The End of Egghead

by PedRock

An old foe of Batman's resurfaces to stir trouble once more, only this time, he's eggs-tremely deranged. That's right: the Eggzquisite Egghead has returned to Gotham, more dangerous than ever. Can the Caped Crusader put an end to this wily villain's rampage?

A/N: Happy National Egg Day. If you'd like some supplemental reading material, check out Egghead's Twitter, eggzquisite

Read on and, if you don't mind me egging you on, leave a review. Really curious about what people think of this one.

THE END OF EGGHEAD

Dearest Olga, Queen of the Cossacks, and Ruler of my Heart,

This will be my last letter to you. I'm sure you are relieved to hear this. You must be eggs-hausted of my persistent attempts to re-egg-nite our romance.

Well, no more. I realize now that it's too late to win back your affegg-shun. I should have realized sooner that I hardly deserved it. I've apologized time and time egg-ain but I feel compelled to do so once more: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be the man you deserved. I'm sorry to have dragged you into my life of crime and infamy. I'm sorry that all my promises of glamour, romance and eggs-travagance ultimately amounted to nothing.

You were right to leave me; I should have egg-cepted that as soon as those cell doors closed behind me. What a fool I was to assume I could rebuild my life to its former glory once I was finally free from the law's vice grip. My life ended eight years ago when that foul Batman foiled my schemes, my marriage, and my life.

The Legend of the Eggzquisite Egghead shall live on, though, my love. It won't all be for naught. While my time on this earth is short, my legg-acy shall be immortalized forever in the annals of history. At its very end, my eggs-istence will finally have meaning.

Time is short; I must make haste. Farewell, Olga. Perhaps in the next life, we'll meet egg-ain on better terms, with you remaining as beautiful as ever and I no longer a miserable failure. Until then…

Kindest Regg-ards,

Edgar

---

The South Gotham Walmart was a ghost town at this late hour of the night, soon to be early hour of the morning. And yet the mega-store kept its 24-hour promise, as a handful of customers perused its aisles upon aisles for a variety of groceries, toiletries, and items of questionable necessity to the tune of muzak crackling through the intercom. Only a few workers were needed for this graveyard shift: two cashiers at checkout, one greeter and one security guard at the door, one janitor mopping the bathroom floors, and two stockers unloading the latest shipment of frozen breakfast meals onto the empty freezers before them.

"Over 13 bucks for Jimmy Dean's breakfast sandwiches," one of the stockers was dryly making conversation with her partner. "What a fuckin' joke." She couldn't have been older than 19, her skin embellished with all manner of tattoos and piercings. In a different life, Amy would have been a communist revolutionary, living what she preached. In Gotham, she was working a minimum wage job, struggling to pay for community college.

"I dunno, they're pretty good," the other one replied. "I'd buy 'em, if I could." He was a lanky one, around the same age as Amy, though with none of the self-confidence. Greg often tried to overcompensate in whatever ways he could; in this instance, it was stacking more packages of Jimmy Dean's than he could handle at a given time. It was hardly efficient but whenever he was paired to work with Amy, his mind was hardly rational.

His affection for Amy was a poorly kept secret around the workplace. The greeter, Maura, caught on quickly. She said something about needing to read emotions as part of her job making a first impression on prospective customers. Following eye contact, studying body language, listening to how people conversed…Maura insisted one day, she'd put these skills to use as a social worker once she had enough money to go back to school. At 44 years old with two sons at home, this remained to be a far-off dream.

"You'd have missed your window," Amy shook her head as she stocked another two breakfasts into the freezer. "Remember when these were eight dollars?"

"Yeah, I think I was still in middle school back then…"

"It's a frickin' scam," Amy continued, unimpeded as always. "These artificial prices are slapped on and inflated on this processed garbage, but people file in to buy it because it's convenient when really, it's highway robbery."

"True, I guess…" Greg tried to keep up with Amy's various political concerns. If he was being honest, he had no idea what "theory" or "praxis" were other than stuff Amy knew about that made her ten times smarter than he was. He just liked hearing her talk. Was he shallow for feigning interest in the struggles of the working class? Absolutely. But the way he spun it, as a member of said working class, Greg's investment in the plight of the proletariat was allowed to waver for the sake of a pretty girl. Indeed, he had few things to look forward to in this life beyond his meager paycheck. Greg had earned the right to be just a bit shallow.

"But I mean…ya gotta make a buck somehow, right?" Greg posited, playing devil's advocate. This wasn't his idea but Derek's, the janitor currently mopping the bathrooms a few aisles away. The guy was up there in years, something Greg assumed to naturally result in carefully curated sagacious wisdom. Derek gave advice to everybody, usually following the half-serious disclaimer, "You don't want to end up like me." A combat veteran now armed with only a GED and a handful of herniated discs, Derek's life had not gone the way he'd hoped, but he'd accepted that long ago. Now, he was content with his duties of custodial work and occasionally advising the youths.

The proverb he gave to Greg about women was a real winner: "Women like a challenge. If they wanted a doormat, they'd snag one here for thirty bucks." Deep in his heart, Greg knew that talking about women like they were a foreign species to be shown on an Animal Planet documentary was a form of misogyny that became outdated several decades ago but he didn't have anybody else to advise him on the matters of courtship (a different story altogether, one Greg was hesitant to recollect), so he accepted the advice with gratitude, even if he executed it with reluctance.

Amy scoffed as she rolled her eyes. "Right. As if the Walton family needs a buck." She moved on as if Greg had never spoken up. "It's especially bad in this city when every week you have a state of emergency. Remember when toilet paper sold for double what it's worth Joker threatened to poison the reservoir?"

Greg shrugged noncommittally. "I mean, you never not need toilet paper…"

"It's toilet paper, Greg. A 12-pack doesn't need to sell for over twenty bucks, no matter how many 'sales' we offer." She sighed, exasperated and frustrated as she always was with how things were in this world. "We do it with everything here—milk, butter, bread, eggs, cold cuts, bottled water. All because the marketplace for groceries has shrunk to like five options and inflation gives our bosses a convenient excuse to rob people blind. It's just such a shitshow…I almost feel complicit for working for this dump."

"OK, so let me rephrase…you need to make a buck somehow." Greg was going off-script here, which felt equal parts terrifying and liberating. "You can't be so hard on yourself for stuff you can't control."

"Yeah, I guess." Amy threw a few more Jimmy Dean's into the freezer. Greg was more orderly in his approach but as far as Amy saw it, as long as they were tucked away behind the label of "Buy One, Get 50% Off!", they were good to go. "I just wish I could, y'know? Because what the hell else am I doing with my time?"

Greg threw the last of his batch of Jimmy Dean's into the freezer, finally concluding that mundane task. "Livin', I guess. Sometimes that's the best you can do." He didn't make much of it at first, which is why he was surprised by the sudden silence.

In fact, Amy was looking him over, mildly impressed. "I didn't know you were a philosopher."

"Oh, I-I'm not, I…" Greg chuckled awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck. "…I actually had an edible before my shift tonight, so I'm actually kinda baked…"

"Yo, you had edibles on you this entire time and you didn't tell me?" Amy laughed, now somewhat more than mildly impressed.

Greg quickly realized that opening with "I got weed" was ten times more feasible than "Let's discuss the market share and pricing gouging of grocery stores" and considered that maybe he did overthink everything. "Uh, yeah. They're edibles, actually, so it's not, like, hard shit but no pot is really hard. I've been taking them every night because I got exams comin' up and…"

"Can I have one?" Amy cut to the chase and asked, the rare smile spread across her face.

"Oh, for sure, yeah." Greg fished in his pockets for his bottle, promptly withdrawing it and pouring one out into his hand, offering it to Amy.

"Thanks," she took it and popped it in her mouth. "Fuckin' needed this. Don't know if I can do another hour of this crap."

"Yeah, me too." The two were silent for a while, as if waiting for one or the other to make the first move. It took Greg a moment to realize that Derek was spectating with intent interest, listening in as he mopped a non-existent stain by the pasta aisle. "So, um…" Greg chuckled nervously, already regretting speaking up. "You, uh…" Amy waited expectantly, still chewing the edible, the sound of which felt louder and louder as Greg tried to put words together in a cohesive and not embarrassing sentence. "You don't like Jimmy Dean's, then?"

Well, at least it was cohesive.

Amy cocked her eyebrow, confused and somewhat disappointed. "No, I'm, uh…I'm vegan."

Greg winced, catching Derek out of the corner of his eye averting his gaze and shaking his head; he ought to have stuck to the script. "Ah. Vegan. Well, uh…" He sighed awkwardly, not sure if he could recover from this. "That's pretty cool."

Silence.

"So, you tHiNk…" Greg's voice cracked, right when he thought he couldn't make even more of a fool of himself; he cleared his throat and started from the top. "You think they've got like black bean Jimmy Deans? Like, for veg…"

BLAM! BLAM!

Gunshots from the front of the Walmart; Maura's cries echoed throughout the store as she exclaimed, "DEAR GOD, HE'S GOT A GUN!"

Indeed, for Maura and the rest of the South Gotham Walmart's inhabitants were met with a bald figure in a patchy yellow and white suit, sawed off shot gun in hand smoking from two warning shots fired above him. The few customers and workers spread throughout the store screamed and panicked at this sudden disturbance.

"Oh fuck oh shit oh fuck…" Greg sputtered as got down to low to the ground, hands over his head. Amy soon followed suit, frantically saying something he couldn't understand beyond, "What the fuck is going on?!"

No clear answers were going to come anytime soon. The one guard on duty tried to play hero and tackle this criminal but was met with a swift backhand, sending him reeling into a display of Hershey's candy bars.

"EVERYONE LISTEN UP AND LISTEN WELL!" The attacker finally spoke, officially announcing his arrival. "For the next 24 hours, this wretched place is under the command of I, the Eggzquisite Egghead! All those who oppose me..." In one motion, he ripped open his blazer, revealing an alarming amount of C4 strapped around his body. "…will perish in a fiery eggs-plosion! So I implore you: heed my warning and this shall all be over easy!"

---

A police presence had gathered outside of the Walmart within an hour after Egghead's arrival. Squad cars and news vans had flooded the street and bled into the store's parking lot, along with a growing audience of citizen bystanders, gawking at the spectacle of a Walmart under siege from within.

In the middle of it was Commissioner Jim Gordon, clad in his trench coat, pipe in in hand, running on a scarcity of sleep. Entering his early 60s, he had naively hoped long nights such as these would be a thing of the past. Inching closer and closer to retirement, Gordon lacked the stamina to deal with hold-up after hold-up the way he used to. He got older but the guys with the bombs kept coming. The cycle repeated over and over; it would continue to do so until he either dropped dead or, somehow, by the grace of God, retired.

But Gordon didn't have high hopes. Whatever optimism he had, he saved for his daughter choosing a better career path. One that didn't have her up at ungodly hours of the night with the target the size of Wayne Tower on her back. Maybe while she was studying abroad in New York, finding herself or what have you, she'd have the common sense to leave this cesspit behind…

"Hey, Commish? Ya feelin' alright?" The broad figure of Detective Harvey Bullock approached Gordon from behind, putting an end to his pensive reveries. He looked worn down as well and noticeably surlier than Gordon. Bullock had made it known that his shift was almost up before this impromptu terror attack rained on all their parades. He wasn't unique on the force for having these sentiments; he was just the most verbal. That somehow made him equally beloved and hated among his colleagues; it was hard to explain. All Gordon knew for sure was that he was a sailor-mouthed, crass, unkempt son of a bitch who against all odds turned out to be a helluva cop and a stalwart friend.

"Hardly," Gordon finally answered, gesturing vaguely with his pipe. "Flavor's off on this tobacco. Think I gotta change brands."

"One o' these days, Jim, you'll catch up to the rest of us…" Bullock reached into his coat and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. "…an' start smokin' like a modern 21st century man." He bit onto one of the coffin nails, sliding it out of the carton, and flicked on his lighter in a motion that was nothing but routine to the hardened officer by now. With one exhale of smoke, the detective's problems had vanished for one fleeting moment. The two stood there in silence, letting the scene wash over them. No words needed to be said; they knew they were far from the lucky ones, but someone had to do their jobs. Might as well have been them.

And so it was time to get down to business. "So…" Gordon sighed, eyes solemnly surveying the environment. "…no clear points of entry?"

Bullock scoffed, tapping some of the ashes off his cigarette. "Nah. The nutcase has got the whole joint on lockdown. Every door an' window has been locked and shuttered. We're dealin' with our own Fort Knox here." He sighed, knowing the futility of suggesting what he was going to suggest but asking it anyway, because old habits died hard, "Maybe if we knocked just a bit harder…"

"Not without tipping off the whackjob, Harvey," Gordon shut down the idea, as expected. "Let's face it: our boys aren't the most subtle ones on the block. If that psycho hears so much as a pin drop, we'll be cleaning up a different mess entirely." He shook his head, adjusting his glasses atop the bridge of his nose with one nudge of his index finger. "No…we'll need a different approach."

"Everything under control, Jim?"

"JESUS…" Harvey jumped at the deep voice suddenly emerging from behind the duo. Not Gordon, though; he'd grown used to it by now. He didn't even need to turn around to address him; he knew what to expect.

A towering figure, shrouded in a flowing black cape, loomed over the two cops. In the moonlight, he cast an imposing silhouette, his cowl giving him the look of a devil, preying on the unfortunate souls of Gotham's underworld. As he stood now, he looked like a shadow, a nightmare waiting to take shape, daring you to test his wrath.

Gordon would be lying if he knew completely what to expect from the Batman, aside from two things: 1.) he wasn't a killer and 2.) he was always on time. "Any of the boys give you trouble?" he asked matter-of-factly, pressing his pipe back to his lips.

"None more than usual," Batman stepped in between the two officers, much to the chagrin of Bullock.

"Ya can't just sneak up on a guy like that!" The detective did nothing to disguise his contempt for the vigilante. "I'da been in my right mind to shoot ya!"

"Nobody in their right mind tries to shoot me," Batman replied curtly, leaving Bullock to bluster in silence as he turned his attention back to the commissioner. "What can you tell me about the scene inside?"

"Not much beyond the obvious," Gordon began to walk along the scene, with Batman and Bullock close in tow. "We've got one mad bomber and about 14 hostages…"

"Freak picked his window perfectly," Bullock chimed in, exhaling another puff of smoke from his cigarette. "He'da waited till the sun came up, he'd be dealin' with close to 100 people, if not more. He knew what he could handle."

"And it's just him?" Batman asked calmly, keeping in stride with Gordon. "No henchmen or accomplices?"

"Just one sicko with a death wish," Gordon clarified dryly.

"A familiar one, at that, if what I'm hearing is true," the Caped Crusader spoke with the solemn authority he was known for. "Edgar Heed's a name I hadn't thought about in a long time."

"It's him, alright," Gordon bristled. "He's made that clear."

Batman tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, curious, prodding his old friend to tell him more.

Gordon sighed as he shook his head. "I'll let Montoya fill you in on the details. Montoya!"

Detective Renee Montoya perked up at the commissioner's call, all too happy to break away from the news crews and citizens threatening to break the police barricade to catch a glimpse of the action. "Thank God. It's been chaos over here. Vale's been begging you for a quote…"

"She knows what I'll say."

"I told her that, but she'd like to hear it from the horse's mouth." Montoya's eyes drifted over to Batman, who acknowledged her with a stony stare he reserved for only his most trusted allies. "Helluva mess we've got ourselves tonight, huh?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Batman assured her before hastily returning to the matter at hand. "What can you tell me about Heed's involvement? What's his game?"

"Activism, I think?" Montoya answered uncertainly, to which Bullock muttered something along the lines of, "If that's what they're calling it these days." Nevertheless, the detective continued to explain as she whipped out her phone. "'Bout an hour ago, he posts this livestream announcing his return to Gotham. Claims he's a man on a mission. Here, listen to this." She tapped on the screen and showed it off to Batman as the livestream played.

It was Heed, alright, aged eight years since Batman put him away and looking worse for it. The villain had grown gaunt in his old age, and his pallor resembled a sickly egg-white color (though Heed probably preferred that). His suit was ill-fitting and ridden with holes and loose threads. He was far from the dapper fiend Batman had fought in the early years of his career, though Batman need only look into the man's crazed, desperate eyes to see that.

"Good evening, people of Gotham!" The deranged lunatic still had his flare for the dramatic, Batman couldn't deny that. "Yes, it is I, the Eggzquisite Egghead! One of the smartest men to ever grace these dreary streets! And I come to you…with a message!"

Skeptically, Batman glanced at his peers, who responded with mutual incredulity. The only thing he chose to believe at face value was the evident amount of explosives strapped to his old foe's chest.

The video continued. "You have all been fed an omelet of lies! Lies stirred up by the eggz-ecutives at Krogers and Walmart! Sham corporations who claim to have your best interests at heart, keeping you fed and happy. But it's a farce! All of it!" The image began to jostle as Egghead took the camera off himself and strode over to something off-screen, making the picture unclear at first; soon enough, though, the maniac had reached his destination and was showcasing exactly what he wanted to Gotham's citizens. "Look at it! Look at it!"

On full display were freezer shelves stocked with cartons upon cartons of eggs, each with the same price tag: "Ten dollars?!" Egghead roared in a bellicose voice that was uncharacteristic of the villain Batman cuffed eight years ago; time evidently had not been kind. "Ten dollars?! For a dozen beautiful, ivory-white, delicious grade A eggs?! Eggs that we, the citizens of this Earth, are entitled to enjoy?! Bah!" Violently, he punched the freezer, startling the hostages off-camera; Batman took note of their voices, quickly making it known to himself what was at stake tonight.

Egghead turned the camera back on himself and he had since broken out of this mad rant, though he seemed to have been fighting back angry tears. "It is a crime, my friends. A grievous crime schemed by the real villains of this world: the overfed fat cats who seek to begg-ar you, not just for eggs…but fruit, vegetables, meats, toiletries—ALL OF IT! It's robbery of the most blatant, most offensive order!"

Batman eyed Gordon, who returned his solemn gaze with one of his own. The commissioner wasn't lying; they had a busy night ahead of them.

Eventually, Egghead regained his composure, though his whole body seemed to be shaking with unbridled rage. "Which is why…" He rasped, taking one deep breath at a time. "…I speak not just to you, my fellow Gothamites…but the thieves who try to bankrupt us each and every day: your reign is coming to an end."

For full view of the camera, he opened his suit jacket, revealing just how much C4 he had strapped around his torso. "Twenty pounds of high-level eggs-plosive…" Egghead panned the camera to reveal the source of those panicked voices from earlier; workers and customers, all huddled into a circle, too frightened to make a move themselves, lest they send all of them to their dooms. "…fourteen hostages..." He then raised some kind of trigger mechanism, directly wired to the bomb, into view. "…and one man willing to die for what he believes in. That is what it will take for your empire to topple over. So first, I address you, the Walton family, owners of the revered and prestigious Walmart Corporation…" Egghead drew the camera closer to himself, until only his large, bald, oblong head could fit into the frame. "…you have 24 hours to put an end to your price gouging. That means reducing the costs not just of eggs but of all the products you have to offer. If you don't…you'll have quite the scandal to clean up tomorrow."

A false smile spread across the man's face. "Think of this not as a threat but an opportunity. You can be the first of your ilk to do the right thing. So I leave you to make the right choice…" He leaned in even closer, staring daggers at whoever was unfortunate to watch this livestream from hell. "…I know I will. Eggzuent, Egghead!"

And with that, the video was over. Montoya pocketed the phone and looked expectingly towards Batman, hoping he'd formed some plan of action to respond to this villain's scheme. Gordon looked on as well as he continued to smoke his pipe with a stoicism sharpened by Batman's own.

Finally, Batman spoke. "He's out of his mind."

Bullock threw his hands up in the air at that. "Look out! The genius has cracked the case!"

"Harvey!" Montoya chided the detective, knowing fully well that wouldn't be enough to slow him down once he's started.

"No, really!" Bullock kept up the sarcastic tone as he shouted in the unbothered Batman's ear. "I was sittin' here, listenin' to the Messiah o' Produce, wonderin' if the guy was certifiable or not. Well, now I know! THANK YOU!"

"Easy, Bullock!" Gordon warned his old partner. If it was anybody else, Bullock would have kept on going. Instead, the surly detective took the cue and shut up. For now.

"As I was saying…" Batman continued with his assessment of the situation. "…he's out of his mind if he thinks there's a chance the Waltons will meet his demands." He turned to Montoya. "How much traction is this stunt getting online?"

"Not much," she replied bluntly. "Aside from the local news and some social media outrage, this is just another night in Gotham."

"And that's exactly the problem." Gordon chimed in, for the first time letting his disdain of the situation creep into his usually calm demeanor. "I've been in touch with those buffoons at Walmart, begging them to try some kind of deal with that maniac, but they won't budge. Way they spin it, they've got thousands of other stores to worry about. Why stoop to the demands of one crazy crook stirring trouble in a city that has bomb threats every other week?"

"He's got a point there."

In unison, Batman, Gordon, and Montoya turned to Bullock, who quickly realized he was thinking out loud.

"What?" Bullock shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to pretend we live in Xanadu or somethin' like that? Why don't we go in and tell Eggman that? That'll encourage him to get a new hobby."

"Egghead," was all Batman had to say in response to that shpiel.

"Come again?"

"His alias is Egghead."

"Right," Bullock nodded as he flagrantly rolled his eyes. "His Christian name. Of course. Christ almighty, you're a piece of work…"

"And this isn't his M.O." Batman went on to explain. "As eccentric as he was, the man prided himself on his intelligence and pragmatism. He would never try something as hopelessly delusional as this."

"Eight years in the can changes a man," Gordon theorized. "Sometimes, it's as simple as that."

"Or maybe Heed knows that this plan has no chance to succeed," Batman posited right off the cuff of Gordon's own deduction, catching the commissioner off-guard.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you're 'one man willing to die for what he believes in…'" The vigilante spoke in a grave tone that had gripped the attention of Gordon, Montoya, and Bullock. "…your demands don't matter as much…"

"…as the way you go out." Gordon's eyes widened in horror. "Good Lord…"

"An elaborate suicide by cop," Montoya muttered to herself, struggling to comprehend the sheer madness of Egghead's plan. "Or just suicide if he presses the trigger…"

"Then he goes out in a blaze of glory," Batman concluded, before glancing at Bullock. "A fate fitting for the 'Messiah of Produce.'"

The detective paled like a ghost, unable to hide an anxious gulp. "So…what you're sayin' is…there's no negotiatin' with him, there's no waitin' him out, there's no fightin' him…" Bullock flicked what was left of his cigarette and stomped it out. "…there really ain't nothin' more dangerous than a joe who's got nothin' to lose."

"That's just the thing, Detective," Gotham's Protector spoke decisively, each of his words laced with the urgent authority that cemented him as a force to be reckoned with in this city's ever-expanding underworld. "We must convince Heed he has something to lose. If we don't…" He averted his gaze from his allies to the superstore in front of them. "…this Walmart will become their tomb."

---

"Shit. We're outta beer." Jerry called out from the kitchen of the humble studio apartment he called home.

His wife, Abby, didn't reply, her attention fixed outside her apartment window on the fracas that was ensuing at the Walmart across the street.

"Remind me we gotta add it to the list next time we head out," he closed the fridge door and joined Abby in the living room. "That and maybe some Cheetos? Y'know, for when the guys are over for the game? I swear, I've been good with my diet, but I think I'm due for an exception." He wrapped both his arms around his wife, pecking her on the cheek as he cradled up close behind her.

But still, Abby was silent, worried eyes following the action ten stories below them.

Jerry was growing concerned. "Hey, you doin' OK? What's wrong?"

Shaking her head, she confided in her spouse of now two years, soon going on three, "I have a bad feeling about what's going on down there."

"About what?" Jerry let go of Abby, leaned over and squinted through the window, though he hardly needed to, considering the flashing police lights and growing mob of people was hard to miss. "Oh." He shrugged casually. "Probably some nutcase tryin' to pull off a robbery. My money's on Mad Hatter." Stretching his arms, he sat in his recliner and propped his feet up.

Finally, Abby turned to face her husband, the fear on her face clear and obvious. "And that doesn't worry you?"

"Course it does," Jerry said, feigning offense. "Son of a bitch is probably stealing my beer."

"I'm serious, Jerry. This is right next to us. We're not safe."

"Oh, we're never safe." Jerry reached for the remote, figuring this conversation was over, until he heard it.

"Jerry…" Said in her signature tone with the signature crossing of the arms.

No TV for Jerry tonight. "Hey," he set the remote down and tapped the armrest of the recliner. "C'mere." Abby looked at the offer skeptically at first, but Jerry insisted and she couldn't refuse, even after all this time. And so she sat down beside him, eagerly anticipating what he had to say as Jerry wrapped his arm around her waist.

She'd have lied if she said she'd expected it.

"Did I ever tell you about the time a chunk of concrete almost crushed my skull during lunch break?"

"WHAT?!" Abby nearly fell off the seat.

"Now, I knew you'd react like this…"

"When did this happen?!"

"I think three weeks ago…"

"You think?!"

"It happened a while ago…"

"Oh, my God!"

"But it was nothing, really, because y'know…" Jerry shrugged. "…it happens."

Abby's shock quickly turned into disappointment, not in him but in herself for not expecting he'd say something like that. "It happens? That's it? Those are your words of comfort? Shit happens?"

"Now, I didn't say 'shit'…"

"How did it happen?"

Jerry blinked. "Say what now?"

"How did it happen?" Abby repeated. "How did a chunk of concrete almost crush your skull?"

"Oh, Killer Croc threw it."

"I will kill you."

"Threw it pretty hard, too. Think he was fighting Nightwing or Robin or the other Robin. It was intense."

"Killer Croc? The giant alligator man?"

"Well, crocodile man, Abby. It is in the name."

"Why didn't you tell me this?"

Jerry bit his lip, struggling to find an answer that wouldn't have him sleeping on the couch. "Because…I didn't wanna worry you?"

"Oh, nice. Real good. You're great at this."

"Oh, I know. I'm a real pro."

Abby stifled a chuckle, which Jerry counted as a success, but still, she wasn't satisfied. "So why are you telling me this now?"

"Because…" Jerry grinned, taking Abby's hand in his. "…I was pretty scared, too."

"Oh, you were now?"

"Almost pissed my pants."

"Pants I have to clean."

"Which is why I didn't piss them."

"How considerate."

"Wanna know how I became not scared?"

"How's that?"

Jerry exhaled, realizing this was the first time he had verbalized any of this to anybody; maybe that was what made it real. "Well, I looked at the giant slab of concrete that was sitting next to me, realized I didn't die, realized then I could have died, panicked a bit, but then…" He let out a little laugh. "…I thought about you."

Abby leaned back, her face scrunched into a combination of amusement and disbelief.

"I'm serious, Abbs, I'm serious," Jerry insisted. "'Cause it got me thinking…I couldn't live another day without you. So if I die, that's still the case. But since it didn't, that meant I got to go home into the loving arms of my wonderful wife in our crappy studio apartment…"

"…and not tell me how you almost died…"

"…and not tell you how I almost died…" Jerry looked up into Abby's eyes, smiling at her the same way he did when he proposed to her three years ago. "…and I'd continue being the luckiest guy in Gotham because even though shit happens…at the end of the day…I got you. And you got me. And that keeps me going. And I guess…that keeps me brave."

Abby smiled (another success in what was becoming a banner night for Jerry), her hand drifting to Jerry's face, gently caressing his cheek. "You keep me brave, too, Jer. Even if you're corny as hell."

"You bet I am." Jerry pulled her in for a kiss, which she happily reciprocated (the man was on a winning streak), warmly embracing her as he totally forgot about whatever mindless TV he wanted to watch tonight. "Besides, guy like me? I can handle Killer Croc."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. And if not, I'm in good hands, 'cause…" He began to wrestle his top off as Abby took off her own. "…then there's Nightwing. And if not him, it's Batgirl and if it's not her, it's Robin and the other Robin and there's probably a third Robin I'm forgetting about and…"

"Batman!"

"Oh, yeah, him, too…"

"No!" Abby pointed to the window, startled. "Batman!"

Jerry soon saw why, as a behemoth of a man clad in black was rappelling up the wall of their apartment building, right by their window. Indeed, it was the Batman, who didn't slow down for anything as he made steady progress up the building until eventually, he was out of sight.

The couple, on the other hand, remained awestruck, unable to muster words at what they just witnessed.

"Abbs?" Jerry finally broke the silence, eyes still looking at the window Batman casually passed by.

"Yeah, Jer?" Abby replied, eyes fixed on that same window.

"Add curtains to the list."

---

But Batman paid no mind to the spectators watching his ascent up the apartment building, as his attention was locked onto the incoming comms he was receiving via his cowl. The voice that resounded through was one that was always welcome to the vigilante's ears.

"The situation really is that dire down there, Master Bruce?" Alfred's demeanor was as it always was in crises such as these: calm and composed, undeterred by even the most severe stress.

"Unfortunately," Batman responded as heaved himself up another floor. "Heed has fourteen hostages and eyes on all the entrances…"

"…on the ground," Alfred finished the caped crusader's thought, a habit that had grown more common has the years went on. "The roof, I imagine, has escaped his purview. Hence the vertical approach."

"It's an educated guess."

"Engaging in guesswork with these matters is rather hazardous, but given the circumstances, it seems we have few options…" Batman heard his old comrade click his tongue; effortlessly, he imagined Alfred shake his head with mild disdain, something he'd seen since he was a child, long before the Batman was born. "It really is alarming what happened to this fellow."

"You conducted the research I requested?"

"Yes, Master Bruce. I was actually quite curious with this one. Rediscovering the profile of the nefarious 'Egghead'…it brought back memories, to say the least. Of simpler times."

"Getting nostalgic, Alfred?"

"Well, you must admit that your foes have become more, er, ghastly in recent years. Not to imply this Mr. Heed is a saint but his schemes were always much more benign than, say, those of Victor Zsasz or Professor Pyg." Alfred audibly shuddered at the thought of those maniacs. "Indeed, I miss the likes of Egghead, Louie the Fence, Lola Lasagne, The Black Widow, Bookworm…"

"The research, Alfred?" Batman interjected, reiterating that time was of the essence without having to say as much.

"Oh, yes. Of course. My apologies." The butler cleared his throat, which was followed by the sound of his reading glasses clicking open as he prepared to share the information he'd discovered regarding Gotham's villain of the night. "Edgar Heed, alias, 'Egghead,' sometimes preceded by 'The Eggz-quisite' or 'The Eggz-ceptional'. How very droll…" Alfred mumbled some details regarding Egghead's height and weight, which he knew Batman would find irrelevant at this given time. "Mr. Heed has an obsession with eggs of all kinds, naturally, with an extreme predilection to grade A white eggs. A career criminal who prides himself on his 'intel-egg-kt,' as he calls it, he has orchestrated a number of schemes themed around…well, need I say more?"

Batman paused briefly on a gargoyle to quickly catch his breath; by his estimation, he had about ten, maybe twelve floors until he reached the roof. "This was all eight years ago. Before I put him away." He continued his ascent, having gained his second wind.

"Correct," Alfred confirmed, adding, "The man was given a twenty-year sentence at Blackgate, after the court failed to deem him criminally insane. Merely criminally 'peculiar', as the judge called it, though Egghead went on record preferring to call himself 'egg-centric.'"

"Of course."

"He would eventually be released twelve years early on good behavior and…this is where the story gets rather…strange."

"Stranger than usual?"

"Mr. Heed made his return to society well-known on social media, if you can believe it."

"You're kidding."

"Not that he bolstered much of a following; mostly automated accounts and some, how do you say, explicit profiles. From young women. Also automated…"

"I understand, Alfred. Go on."

"Regardless, Mr. Heed made it clear he had retired from criminal life, and primarily used the account to narrate the course of his life, share his opinions on the news, quote from Scripture, tell stories of his old schemes, write letters to his ex-wife…"

"Anything that was on his mind," Batman completed the thought. "The account served as a kind of diary for Heed."

"Eggs-actly." Alfred paused, realizing the accidental pun he'd let loose. "Apologies. Anyway, he has been quite vocal against the likes of Walmart and Krogers for some time now. Months ago, even. The pricing of eggs has irked him ever since he reentered civilian life, though only recently have his threats hinted at violence. If I were to wager a clear demarcation, this escalation occurred shortly after he posted about being evicted from his apartment."

"Heed struggled to rebuild his life, from the sound of it," Batman inferred, only a few stories away from the building's rooftop. "Increasingly, he grew angry, disgruntled. He had numerous grievances hanging over him; this crusade gives him a tangible enemy to combat." The picture wasn't difficult to gather; it seemed most of the hero's enemies were men and women pushed to their edge. "Did he post anything regarding this attack? Any hints or cryptic messages?"

"Yes, actually. He's threatened to take action into his own hands on numerous occasions, warning of a 'day of regg-oning' for these companies, where the 'yolk of the working class shall be lifted' and the 'fat cats who have been robbing us blind will be scrambled across the streets of this godforsaken city, and their lifeless bodies shall become hard-boiled by the fires of justice.' He's posted a number of these crazed rants on Twitter."

"Dear God."

"Excuse me. X, I believe it's called now. It really is so difficult to keep up with all this social media nonsense…"

Finally, Batman had reached the top of the building, stepping foot atop terra firma at last. "And no one reported these messages to the authorities?"

"Again, Master Bruce, his following was rather meager," Alfred answered curtly. "And the very few who did engage with his posts were…well, they had no good intentions, that much is sure."

As Batman began to wrap up the grapple hook and rope up and around his elbow, he prodded further. "In what way?"

"They seemed to mock the old chap. In a variety of ways, too. Some, even…" Alfred paused, not sure how to go on. "…some were impersonating you."

Batman stopped his coiling of the rope. "Impersonating me? On Twitter?"

"Far from the worst thing to happen to you but concerning all the same. Fans of yours, I imagine. Not that you're the only one. Superman has his impersonators, Master Grayson, Wonder-Woman—it really is a strange community." Realizing he was entering a tangent, Alfred cleared his throat and returned to the matter at hand. "Mr. Heed took these messages at face value; he believed he was actually talking to you. He's even cited an incident about you pushing him down a flight of stairs as recently as a few months ago?"

"I haven't seen him in eight years, Alfred," Batman emphasized once more, resuming coiling up his grappling hook.

"I believe you, Master Bruce, never fear. It seems the doctors at Gotham General would as well, as the paramedics found no evidence of an intruder when they answered Mr. Heed's emergency call. He simply fell down the stairs…"

"…and pinned it on me." Batman attached his grappling hook to his utility belt and began to search for a different tool entirely. "I'm his boogeyman, Alfred. He deems me responsible for everything bad that's happened to him since I put him away."

"Not the first of his ilk, then." Alfred paused. "You don't suppose you should let Master Grayson or Master Drake handle this situation?"

Batman unsheathed a small metal pole from his belt. "I can handle it, Alfred."

"Yes, but can Egghead handle you? If he so much as sees you…"

With one swing of the pole, two handles emerged from the sides; Batman looked down to the Walmart below, assessing the distance as he spoke with Alfred. "If I can't bring this man back from the brink, what good is my mission? Then I'm really what these criminals think of me: a boogeyman and nothing more. Heed needs my help. He's going to get it, whether he likes it or not."

"Yes, of course. Sometimes I forget your talents of, er, persuasion. Yes." Alfred sighed, once more kneeling before the stubborn will of his old friend. "Well, best of luck, Master Bruce. I susp-egg-kt you shall overcome the odds." A beat, one that oozed of regret. "Apologies again. That's far from appropriate…"

"One more thing, Alfred…" Batman stepped back from the ledge, having done the on-the-fly calculations he needed to in his head. "I know he's working alone on this job but any leads on his hired help?"

"Well, there was that gang he had for a while: the Dirty Dozen…but they're either retired, incarcerated or, God rest their souls, dead. Other than them…oh, yes. Of course. Her."

Alfred didn't need to say the name. "Olga. The so-called 'Queen of the Cossacks.' Exiled from her home country of Bessarovia as a child by the Soviets. Turned to a life of crime in the states. His partner, lover…"

"…and ex-wife. From the tweets. I mean, posts. Oh, why am I even bothering…"

"They must have divorced after I arrested Egghead. She served time as well, but she was merely deemed an accessory to Heed's crimes. She only had a couple years on her sentence, correct?"

"With a memory like yours, Master Bruce, I sometimes wonder why you keep me around…"

"I take it she's alive and well?"

"Alive, yes. Well? In Gotham? I doubt it. Let's see…" The clacking of a keyboard could be heard from the other end of the line. "Ah! And Bob's your uncle! She lives in a South Gotham apartment, not too far from your current location! I'll send you the address now."

Batman pressed a finger to the temple of his cowl, opening the direct message from Alfred. "Got it. Sending it to Gordon now."

"Pardon my asking, Master Bruce, but do you really think this Olga can turn the tide?"

"If there was anything Heed truly loved in this life besides eggs, it was her. She might be our best chance." A notification in his cowl's interface stole his attention. "Gordon's calling me. I'll talk to you later, Alfred."

"Very well, Master Bruce," Alfred exhaled, his nerves just barely slipping into his words. "Good luck."

With one click of a button, Batman ended the call and began a new one with the commissioner. "You got the address I sent, Jim?"

"Yeah…" The officer's grizzled voice answered back. "Olga Osipov. Egghead's ex. You want one of my boys to bring her to the scene, see if she can talk Heed down from the ledge?"

Batman sensed the skepticism in his partner's words. "You don't think it'll work?"

"No, but it's not like we have many options here." Gordon's voice grew more distant, as he noticeably pulled himself away from his phone and shouted, "HARVEY! I NEED YOU TO HAUL ASS TO 66 WEST PRICE ROAD, APARTMENT 4C, PRONTO! WE'RE INVITING A NEW GUEST TO THIS SHIN-DIG!"

Miraculously, Bullock's voice could be heard just as clearly, as he bellowed back, "WHAT AM I? A GODDAMNED CHAFEUR? WE GOT A WHOLE SITUATION BREWIN' OVAH HERE!"

"JUST DO IT, YA BIG OX!"

"AWRIGHT, AWRIGHT! Jesus…"

"'Jesus' yourself!" Gordon returned his attention to Batman. "How's the infiltration going?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, Jim." Batman flipped a switch on the gadget he withdrew moments ago, resulting in two wings of black fabric spreading out wide and far; his Bat-Glider was ready for use. "I'll keep you posted."

On that note, Batman ended the call. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself for the jump ahead; after so many years of gliding and swinging from rooftop to rooftop, it still required some nerve to take that first leap of faith. Although to say his nerves were completely rooted in the intimidating flight that awaited him would be dishonest. Indeed, most of whatever anxiety he had was founded in the possibility of failure, and how much of it would fall on his own shoulders if he let Egghead succumb to his own madness, at the expense of the innocent lives he surrounded himself with.

But Batman had enough weight to carry on his shoulders; to add more before the matter was concluded was putting the cart before the horse. He could manage. He would manage.

With a running start, Batman leapt off the edge of the building and with the help of his hang-glider, effortlessly soared down to the roof of the Walmart, unseen and unheard, like a specter in the night.

---

The situation in the Walmart had not improved in the time since Egghead's siege began. All of the hostages were huddled in the freezer aisle, helplessly watching their captor pace back and forth, checking his phone to see if his demands were being addressed and, once seeing they weren't, swallowing a grade A egg whole.

Oddly enough, that was the worst part of this ordeal for Greg. Well, the constant threat of death looming over them played a part in it, yes, but the crunching of the eggshell in Egghead's jaws…the sound it made…the sight of the yolk sloshing around his mouth between obnoxiously open chews…the way the guy would occasionally smack his lips, suck the yolk off his fingers, and say shit like, "Ah, yes. Scrumptious," or "Absolutely del-egg-table…" Yes. Greg would take getting blown to bits over that.

But he didn't dare speak for his fellow captives, who were just as panicked, if not more so, than he was. Derek was sitting to his left, muttering some poorly recalled Hail Marys (it'd obviously been a while since he prayed for anything). Amy was to his right, staring daggers at Egghead the whole time, her heavy breathing barely disguising her anger towards the guy. Maura was taking it the worst, though, as she was openly crying, at times begging Egghead to see reason.

"Please…I have two boys at home…" A broken sob escaped her lips. "You don't need to do this…"

As with each plea, Egghead stopped his pacing and, perhaps because he fancied himself a gentleman, responded calmly, maybe even sympathetically. "Oh, but, Maura, dear…" So gentlemanly, in fact, the fiend went out of his way to read the employees' nametags and memorize them. "…but I must. It's my obl-egg-ation to see this through to the end. You might not see it now but I'm fighting for all of you…"

"Yeah, thanks for that," Derek spoke up for the first time, though it was clear he was trembling from fear. "I feel really protected right now, bub. Appreciate it."

Egghead turned to the janitor, his eyes narrowing at this man's gall to speak up against him. "I suppose you never heard the eggs-pression, 'To make an omelet, you must break some eggs?' Well…" He opened up his arms and smiled. "…welcome to my kitchen. You'll thank me later, friends, I assure you…"

"You know this won't work."

The maniac was cut short by none other than Amy, who finally broke her silence with a righteous indignation Greg had grown used to; hearing it now, though, made him incredibly nervous.

Egghead was none too pleased by this interruption, but he tried to keep his composure. "Eggs-cuse me, dear?"

"You know the Waltons aren't listening," there was a hint of fear in Amy's voice as well, though she did a better job of hiding underneath her anger. "They're billionaires with too much time and money on their hands. Do you think they'll listen to you, of all people? How crazy are you?"

"I'm not crazy!" He snarled as he leaned in, causing her and everyone around her to gasp and flinch by the sudden move. Soon after, Egghead noticed how badly he cracked his cool façade and tried to regain calm. "My apologies, I…I'm short-tempered, as you can no doubt tell." He proceeded to dig into his blazer and withdrew an egg. "Please, dear. To make up for my outburst."

Amy eyed the egg with both skepticism and contempt; she then spoke coldly and concisely, "I'm vegan."

"GODDAMN IT ALL!" Egghead flung the egg against the wall, causing it to shatter with a deafening splat that echoed through the Walmart. "AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SEE REASON HERE?! I HAVE TRIED TO BE A GRACIOUS HOST BUT TIME AND TIME EGG-AIN, MY HOSPITALITY HAS BEEN REJ-EGG-KTED!" It actually seemed he was holding back tears now. "But of course, Egghead stands alone! As always…" He turned back to face Amy, withdrawing a second egg from his jacket. "Now you will take this egg, young lady, and you shall eat it and enjoy it and lead this merry band of ours in solidarity as we ring in the brave new world I have worked so hard to create!"

"Hey, fuck you, man!" Amy did not relent, despite how closely the nutcase pressed the egg into her face. "I'm not eating that! I'm definitely not eating it raw! Like, what the fuck?!"

One of the shoppers muttered from afar in agreement, "Yeah, that's kinda nasty…"

"NO ONE ASKED YOU, YOU FECKLESS MORON!" Egghead shouted back at the stranger, though he didn't back down without a fight, shouting back, "Your mother!"

"WHAT?!" Egghead roared back incredulously, tempted to turn his ire towards this man but thinking better of it as he returned to shoving the egg in Amy's face. "Eat the egg, girl! Eat the egg!"

"HEY!"

Dead silence followed as the squeaky voice reverberated throughout the store.

Greg was the last to realize it was he who shouted, as everybody had turned to look at him before he had a chance to reconsider what he'd done. He couldn't help but see Amy look towards him with more concern than she had all night; it seemed she had understood better than he did what an awful idea this was.

Well…this far in, he might as well commit. "She doesn't want the egg, dude." Greg swallowed awkwardly. "So…stop it." Not sure what else to do, he pointed a finger towards the guy. "Stop it now."

Bewildered, Egghead stared at Greg for a while, struggling to comprehend that this lanky incompetent of all people was trying to stand up to him. Surprisingly, though, Egghead heeded the boy's request, stepping away from Amy…and towards him.

Finally, the villain addressed Greg, coolly, venomous contempt dripping off every word. "What is your name, boy?"

"My name?" Greg repeated, confused; he figured this guy had learned their names by now. "What, it's not on my name ta…" He looked down at his chest, only to find that after all this time, he had it pinned to his uniform the wrong way. "Oh, wow, I had way too many of those edibles…"

"Your name, boy!" Egghead dropped all gentlemanly pretenses as he bellowed his request. "What. Is. Your name?!"

"OK, OK…" Rather than tell him, for whatever reason Greg fumbled around with his name tag and flipped it the right way, supposedly to save whatever face he had left; finally, the answer was revealed, loud and clear for Egghead to see. "Greg. My name is Greg."

Greg cringed and turned away, expecting Egghead to do something horrible…but nothing happened. In fact, when he looked back, the villain was still standing there, mouth agape, in shock. He was silent for some time.

"Gr…" Egghead stuttered at first, as if struggling with the name. "Gr-egg-uh?"

The befuddled Walmart employee glanced at his fellow hostages, notably Amy and Derek, who shrugged back, just as confused as he was. "Uh…yeah. Greg." Not sure what to add to that, he tagged on, "Like, with two Gs. Not the way you said it, with like three or four or…just less emphasis on the back-end of that, is my point. Just Greg, is fine…"

"Gr-egg!" Greg went ignored as Egghead began to chuckle. "Gr-egg!" The chuckling devolved into wild peals of laughter. "GR-EGG! HA HA HA HA! GR-EGG!"

The captives looked amongst each other, more confused and more scared than ever, with Maura audibly letting slip, "What in God's name…" and another of the shoppers more openly exclaiming, "Ay, oh, what the fuck?!" Another shopper helplessly asked, "Why isn't this one of the Walmarts that sells guns?" while Derek buried his face in his hands as he mumbled, "I hate this job…"

But Egghead continued, undeterred, repeating again and again, "GR-EGG! HA HA! YES! GR-EGG! GR-EGG!"

Indeed, the situation in the South Gotham Walmart had not improved; in fact, it was more unstable than ever.

---

While this heinous show continued its course, Batman finally made his way through the Walmart's ventilation system, landing swiftly on his feet in the toiletries aisle.

As always, Alfred kept constant communication with the Dark Knight. "I'm not entirely familiar with these 'Wall-Marts,' Master Bruce, but I am aware they are very, very large. How long do you think it will take to find Mr. Heed and his hostages?"

"GR-EGG! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH, WHAT A LARK!" echoed from the freezer aisle on the other side of the story.

"I think I'll find my way around," Batman answered at length before briskly making his way towards the corner of the store, striding past display stands of cleaning wipes, candy bars, patio furniture and more. It didn't take long for Batman to set eyes on Egghead from afar, laughing maniacally for a captive audience. Quickly, the hero took cover in the cereal aisle so he can assess the situation unseen. Pressing a button on his cowl, he activated his infrared "detective vision" to get a better look at the explosives strapped to Egghead's chest.

"It's just as I thought, Alfred," Batman whispered to his partner on his comms. "The trigger is connected to a heart-rate monitor. If his heartbeat drops below a certain level…"

"I'm familiar with the technology. It's not the first time we've seen it in the field." Alfred sighed, lamenting, "It never can be as easy as a Batarang to the head, can it?"

"Unfortunately." Batman took a closer look at Egghead, now that he was finally seeing him in the flesh after all this time. The years had not been kind to him, that much was clear, and what was left of his sanity was dwindling. For a moment, Batman wondered if there was any hope of salvaging Heed…

Of course there was. There was always hope. There had to be. It was why Batman took on this burden all that time ago, even in his greener years, back when he assumed evil could simply be beaten out of his enemies.

And yet here was one of his first foes, back and more menacing than ever, a man driven to the edge, driven by desperation, paranoia, fear, loneliness—Batman wasn't able to help this sorry man before. But now…now he'd make things right.

"I'm going to finish this," Batman affirmed, more for himself than Alfred. "I'll call you once it's over."

"I look forward to it, Master Bruce." Alfred ended the call, leaving Batman alone with his thoughts.

He began his approach. "Edgar!"

"GAH!" Egghead turned on his heel as he and everyone else in the Walmart jumped in fright. However, in the end, it was Egghead most of all who was paralyzed with fear. "It's…it's you."

"Put an end to this now!" Batman demanded, taking another step forward. "Before there's no turning back!"

"It's...it's you!" Egghead took a step back himself, his whole body shaking. "You haven't hurt me enough. You…came back for more…"

"I came back to save these people. To save you…"

"You lie!" He snapped, his hand hovering close to the bomb's trigger. "I see you everywhere, always lurking in the shadows, waiting t-to punish me! To hurt me!"

"You've been seeing ghosts, Edgar," Batman assured him, stepping slowly now. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help…"

"Don't you dare insult my intel-egg-ence!" The maniac growled, his hand dangerously close to the trigger. "You're a deceiver! Always were!" He eyed the distance between him and the Caped Crusader. "Take one more step forward and we'll all meet our maker!"

"You don't want to do that, Edgar," Batman spoke calmly, taking yet another step closer. "Not so soon. How would it look if the Eggzquisite Egghead's reign over Walmart didn't even last the night?" He shook his head, taking another step. "It's been a while, but you've always been a proud man, Edgar. That much hasn't changed."

The captives looked anxiously between Batman and Egghead, none of them daring to make a move or utter a sound as this uneasy negotiation played out before them. They need only look at the frantic way Egghead's eyes darted about to understand their lives hung treacherously in the balance.

They had reason to be afraid, as Egghead moved his hand away from the trigger…and snatched a scrawny Walmart employee by the collar, promptly unsheathing a sawed-off shotgun from his belt and pressing it to the boy's head.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod…" The young man whimpered to himself in a panic as the other hostages erupted in a chorus of pleas, crying out, "Dear God!", "Greg, no!" and "Don't do it! Please!"

"Proud I may be, Batman," Egghead warned through gritted teeth as he struggled to hold Greg steady, "I'm willing to shed some blood before my deadline eggs-pires. Don't test me!"

Batman wouldn't as he ceased his approach; he was willing to call Egghead's bluff but only to a certain point. He'd have to take the rest of this slowly if any of them had a chance of making it out alive.

"That's better," Egghead spoke, an uneasy smile briefly flashing across his face. "See, we can be reasonable. You're much more reasonable than when we last met…"

"That was eight years ago…"

"No! You fought me, weeks ago…" His breathing was shallow; as menacing as he was, it was clear that this was all a strain for a man his age. "…in my own home…"

"You fell, Edgar. You hurt yourself…" Batman gestured around them. "…just like you're hurting yourself now with this charade."

"It's no charade, you charlatan!" Egghead spat, briefly turning the shotgun towards Batman before returning it to Greg's temple. "I mean it! I mean every word! I'm going to see this through! The good people of Gotham will be able to enjoy these eggs without fear of begg-aring themselves! I'll be a hero!" He closed his eyes as took a deep breath, stifling a sob. "I'll have done some good in my life. You can't deny me that. You won't deny me that!"

Batman glanced at the dozens and dozens of eggs sitting atop the freezer shelves to his right. "Eggs for all, huh, Edgar?" Slowly, he made his way to the door.

"What are doing?" Egghead asked, panicked by this sudden movement. "Stop it! Stop it now, whatever you're doing!"

The villain went ignored as Batman opened the door and took out a carton, flipping it open with his index finger; twelve grade A white eggs were sitting pretty in their cozy, cardboard hovels. "Relax, Edgar. I'm not doing anything." He grabbed one and held it up for Edgar to see. "I'm only having a snack."

Egghead's eyes widened with shock. "You won't. You wouldn't dare…" One of the customers in the back seconded this, commenting, "Yeah, no way he wouldn't. That's frickin' nasty…"

But Batman didn't relent. "But isn't this what you want? The good people of Gotham being able to enjoy one of these delicious, savory eggs…for free?"

"Not you!" Egghead rasped contemptuously. "You don't deserve them!"

But Batman remained calm, replying, "I b-egg to differ." He raised the egg to his mouth.

"You won't do it!" The madman pleaded, tightening his grip on the shotgun's handle. "You won't! You don't have the stomach for it!"

Batman raised the egg closer to his mouth, taking care to twirl it slowly around in his fingers, absorbing every last detail of its shape, its size, its texture...

"I'm telling you now, Batman, if you eat that egg, I'll…I'll…" Egghead was sweating now, his eyes darting between the gun and the egg, the gun and the egg, the gun and the egg. The crowd looked on with anticipation as well, wondering if Batman truly would go that far.

CRUNCH!

The sound was gut-wrenching as Batman bit into the egg, its innards flowing freely in his mouth. The hostages were disgusted by the sight as the janitor moaned loudly, "Jesus Christ!" and the young woman with the tattoos steadied herself against the freezer door, her whole body threatening to hurl. Another of the captive customers in the back exclaimed, "Oh, man, that is NASTY!" while another was actually impressed, shouting out, "I can't believe he actually did it! That's fuckin' metal, man!"

But nobody was more shocked than Egghead himself, who looked on, frozen, mouth agape. Never before had he, or perhaps anyone, seen the Batman do something so bold, so outrageous, so indubitably insane.

And yet it happened tonight, at 1AM in the freezer aisle of the South Gotham Walmart.

Batman finally finished his meal, licking his lips clean as he swallowed the last of the eggshell. "Ah," he exhaled, before succinctly commenting, "Refreshing." His hand drifted over to another egg in the carton. "I think I'll have some more…"

"NO, YOU WON'T!" Egghead finally exploded in a fit of anger as he threw Greg to the floor and turned his shotgun on Batman. "THOSE EGGS ARE MINE! MINE!" He made to press the trigger…

"Hyah!" From behind, the young woman swung at Egghead with a box of Jimmy Dean's breakfast sandwiches, freshly picked from the freezer she almost vomited into moments ago.

BLAM!

Egghead shot was misdirected towards the floor, grazing his own foot. "GAH! MERCIFUL HADES! AHHHHHHH!" In agonizing pain, he swung blindly before shooting blindly, hitting no one, but doing enough to scare them away as he gingerly ran towards a pair of double doors at the end of the aisle. "STAY BACK! ALL OF YOU! I CAN STILL EGG-NITE THE FIRES OF JUSTICE! DON'T TRY ME!" And with that, he barreled himself through the doors and into the darkness beyond them.

Casually, Batman tossed the egg aside as Alfred's voice came in loud and clear on his cowl's comms. "That was irrefutably the most reviling thing I've ever seen you do, Master Bruce. I think I may be sick, actually…"

"Trust me, I don't feel that great either," was all Batman said before he tended to the hostages who were now huddling together, now unafraid to speak freely and embrace one another. "Are you alright?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the store's greeter, tears in her eyes. "Oh, God, thank you!"

"It's not over yet," Batman turned to the janitor, asking promptly, "Where do those doors go?"

"Behind the freezers," he explained in between panicked breaths. "Where they do the stockin' from the loading bay in the mornin'. I don't ever really go there, since it's dark and cold but…" Quickly, he reconsidered. "Something tells me you don't mind that."

Batman got all the information he needed as he sprinted towards the doors after Egghead, while one of the customers shouted after him, "Kick his ass, Batman!" As he did so, Batman stole one last glance over his shoulder to the rescued hostages, particularly the young woman tending to Greg, who was still dazed from this whole ordeal.

Their lives were still at stake; Batman swore he'd put an end to this now.

He ran through the doors and vanished into the darkness.

---

A seemingly endless void, lit dimly by only a few fluorescent fixtures hanging from above and the greater light of the store beyond bleeding through the freezer displays. Not much could be deciphered beyond the palettes upon palettes of frozen dinners, meat products, and, of course, eggs, waiting to be unpacked and loaded into the freezers during the store's morning shift. The room was a veritable abyss, abandoned save for one man, whose footsteps echoed throughout the desolate room.

Egghead ran to the best of his ability, until the pain became too much to bear, and he stumbled forward. Writhing in agony, he wrestled off the shoe to see how badly the buckshot had grazed him. The sight of his flesh marred by his own weapon did nothing to comfort him. Instead, he cried out in frustration, throwing his shotgun across the room. The weapon was swallowed by the stygian depths; it was of no concern to Egghead anymore, left whimpering in pain in a heap. It would do him no good now.

All that was left was…the trigger. His hand shaking, he took the device out from his jacket pocket and looked it over pensively. "The day of regg-oning…" He muttered to himself, swallowing the pain before repeating the mantra, "The day of regg-oning, the day of regg-oning, the day of regg-oning…" Taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to steady his nerves, Egghead placed his thumb on the trigger, ready to apply the slightest bit of pressure and end this all right here and now…

"You don't need to press that button, Edgar."

Egghead stopped himself. That voice, that infernal voice, reverberating around these walls. From where, he couldn't tell; that was the problem with the Batman. With him came a sort of omniscience that made him seem more than mortal. Intangible. Abstract. One with the darkness. There one moment, supposedly gone the next, watching, always watching…

Struggling to his feet, Egghead winced in pain and talked back to the Batman, wherever he may be. "This is your fault! You've done this! You've ruined everything!"

"I'm stopping you from making a mistake…"

"THIS WAS MY DESTINY!" Egghead roared into the void, now his voice echoing throughout this barren chamber. "This was my purpose! My legg-acy …and you ruined it!"

"What kind of legacy would you leave behind if all you did was burn and destroy? It'd only be a false consolation to you, something to repeat to yourself over and over, drowning out all the regrets, the mistakes, the defeats—something to convince yourself that it was all leading up to this…"

"Oh, don't you preach to me!" He pointed vindictively to the darkness. "Not you, a madman in his own right. You and I both know that once you get out of here, if you get out of here, you'll return to waging your own war of 'justice' on the streets."

"I'm no killer, Edgar. And neither are you."

"You don't know who I am!" Egghead protested, his voice straining as he held back angry tears. "I'm the Eggzquisite Egghead, goddamn you! I'm the smartest man in Gotham!"

"But you believe in the sanctity of life, don't you, Edgar?"

Egghead turned on his heel as suddenly, he could have sworn, the Caped Crusader's booming voice emanated from behind him.

"Why else the obsession with the eggs? You're too smart of a man to throw his life away simply for something you like to eat. It's deeper for you…"

"Of course it is!" Egghead interjected before Batman could make any more insulting presumptions. "By God, isn't it obvious? The egg, why…it's a distillation of life kept within one fragile shell. A shell that serves as a prison, yet also a home—the confines of our very own mortal coil. Its very yolk is a life itself that can go on to grow into its own being…or be released prematurely, to be consumed as nutrients for another."

"The Circle of Life."

"You mock me," Egghead scoffed. "You and everyone else…all because I have the vision to see the world in something so small and delicate…and yet so beautiful…"

"…and yet you'd betray all of that for a ploy at martyrdom?"

The words hit Egghead like a freight train, as he was left stunned and hurt by the accusation, not because it was cruel but worse: it rang true. Slowly, his eyes drifted down towards the trigger.

"This isn't who you are, Edgar! This isn't who you have to be! Because underneath the cheap suits and the hare-brained schemes, you are a good person at heart."

Egghead shook his head as a tear streamed down his cheek. "No…I'm a failure…a miserable wretch who has nothing to live for, nobody who'd remember him once he's gone, a footnote in the lives of those far greater than mine…a non-entity. That is the legg-acy of the so-called Eggzquisite Egghead."

"Edgar? Edgar, are you there?"

A different voice, screeching with the interference of a megaphone from outside the building. And to Egghead's shock, a familiar one.

"Edgar, it's me…"

---

"…Olga."

Indeed, there stood the Queen of the Cossacks herself, megaphone in hand, at the very edge of the police barricade under the watchful eyes of Jim Gordon, Harvey Bullock, and Rennee Montoya. Although she no longer dressed as a Queen, perhaps because she could no longer afford to. Her fur coat was ill-fitting and her jewelry had long since lost its luster. And yet, despite all this, she carried herself with the same grace she always had as a queen exiled from her own land, hoping to one day rule over Gotham.

To rule alongside one man and one man only…

"Edgar, I beg of you, you must stop this now! Please! You deserve better than the fate you are sealing more and more the longer this scheme of yours goes on!"

---

Egghead was still frozen, his heart skipping a beat as he heard the voice of his first and only true love for the first time in years, still sounding as beautiful, as graceful, as vaguely Eastern European as ever. "Olga…" The words finally began to eke out as the tears began to flow freely. "Oh, Olga…"

She continued her plea, begging, "What you're doing here, Edgar…it does not resemble the man I loved. Who I still love!"

"Oh, Olga, Queen of the Cossacks, Ruler of my Heart…" Egghead crumpled to his knees, whimpering the title of his dear lover, cradling his head in his hands. "Oh, God, oh, God!"

"This is not who you are…"

---

"…because the man I fell in love with was kind-hearted, warm, smart, charming…"

In the freezer aisle, the captives heard this woman's words boom over them as they tended to each other. They all listened intently, while Derek cradled the still sobbing Maura, while Amy pressed a frozen Jimmy Dean's breakfast sandwich to Greg's head, and while the customers casually perused the aisles for free groceries under the permissive gaze of a battered security guard who was getting ready to draft his letter of resignation.

"You found me and took me in as one of your own because we saw something in one another. Something greater than ourselves that we could live for…"

Greg winced as Amy pressed the sandwich too hard to his bruise; she lightened the pressure, jokingly asking if he still had some of those edibles to share. Meanwhile, Derek calmed Maura by letting her talk about her boys, about how hard she had to fight to get time off so she could catch her eldest's Little League game. The customers exchanged shopping tips on what deals were worth it here, what deals weren't, and theorized on what would replace this Walmart once this tragedy finally came to an end.

"You made me feel less lonely, my love. You made me feel…needed."

---

Egghead let the words wash over him as years and years of grief and regret struck him at his soul. "Olga, I am so sorry…" He whimpered over and over. "I am so sorry…"

"You were not a perfect man. Your pride would always be your greatest enemy. Greater than the police. Greater than Batman. Your pursuit to prove to me you could be the smartest man in Gotham when I only needed you to be mine and I to be yours." A forlorn beat. "I knew this to be true when you were finally arrested."

"My queen, Olga, I didn't mean to…I only wanted…"

"I received your notes, Edgar. I read them all and I wanted desperately to believe that you had changed. But I feared I would get hurt once more and I couldn't bear the thought of my heart breaking yet again."

"I love you, Olga, I've always loved you, I swear…"

"But now I remember that the Egghead I knew…the Edgar I loved…was a man who fought for what he believed in. Who never gave up. Who was a good man. A very strange but good man."

"What have I done? Oh, God, what have I done…"

"And I know it is that man who will make the right decision. Goodbye, my love."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Egghead released a primal scream, loaded with the inner agonies he'd carried with him for years and years. Every regret, every failed scheme, every time he'd disappointed Olga—could be heard in this vast, dark, cold, lonely room.

"I've ruined it!" Egghead wept, his shame reverberating off the walls while he shambled about, bumping into the crates and palettes about him. "I've wasted it all! All of it, squandered! SQUANDERED!" He threw himself towards a palette of eggs, smashing and throwing every carton he could see in a fit of unrequited rage. "I'VE LOST IT ALL! GOOD GOD, I'VE LOST IT! NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!"

Egghead prepared another swing but walking on only one good foot, he couldn't keep his balance, causing him to stumble backwards into a whole shelf of eggs. He cried out as he collapsed and the cartons fell atop him, writhing, and sobbing in a puddle of egg yolk, eggshells, and his own grief.

Eventually, his sobs had died down, and Egghead was left crying quietly in a mess of his own creation. "I…" He attempted to speak, struggling to catch his breath. "…I've ruined everything. I am a failure."

"It's not too late, Edgar." It was the Batman once again. "It's never too late."

Egghead couldn't help but scoff at the idea. "I'm not some green criminal with his whole life ahead of him. I'm a sad old man who's lived a sad, lonely life…"

"And yet you're loved, Edgar. That woman loves you. She believes in you." Suddenly, a hand emerged from the darkness: Batman's hand. "There's still hope. It will get better. You just need to believe yourself."

Egghead looked at this gloved hand at first with fear, then with skepticism. He gazed up to find Batman's own eyes, piercing through the darkness and looking down at him. For the first time in all the years Egghead had known him, had feared him…he looked human.

Releasing one unsteady exhale, Edgar took Batman's hand.

With one heave, Batman lifted his old foe to his feet, prompting him to cringe in pain. Edgar limped to a nearby wall, withdrew the trigger from his jacket and with one flip of a switch, deactivated the bomb. It was over.

Edgar didn't turn to face Batman, still catching his breath from this whole ordeal; he stayed quiet for some time, lost in his own thoughts. Batman watched patiently, letting the man get his rest.

Finally, Edgar spoke. "How…" He panted, still struggling to regain his calm. "…how are you so sure?"

Batman tilted his head slightly. "About what?"

"That it will get better? How do you know?"

Now the Dark Knight was quiet. "Because," he answered after some time. "I know from experience. It's not easy but…few worthwhile things are."

Edgar couldn't help but chuckle dryly at that as he turned to face Batman. "Truer words…" He didn't bother finishing the expression as his whole body was wracked with exhaustion, both physically and emotionally.

Batman placed a hand on Edgar's shoulder, imploring him, "It's time to go now, Edgar. They're eggs-pecting you outside."

For the first time in a long while, Edgar smiled genuinely at the Caped Crusader of all people. "Indeed they are." He gestured weakly to the exit. "Lead on, then."

And so Batman did, propping open the double doors and letting the light shine into the gloomy, barren room for a fleeting moment. The two exited together, closing the doors and leaving the darkness behind them.

---

The scene outside the Walmart had not changed much since Batman vanished into the superstore. This was Gordon's least favorite part of these kind of jobs: the helpless sitting on his hands while, God helping, Batman was able to handle things in whatever mess was festering on the other side of the police barricade. It was a frustrating aspect of their little arrangement, but it kept his men safe. That was all that mattered in the end, he supposed.

Gordon was making his rounds, checking in with his men, seeing if they had anything new to report, despite knowing the answer was probably no. Occasionally, he'd give the stink-eye to the journalists begging for an interview, though currently, they seemed to be occupied interviewing a couple who claims Batman climbed past their window mid-coitus. Gordon didn't care to look any deeper than that, as long as the likes of Vicki Vale, Summer Gleeson, and Jack Ryder were off his back. That'd make another favor Gordon owed to the Batman. Add it to the list.

"Bessa-who-via?" Bullock was still chatting up the Osipov woman, who'd just finished her little speech on the megaphone. Despite all his whining about giving her a ride, he was never one to turn down an opportunity to chat up with a pretty broad.

Although to be completely honest, Olga was not as interested, her attention anxiously fixed on the shuttered Walmart, her thoughts still with the whackjob she loved. "Bessarovia. It is a small country. In Eastern Europe."

"Right, right," Bullock scratched his head, unable to hide his confusion. "So…which side of the Berlin Wall was that? Y'know, before they tore it down? Like the good side or…"

Gordon overheard enough of that conversation as he strode over to the edge of the barricade, surveying the front of the store. Aside from a few gunshots from within, the scene had been quiet. Montoya suggested that was maybe a sign they should make their move, but Gordon preached patience, always. Even if it was a bitch and a half to put it into practice.

Just as she entered his mind, Montoya approached him from behind, a solemn look on her face. "Commissioner…"

"Give him some more time," Gordon stopped her then and there, his gaze fixed on that infernal Walmart logo, an image he'd grown to hate over the last two hours. "He'll get the job done."

"Right. It's just…" Montoya grimaced, shaking her head. "Doesn't feel right, waiting here. Those gunshots from before…"

"He's alright, Renee."

"And the hostages?"

Gordon didn't answer, unable to assuage that doubt completely from his own mind; in the end, all he could muster was, "Have faith. He's done it before, he'll do it again."

"Faith," Renee repeated. "Yeah. You're right. Think I'm just tired." She paused, her nerves still obviously bothering her. "It's just that…"

CLUNK!

The sound of metal clambering and shifting came from the Walmart. Immediately, every officer in the area raised their weapons and pointed them toward the superstore, silencing the chittering and chattering of the mob that had amassed there. Every officer, that is, except Gordon.

Soon enough, that sound was followed by the rattling of chains…and with that rattling, the metal shutters were raised. Bullock joined Gordon's side, his weapon in hand, ready for action. Olga was not that far behind as she rushed to the edge of the barricade, eyes frantically searching for her beloved.

The front doors opened…and through them walked none other than the fabled Batman and the less fabled Egghead, followed by a whole procession of Walmart employees and customers.

It was in these rare times when no one was hurt, and the bad guy was dealt with that Gordon allowed himself a slither (just a slither) of a smile. "The son of a gun did it again," he muttered, still finding room for awe of the Dark Knight after all these years.

Montoya was beaming too as she and all the other cops lowered their weapons. "I can see what you mean about faith, Commish."

"Faith?" Bullock scoffed as he lowered his own gun. "In the Bat-Freak? You'd sooner see me readin' the Book o' Mormon." Still, though, he was always one to give credit where credit was due. "But hey…the kid did alrighHEY!"

Olga sprinted under the barricade and towards Egghead. Gordon stepped forward to stop her, but Batman lifted his hand, a signal that it was fine and for once, there was no need to panic. Gordon passed it on to his squad, who reluctantly agreed, instead turning their attention to the disheveled and somewhat battered hostages entering their care.

"Edgar!" She cried out to him, her voice ringing out with a mirthful joy that had evidently been long lost.

"Oh, Olga!" Egghead opened his arms and took her in his embrace. "Queen of the Cossacks and Ruler of my Heart! By God, you're as beautiful as ever!"

"And you are still so handsome! So dashing!" She planted a kiss on Egghead's scalp and hugged him again. "Oh, it's been too long! I should have answered your letters…"

"Bah! Why would you?" Egghead admonished her before she could finish. "After all I'd done, all I'd failed to do…"

"But you were so alone! And I was so alone…"

"Ah, but now we are together, my sweet!"

"And soon to be pulled apart once again by the treacherous claws of the lawman!" Olga glanced back at Gordon. "No offense, Mr. Commissioner."

"Don't worry, I'm used to it," Gordon commented dryly before taking another huff of his pipe.

"We may be separated once more, my dear, but I swear to you…" Edgar got down on his knee, holding her hands in his. "…I will spend my every waking moment to prove to this city that I am worthy to walk its streets, just as I will fight tooth and nail to prove to you, my sweet love, that I am fit to hold your hand in matrimony once more!"

Olga swooned at the thought. "And I shall help you, Edgar, my king, in whatever way I can! I shall write to you, comfort you…"

Egghead pressed his hands to his chest, the glee of an excited child glimmering in his eyes. "…sing to me?"

She smiled and answered in the only way possible (apparently): in song. Not that anybody there who wasn't certifiable could tell; it was in Bessarovian. Everybody looked on, very confused, for a very long time (the song was something like six minutes). Some folks got a kick out of it, though, as some joker was throwing dollar bills at the woman and someone else from the back of the crowd cried out, "THAT'S A SERVE, GIRL!"

Finally, the song came to an end; Egghead was crying tears of joy as he opened his arms yet again. "Oh, Olga!"

"Oh, Edgar!" She embraced him once more, holding him tighter than she ever had before.

"Oh, brother…" Montoya rolled her eyes. "Just one of these days, I wish we could get a normal job. Right, Harv?" She turned to her cranky friend, only to find him not cranky at all. "Harvey?" In fact, Bullock was moved to tears, an emotional state she only saw him in whenever the Gotham Rogues lost. "Uh…you OK?"

"What?" Realizing he was caught in the cast, he was quick to rub his eyes. "Yeah, yeah…just…guy smells like rotten eggs, is all. My eyes are burnin'." Clearing his throat, he approached the couple, still a bit bleary-eyed. "Don't mean to interrupt the love-fest but we gotta get you processed, Eggman. Not to mention the crapload of paperwork I'm gonna have to fill out after tonight."

"Ah, yes. Of course." Edgar nodded solemnly, taking Olga's hands in his once more. "We shall meet egg-ain, my love. On this, I swear!"

"Aw, jeez…" Bullock muttered as he took Egghead by the arm and escorted him away before things got anymore sentimental.

"Goodbye, my king!" Olga called out after him. "Today is a new day!"

"So it is, dear! So it is!" Egghead took one step into the paddy wagon, but not before turning to the crowd and exclaiming, "Love is in the air, Gotham! Next time you see me, I'll be a new man! So finally, for once and for all…EGGZUENT, EGGHEAD!"

Now, obviously, after holding a commonly trafficked local superstore captive for two hours, the madman in the cheaply tailored egg-colored suit was not met with uproarious applause. The crowd mostly responded with confused murmurings and a few angry citizens shouting derogatory terms such as, "You bald-ass bitch!" and "Five-head lookin' ass!", usually alongside phrases of encouragement, including, "Go to prison!" or "We'll see you in court!"

But Olga clapped. And that was all that mattered.

The doors of the paddy wagon closed, sealing Egghead's fate as he was driven off to yet another bout of incarceration. Although this time, miraculously, he had a smile on his face.

Gordon watched the whole scene play out in his usual stoic manner; right on schedule, he sensed his brooding and mysterious partner approach from the shadows behind him. "You really think they'll make it work?" He glanced at Olga, who was in the process of hailing a cab in a frantic haste to pursue the paddy wagon back to the GCPD. "That he'll get out sooner rather than later?"

"He wouldn't be the worst patient at Arkham, Jim," Batman replied at length, remaining in the shadows. "The doctors there can help him."

"And this deal with the Waltons and Krogers and all that?" Gordon cocked his head as he took another puff of his pipe. "Didn't wanna say it while all hell was breaking loose but ten dollars for a dozen of eggs is a bit outrageous."

"That's not our fight," the vigilante said curtly. "We can only hope those with the money and the influence to negotiate with those companies can step up."

"In other words, folks not in our tax bracket. Just great…" Gordon sighed, that familiar feeling of helplessness returning to him yet again. "One more thing, Batman…how did you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"That she'd be willing to come here and speak to Egghead?" The weathered commissioner furrowed his brow, as this was the last thing left about this peculiar case that stumped him. "That she wouldn't just slam the door in Harvey's face and call it a day?"

For a while, the Dark Knight was silent; so long, in fact, Gordon thought he'd pulled one of his premature exits again.

But finally, the Batman spoke. "I didn't. That's the thing with love, Jim. After every romance, every heartbreak, every ill affair, every old wound, open or closed…it grows, bends, breaks, reforms…but it's a wild and unruly flame that never dies out, no matter which way it burns. Edgar and Olga's fire flickered and dimmed…but it was still alive. If there was anything to count on, it was that."

Well, Gordon wasn't expecting any of that, but he'd take it. "That's one to tell my ex-wife." He turned on his heel to face Batman as he joked, "Gotta say, I didn't take you for a romant…oh, for the love of Pete."

And right on cue, Batman had vanished.

"Commissioner! Commissioner Gordon!" After all this time, Vicki Vale was finally able to break the swarms of police officers and accomplish what she was trying to do all night: shove a microphone in Gordon's face. "Any comment on the return of one Gotham's most egg-centric criminals?"

"Yeah," Gordon snarked dryly. "Love conquers all. Have a good night, Miss Vale." He left the reporter standing there, stunned by not only receiving an actual answer for once but receiving that answer of all answers, while Gordon called out to his officers, "MONTOYA! SEND THE BOYS IN THERE, SEE WHAT THE DAMAGE IS! BULLOCK, I WANT THAT PAPERWORK ON MY DESK YESTERDAY…"

---

And unknown to any of those on the streets below, Gotham's Protector, the Caped Crusader himself, glided from rooftop to rooftop, resuming his patrol and remaining as vigilant as ever. All while one very tired butler, miles away, very wisely adjusted Wayne Manor's breakfast schedule, replacing the Eggs Benedict scheduled for today with a simple stack of pancakes.

END

A/N: Not that anyone asked but my favorite egg dish is a Bacon, Egg and Cheese, naturally.