" - McGinnis leaves behind two sons seen here with his former wife, Mary," said Gotham News Anchor Kim, displaying a picture of Terry, his little brother, and mother huddled together in front of his father's gravestone. "Among the mourners was McGinnis's employer, Derek Powers."

"Warren was a good friend and a valuable employee to Wayne-Powers enterprises," said Derek Powers, waving his fist with righteous fury. "And I pledge to use whatever influence I have to see that these…creatures pay for their heinous act."

"The street gang known as the Jokerz," Kim continued, "modeling themselves after Gotham's own clown prince of crime, has been known for vandal acts such as destruction of public and private property, street fighting, racketeering, drug dealing, and theft. But this is the first recorded instance of murder. Could this be the beginning of the Jokerz rise to emulate their namesake?

"The detective in charge of the investigation, Ethan Bennet, has refused to comment, but local Hamilton Hill High students say that this incident may have something to do with Warren McGinnis's oldest son, Terrance McGinnis." Terry's high school photo appeared on the screen. "According to eyewitnesses, young McGinnis had an altercation with a group of Jokerz earlier that same day. Is there a connection, or is it just coincidence?

"In other news, Gotham rolled out the red carpet for the Vlatava Minister of Commerce, István Kornai. Mr. Kornai will be here to take part in the world trade conference – "

Terry threw his empty water bottle at the screen, which really didn't do much good since it was a floating hologram.

It had been two days since Terry went home and discovered his dad was dead, but the actual ceremony didn't take place until today.

Terry had been with his mother and little brother the hold time, holding them when they needed a shoulder to cry on while trying to stay strong himself. Harper and Duke had turned up to support Terry, giving him a chance to grieve properly when no one else was looking. Even Dana had attended, but she hadn't approached Terry during before or after the ceremony, afraid to get too close to him, almost like he would break if she did. The somber mood was soured when Derek Powers showed up and started giving some bullshit speech about how much he valued Warren and how he would be dearly missed. Most of the mourners ate it up, but Terry didn't believe a single word that came out of that snake's mouth. Neither did Duke or Harper.

And now here he was, sitting on a bench between Duke and Harper in the middle of Gotham Park, his tie hanging loosely over his shoulder and his coat thrown over the back. For the past twenty minutes, he had been staring intently at the statue of Batman in the heart of the park.

The sensible part knew that there was nothing Bruce Wayne could've done to prevent his dad's death, but the angry part blamed Batman for hanging up the cowl in the first place, which led to Warren getting killed. Yeah, he knew it was illogical, but it felt better to blame the old man than himself.

Terry pushed these thoughts away when he felt a hand on his left shoulder, turning his head to see Harper's concerned expression.

"I'm fine," said Terry in a hollow voice.

"No, you're not fine," said Harper firmly. "Your dad just died. You have every right to be upset."

"Harper's right, man," said Duke.

"I'm not upset. I'm just…trying to understand how this happened," Terry exhaled a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. "It just…it doesn't make any sense. Me and Terminal always had our issues, but he never actually killed anyone. Why now? What did I do that would make him go that far?"

"You don't know it was Terminal – " Duke started.

"Who else could it have been!" Terry snapped, making Duke jump. "Terminal's the only one who has issues with me. The only one who would've know where I lived. I just…don't get it…."

He trailed off pitifully, staring blankly at the ground. Harper and Duke leaned behind him, silently communicating. Harper gestured his head to their friend, wordlessly asking Duke to say something – anything – that would make Terry feel better. Duke panicked and looked like he would rather fight the Jokerz himself. Harper shot him a glowering leer that said Duke didn't have a choice in the matter. Duke grimaced and leaned forward, glancing sideways at Terry.

"So…where are your mom and Matt?" he asked anxiously.

"They went home earlier. I stayed behind; needed to get some air," said Terry in a hollow voice. Duke and Harper leaned back and silently communicated again until Terry pounded his fist on his knee in frustration. "Slag it, I should've been there! I could've helped him! I could've done something!"

"You had your own problems, man," said Harper. "You got kidnapped by the False Faces and almost took a bullet between the eyes. You're lucky to be alive."

"I could've stayed hope instead of going out – "

"Then you'd have the False Facers and the Jokerz on your doorstep," said Duke. "They were already coming for you. At least you made it out alive that's to that old guy. Uh…what was his name, again?"

"Malone," said Terry. "Matches Malone."

"Did someone say my name?"

Terry popped his head up in surprise. He was not expecting to see Bruce Wayne – that is, Matches Malone – to come walking down the park path. Ace the bloodthirsty Bat-Hound was thankfully leashed, though it didn't seem like that would stop him from ripping Terry's face off if he wanted to. Julia the Bodyguard was standing just behind him and Terry's arm felt sore when remembering the last time they met.

Terry shot to his feet and stuttered, "Mr. Wa – Uh, Malone! What're you doing here?"

"I came to offer my condolences," said Bruce, stopped next to the bench. "After Julia dropped you off at your house, she told me what happened. I know what it's like to lose family."

"Yeah, I guess you would," said Terry.

Even after over sixty years, the Wayne murders were still a famous history topic, especially when Batman and Bruce Wayne was brought up.

"So you're this Matches Malone guy that saved Terry's ass last night," Harper chimed in as she and Duke stood up. "Was kind of expecting some Grey Ghost or Question type character by the way he talked about you."

"He's been talking about me, has he?" asked Bruce, shooting a look at Terry. "Good things, I hope."

"Only that you're some big shot detective in Old Gotham," said Duke. "And that you saved him from getting popped by the Black Mask."

"I see…," Bruce hummed. "Mr. McGinnis, would you mind if we talk in private, maybe take a little walka round the park? And old man like myself could use the exercise."

"Uh, sure," said Terry awkwardly. He rounded to his friends and told them, "I see you guys at school tomorrow."

"Yeah, catch you later, Ter," Duke waved him off.

"If you need anything, call us," said Harper firmly.

"I will, thanks," said Terry.

With that, Duke and Harper walked off.

"You sure you don't need me?" Julia asked Bruce, concern apparent in her eyes.

"I'll be fine, Julia," said Bruce, patting her arm reassuringly. "Why don't you follow up with some of our contacts on the Wonderland Gang case? I want to know more about this…Alice, and how she rose to power so quickly."

Julia looked like she wanted to argue, but kept her mouth shut. She shot a sideways glance toward Terry, as if warning him that she would do bodily harm if anything happened to the old man. Terry held his hands up in surrender. Satisfied that her threat was understood, Julia walked away in one direction while Bruce and Terry went the other.

Terry tucked his hands into his pockets and followed the old man silently as they walked the path around the pond. The old man didn't say anything to him for the first twenty minutes, mostly because he was greeted by other dog walkers and regular pedestrians that knew him. Seems that Bruce – or more specifically, Matches Malone – was a well-known figure around these parts. A couple people even stopped to thank him for his help. Terry should've known that even after hanging up the cape, Bruce Wayne was still a hero.

They were walking around the bend when the old man finally talked to him.

"I really am sorry for your loss," said Bruce sincerely. "I read up on your father. He seemed like a good man."

"He had his faults, but he did the best he could," said Terry sadly. "And it's my fault he's…."

"What makes you think it was your fault?" asked Bruce.

"Because Terminal and his gang came looking for me for revenge," said Terry, gritting his teeth in frustration. "And when they didn't find me, they took it out on my dad instead! The dregs!"

"It certainly looks that way," Bruce hummed mildly. "Then again, things might be as they appear."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Terry.

"I read the report from the officer in charge," said Bruce. "Ethen Bennett. A good cop. One of the few since Jim Gordon. He made an interest note in his report."

"How did you get the police report?" asked Terry. Bruce just gave him a meaningful stare. "Right, forgot who I was talking to. So, what'd he say?"

"He thinks the Jokerz aren't the ones responsible for your father's murder," said Bruce. "And I have to agree with him."

"What?" Terry shouted, outraged. "How could it not be Terminal as his goons? There was evidence all over the place!"

"Exactly – it's too obvious," said Bruce. "I've done a complete background of all the Jokerz, even their psychological profiles, and not one of them has nerve the actually kill someone. When it comes down to it, they're just a bunch of street hooligans."

"No, it had to be them," said Terry defiantly. "Who else could it have been?"

"I don't know yet," said Bruce grimly. "When I have sufficient evidence – "

"Screw evidence!" Terry yelled in Bruce's face. The only man took it in stride. "Those dregs need to pay!"

"Terry – "

"Those clowns killed my dad!" Terry continued to shout. "You got to do something! You're…." He lowered his voice, consciously aware that other people might be listening in. "You're Batman…."

"I was Batman," said Bruce sympathetically. "Believe me, Terry, no one understands what you're going through better than I do. But you can't let yourself be blinded by revenge. Someone always ends up paying the price for it."

"I bet you're speaking from personal experience, huh?" said Terry, glaring at the old man.

"I am," Bruce confirmed.

"So that it?" Terry scoffed. "You're just gonna sit back and do nothing?"

"I'll continue tracking leads until I found out who's responsible for this," said Bruce, resting a reassuring hand on the angry teenager's shoulder. "All I'm asking is to give me a little more time."

Terry said nothing, just silently glaring at the old man. He shrugged off Bruce's hand, turned on his heel and walked away with an angry kick in his step. Bruce didn't stop him or called him back. Even if he did, Terry wouldn't have listened to him. The knowledge that Gotham's own Dark Knight wasn't lifting a finger to punish these monsters was a step too far this time.

"Screw you, old man," Terry muttered. "If you're not going to do anything, I will. Now, if I were Terminal, where would I be…."

Terry tried bullying his brain into remembering any little detail he knew about Terminal and his gang of Jokerz. But the truth was, he knew very little.

Terminal was once a model student at Hamilton Hill High until one day he snapped, dropped out of school, and joined the Jokerz where he quickly rose to be one of the faction leaders. Deirdre and Delia Dennis were friends with him in middle school, but they fell out of touch when Terry started hanging out with Charlie "Big Time" Bigelow. In was ironic that they all fell in with a bad group, but only Terry chose to get out. He didn't know any of their hangs outs, and it was unlikely anyone was going to tell him.

Terry was about to give up when he remembered something her overhear a few days prior, just before he confronted Terminal.

"Shh, shh, it's gonna be okay," Terminal murmured like he was speaking to an infant. "Nobody's gonna hurt you…as long as you get us into you get us your dad's access card."

"W-Why do you want it?" Duela trembled.

"Uh, duh, to get into the bank," said Chucko. "This dumb bitch can't even figure that out – "

They wanted to get into a bank. A bank that Duela Dent's father worked at. That shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

"Watch out, drags, I'm coming for you," Terry swore.

"What do you mean you haven't found the chip?" Derek Powers shouted, slamming his fist on his desk.

He had come back to his office a couple hours after attending Warren McGinnis' funeral, playing the role of the mourning employer, expecting his bodyguard to have good news. Instead, the goliath just stood across from his employer with a scowl and an empty hand.

"I searched through his son's belongings while they were at the service," said Butchinsky. "I do not think McGinnis passed it off to his son."

"Well, it has to be somewhere!" shouted Powers, rising from his chair. "If the data on that chip were to leak to the press, it could undo years of blackmail, bribery, and favors!"

"I understand, Mr. Powers," said Butchinsky. "But where should we look if it's not with the boy?"

"I don't care!" Powers roared impatiently. "Just find it!"

That wasn't very helpful in Butchinsky's personal opinion, but he wasn't in the business of questioning the man who signed his paycheck. After Butchinsky silently left the office, Powers sat down again, exhaling an exasperated sigh while massaging his temple, fighting off the imminent migraine. A few moments of thoughtfully silence passed before he pressed the intercom on his desk.

"Miss Winston, please call Minister Kornai," Powers requested. "Tell him we need to move up the schedule…."

"Did you find anything?" Bruce asked immediately after he and Ace rejoined Julia at the corner of their street.

"Hello to you, too," said Julia sarcastically. She walked alongside the old man as they headed back to the house. "How's the kid?"

"He's angry and bullheaded," said Bruce shortly.

"Not at all like someone I know," said Julia humorously.

"I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid that could put himself and others in danger," said Bruce, shaking his head. "Enough about that. What did you find in your investigation.

"I wasn't able to find much personally her," answered Julia, pulling out an old fashioned notepad. "But this 'Alice' woman is making some major changes to the Wonderland Gang since she bumped off the Caterpillar. The number of henchmen has not only doubled, but she's completely dismissed the old inner circle. The Walrus, the Lion, the Unicorn, Mock Turtle – all kicked to the curb."

"Are they – ?"

"No, they're still alive, but their out of the gang," Julia interrupted. "Apparently she's gone replaced them with her own inner circle. Rumor has it that one of them is a Splicer."

"Whoever she is, she's as dangerous as she is smart," said Bruce. "We'll have to be cautious from here on out."

They climbed the steps of their home and Julia took out her set of keys as she reached for the handle of the front door. She suddenly stopped moving, which caught Bruce's attention.

"What's wrong?" asked Bruce suspiciously.

"It's unlocked," said Julia, brushing her finger over the lock, which had several small scratches. "Someone jimmied the lock."

Bruce gripped his cane like he was prepared to beat someone over the head with it (which he probably was.) Ace sensed his master's hostility and snarled viciously. Julia pulled out her own weapon of choice – a collapsible baton – and pushed the door inward.

Ace bound inside first, followed by Julia, then Bruce. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the entryway. The Great Dane put his nose to the floor and started sniffing down the hallway. Julia swept right and disappeared into the dining room, then towards the kitchen. Bruce was the last to enter the house, hanging near the front door with a suspicious eye. He took a few steps forward and looked to his left into the den…where he noticed one of the bookshelves was out of place.

"No…he wouldn't…," Bruce murmured in disbelief as realization swept over him.

"Bruce?" Julia called out, but he ignored her and hobbled into the den.

He pushed the bookshelf aside and stepped inside the hidden elevator. He didn't wait for Julia to join him and practically slammed the B1 button. He all but ran out when the doors opened and shambled over to the display case where he kept the prototype Batsuit he had spent decades developing –

Only it wasn't there. The case was empty and the door had been left open.

Bruce didn't need to be the world's greatest detective to know who was responsible.

"McGinnis…," Bruce rumbled.

Duela whimpered, her eyes flying back and forth between her captors.

Terminal and his clown goons had personally gone to her home, waiting for her on the opposite side of the road so that she couldn't run away. Not that she would – they would track her down just as easily. They were like an armed escort, dragging her along on the maglev to the Bowery. They took a long route through the backstreets, avoiding the public eye and the police, until they were in the back of the Gotham Merchant's Bank.

As they were reach the back door, Terminal raised his hand to stop them. He looked up, spotting the rotating security camera on the wall. Terminal snapped his fingers and ghoul stepped forward. The scarecrow lookalike reached inside his jack-o'-lantern bucket, pulling out a homemade cherry bomb. He ignited the fuse and tossed it at the camera, calculating the timing just perfectly so that it would explode next to the camera.

Terminal grinned smugly at the pile of smoldering parts on the ground and continued walking. Duela wanted to back out – these guys were crazy! – but the Dee-Dee Twins shoved her forward. The Jokerz gathered around the door and looked at Duela expectantly.

"You got the card?" Terminal asked Duela, crossing his arm intimidatingly.

"R-Right here," Duela stuttered. She pulled out an electronic keycard from her pocket. Terminal snatched it from her hand and inserted it into the card reader, which flashed a green light and an accepting chime. He pulled the backdoor open and no alarms went off. "There, you got what you want. Can I go home now?"

"So you can run off to the cops?" Bonk growled, leaning over the smaller girl.

"Not a chance," said Chucko, tapping his bat intimidatingly.

"You can go home after we finish," said Terminal, leering at Duela. "And only if you swear not to say a word to anyone."

"But – But there are camera's inside," Duela sputtered. "You can't take them all out. If one of them sees me, my dad will – "

"Hey, hey, relax," said Ghoul creepily, throwing his arm over Duela's shoulder. His touch made her skin crawl. "We wouldn't leave our good pal in a lurch like that."

"We've got you covered, right, Dee-Dee?" asked Delia.

"That's right, Dee-Dee," Deirdre nodded.

Deirdre pulled out a small cardboard box that she had been carrying behind her back the whole time and handed it to Duela. Duela grimaced, afraid of what it might contained. Terminal gave her a silent look as if commanding her to open it and reluctantly did so. She was surprised to see that it wasn't anything particularly dangerous. It was –

"A helmet?" said Duela curiously.

A red biker's helmet to be more specific.

"Now no one'll recognize you," said Terminal. He took the helmet and jammed it on Duela's head; it was a tight fit. "Heh, that's a good look for you."

"I can barely see…," Duela groaned, her voice muffled. "And it's hard to breathe…."

"Quit complaining," said Chucko, shoving her from behind. "Now move."

They shuffled inside the bank one-by-one, unaware of the shadowy figure looming from the rooftop above them –

The Jokerz and their reluctant accomplice strolled through the bank like they owned the place. The fact that there was no security detail guarding a high-profile bank was a major leap in logic, but Terminal wasn't about to argue. Duela, on the other hand, was anxiously eyeing the camera littered everywhere on the ceiling recording them, scared that someone might recognize her through her flimsy disguise.

They arrived at one of the teller stations behind the indestructible window, which was the reason why they need to swipe the access card in the first place. Terminal gestured with his head and Ghoul lurched forward, taking a seat behind the computer. He whipped out his phone, unfurling a long cord from the bottom, and jacked in to the computer's base. A stream of data began to filter from his phone into the computer.

"How long will this take?" asked Terminal.

"Twenty minutes or less," answered Ghoul. "Once I crack through the firewall, we'll be as rich as Derek Powers."

"That's what I like to hear," said Terminal, grinning. He turned back to the rest of his gang and said, "Start taking anything you think is valuable. These rich jackasses gotta have something worth stealing."

The Jokerz laughed devilishly and spread out across the office, with the exception of Duela, who remained glued in place, too afraid to move.

She watched helplessly as the street thugs started tearing the place apart. Bonk was lifting desks over his head, shaking the contents out before throwing it aside. Chucko pulled out a big bag and startd throwing everything inside – computers, desk lamps, penholders – you name it. The Dee-Dee Twins cartwheeled over to the cabinets, riffling through the files for any juicy info they could take, such as pin numbers and social security. And Woof…well, he was lugging around a plastic plant in his teeth.

Duela jumped and gasped as Terminal rested his arm across her shoulder.

"We're almost done here," Terminal reassured her. "Then you won't hear another word from us. Promise. How're things looking over there, Ghoul?" he asked the hacker.

"Halfway there," said Ghoul giddily. "Just a couple more minutes and we'll be rolling in – "

THWIP!

Ghoul let out a high-pitched shriek and fell backwards out of his chair. Something flew past his shoulder, smashing the computer monitor and causing it to spark. The Jokerz stopped their looting and looked around at the commotion. Terminal shoved Duela aside and approached the monitor, noticing something embedded in the cracked screen. It looked like some kind of throwing projectile…shaped like a bat.

Terminal spun around, estimating the trajectory of the throw, and noticed someone standing in the threshold of the door. The shadow's concealed his identity, but his outline was someone at least his height and build, but had…long pointed ears.

"You wanna make a withdraw, come back during business hours," said the shadow figure, his voice low and gravely.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" questioned Chucko, dropping his loot.

The figure stepped out of the shadows…and Terminal quirked his brow in confusion at what he saw. How do you expect to react to someone in a black bodysuit with exaggerated bat ears and a red bat logo on their chest.

"Your worst nightmare," Batman growled.

There was a moment of silent pause where the Jokerz exchanged befuddled looks…then started laughing out loud. Batman glowered, clearly not amused.

"Is…Is this guy for real?" Chucko cackled.

"You think that getup's supposed to scare us?" Ghoul laughed. "Who're you supposed to be anyway?"

"I'm Batman," said Batman gravely.

"And I'm Two-Face," Terminal snorted. He snapped his fingers again. "Bonk, show this punk the way out. And be extra rough with him."

Bonk punched his fist into his hand, grinning maniacally as he marched up to the new Dark Knight. Batman stood his ground, even as the pasty brute towered over him. Bonk reeled back his fist and swung a right hook at Batman's head…which the Dark Knight effortlessly ducked under. Batman retaliated with an uppercut to Bonk's chin, throwing the brute in the air and landing on a nearby desk, crushing it under his weight. Suddenly, the Jokerz weren't laughing anymore.

Batman flexed his hand, testing it. Under normal circumstances, Terry could never have done that, but the suit came equipped neuro-muscular amplification that increased his natural strength by five times. And Terry was enjoying every moment of it.

Batman leaned over Bonk as the pasty brute groggily regained his senses, grabbing him by his overalls. He effortlessly lifted Bonk overhead and tossed him across the room like a sack of potatoes, slamming him into the wall, which cracked under Bonk's weight. The bruiser collapse to the floor with a pained groan, then rounded to the rest of the Jokerz.

Everyone looked to Terminal, who seemed shocked as everyone else. Noticing that all eyes were now on him, he regained his composure and shouted, "Well, what're you idiots waiting for? Slag him!"

Everyone immediately dropped what they were doing and charged the new Dark Knight. The exception was Duela, who crouched behind a desk, peeking over the top to watch.

Chucko took a swing at Batman with his wooden bat, which the Dark Knight effortlessly blocked with his forearm. He ripped the bat out of Chucko's hands and broke it over his knee, discarding the useless wooden pieces. For some reason, Chucko thought he still had a chance and threw a punch at Batman's face. Batman easily leaned out of the way and returned a punch of his own that sent Chucko flying into the filing cabinets.

Batman lunged forward to meet Ghoul halfway, blocking an upward swing with his pumpkin bucket. The bucket was surprisingly heavy and rattling with all kinds of unseen content, but Batman slapped it out of his hand and punched Ghoul in the gut. The Halloween reject doubled over with a wheezing gasp, giving Batman the chance to pick him up by the back of his shirt and throw Ghoul across the room. Chucko had just been getting up, rubbing his pounding head with a groan, when Ghoul landed on top of him.

Batman turned his attention to Terminal, who had started backing away in fear, when he was suddenly tackled from the side. The Dark Knight landed on top of a desk when Woof climbed on top of him, spitting and snarling like a rabid animal. Batman pressed his forearm into Woof's throat, keeping the Splicer from biting his face. With his free hand, Batman reached for his belt, having memorized the contents on the way here, and pulled out a smoke pellet. He jammed the pellet into Woof's mouth and forced him to bite down on it, causing the pellet to explode. The Splicer whimpered and peeled off, rolling on the ground while black smoke plumed out of his jaws.

Batman stood up and brushed himself off when he noticed the Dee-Dee Twins climb on the desks on either side of him. The ragdoll girls jumped at the Dark Knight with simultaneous flying kicks like they were in a kung fu movie…. Batman casually stepped back and watched the twins kick each other in the face and crumple to the ground with mutual pained groaned.

"That wasn't very smart, Dee-Dee," Delia groaned.

"No, it wasn't, Dee-Dee," Deirdre moaned.

"Worthless…all of you…," Terminal sneered.

With the henchmen out of the way, that only left Terminal and the helmet-wearing girl. Since the latter was sniveling behind the desk, he saw no point in going after her. That just left –

Terminal was making a break for the exit. Batman scoffed; he had the nerve to order his lackeys to fight, but couldn't bring himself to throw a punch. A real dreg if Terry ever saw one.

Batman easily crossed the room and caught up to Terminal in seconds, tacking him to the ground in record time. He grabbed the Jokerz leader by the collar, forcing him to his feet, and then threw Terminal into the nearest desk. Terminal had no chance to collect himself before Batman grabbed him by the head and slammed his face down – twice – causing his nose to bleed. But the Bat was far from done. He grabbed Terminal by the collar again and threw him into the teller window, watching him slump to the floor with a pained grimace.

Terminal gritted his teeth and glared at the Batman wannabe. The new Dark Knight leaned over Terminal, grabbing him by the collar, and then punched him in the face.

"All right, all right, I give, I give!" cried Terminal, holding his hands up in surrender. "What's your deal, man?"

"I want answers!" Batman yelled. "Warren McGinnis! Why did you do it?"

"McGinnis? What does he have to do with – OOF!" Terminal grunted; Batman punched him in the face again.

"You killed Warren McGinnis!" Batman shouted, his voice rising with anger. "Was it to get back at his son?"

"We didn't kill anybody – Ah! Son of a – stop that, you psycho!" Terminal cried after Batman punched him again.

"Liar! I saw the tag!" Batman snapped.

"Look, McGinnis and I had some beef, but we didn't kill his old man!" Terminal claimed fearfully. "And think about it: why would we tell everyone that we bumped off McGinnis? That would just put a target on us! We had to put off this heist until tonight because the cops kept snooping around! I'm telling you, someone is framing us!"

Terry wanted so desperately to give his another punch in the face, but he couldn't bring himself to. As much as he hated to admit it, Terminal was making sense. Besides the fact that the Jokerz never openly killed anybody before, it was illogical for them to announce that they were the ones who did it since it would bring the GCPD down on their heads.

Batman reaffirmed his grip on Terminal's collar and asked, "All right, if you didn't do it, who did?"

"How should I know?" said Terminal.

"You have to know something," Batman growled, holding up his fist threateningly. "Talk, or I'll make you talk – "

"McGinnis!" Batman flinched; a loud, angry voice was screaming in his ear. "McGinnis, where are you? Get out of that suit!"

"Old man…?" Batman muttered, looking around inquisitively. When he didn't see Bruce physically, he touched the earpiece of his cowl. "Should've known. The cowl comes equipped with a built-in radio, doesn't it?"

"Who're you talking to?" asked Terminal, confused.

"Shut it, clown," snapped Batman, kicking Terminal down. He turned to the side and press the earpiece again. "Now's not the time, old man. I'm in the middle of something."

"I can see that," said Bruce.

"How can you – "

"The cowl also has visual and audio receivers," Bruce explained. "Now I'm only going to say this once: bring the suit back – now!"

"I can't do that," Batman argued. "Some killed my – someone killed Warren." Terry corrected himself, aware that Terminal was listening. He didn't need to know his identity and get his mom and brother in trouble. "I have to find out who did this and why."

"Believe me, Terry, I understand more than you can ever know," said Bruce, "But you're only sixteen – you're not trained for this. Being Batman is dangerous and could cost you your life."

"I can't just sit back and do nothing!" said Batman.

Terminal couldn't tell if this "Batman" was crazy or not, yelling any someone who wasn't there. The important thing was that he was distracted. Terminal reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pistol – an old-fashioned bullet-using pistol he stole from Old Gotham. He aimed the gun at Batman's head.

What he didn't realize was that Bruce Wayne was watching through the cowl's lenses in his underground bunker. He stopped yelling at Terry when he noticed movement in the corner of the screen. Terry clearly didn't see him – he was too distracted trying to argue his point.

"Terry, look out!"

Batman snapped his attention back on Terminal just as he was about to pull the trigger. He swung his fist around and slapped the pistol away just as it went off. Batman grabbed Terminal's throat with one hand and his wrist with the other, twisting his hand until he dropped the gun.

"All right, punk, you just bought yourself a world of hurt!" Batman growled.

But before he could beat Terminal to within an inch of his life, a strangled gasp and choking noise caught Batman's attention.

He looked to the side and angry gave way to horror. Duela had fallen to the ground holding her stomach, blood oozing between her fingers and pooling on the floor beside her.

"No…," Batman breathed. He threw Terminal aside and rushed to Duela, pressing his hands on top of hers to stem the bleeding. "No, no, no, no, this isn't happening."

"I…I…I can't…," Duela gasped; she was crying in fear.

"Shush, stop talking," said Batman soothingly. "I'll fix this, I promise."

Terminal, being the opportunist that he was, wasn't going to waste this chance. He made a break for the door as his lackeys started picking themselves up, screaming, "Let's get outta here!" The Jokerz weren't going to argue. They booked it out the door one by one, not even looking back to see what became of their helmet-wearing comrade. A large part of Terry wanted to chase them down for answers, but a larger part told him to stay and help Duela.

"Terry, you need to get her to a hospital!" yelled Bruce. "Take her to Gotham General! It's the closest to your position! I'll call ahead and tell them to expect you!"

"Right!" Terry agreed, lifting Duela in his arms. The girl went limp in his arms; he hoped that just meant she passed out.

"And take off the suit before you get there," Bruce instructed. "We can't have Batman making he tabloids."

"Right," said Batman, using one hand to remove the cowl.

With Duela secured, Terry shouldered his way out the door and into the night –

When the next morning arrived, Terry was still at the hospital. He had called his mom and told her that a friend of his had been hurt and was staying at the hospital to support them, which wasn't exactly a lie. Thankfully, she understood and now Terry had an excuse for why he was out so late. He didn't need his mom asking questions on top of everything else.

Terry leaned against the window, peering into room 407 and its one occupant. Duela was lying on the bed inside, hooked up to a heart rate monitor, a breathing mask, and an IV drip. The red biker's helmet she had worn was sitting on the table next to her.

Terry had been staring into that room for hours, hoping that Duela would eventually wake up, but she had thus far been unresponsive. The doctor's weren't looking too hopeful either. While the bullet had missed any vital organs, Duela had lost a significant amount of blood and would require a transfusion. Terry volunteered to donate, but apparently Duela had an extremely rare blood type and they weren't compatible. There was also a lot of medical jargon thrown around that Terry didn't understand, but layman version was that Duela's chances were slim.

A chiming noise drew Terry's attention towards the elevator. Bruce Wayne hobbled out with Julia marching rigidly by his side. Terry pushed off the window, looking down shamefully as the pair approached him.

"Where's the suit?" Bruce asked immediately.

"In here," said Terry, picking up his school bag off the ground and handing it to them. Julia snatched it away and peeked inside, then nodded to Bruce. "Look, I'm sorry for – OW!"

Bruce hit him with his cane.

"Do you have any idea how stupid and reckless that was?" Bruce yelled furiously, drawing a lot of unwanted attention from the hospital staff. "What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay?" Terry apologized.

"You're lucky that girl isn't dead because of you," said Bruce, peering into the room as s nurse walked in to check her vitals.

"She might be soon enough," said Terry remorsefully.

"What's the situation?" asked Julia.

"She needs a transfusion," Terry explained. "But her blood type is so rare, they're not sure they can find a donor in time." he screwed his brow and clenched his fist. "I know this is my fault, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean for things to end up like this."

"…Take it from someone with experience," said Bruce somberly. "Vengeance has a way of clouding your mind, making your act irrationally. And more often than not, the people around you are the ones who pay the price."

"I'm sorry…," Terry murmured pathetically.

"I know," said Bruce understandingly, patting Terry's arm reassuringly. "We'll figure something out. For both her and your father. But for now, go home and get some rest."

Terry nodded and made his way back to the elevator, escorted by Julia, who offered to give him a ride home. Bruce stayed and looked through the window, giving Duela a sympathetic look before he too walked away –

As he did so, a doctor entered Duela's room, carrying a large metal box under his arm. The nurse turned around and looked surprised to see him.

"Oh, Dr. Burton, I didn't know you were in this morning," said the nurse.

"I heard the news and came immediately," said Dr. Burton, setting the metal box on the table beside the helmet. "Is this the patient?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid it's not looking good," the nurse frowned. "Her blood type is extremely rare that we don't have a readily available source. We're looking for a donor now, but we might not find one in time."

"Not to worry, nurse," said Dr. Burton confidently. "I have just the solution for this problem."

Dr. Burton pressed his thumb to a scanner on the box, which made a low clicking noise. He pulled the lid open, letting a cloud of misting mist escape from the box. He pulled on a pair of gloves before reaching inside. What he pulled out was a single blood bag with a barely legible scribble written on the packet. From what little could be read, there was a faded name that stood out:

J. White