradicting his discipline. She was enjoying being the good guy in this scenario.

"Clearly this was an ambush," the vigilante pointed out.

"Of course it was," Damian agreed.

"So how did the shooters get the jump by climbing down the fire escape?" He purposefully stomped his foot, causing the entire metal apparatus to groan, a result of weakening bolts and poor maintenance. "No way does the deal go down with them already positioned here. They would make too much noise and alert two groups."

Damian lowered his head as he looked around. It was clear he understood the demonstration. Batman decided to give him the answer. "The dumpster."

That immediately drew the boy's attention. "They were hiding in it!" he declared. "With the lids shut, they could wait until their prey arrived and then perform their ambush!"

"Now, how did they escape?"

Again, Damian looked around before he pointed to the entrance to the alley. "That way. There are no footprints that lead in the other directions. There is also a loading dock, thus a dead end."

The Dark Knight then turned towards the alleyway's mouth. He hopped off of the fire escape, using his cape to glide his way the rest of the distance until he landed outside of the alley. Damian joined him soon after.

Due to the police presence, this area was also a mess of footprints and tire tracks. There was no way to tell where their perpetrators had gone because of it.

Except for the lone trail of footprints along the side of the factory.

While Damian had done his investigation, Batman had already collected images of the prints. He could discern three separate shoe sizes, two of which were close in size, but just off enough to be noticed. Another was much larger than the other, so they were looking at two to three perps.

After several moments, Damian spotted the trail. "Father!" he shouted as he pointed at them, moving at a brisk pace towards them. Batman followed along. "A trail!"

"Follow it," he encouraged.

The two of them followed the trail. It went over places that had a light coating of snow, where the footprints broke up the coating, and drier areas. In the dry areas, wet prints filled it for the trail.

This led them to a chain link fence, one that had been damaged. The two vigilantes went up to the damaged area and investigated. "It seems they cut their way through," Damian observed.

The dark-clad man shook his head. "Look at the jaggedness of the chain link. It's not clean cut like a fence cutter or bolt cutter would produce. Whatever made this hole in the fence used brute force."

"What could have made such force?" the boy questioned.

"That's for you to figure out," Batman told him. He then reached out and grabbed the edges to the hole and pulled on one end and pushed on the other opening the gap wider. "Let's go."

Damian went through the hole, Batman following behind him. They continued forward until they found an area with a light coating of snow, which stood out to the heavier piles of snowflakes. It was also rectangular, indicating some sort of truck had been sitting there. Tire tracks on one side pointed to which direction it had gone. Unfortunately, it joined a street and faded in with the other tracks.

"This is where their getaway vehicle was," Damian said as he stared at it. "They were obviously prepared."

Meaning they had prior knowledge to the buy. That was a good catch by the boy. Batman headed over to the tire tracks, getting a look at them. Damian did the same, the lenses in his black domino mask recording the same images as the ones in his mask.

"Now what?" the vigilante eventually asked.

"Now we follow their tracks," he declared.

"How?"

"Like I said, we follow them." The boy did just that, coming to a stop shortly after as he noticed the street soon after. "Or maybe not," he groused.

"There are other avenues of investigation," Batman pointed out as he came to stand behind his son. "We can analyze what we've collected and also check out traffic cameras. That should give us more to work with."

"So we're leaving? But what about the murderers? We can't just let them go!"

"And we won't, but unless you know exactly where they are, doing a building-by-building search is inefficient and a waste of time. There's too many to search in a city this size. We'll catch up to them by looking closely at what they left behind."

"Fine," Damian grumbled. "Back to your car then?"

Yes, back to the car.

Author's Note: Any guesses as to what comes next?