O Christmas Tree

Fury, rage, anger, take your pick. Humiliation was a far worse feeling and Damian hated it. It had been several nights since that battle with the cat-themed thief, and it seemed like none of it was lessening.

He had been trained by the best the Demon's Fang had to offer. His training had been overseen by his mother and grandfather alike, both with high standards that needed to be reached, no exceptions. He had been studying under his father, gaining a grasp of what he did and how he did it.

All of it seemed to amount to nothing.

His own weapons turned against him. Pushing himself faster and faster but not ever catching up unless the thief deigned for him to. Out maneuvered and even used as a weapon himself to blunger the Usurper. Embarrassment after failure, all of it stabbed into his ego, puncturing it from every direction imaginable.

Naturally, there was still the unanswered question. What was his reason for doing any of this? Why did he take to the streets to battle the putrid forces of criminality and destitution? Why did he choose to follow in his father's footsteps? What was the explanation for why he was fighting?

For some reason, claiming his birthright did not seem to be a good enough answer, and Damian did not know why that was. Was it not for that that he remained in Gotham? Sought out his father's company no matter the costs? Antagonized the Usurper for taking what was…his? For the one that asked the question, none of that seemed to be the answer to speak.

So…what was his answer? What were the answers from the rest of the lot? The allies in the Birds of Prey and those the Usurper had surrounded herself with? The former members of the group that the Usurper had reestablished? Those teenagers from Jump? Brief though that encounter was, Father was willing to work with them to an extent.

What were Mother's reasons? Grandfather's? Once, theirs had seemed so clear, but not anymore. The madness of Gotham had muddied everything. The words of an orphan had cast all into doubt.

Perhaps that was why he was in a city basketball court, chainlink fence blocking it off. The bench was the same one as the last time. His company the very person who had asked the question that was in question. The asker was hugging his backpack to himself, much like he had before. Unlike before, it was obvious to tell that Colin was not as comfortable with him as before.

But damn it, he needed that answer! Perhaps then everything would start making sense again.

Maybe the humiliation would start to go away.

"You've been coming here everyday," Colin finally spoke up. Thin arms that could increase their mass in a second gripped his backpack as if it would be taken away.

Damian grunted but did not answer further. He in fact did not have an answer, nor could he give a quip that would establish superiority,

"You keep sitting wherever I am," Colin pointed out, facing the court and the other children who were playing a game of what Damian had been informed was called Horse. What a horse had to do with basketball, he did not know.

Once more, Damian said nothing because no words seemed to be the right ones, whichever ones could be considered right.

"I haven't been going out, like you told me." An odd desperate tone of voice there. "You don't have to keep checking up on me."

Finally, the right words came out. "You still have the coat, hat, and brass knuckles in that backpack. If you weren't using them, you wouldn't be carrying them around."

Without looking, he knew that the redheaded boy's blue eyes were wide. Caught, yes, but not turned in. Damian still had leverage and they both knew it.

There had been a change in Father, recently. He was quieter, which was saying a lot, and you could feel that he was in no mood to converse with. Naturally, Damian had sought out what was the cause, and had gone through the video logs Father kept on his computer. How he got in did not need to be revealed, though he had a feeling Father already knew he could get in. He had found the video, same night as that chase with the Catwoman, and who shows up in a collapsing building?

Colin hadn't stopped his moonlighting. He had just gotten better at hiding it.

He had warned the boy, warned him what he would do, but now that his warning had been challenged, he hadn't followed through. Had it been an empty threat? Grandfather and Mother would be sorely disappointed. You do not make empty threats, only promises of harm and injury, death a certainty.

By all rights, he should have informed the Mother Superior. He hadn't. Why? He did not know. Was it because Colin had already answered the question that he himself had asked? An answer that had eluded the asked, Damian?

"What are you going to do?" Colin asked, voice dripping in fear. Caught and stupidly admitting it. The boy needed a better poker face or at the very least needed to improve his skills of deception. Honesty was not a good policy in this situation.

It was the redhead's lucky day, though. "I don't know." Using contractions, how far was he falling?

"You're not going to tell?" Colin was testing the waters still.

Again, "I don't know." Empty threats.

"Are you going to be stalking me?" How did he know that term? Probably the internet.

No answer outside of another grunt. Damian was not going to admit defeat and beg for the correct answer, the one that was right and needed to be given.

Colin blew air through his lips in the manner of children. "How long are you going to be coming here?"

As long as it took. Unfortunately, he could not say how long that would be. What was it that he was missing? Use the lesson Father had taught him and what was it that he did see? What did he see?

The true heir to his Father's mantle was failing to meet expectations, was allowing those who should be beneath him to humiliate and embarrass him, and had yet to gain a victory over his father's foes. His family was scattered, Grandfather in the seat of his power, Mother was not in the same home as his father, Father was enamored with another as his protege, and the Usurper was laying claim to what was not hers with ease. There were father's allies who did not treat him with the respect due, the Usurper's team who did not respect him either, and an orphan who was having him question everything he knew.

Was he a failure? Had he failed in every way that mattered? If he was a failure, then what did that mean for his future? Did he have a future?

Did he have anything?

"You look alone," Colin remarked.

There was a flare of anger but one that was not strong enough to initiate a reaction. Maybe he was alone but he was not seeking companionship or anything that could not help him with obtaining his goal. Hm? There was some strain in his hands…oh, he was clenching his fists. When had he started doing that? To be so unaware of even himself and his person, how much further would he fall?

Colin was frowning, nibbling at his own lips. Then, slowly, "The sisters…figured out a way for us…for the orphanage, to go to the tree lighting thing tonight. I'm…I'm going. If you want, maybe, you…would you like to…join?"

That sounded like pity. Damian detested pity. However, he was not in the frame of mind to refuse it. No, no he should refuse it. What need did he have for pity? None, not even from an orphan like Colin. He was born for greatness. He was destined for great things. He…he was…he…

"I suppose…"

If he could not answer the question posed to him by Colin by now, then what would it matter if he put on his uniform and do…what exactly? Whatever energies he put into the life of a vigilante could be focused onto other things, could they not? The Usurper would be gathering her allies for their case with the Riddler copycat, and he knew none of them would shed a tear or be concerned that he would not be joining them. Would they even miss him?

Colin was looking at him, but what expression he had on his face, Damian did not look or spy it out. Was it an expression giving him more pity? How much further would he fall?

Maybe a night away would allow him to clear his mind and find an answer, as insipid as the event involved would be.

The tracer that had been slipped into one of Cluemaster's bag of ill-gotten gains had stopped transmitting long ago. In fact, it had stopped not that long after the Riddler-wannabe had successfully escaped.

What that told Batgirl was that he must have found the bug and destroyed it. The transmitter had a battery life up to two hours, give or take a few minutes. The last known frequency had ended within an hour.

So she had outsourced investigating the last known transmissions to Oracle. The hacker would be more thorough in the searching for data on the tracer than she or the rest of Batclan would be. In the meantime, the three of them got ready for the night's patrol.

A big reason for the delay between now and then had to be on Oracle's side. There must have been some degree of difficulty in tracking the tracer, or at least its last known area. There also could have been other investigations she was involved with, so the priority for this was lower. The little incident with Catwoman had kept them busy for one night as well.

"You know, I would have thought Oracle would have had our intel by now," Bluebird remarked as she put the finishing touches on her outfit. She was placing her various weapons onto her belt, ranging from her handgun tasers to some smoke pellets.

"You think this is long for them?" Batgirl asked.

"It feels like it. I know, Cluemaster isn't exactly some big, bad Arkham person, but we haven't heard much from those lunatics, so what's the hold-up?"

She didn't show it—largely in part to her face-covering mask—but she frowned. Was there something else going on then? Now that Bluebird mentioned it, there wasn't some maniac wrecking havoc. There was some activity from the organized crime area, but they weren't involved with that. So what was the holdup?

Then the computer beeped, and the icon of Oracle appeared on the computer monitor.

"Batgirl and Clan, I've got the intel you wanted," the hacker's robotic voice announced. All three girls turned to stare up at the screen, waiting patiently.

"So I have to say this one was trickier than I thought it would be," Oracle continued. "With the frequency being dead, I had to do some out-of-the-box thinking, and I got something. Looks like your tracer was pinging off of the various cell towers. I was able to follow those until it completely stopped. I'm sending over the location of the last cell tower and the range it covers to you. I hope it helps."

At that moment, a window opened up on the screen, showing a digital map of a section of Gotham. An icon similar to a metal tower appeared at the center of the map, a circle forming around it to indicate the range it covered.

"Hey, my neighborhood is in the area," Spoiler piped up. It was a little startling too as Batgirl realized the lavender-clad girl hadn't said all that much since arriving in the BatCave. She had been unusually quiet, especially since she couldn't help but interact with Bluebird in their inane chatter.

"So this Cluemaster guy went into the suburbs?" Bluebird questioned. "What, does he live out there?"

"Not necessarily," Oracle responded. "All we know for certain is that he went in that direction. He could have found your tracer in that area and destroyed it before going to his final destination. He may have a safehouse or something there."

"Then we are going to search for this safehouse," Batgirl declared. "Thank you for your assistance, Oracle."

"You're welcome. Happy hunting."

The image of Oracle disappeared from the computer screen, but the window with the cell tower map was still in place. "We'll be patrolling this area tonight," the dark-clad girl then said. "You're familiar with the area, Spoiler, so I want you to think of possible places that someone could go to hide there. A vacant house, a garage with an apartment above it, anything."

"Okay," Spoiler nodded. However, she seemed hesitant. Something was bothering her, Batgirl could read it in her body language.

"Is something wrong?" she questioned.

The blonde girl sighed. "Depends on what you call wrong. My dad caught me coming in late the other night. I told him I was out with friends and he got all up his own butt about it."

"What's that mean?" Bluebird asked.

"My dad could be pretty snooty with…well, everything. He's always going on about how us Browns are smart and better than other people. You know, he acts like rich people, but I doubt we have the money to back it up."

"Oh, that's what you mean by 'up his own ass'."

"Yeah, well, he…kinda wants to…meet you guys."

Batgirl shared a look with Bluebird. "He wants to meet us…" the dark-clad girl slowly repeated.

"Yeah, for dinner. He basically wants to size you up and see if you're worthy of being my friends."

The embarrassed look that was on Spoiler's told them all just how she felt about that. As for Batgirl, she wasn't exactly sure how to take that. This wasn't a situation she was familiar with, so she wasn't certain how to respond to this.

"Awww, your daddy is being protective of you," Bluebird cooed, clearly knowing how to respond. Spoiler glared at the blue-haired girl, who merely smirked back. "Is he going to greet us with a shotgun too?"

"You two aren't boys, so I doubt he'd go that far," the blonde girl grumbled. "Plus, he doesn't own a gun."

"Hey, he doesn't know which way we swing," Bluebird pointed out. "I could totally be into girls."

"Now you're just messing with me," Spoiler scowled.

"I could be. Or maybe I'm totally being real. You don't know."

Batgirl was just lost at this point. "So we're supposed to go to dinner and get threatened with a shotgun?" she couldn't help but ask.

Spoiler just stared at her while Bluebird just laughed. "Oh, we have to do this now," the blue-haired girl said. "We're completely in. Set up the dinner, Steph. I could use a home cooked meal and entertainment. It'll distract me from my depressing life for a night."

"You really don't see how bad of an idea this is? What if my dad doesn't like you? Worse, what if he does? If you think him telling me I have to live up to his high standards is bad, imagine him having those high standards in you."

"And I will take great pleasure in failing him over and over," Bluebird shrugged. "I've got nothing to prove to anyone or anything. I keep a roof over my head and my brother. I help people at night, which is more than other people are doing. What's the worst your waspish dad can do?"

"Challenge you to Trivial Pursuit."

There was silence.

"I think I've made a horrible mistake."

Not the largest turn out, but there was a crowd. Commissioner Sawyer kept her eyes sharp even though she would be restricted to the stage. As an official of the city, perhaps one of the highest ranked outside of City Council and the Mayor, she would be required to be up there with Hady and his entourage. A veritable who's who of politicians, businessmen, and celebrities. Maybe about twenty in total, herself included.

Hady was refusing to hold back. He wanted to make a show. Important people would be here, the crowd with people from all walks of life from middle class and all the way down to the lower class, even a group from one of the local orphanages was making a trip to attend. If it could look like there were more people than there actually were, it could be spun off as a huge success.

Sawyer was more concerned about security and maintaining it. All officers were in place, officers lining the perimeter, stationed throughout the plaza, undercovers hiding in plain sight, and snipers all on the roofs. Bullock was dressed as Santa. It was go-time.

Hady had taken to the stage, council members such as Neikita Parks and Lewis Chalke with him. There were some celebrities, their names Sawyer could not recall but she had a list with them. Which ones they were, ask someone who cared. The businessmen were also there, their names on the list, but one stuck out due to how…alien he looked. Something Shreck.

This entourage was grouping in front of the tree itself, Hady standing behind a podium. Sawyer found herself throwing looks to the tree. Earlier in the day, she hadn't given it too much thought, but right now something was…off about it. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. There was something she was picking up on, but…but what could it be?

The microphone on the podium squealed, Hady tapping on its receiver while saying, "Excuse me. Excuse me." A throat clearing followed as the last of the squeal faded away. "Thank you for coming tonight. After the events of the last few weeks, it's understandable that you would all want to stay home. That you're all here goes to show just how resilient and how strong the people of this city are."

Sawyer straightened up, making slight adjustments to her posture as she stood at attention, arms to her side. An image of strength was needed, even if she was on the periphery. Some might complain about her presence here, and there always would be those types, but sometimes it was what people saw that mattered more. Another lesson from Dan.

"Tonight, we do what we do every year at the same time." Hady continued with his speech, eyes flickering downwards to the notecards he her propped up on the podium. There were no cameras positioned close enough to provide a teleprompter. "It's something we've done for nearly a century. There were tough times back then too. The city was in the middle of a disaster, a nightmare it could not wake up from, and to help give people something to look forward to, the Gothamites of that time chose to light up a tree."

Sawyer heard movement behind her and to the right. Someone else cleared their throat before speaking in a hushed whisper. "Commissioner? Something's come up."

The commissioner did her best to not react. What she did was turn her head ever so slowly, leaning back a bit, and then speaking from the side of her mouth, "What is it?"

"Just came into the station," the unseen officer reported, "Another councilman missing. Before I got here, there was another too."

Two more missing councilmen? If that wasn't suspicious. Yet, there was nothing she could do about it, not right now. Public presentation and all.

"It was a little thing," Hady remarked into the microphone. "Simple. From it, we derived hope. Hope for a better tomorrow. Hope that the city would get better. That the horror that was the Great Depression would finally release its grip on the city, and the country as a whole. Ever since, we have returned, again and again, coming together, being together, shining light in this plaza, in Gotham, a declaration that we aren't beaten yet."

"Who is it?" Sawyer whisper spoke.

"Brian Head and Jessica Urban," the officer answered.

Brian Head and Jessica Urban? Around the same time? There was Jonas Goldstein who had already been reported missing and the media was having a quasi-field day about it. Other matters like buildings being bombed tended to get a lot more attention. Nevertheless, that brought the total up to three.

"Through Nights of Ice and Great Fires, from Attacks and Wars, no one, not even our children spared, we have suffered and endured, and despite everything, we still lit up this great tree. Not one year missed. That is how strong we are. A symbol that Gotham will not be cowed or threatened or intimidated. We are here today to continue celebrating the Christmas season in a way only Gotham can celebrate it."

"See if you can't find out where they were last seen and what they may have been doing. Check for any credit card purchases or bank withdrawals. Deposits too. Hopefully none are on the Appalachian Trail, though that would be better than alternatives," Sawyer ordered. "Find them yesterday."

"Understood, Commissioner," the officer said, shuffling away.

Hopefully that old reference to that hiking trail was the worst it could be. It would only be a matter of time until these two absences were leaked, and then there would be something for the media to rip apart.

"And now, the moment everyone here has been waiting for. Allow me to introduce Gotham's Ice Princess!" From one of the celebrities, a young woman with curly blonde hair separated from the gathering, removing her thick coat to reveal a dazzling, silver corset, shoulders bared with long, arm-length gloves, and furry flourishings lining where much of the upper body outfit ended. Long legs in what appeared to be a thin, dark material ended in high-heeled boots. She posed, stepping around Hady and the podium, and moving to what looked like a large present, decorated in wrapping and ribbons with a prominent button on top of it.

Had it been mentioned that this tradition was nearly a hundred years old?

The Ice Princess, the winner of a beauty pageant earlier in the month, and yes the pageant itself was almost as old as the tree lighting ceremony, posed and stood before the present that possessed the proverbial on switch. Two gloved hands placed themselves on the large button, and with a brilliant smile that reflected the light of many camera flashes, she pressed down.

Just like that, all the lights on the large tree flared into life, reds, greens, blues, and yellows, along with some purples mixed in. Ornaments gleamed under the light. The star atop dazzled. Applause, mostly polite, followed.

Then came the first scream.

Loud, high pitched, and naturally it drew attention. Sawyer moved her gaze around the plaza from where she stood, trying to find what was the source of the scream. Other, quieter screams joined the first, and then arms began to raise, fingers outstretched and pointing.

The commissioner followed the fingers, seeing where they pointed, finding the tree at it stood there tall and proud. What were they seeing that she didn't? What…what…? What…

For Sawyer the sounds of the world began to soften, every detail of the Christmas tree she had been standing in front of becoming clearer and clearer by the second. Then, the bodies embedded and once hidden by the tree's branches, now exposed by the Christmas lights wrapped around them, finally were processed by her mind.

One, two, and three. There were three bodies, all pale skinned, some bluish from being out in the elements for too long, all dressed in suits and ties, and in one case a blouse and dress ensemble. Eyes were wide, glazed with death, arms were crossed and pinned to the torso of each body, and carved into the foreheads of each one was a word.

Dummy.

The one most prominent, in this case meaning most visible, had something clutched in the hands. It looked like an old tape recorder, something that had fallen out of circulation years if not decades ago. The device was held close to the lapel of the suit jacket of the corpse holding. Attached to that lapel was a clip-on microphone, one commonly used on studio sets and in settings like this. Hady had one clipped on his lapel as well.

"Is every dummy here having a holly, jolly Christmas?" played a voice from the recorder, amplified on the clip-on microphone that was also connected to the plaza's sound system. Everyone was hearing it. "You should see the looks on yer faces. I know I'm laughin'. Gut don't any of yous mistake me for a clown. I'm not here to amuse or make you laugh.

"Call this my coming out celegration. The name's Scarface and right here, right now, I'm declaring war. The Calagrese Family are my enemies, gut I am not a cruel kind of guy. I'm willing to extend from my hand mercy. For you gangsters an' wise guys who are fed up with being fed from tha hand of a conniving little gitch, I'm givin' you the one time chance to ditch her and join me. I'm going to ge gringing gack Gotham to tha glory days once more. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision."

Someone needed to turn that damn thing off. Her body began to act, and Sawyer shoved her way past Hady's entourage, making her way to the tree. Damn it, the body was too high up for her to reach. She attempted to use one of the presents placed under the tree, but that wasn't successful as her foot tore down into it.

"It won't be 'ard. I have my own loyal goys spreading the word on how ta find me. Arms yerselves to tha teeth, make sure ta have plenty of gullets, an' in forty-eight hours we are goin' to show Gotham who really owns it!"

Someone came up behind her, an officer who bent down and took hold of her, hoisting her up to give her that much needed height. Her hand stretched out, fingers grazing against the tape recorder. She couldn't quite get a grip on it, and the tree's branches were poking into her. Just a little closer…

"No one is safe! Wusses who can't get off tha Calagrese gitch's teat, no cops, not even tha crooks in City Hall are—"

Sawyer may not be able grab the recorder, but she did have enough reach to be able to press on one of the buttons on its end, in particular the stop button. Just like that, the playback ended, but it was far too late. Without even looking, the Commissioner knew that panic was setting into the crowd, a cacophony of voices talking and blabbering and sputtering.

With her this close to the corpse, she looked up into the face of a dead man and found that she recognized the face. It was Brian Head, one of the missing City Councilmen. This is where he had been found.

The Appalachian Trail was definitely the better of the options right now.

Say what you wanted about the crazies, but they sure did know how to put on a good show.

From where he stood on the platform, part of the group of individuals invited to be there by Mayor Hady no less, Shreck took in the twisted sight of three corpses in a Christmas tree. Definitely not a gift from Santa Claus there.

What was better? Three of the rats who had gone behind his back and OK'd that rival power plant of Selina Kyle's, ahem, Selina Calabrese's. Quite a lesson right there, wasn't it? Really, that ventriloquist and his puppet were turning out to be worth every penny.

The business mogul shielded his face away from the macabre sight as if he was so disturbed that he couldn't bear to look at it. He was doing his best to hide the smile that was threatening to split his face apart along with the chuckles that sought to escape from him.

Not the place, not the time, and if anyone might suspect his involvement, well, he was right here in public, in plain sight of everyone, clearly traumatized. Best to appear like everyone else then put up a brave front later when making declarations that Gotham would not be cowed by a would-be terrorist.

Oh, this was going so much better than he had hoped.

The memories of spending time around a group of rambunctious orphans had ended the second that tree lit up. For the briefest of instances, Damian had thought his eyes had been tricking him. The screaming that began confirmed that he was seeing exactly what was there.

He knew what a corpse looked like and in various states of decomposition. Even from this distance, far back in the crowd and having to find a spot at a certain redhead's insistence that was not blocked off by the crowd of mingling bodies that were taller than him, he could see the paleness of the skin and the lack of any movement.

The most movement came when one of the individuals on the stage reached for an object that one of the corpses was holding, needing to be lifted up by a police officer before the message being relayed came to an end. Only by that person's intervention were the branches of the tree moving. If those were living bodies, you would expect squirming, some kind of noise being made, anything that would draw attention.

To his trained eye, there had been none of that.

The nuns that were acting as chauffeurs were trying to block off sight of the tree, insisting that the children in their care looked away. Since he was not a part of that group for obvious reasons, Damian ignored it and continued to take in the scene.

By now, many of the people on that stage were making their escape, distancing themselves. Police officers were incoming, blocking off the area and ordering the members of the crowd to leave and disperse immediately. Some of those officers were plain clothes and others were in ridiculous outfits that were iconic of the holiday. There was even a fat one in a red and white costume complete with a fake white beard.

Authority figures were trying to move in and intervene. They were all too late.

The scion of two illustrious families found himself turning his head away at last though for a reason he did not understand. Not at this time. His green-eyed gaze first found Colin who had yet to heed the commands of his caregiving nuns, eyes wide and unblinking. From there, the figures of the other orphans came into view, some sobbing with their backs in the direction of the horror, some pleading with the nuns and trying to understand what was happening, and a small few who were staring still and ignoring the calls to look away.

He remembered, when he had slipped into the group of orphans earlier this evening, there had been some excitement from the younger ones, the older ones seemingly not caring but choosing to go out if only to get out of the orphanage for a time. An obscene time waiting for a bus, enduring mass transit, and being herded into the plaza and still there had been an energy about the group. That something as simple as turning on some lights was something special to these children.

This Scarface had ruined this for them, murdering and then blatantly posing the bodies in public in such a manner. There was an intention for shock value, to alarm as many people as possible, and then driving them further into panic with a declaration of war.

Christmas did not mean much to him. It was just another day, no different from the rest. It was not a day for celebration or gathering. You used that time to continue training the body, honing the mind, sharpening your skills, and preparing yourself for the day when you would finally, finally get to meet your father in person.

"Why is this happening?" The voice had been soft, but his sharp hearing had picked up Colin's question all the same. His attention returned to the boy who had offered a simple invitation earlier today, one that he, Damian, had accepted for no particular reason and simply on a whim. To this boy, Christmas was important. What that reason was escaped him, much like the answer to that all consuming question. "Why would anyone…?"

Why? A demonstration of power and ruthlessness. No one was safe, not even you, so either get out of the way or suffer the same fate. This declaration was not just for the mob, but for the city at large.

This was a mistake, Damian felt certain. Yes, this Scarface had declared war, but did that not mean that others would accept the declaration and enter the war on their own terms? Father would answer, no doubt, his allies too.

Would he?

It was on every news feed in the city. News anchors would warn their viewing audience of up-coming disturbing images, then show Gotham Plaza, its large Christmas tree decorated with at minimum three dead bodies.

Bruce wasn't there. He was in the Cave, dressed in his armor sans mask and cowl. He had been preparing for tonight's patrol when the large supercomputer alerted him to the horrific sight in Gotham Plaza.

Audio feeds had picked up on a recorded message, which news stations were isolating and recording for their own programs. It wasn't difficult to get a copy and play it through his computer. Bruce's eyes hardened when he heard the voice of Scarface announcing his declaration of war. His fists tightened, the leather of his gloves creaking from the pressure.

He knew what was coming. This play had played itself out many times over the years and he would be ready. Scarface had called upon the last remnants of organized crime and they would answer. He would rally them, pump up their confidence, then unleash them onto Gotham, the first act of war.

The Dark Knight planned to meet them in the field and show them they made a horrible choice.

Things were going to get bad; they usually did in the beginning. Scarface had already shown he wasn't some strange, up-and-coming ventriloquist starting his own mob family. There was some intelligence there, a sophisticated mind that took its time in preparing and executing its objectives. After Bruce's first run-in, he reviewed every crime that involved his men, from the Calabrese-Triad meeting attack to the Egyptian casino robbery. Those didn't happen without extensive planning, recon, and making certain each of his men knew their roles. About the only misstep he had made was giving him a timed bomb. Even if the dark-haired man had been effectively trapped, the timer had given him enough time for help to arrive in the form of Gordon.

One mistake out of how many decisions and plans? Bruce couldn't afford to underestimate Scarface. He was about to get a fresh infusion of muscle to match his brains. As if Rhino wasn't enough.

Hitting a key on his computer, he activated the communication line. "Oracle," he spoke.

It was a few seconds before Barbara Gordon responded. "This is Oracle," her computer-distorted voice said.

"I'm activating the Network," Bruce told her. "Gather everyone: the Birds, the Batclan, Redbird, even Nightwing if he can answer. I want all hands on deck."

There was a moment's pause. "Is this because of what happened in Gotham Plaza?"

He nodded, even if the hacker couldn't see him do so. "Scarface is declaring war on Gotham. He's drawing out the last remnants of organized crime to his side. I want to send a message loud and clear that anyone that answers his call will severely regret it."

"I'll put out the call. Where do you want the meet-up to be?"

He gave that some thought. There was one of the usual Bat-bunkers, but the need for secrecy, he felt, wasn't necessary. There had been the use of the Wayne Enterprises' roof in the past, but consistent use would eventually draw attention to his identity. He needed something just as iconic for easy recognition.

"Merchant's Bank," he finally replied. "Under the clock. Tonight is only Scarface's declaration and marshaling of forces. He's not going to launch his first attack tonight, not without knowing who and what he has, so that buys us some time. We need to have our counterattack ready to go and operational. For this to work, we all need to be on-board. Can I count on you?"

"You don't need to even ask."

Author's Note: The Christmas Tree Lighting is based on the one from Batman Returns, and that includes the Ice Princess. A bit of a twist on this time, no Penguin goons or Catwomen disrupting it.