Auld Lang Syne

From the catwalk to the ground floor, Batman had kept up with Catwoman. It wasn't that he was following as much as he was trying to stay at her side. He knew her skintight suit didn't offer much protection to guns and knives, so she was really vulnerable in this mob, albeit a shrinking one.

Though to be honest, he had his hands full too—literally. A rather large man had lunged at him, trying to plunge a knife into his neck. The vigilante had managed to grab onto the wrist, just below the hand that grasped the knife, and held it off. However, the thug had wrapped his other arm around him and was squeezing, trying to pull the dark-clad man closer to the tip of the blade. He was strong too, even as Batman had the forearm of his other arm pressed against his foe's chest, pushing back. With every passing second, his strength was weakening, his muscles burning from the strain.

So he began to make adjustments. First, he began to twist the wrist he held, slowly causing the knife to point outwards rather than inwards. Once he was certain he would merely glance the edge of the knife against his armor, specifically his shoulder, the vigilante leaned his head back as far as he could. Then he promptly stopped pushing against his opponent.

The knife lunged forward, and did as he hoped and scrapped against his shoulder. It left a mark there due to the friction, but it didn't penetrate the armor. As for his body, he was pulled up against the thug, where he threw his head forward. He landed a headbutt to the strong man's head, his nose crunching as blood spurted out of the nostrils.

Instantly, the man let go of him, dropping his knife as he reached both hands to clutch at his face. Stepping towards him, Batman lashed out with a foot, landing a kick to the inside of one of the man's knees, causing it to buckle. His foe dropped to one knee, his hands shooting down to catch himself before hitting the floor.

Batman shot a hand out and grabbed his opponent by his hair, pulling his head back. He then threw a punch right into his bloodied face once, twice, three times, then decided to finish him off as he jerked a leg up and rammed his knee into the thug's face. He released the hair and let the man collapse to the floor in a heap.

Alarmingly, he could feel himself growing tired. Yeah, he had been fighting for an extended period of time, but he could feel soreness gripping his battered body. He had taken hits he normally wouldn't have taken, trying to cover for Catwoman and her more vulnerable self. Again, his armor versus her skintight burglar suit.

Glancing over his shoulder, he panted a little bit, trying to catch his breath as he searched for the cat burglar. More alarming than his growing fatigue was that he didn't see her anywhere. In fact, it was like she had just suddenly vanished.

Whipping his head back, he was just in time to see another goon rushing him, swinging a pipe for his head. Batman just stared for a moment before he lunged forward, pivoting so that his body had its profile to the charging man. He bent over at his waist, the man running right into him. Almost comically, the goon flipped over the Dark Knight, landing hard on his back on the floor next to the vigilante. Straightening out his posture, Batman just aimed a kick to the man's face, knocking him out.

Alright, back to his primary objective. Looking around, he searched for—there! It was just for a fleeting moment, but he caught sight of a thin, curvy figure moving through the crowd. Batman followed the figure until he caught a definitive sight of her. Yes, it was Catwoman, and she seemed to be doing her best to avoid the fighting. She was worming her way behind the battling mobsters, pausing only when one of them got in her way and dispatching them.

A wild yell rang out behind the vigilante, Batman not bothering to move before he whipped an arm up. He just flung it up, snapping it at the elbow and wrist. The back of his fist struck something soft over his shoulder, no doubt a face. The yelling stopped, followed by a man dropping to the floor.

The entire time, he watched Catwoman ultimately reach a couple of generators and then squeeze in between them, vanishing from sight. Damn it, she was trying to make a quick escape in the middle of this chaos.

Pulling out his grapple gun, he fired the grapple claw to a spot over the generators, launching himself up into the air and over the fighting. Sparing a quick look, he could see there were a lot of fallen men lying on the floor in various states of unconsciousness or death. There were more of them than ones still fighting.

Reaching the generators, he landed on the right one, retracting his line back into the grapple gun's barrel. He then bounded across the large piece of equipment, dropping off of it once he reached the other side.

No way was he letting Catwoman get away.

There was an economic principle that stated that all resources were finite. That meant there was only a limited number of any given resource, the supply side of Supply and Demand.

In this case, that supply was of mobsters.

As Huntress dropped yet another guy she grew up with, an idiot by the name of Sweetheart Sal—he got that name for being able to make just about any girl swoon and go steady, thus the Sweetheart moniker—she noticed there was a shrinking number of men she could beat up. In fact, there was a decreasing number of places for her to go since she had been all over this power plant construction site.

Oh, she could hear the occasional gunfire, but it wasn't nearly as deafening as when the Network first arrived. They were approaching the end, sooner rather than later.

Spotting a couple more men, Huntress began to head in their direction, only to see them drop their respective weapons and take off through an open door. Hmm, guess they decided cowardice was the better part of valor. At this point, she was willing to let them go. She was starting to feel tired and a couple less guys to fight, the better.

"I think we've got this area clear," Black Canary declared as she placed her hands on her hips.

It was hard to argue with that statement, so Huntress didn't bother. "Any idea where the rest of the fighting is?"

"Probably where the mob bosses are. I can see them rallying their boys to keep fighting until the bitter end," the blonde woman replied.

That made sense. "Then I guess we head that way," the purple-clad vigilante said. "Knowing how things usually go, that's probably where Batman is."

"Where would these bosses be?" Katana then asked.

"One of them is probably holed up in an office, or some place safe," Huntress answered. "It's not often you get a mob boss that fights with the street guys. They really prefer to have people do that for them."

"Then where would one of these safe offices be?"

"Beats me. Never seen one in a power plant before."

"Then we go looking," Canary said. She was heading for one of the doorways, which the other two Birds began to follow.

However, as she reached it, Canary immediately jerked herself to one side of the doorframe, just as bullets began pelting it. Huntress and Katana made certain to keep out of sight of the doorway, even as the gunfire began to die down.

It seemed they had found a few more mobsters.

Black Canary didn't seem as if she were willing to charge in. In fact, it was clear she was just done with the fighting as she began to suck in a whole lot of air. Holding her breath for a moment, she then poked her head through the doorway and unleashed a Canary Cry. The other two Birds had made certain to clasp their hands over their ears, even with the protective equipment they had in their ears already. Old habits die hard after all.

The familiar, shrill scream rang out, lasting several seconds before Canary stopped. By then, Huntress had reached the doorway and peered in. She saw what had been makeshift covers, no doubt for the gunmen, and they were all toppled over. Several men were slumped against the wall, or lying in the fetal position as they grabbed at their injured ears. It was clear that Black Canary had put some mustard on that Canary Cry, the scream injuring ears and the force of it sending everything flying.

"You know, feel free to use that Canary Cry until we find the bosses," Huntress suggested as she stared at the fallen men. They could catch their breath as they moved through the plant all while eliminating the leftovers that were holing up.

"I'll keep that in mind," Canary replied. "Now, ladies first, and by that I mean you."

Batgirl stared at the hole. Through it, she saw a collapsed pile of bags where a giant of a man was slumped against. The force needed to send a man of that size across such a distance after going through a wall was incredible.

The dark-clad girl turned to regard that man who had done it.

He was wearing a trench coat and a fedora hat. He seemed to be trying to make himself appear as small as possible, but was failing. Redbird stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest in defiance.

"You should be glad that we dealt with these men for you," the arrogant boy proclaimed. "They had your lackeys surrounded with guns. Without us, they would be dead."

There were two other men, which Bluebird and Spoiler were tying up. They seemed to be ignoring her and her unfortunately-related brother, or were trying to go unobserved. Their body language didn't indicate any meekness as they went about their work, so she wasn't quite certain.

"And who exactly is this person you're defending?" she ultimately asked, turning her attention back to the towering man. Him she could read just fine. He seemed to be acting like a little boy that had been caught red-handed and was dreading some punishment.

"A fellow warrior in our fight against crime," Redbird declared. "He answered Father's call to arms. That is all you need to know."

"Considering he punched an even bigger man through a wall, I think I need to know more than that."

"No, you don't," Redbird retorted.

"Yes I do. What his name is, for instance."

"You would take away his anonymity, the same that you yourself enjoy?"

Batgirl just leveled the brat with a cool gaze. "I can't call him Trench Coat Guy, can I? That's not a very good name. It's almost as bad as your Son of Batman name."

"She's got you there, S.O.B.!" Bluebird chimed in.

Redbird whipped his head around, glaring at the blue-clad girl, who was giving him a cheeky smirk in response. "You stay out of this," he growled before returning his attention back to Batgirl. "I did not realize you meant his codename."

"What is his name?" she pressed.

Redbird looked up at his companion, who just shrugged his broad shoulders. Clearly the two hadn't thought this through. "He's…uhh," the smaller boy struggled out before a light bulb turned on in his head, "Abuse. His name is Abuse."

Batgirl raised an eyebrow. "Abuse," she repeated.

"Yes, Abuse."

"You know, that's not a really good name, but it's definitely better than S.O.B.," Bluebird remarked.

"I told you to stay out of this!"

Batgirl ignored that exchange, instead giving this Abuse a once-over. Aside from his size, he didn't look that impressive. A glint of light drew her attention to his right hand, seeing a set of brass knuckles there. There were a set of letters on them, one for each finger that read ESUBA. Well, the letters were facing the wrong way, though if you put a mirror up to them, they would be…

Wait, she was reading them from pinky to thumb. If she read them from thumb to pinky, it was ABUSE.

Something about that sounded familiar…

Batgirl shook her head. Now wasn't the time for investigating this Abuse person. There were still pockets of fighting happening, and they needed to stop that. Also, the men that Spoiler and Bluebird were finishing tying up were men that had been at that Max-querade party with that weird ventriloquist dummy. If they were here, then that man and dummy were here too.

"We'll figure this out later," she declared, earning herself the attention of this motley crew of theirs. "These are the puppet man's men. He must be close by. Has anyone seen him?"

She saw Redbird look up to Abuse, who looked down at him. Spoiler and Bluebird glanced to each other before looking around them. They stood up to further search, Batgirl doing her own. It quickly became apparent the older man and the dummy were nowhere in sight.

She did see a couple doorways though, not including the hole in the wall. "Redbird, you go with Abuse through that door," she ordered, pointing to the door she was talking about. She saw the young boy glare at her, but he didn't immediately snap at her that he didn't take orders from her. "I will take Bluebird and Spoiler through the other. If you see the Ventriloquist and his dummy, alert us and we'll come to you. If we see him, we'll do the same."

"Very well," Redbird said before he took off to the indicated door. Abuse meekly followed after him, a rather strange sight to behold. Batgirl just watched the two for a moment before she mentally shook herself. She had a man to track down.

Red and blue lines illuminated the area, the long convoy racing towards the scene. Looming ahead was the large, incomplete structure that would in time be Gotham's newest power plant. You would expect some sort of checkpoint that would cause the approach force of police to squeal to a stop.

Someone had beaten them there, three guesses as to who, and so each and every law enforcement vehicle drove onto the site, some of the cars bouncing against the uneven ground. Brakes were applied, tires dug in for traction, and dirt was whipped up, clouding the air. Some vehicles veered away, moving to find other points of entrance and exit so that they could be blocked off.

A perimeter within the construction site was being formed and hopefully would be completed in the next few minutes. No one wanted any of the perpetrators within to escape.

In the car Commissioner Sawyer rode in, she kept one hand on the handle above her head, the other hand on the dashboard while her driver maneuvered them to just behind the steadily forming vehicular barricade at the front entrance. At least you would think it was the front; it did face the barricade.

There were other vehicles here, one was long and black, but it would be ignored for now in favor of first securing the area and then what was happening inside the plant.

However, as Sawyer began exiting the vehicle, the first of several men were hobbling out of the building. They did not seem to comprehend what all the red and blue were until officers began yelling at them to drop to the ground and raise their hands in the air. Even from where she stood, these men looked beaten up, hair and clothes disarray, limps and hobbling slowing how fast they could walk.

Perhaps there might be head injuries involved. Some looked dumbfounded, blinking their eyes as they realized that they were surrounded. There was more yelling for them to get on the ground, hands up, and while there might be some fight still in them, there was not enough to make a go for it with the number of officers blocking their escape.

Slowly, they went to their knees, and there was some struggle to raise and keep their arms up. Officers ventured out to grab and cuff them, dragging them behind the makeshift barricade and leading them to other patrol cars to hold them. Movement inside the building hinted that others were coming.

Sawyer took in the sight, then began issuing orders, demanding answers for questions such as when SWAT would get here, and getting regular updates from positions that were currently out of her sight. So far, everything was going well, but she was expecting a fight.

Sure, the first arrests had been easy, but once the men inside knew that they were surrounded, then it might get messy. Still…that long, black stretch car hinted that perhaps the mess would be contained within.

No, wait for SWAT, make this place secure, then when everything was ready, they would breach and go in. Tonight, on the last night of the year, they would be ending this.

He caught sight of movement ahead of him. That was what he was following, uncertain if he was going the right way or not. All around the Dark Knight were towering machines and generators, each one intended to be operational when the power plant was fully functional.

However, it was clear there had been fighting here as bodies littered the floor, puddles of blood surrounding them. Blood spatters decorated the giant pieces of equipment, leaving long drip patterns that stretched down towards the floor. Some of the generators had been hit with bullets, bullet holes randomly scattered over their surfaces. You could tell which generators were active as bolts of electricity would dance around the damaged areas.

Racing down the pathway formed by these huge machines, Batman kept glancing to his left as he passed by other paths. He kept looking for signs that the ones he was chasing had gone that way.

There! He just caught sight of a foot disappearing around a corner. Skidding to a stop, Batman darted into the new walkway, running down it until he reached the spot he had seen the foot. Making a turn there, he followed the new path until it forced him to make a left. This brought him to rows of generators, a long corridor formed between them and the wall. Towards the end of it, he made out the retreating figure of Catwoman.

He was catching up to her.

Running again, he kept his eyes on his quarry, even as she reached the end of the corridor and made another left. His cape billowed behind him widely, creating drag that slowed him down somewhat.

There weren't that many bodies here, so he wasn't having to watch his step as he had previously. That said, there were other signs that the fighting had been here. One of the generators was sparking with electricity from damage from gunfire. He was approaching that one and would be past it in a moment.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy.

As he was passing by the damaged generator, it could no longer control its deterioration. Close to its center, the generator exploded, causing a chain reaction that spread the explosion to the far ends of the machine. The force of the blast slammed into Batman, knocking him clear off his feet, throwing him right into the wall next to him. His face twisted from pain, a grunt escaping him. Flames washed over him, an intense heat searing at the left side of his head.

He collapsed to the floor, the fire retreating back to its source. A thick cloud of dark smoke rose into the air, the flames working to consume what remained of the generator.

Batman laid there on the floor, panting. Despite the ear protection he wore in his cowl, he could hear a ringing sound in his ears. His right side throbbed from the collision with the wall. He felt dazed, which was probably appropriate considering he was hit with a strong explosion. Raising a hand to the left side of his face, he felt for what damage would be there.

Upon touching his mask, it crumbled. A large piece of it fell right off of his face, followed by smaller bits and pieces. It took the dark-clad vigilante a few seconds longer for him to realize what was happening. He could feel the heat more on the left side of his face. No longer was there the lens that covered his left eye, it had been removed with the large piece of his mask that had fallen off.

Tracing his fingertips around the damage, he felt the jagged edge starting at the bridge of his nose. It sharply curved to the left, going above his temple and then curving downwards just behind his ear. It continued downward to his neck, before it made a sharp cut upwards until it reached his chin. His dark hair stuck out from underneath the jagged edge around the side of his head and ear. There weren't any other injuries, like cuts or burns, so that was something at least.

But, this left the side of his face exposed. There was a stinging sensation that started above his eye and stretched towards his ear. There was a slight wetness as well, his fingers touching it. Bringing his hand in front of him, he noticed a red smear there, his blood. It wasn't a lot, but no doubt there was broken skin.

His next worry was the fact that part of his face was exposed. There was no telling if there were any more mobsters around here, fighting the good fight. If so, he needed to dispatch them as quickly as possible before they got a good look at his face.

Slowly, Batman began to push himself up onto his feet, his right hand pressed into the wall to help with his balance. He felt sore all over, and he did stumble a step or two before he managed to regain his balance. Once he felt certain he could stand with minimal assistance, he took a step and then another. They felt awkward at first, but slowly they became more stable. He began picking up his pace until he was going into a job by the end of the corridor he was in.

He had most certainly lost ground on Catwoman, but he had to continue trying to catch up. It wasn't that long that he was running again, his pace picking up until he was at top speed.

Shoes that were not made for running were forced to do so as Shreck weaved his way around all of the machines and equipment. This place, it was like a labyrinth! He had gotten lost in his own damn plant!

The reason for that had been because he was being chased. A distinctive shadow would either cross over him or his own path. The sounds of a whip snapping stalked after him, echoes distorting where it had come from.

Out of desperation, Shreck had pulled out his gun and fired at least two shots, but he hadn't hit anything. One of the bullets ricocheted, and that made him more cautious. The gun was slipped back into the holster and he was running once more.

Along metal walkways and over cables he moved, always being chased, hunted down. Into yet another large room did he enter, the catwalk he was on circling around the edges until it ended at a set of stairs on the far side. Large generators took up so much space, but…there, below, almost directly so, looked like some kind of exit.

He could try jumping down…but he wasn't that young anymore. The stairs, but he had to hurry.

The bottoms of his shoes clapped against metal, his hand steadied himself on the railing as he moved as quickly as he could. He could feel eyes following him…where were they? Who did they belong to?

Shreck reached the stairs and down he climbed them, huffing and puffing, but a turn here and straight over there, an exit. Or maybe it led to another room. A hallway. As long as he wasn't out in the open anymore.

Escape. He needed to get out of here. Hopefully unscathed.

He picked up the pace, reaching the smooth floor and moving as fast as his aged body would allow. Had he been ten years younger, twenty…but that wouldn't matter so long as he—

Distantly he heard a boom, and then something fell, landing on the floor several feet in front him. His instinctual reaction was to stumble to a stop then back up. Blocking and interfering with his escape had been two cables, both severed and spewing sparks from their ends. He didn't need to be told the amount of electrical power that was in those cables, what with how they seemed to slither across the floor, the ends jerking from side to side until slowing down and coming to a stop.

His heart was racing, beating at a speed it had not done in too long. That had been close. Had he been a little faster, those would have landed on him. Looking around quickly, the safest path would have him backtracking to the catwalk he had just left, but if he was careful, maybe kept close enough to that generator right there, he might be able to squeeze past them. Even from here, he could hear the hissing from those severed cables.

Just as he was able to take a step, something dark dropped down and blocked his path again. This time, however, it wasn't long and thin. It was much curvier, and dare he say, also possessed a pair of eyes. This person, this—woman, she was standing up now and he could make out all the features even with that tight-fitting costume she wore.

The way that mask had points that resembled a cat's, Shreck had a good idea who this was. In one hand, she held the handle of a whip, her legs were spread so that she could spring into action at a second's notice, and the sneer that almost resembled that of a predator who had caught its prey was enough to get the business mogul to start backing away.

Shreck swallowed, his mouth dry. Now his heart was beating quickly for a different reason. He knew a threat when he saw one, and when confronted with a threat, he had a number of ways to deal with it.

"I don't know…what you want…but I can get it for you," he said, holding his hands up as if to placate the Catwoman, trying to show he was defenseless. Negotiation was the first option he had chosen. "With a minimal fuss," he added, hoping to bolster his position.

In response, Catwoman lashed with her whip, and Shreck found himself jerking to a side to avoid it. It didn't seem like she was interested, but she had yet to hear what he could offer!

"Money," he offered. When there was no immediate acceptance, "Jewels?" She advanced closer while he tried to circle away from her. "A very big ball of string," he tried desperately. The circling had managed to move him so that she was no longer blocking his way now. Only those cables, still hissing, but not jolting and jerking anymore posed a threat.

Shreck tried to take his chance and bolted. Unfortunately, he didn't get too far as the whip caught up to him, wrapping around his throat. His hands grabbed at it, trying to relieve the tightness he felt, and then he was pulled back. As if luring him to her, Catwoman leveraged everything her weapon allowed until he was backed right into her.

The feline-themed menace that had been causing him no few headaches was breathing deeply, and he felt the breath moving against his skin. A hand snaked around to gain more control of him, a hand clasping down on his chest. Catwoman backed him away from escape, from freedom, and closer to the generator once more.

With a hiss, she spoke to give name to her terms, "Your blood."

He didn't like that answer. "My blood?" he protested. "But I gave…at the office."

A snort of derision. "A half-pint. I want gallons."

Did a human body have gallons of blood? Shreck didn't want to find out, and once more tried to see if there was anything else he could offer. "Let's make a deal…other than my blood. What can I do for you?"

The hand on his chest slid up and then grasped his chin. His head was forcefully turned to look at the costumed bitch whose response seemingly put another nail in the proverbial coffin. "Sorry, Max, but a die for a die."

That could not be good.

A shadow fell over the two of them. Almost as one, Shreck found his eyes leaving Catwoman's hostile face, the thief copying him, as someone glided through the air, looming over them as they approached. Large in size, black in color, and with a cape that draped over the muscular body, the cowled head of the Batman was a sight for sore eyes as the vigilante arrived, booted feet slamming down on the floor.

It seemed that was distraction enough for the lunatic wanting his blood, and Shreck was able to take advantage of it, shoving her away from him while trying to rush over to his savior. As the masked woman caught her balance, the business mogul managed to remove the whip from his neck, freeing himself and taking one step closer to salvation.

"You're not just saving a life," Shreck proclaimed to the Batman as he came mere feet from his hero, "you're saving a—"

A black gloved hand interrupted him, clamping down on his face and then giving a shove. It was Shreck's turn to fight for his own balance, and unlike the crazy cat stalker, he took longer to do that. His back ran into the large generator that had once served to box him in, one of his hands steadying on console controls.

"Shut up," the vigilante snapped, "you're going to prison, Shreck."

What? Prison? Who did this—?

A whip cut in and then Catwoman was between them. Batman moved back and out of the reach of the whip, and the mogul's attacker advanced, pushing the vigilante back. It seemed the two of them would be fighting over who would get their way, neither appealing to Shreck.

There had to be a way out of this, somehow.

It felt as if this moment had been inevitable. There had been a part of him that had hoped all the way back while in the Riddler's maze that it wouldn't have come to this.

Catwoman had finally caught up to Shreck. The billionaire was at her mercy and she was bloodthirsty. That desire for vengeance, he knew it all too well. Hell, he understood that urge, and as he had once explained to Superman, if he ever found the man who had murdered his parents…

Shreck had murdered Lola MacIntire, the act that had set all of these events into motion. Catwoman had gone on a one woman crusade to take him down. Now she was face to face with the source of her misery, and by all appearances she was giving in to that temptation.

It was the temptation everyone felt, the one that demanded a righting of the scales. Eye for an eye and life for a life.

He could fight her, like he had so many others before. One more time, he tried a different approach.

"You don't need to kill him," Batman began. "We—"

"Don't be naive!" Catwoman snapped, giving another snap of her whip. Snarling, "The law doesn't apply to people like him—or us."

He narrowed his eyes, one covered by a white lens and the other still bare. "Wrong on both counts."

"Am I?" the thief and would-be killer retorted.

Take a breath, do not take that approach. Calm down, and try again.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. One foot barely stepped forward while Catwoman looked over her shoulder, giving a look to Shreck who remained supported against one of the plant's generators. The man was wide-eyed, head turning to watch whoever spoke then to the next with each new reply.

Taking another step, one in which Catwoman took a reluctant step back, he continued, "We can take him into custody. Turn him in to the police. There are enough people here that can testify against him. We're building a case, and everything he's done, it will come to light. Leave him to face the consequences, come with me, and we can leave this place. Together."

It was a half hearted lash that answered him, but he could see the conflict in those green eyes. After so many interactions, he was starting to see the dichotomy. She snarled and screamed for blood, vengeance—the gun—but it was becoming more and more clear that it wasn't so simple as she made it. Had she ever taken a life before? Had she ever killed?

There was a line, most people knew about it but would never see it. For others, they came close, but could not cross it. For the rest, once they did, there was no going back. There was only more as it was easier to cross that line again and again after the first crossing.

Destroying and sabotaging Shreck's business empire, racing at his side in a labyrinth of riddles, surviving a war between competing maniacs, enlisting his aid to fund and build the power plant that was Shreck's dream, not once had he ever thought about her being capable of taking a life. Maybe order it, allowing the Calabreses to handle the dirty work, and those lives would be answered for.

Right now, there was one life and one soul at stake.

One step was made, and then another, the distance between the two of them shrinking. Catwoman held up one arm, as if to ward him away, but like the previous whiplash, it too held no real strength to it.

Appealing not to the mask she wore, but the person beneath it, "Selina," he said in a hushed voice, "you don't need to do this. You don't need to fight anymore. I know what you're feeling; I've felt it too. I know the desperation, the need to make it right. Lola is important to you, would she want you to do this to yourself? I don't think you want to either. Do you?"

His hand began to reach out, passing by her outstretched arm, fingers moving closer to a masked cheek. He did not make contact, not yet. Fingertips hovered so very close, almost there.

"Let's leave this place."

A quiet voice asked, "And go where?"

His voice softened further to match hers. "Anywhere. Any place. Just not here. The city. A park. Wherever you call home."

Home. He never thought about it much himself. What it was, what it meant to him. Once, home was a warm room, Mother and Father right there, an episode of Beware the Grey Ghost on the television. Then it was Alfred, a man who had never given up on him, always fighting to save his soul from falling into an abyss. For a moment it was Zana. Now…now it was a moment of quiet, a daughter sharing with him, a son to guide, and a half-hearted decorated tree. Was that what home was to him?

Could it become something else?

Could it have one more addition?

His head turned slightly, the damaged portion of his mask in clearer sight, bearing the exposed portion of his face. "Selina…please…"

Confusion, uncertainty, Selina did not possess the surety she had only a moment ago. She was panting, as if she could not get enough air. Her arm was trembling with the effort to keep it up, her grip on the whip handle tense. Shoulders raised and lowered with each breath taken.

"What's home?" It was startling and aching to hear the brokenness in her voice, a tone he had never heard come from her. "I don't know where that is. Where…where would I even go? Is it with you? In a cave? Or some…fairytale castle…to live happily ever after in? I'm a stray, and who wants a stray?"

"Whatever you want," breathed through his mouth, keeping life in his plea.

Green eyes closed, her head turned away, pulling away from his fingers. She swallowed, something not even her costume could hide. "I want…I want more than anything…I…"

His hand closed in, fingers making contact.

Green eyes snapped open, a hand lashed out instead of a whip, and thin claws scraped against the remains of his helmet. The reflex to back off was too strong and so he did, taking in the fury that smoldered behind those eyes.

"I just couldn't live with myself," Catwoman snapped. "Don't try to make this a happy ending!"

"Selina?"

Both of them stilled. Slowly, they turned to Shreck who was still watching them, listening. There was a shrewdness in his blue eyes, one that the Dark Knight had encountered many a time as Bruce Wayne. It was piecing together a puzzle, and naturally the man known for making financial risks made another one.

"Selina…Kyle?"

Catwoman glared, and then without any warning reached up to grab her mask and tear it off, tossing it aside so that the glowering of Selna's true face answered Shreck's question. Short black hair wisped in the still air, shellacked from behind confined for too long.

"...Calabrese," Shreck corrected himself, his voice gaining strength to it. Anger began to well up in the man and he didn't hide it. Pointing a finger at her, he proclaimed, "You've made an enemy for life." Then, the business mogul turned to him, and anger was replaced by confusion. "And Bruce Wayne…"

I haven't covered my…

"Why're you dressed up as Batman?" a flummoxed Shreck asked, eyes slowly blinking.

Maybe there was a chance to cover this up. The last person who needed to know the truth here was Max Shreck. Who knew what he would do with that information.

However, anything he could have done to try to address this died when Selina cut him off.

"Because he is Batman, you moron," she snapped.

Goddamn it.

Confusion was replaced with a dead expression. All emotion that could have ever been seen in Shreck's face vanished, as if wiped away. One of his hands, unnoticed, had slipped under his coat, grabbed onto an object hidden beneath it.

As Shreck drew out his gun, he said one single word.

"Was."

Much like that alleyway killer, vanishing into darkness, the gun he had used had never been found. Seared into his memory was the sight of it, in his nightmares a black void that always offered death. The end of cruel fantasy and the return to horrific reality.

This wasn't the same gun, but he recognized the same make and model of it anywhere. A Colt M1911A1. His body hesitated for an instant, but an instant only. Years of training and experience jumpstarted the defense stance he took, but that hesitation was all the time Shreck needed to pull the trigger.

His delayed reaction meant that his arms weren't in place fast enough to deflect. The plated nature of the armor he now wore allowed for greater flexibility yet created a thin vulnerability. Were he in motion, that vulnerability would be mitigated.

Shreck's bullet struck between those plates and broke through, entering his body.

A cry escaped him, and Batman fell to a knee, the sensation of fire exploding in his torso. His head bent, and the angle afforded a large target that was his exposed head.

And then a protector stepped in the way.

Threatening with her whip, Selina now stood between the two men, inadvertently protecting one while threatening the other.

"You killed my best friend," she snarled. "You ruined the Calabreses. You won't kill him. You'll have to get through me first. Think you have enough bullets in there to finish me off?"

"One way to find out," Shreck quipped back, his voice as dead as his facial expression.

Selina's teeth clenched, she made to attack, her arm moving to lash out with her whip, but Shreck's trigger finger was faster as he got off two shots. One hit her right shoulder, another grazed the ribs on her left side. Catwoman's approach was brought up, stopping in his tracks as she hunched over, shoulders rising up and down exaggeratedly.

Her head snapped up, and she gave another threatening lash. "Still alive!" she cried out defiantly.

Two more shots, and these jerked her body. One in the left bicep, the other in her stomach.

Selina fell to her knees now, body heaving, hands on the floor. She choked out, groaning and whimpering. Slowly, she got back onto unsteady legs, then continued to advance, her whip dragging on the floor beside her. Gradually, she drew closer and closer to Shreck, stopping only when the barrel of that damn gun pressed against her torso.

Without a blink of his eyes, Shreck pulled the trigger once more. A hollow click answered, and that was followed up by a chuckle from Selina.

Her right hand lifted up then pressed itself against the mogul's chest, using him to steady the cat burglar's balance. With twitching lips, she mocked, "Shooting blanks already?"

Dropping the gun, the weapon clattering on the floor, Shreck brought both of his hands up, wrapping them around her neck, thumbs pressing against her clavicle. Blue eyes glared into green, both making eye contact. Macabrely, it was Shreck now supporting her, and so her hand that pressed against him began to slide downwards.

Selina gave another chuckle, then with great effort raised up her left arm. Held in it was not the handle of her whip, instead a severed cable that crackled out sparks, its end orange from the heat it emitted. This broke the eye contact between them, Shreck regarding the cable as if it was a poisonous snake.

"You can never have too much power…can you, Max?"

Selina's right hand which slipped down Shreck's body had moved under his coat, trailed its way to his side, and only now did it stab a retractable claw through cloth and flesh. Shreck cried out in pain, mouth opening wide.

Plenty of space for Selina to shove the sparking cable down his throat.

Lights began to flicker, dimming as electricity poured into Shreck. Selina grabbed and pulled away with great effort one of the man's hands off of her neck. Was she trying to escape, pull herself away? She slammed the billionaire's trembling hand into the console next to them, the limb then going through it.

Sparks erupted out of the generator, its humming growing shrill in intensity. Other generators began to whine, all seemingly connected. Manmade light permanently dimmed, almost blinking out, and then an explosion tore out of the damaged generator.

Batman screamed, yelling a name that was lost in the boom, his cape brought up to protect him from the flames. One ear began to ring, the other only muffled. Heat washed over him, and then he fell backwards. It was a stroke of luck as a large piece of metal collided right on the spot he had been crouching on.

Then quiet. Silence took over, slowly broken by the crackling of fire and then the clinging and clanging of metal against metal. Carefully, he pulled away his cape and pushed himself into a sitting position.

Before him was a mess. The generator had fallen to pieces, and there was no sign of either Selina or Shreck. An inner fire screamed at him as he got back onto his feet. Feeling desperate, Batman shuffled his way to the mechanical remains, and once there he began trying to move it aside.

Hope was weak here, but it was urging him to find any survivors. He had to try. He could give up so simply. A night of fighting, a gunshot wound, and the trauma placed on his body by the explosion both slowed and weakened him, but the Dark Knight's will would not be denied by that.

A sheet of metal was pushed away this way. A gear was pulled up, rolled, then shoved behind him. Somewhere in here, there were two people and he would find them both.

As the vigilante dug through metallic rubble, searching for anyone trapped underneath it. The damaged, electricity-producing machine continued to spark but gave no other sign of life or danger.

Hearing had not fully returned yet, and with what had remained, the sounds of metal scraping against one another as he moved pieces aside occupied that. It was for this reason that Batman did not hear the footsteps.

For a moment they stopped, feet clad in dress shoes staying in place yards away from the scene. A few drops of blood fell and splattered on the floor, droplets that rested where they laid. Then the footsteps began again, the bottom of the dress shoes scraping against the floor.

Lungs wheezed with physical exertion, an injured body shambling forth and into the light. The light fixtures had resumed their normal intensity, no longer dim or flickering. Each step was a shamble, inches taken at a time. Each movement was nearly lifeless, more robotic. A head bobbed, bent at an angle.

Two arms held onto an object, one made of polished wood and dressed in life-size clothes. The dummy that was Scarface did not jostle in the grip of Arnold Wesker, its wooden eyes zeroed in on the dark shape of the vigilante.

Arnold was injured, critically so. Blood stained his clothes, limbs were bent at odd angles, and it seemed like the man himself was being moved by an unnatural force. Invisible strings, much like the kind a marionette would be attached to fit the description of Arnold's behavior.

Scarface had a few hairline fractures, but did not exhibit any significant damage. It appeared that the dummy was fully in control and homicidally motivated. Its target was dead ahead, and soon would assume such a state once it and its handler were close enough.

It was exhausting, yet Batman did not give up. With a grunt, he managed to lift up a large piece of metal, and further exertion allowed him to move it by about a foot before he had to let go. It wasn't as much progress as he wanted, but it would have to do.

Smoke was clouding the air, and making it hard to get enough that was clean into his lungs. It was slowly taking its toll. Persistence and determination, both were key parts of him and why he was known to never give up. This…this would be no different.

There was just so much to shift through, but he would do it. If there was even a chance, if there was one tiny hint of life buried under this, he would find it.

Scarface drew closer, urging Arnold forward. The fedora hat that the dummy wore slowly slipped to a side and one particular jostle had it falling to the floor. It was ignored.

There were really no other thoughts here. Nothing. Just an urge to kill. To destroy. To terminate. One way or another, Scarface's will would be made real. It didn't matter what it took or who had to be hurt. It didn't matter that Arnold was slowing down even more, his head nearly reclining against his own shoulder.

Just a little closer. Just a little closer…

Much refuse was pushed to a side, scattering a way. Batman was making progress. How much further he needed to go, he did not know, but he wouldn't stop, not yet. Not until he knew for sure.

As he pushed aside the latest sheet of metal, a flume of smoke rushed into his face and it came accompanied with the grotesque smell of burnt flesh. With a hand, the vigilante fanned the smoke away from his face, and soon found himself face to face with what remained of Maximillian Shreck.

Skin was charred black. White hair seemed to stretch out and away from the skull. Eyes bulged out of sockets, completely unseeing. A cable was still jammed down the mouth. There was no use in checking for any vitals. After everything, Shreck had finally met his match and lost it all.

That he had found one body meant he had to be close to the other, to Selina's. If there was still a chance, then all it would take was moving through a little bit more.

His hands reached down once more.

Balance was almost compromised. Arnold was starting to lean too far one way, needing to overcorrect only to overbalance in the opposite direction. Nevertheless, Batman was so close, right there.

But Arnold could go no further. Time was running out. But there was still enough.

Stopping at last, one of Arnold's arms pulled away from the Scarface dummy, maneuvering around jerkily, the wrist rotating until it slipped under the small Tommy gun that remained in the dummy's grip. Jerking upwards bit by bit, the barrel of the gun rose, the form of the vigilante sliding into view. Just a little more. A little more…

With a final jerk, the gun rattled with Batman dead in its sights.

Batman came to a stop, hearing strong enough that he heard the gun rattle. Withdrawing his hands, the Dark Knight slowly stood up to his full height. His cape fell over his shoulders, hiding his arms from sight where a hand went to his belt.

Turning swiftly, Batman glared at whoever had come up behind him.

Rapid fire clicks fired out from the gun, not a single bullet exiting the barrel.

"Sssshit!" Scarface swore, the dummy's head still facing the vigilante. "Outta gullets. J-j-j-ust you wait. I'lls…k-kills ya moment…arily."

Batman regarded the sight of Wesker and his dummy, watching and waiting for the next move. He took in the man's injuries, noted their severity, and began feeling concerned. Even from here, those wounds needed medical attention.

"Dummy!" Scarface bellowed, "Load a'other clip! Y-y-yas hears me? Makes yas…self u-u-useful…fer once. Y-y-ya hear me, Dummy? Dum…"

Arms gave out first, and Scarface fell, the wooden body clattering against the floor. Legs followed and Wesker pitched forward, his body collapsing on top of the dummy and lying still.

Soon after, the sounds of multiple footsteps echoed from a hallway, and then Batgirl and her team arrived, his daughter at the head. She came to a stop, Bluebird and Spoiler following her lead. Oddly, taking the rear was Redbird, one of his arms held back behind him. Their eyes were on Wesker, then they looked up to him and the remains of the destroyed generator.

By now, Batman had turned his head just enough so that only the undamaged portion of his helmet was visible, but this meant he could only side eye them. He said nothing, and neither did they. There didn't seem to be any words that could be spoken.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him, but once more he ignored it, turning back the debris to continue his search.

There had been too much death this night already.

Author's Note: The final confrontation with Shreck and Catwoman was based on the one in Batman Returns, naturally with some tweaks to it. Naturally, had to have Batman give a Michael Keaton-esque Batglare at the end. So, as many of you will surmise, we have one last chapter left, and naturally information about what comes next. Feel free to speculate, but in the meantime, more information about the next story will be announced in the next chapter.