Warren fidgeted in his seat. He had been called into Derek Power's – his boss's office not even an hour after he had witnessed his college friend being manhandled by security and taken away. It was obvious what was going on. Whatever Harry had gotten up to, their meeting must have made Powers think he was a collaborator. It was scare tactics and, if Warren was honest, it was working.

Even though they were the same age, Warren McGinnis was a humble scientist and Derek Powers was a ruthless business man – emphasis on ruthless. There were no shortage of rumors of the kind of shady goings-on behind his business practices. Blackmail, bribery, physical violence, corporate sabotage, and, in most rumors, murder. None of them were ever proven true, mostly because Powers had the clout and capital to sweep them under the rug.

Derek Powers purposely placed himself in front of Warren, leaning against his desk that made him seem friendly, but stood over him to remind Warren who was in charge. Body language was powerful trait in business and Derek was a master of it.

"I asked you here, Warren, to clear up any misconceptions you might have gotten from that incident with Mr. Telly," said Powers in a would-be kindly tone that didn't reach his eyes. "Harry simply suffered an allergic reaction to a chemical compound in the lab. Shook him up a bit, but he's under the best of care."

Warren wasn't buying it for a second, but he couldn't give Powers a reason to think he believed otherwise. Not while he still had Harry's disk tucked inside the bottom of his shoe. A safe place in case he tried to have Butchinsky search him. The man in question was eying him from the corner of the room, waiting – hoping – for any reason to pounce.

"That's great," said Warren. "When can I see him?"

"Monday morning, first thing," said Powers. He stood up and Warren followed his example.

"Thank you, Mr. Powers," said Warren.

"Don't. mention it, Warren," said Powers, patting him on the shoulder.

Warren turned and made his way to the door –

"Oh, Warren." The man frozen and turned back to Powers. "Before I forget, there seems to be a file missing from Harry's records. Would you know where it is?"

Warren tried not to fidget, to keep his body still and ridged so as not to give Powers any clues. The disk inside his shoe suddenly felt like a live grenade about to go off.

"…no, sir, I have no idea," Warren shook his head.

"No…of course not," said Powers slowly.

Powers waited until Warren was out of his office before dropping his award-winning business smile. He gestured to Butchinsky in the corner of the room and nodded. He knew what to do.

It wasn't uncommon for Warren to work late into the night pouring over his computer. He was a researcher – it was his job! But this was different.

As he slotted the disk into his computer and poured through the first few pages, his complexion paled.

"Oh, Harry, what were you working on?" he muttered to himself. He scroll through more pages and his stomach began to churn. "Powers can't be serious…. He must be out of his mind to think – "

"Knock-knock." Warren jumped in his seat and spun around to the door. His son was leaning against the threshold, tilting his head strangely. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Just…working late, is all," Warren excused, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Did you need something?"

"I'm going out with Duke and Harper," Terry informed him. "I'll be back by ten…hopefully."

"Sure, sure," said Warren, only half listening as he poured over the files.

Terry looked at his father strangely. His dad never let him go that easily. If he wasn't grounded that week (which he wasn't, for once), his dad would usually lay down the law. Texts when he arrived and when he was leaving, messages every hour to make sure he wasn't dead in a gutter – that sort of thing. But now, Warren seemed strangely absentminded. More than that, he looked…scared.

"You…sure you're okay?" asked Terry hesitantly. "I can stay home, if you want. Duke and Harper will understand."

"No…no, it's all right," said Warren absently. "Just…go have fun."

"Okay…," said Terry slowly. "You know…I was thinking about visiting mom soon." That seemed to finally get his dad's attention. He was looking at Terry now, at least. "Haven't seen her and Matt for a few months. Maybe…maybe we could all go out to dinner sometime. You know, just to catch up."

"…Yeah…yeah, I'd like that," Warren agreed. He and his wife didn't end their relationship on good terms, but they always put aside their personal hang ups when they were with their kids. "I'll call her and see if we can set something up."

"Cool," said Terry. Satisfied, Terry started to walk out.

"Terry, wait!" Warren suddenly shouted.

"Yeah?" asked Terry, leaning his head back into the office.

There were so many things Warren wanted to say to his son. For a moment, he even considered giving the disk to his son for safe keeping, knowing Powers would come looking for this disk. But doing that would me getting Terry involved in this mess, and he didn't want to put him in danger. So instead, the best he could managed was:

"Stay safe…," he finished lamely.

"When am I not?" said Terry jokingly.

Warren sighed heavily as he listened to the front door slam shut. He took the disk out and tucked in the back of the photo of him and his family, before the divorce. Symbolic, he supposed.

Meanwhile, Terry stepped out onto the street and started making his way towards the maglev rail, texting his friends and telling them he was on his way. He didn't notice the suspicious blue car parking out front of his house, or the monolithic man stepping out. He didn't have a chance to because someone grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him into the alley.

Terry landed on a pile of garbage cans with a reverberating clang. Why were there even garbage cans anymore, he wondered briefly. There was an automated tube system that took trash from people's houses straight to the dump. Terry groaned, holding his side, and looked up at his assailant. Or Assailants, would be the better word for it.

A group of four large men in white business suits surrounded him, cracking their knuckles and punching their palms to intimidate him. It worked, for the most part. But he couldn't see their faces because they were hidden behind black wooden skull masks. The alarms in Terry's heads went off like a warning siren.

The False Facers – Black Mask's goon squad.

Oh slag, thought Terry.

"Mr. McGinnis," said one of the large men, his voice muffled by the mask. "The Black Mask would like a word with you."

Normally, this would be the part where Terry would make a joke to deflect. He didn't get the opportunity before one man punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Two more men held him up by the arms and carried him away, his feet dragging on the concrete –

Harper checked her phone again for the third time in the past ten minutes, reclining back into her seat while nursing her drink. Club 52 wasn't exactly her scene – the music was always trash, the flashing lights were obnoxious, and the people were just plain awful. The only reasons she even bothered coming was, for all its faults, it had the best damn nachos in the city. That made it totally worth it.

Duke, on the other hand, thought his time was better used for more academic pursuits

"You're seriously doing your homework now?" said Harper in disbelief, looking at the piles of papers scattered across the table. "You do realize that we're supposed to be hanging out together, right? Letting off some steam for the weekend?"

"I'm finishing it now so I don't have to do it later," Duke countered, his pencil practically flying across the papers. "Not all of us were born with a genius IQ."

"You should try it sometime," said Harper cockily. "It's mega shway."

"Hey, Harper! Hey, Duke!" Dana Tann walked over to their table, appropriately dressed for the club scene, as opposed to Duke and Harper, who were in their casual wear. "I thought that was you."

"Dana, what's up?" Duke greeted politely.

"Didn't think a preppy girl like you would be interested in the club scene," said Harper, noting her outfit.

"One, I'm not 'preppy,'" said Dana, crossing her arms. "And two, Chelsea dragged me here. Wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed. Say, is…Terry with you?" she added, looking around quickly.

Duke and Harper exchanged amused smirks.

"Terry, huh?" said Duke in a teasing tone.

"It's not like that," said Dana, sensing where they were going with this. "He's just…an old friend, you know? Haven't talked much since he got out of Juvie."

"No thanks to your so-called friend," said Harper pointedly.

"Chelsea means well, honest," Dana excused. "So, is Terry here or not."

"He was supposed to have been here by now," Harper frowned, checking her phone again. "He texted me half an hour ago say he was on his way. Where the hell is he…?"

The False Facers dragged Terry all the way down to Old Gotham – the section of the city that had been buried underneath the new, shinier levels of Neo Gotham. Terry didn't fight back – he wasn't in a good position to escape when he had four huge men surrounding him from all sides. If his time in Juvie had taught him anything, it's to wait for an opening an pounce the second he saw it. Once these goons let their guard down, he was booking it.

They carried him down the fragmented streets, past the long rows of derelict buildings that might have been grand once upon a time. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of people peeking through the broken windows in curiosity. They were always thin and covered in dirty.

The Forgotten. People who couldn't live in Neo Gotham either due to a lack of finances, horrible disfigurement, untreatable disease, or simply because no one wanted them. Terry knew he was fortunate to have a scientist for a father and didn't take his current lifestyle for granted. Not after seeing these people.

The False Facers dragged him past what looked like an old, rundown theater into an alleyway behind it. As they walked though, Terry caught a glimpse of the crooked sign on the corner. It looked like the original name had been scratched out and replaced with bright red spray paint that somehow didn't fade even after so many years.

CRIME ALLEY

The alley was remarkably tidier than the rest of Old Gotham, almost like someone had preserved it. But that was the least of Terry's worries as they rounded the corner.

Two more goons in white business suits were waiting for them, flanking their leader. Unlike her men, the Black Mask was a few inches shorter than Terry and a head shorter than her goons, but that didn't make her any less terrifying. Her face was concealed by a thick black skull mask that was made of metal instead of wood and her dirty blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail. (*)

The False Facers threw Terry to the ground on his hands and knees at Black Mask's feet. Terry tried not to get up too quickly, raising his head to meet the woman's eyes. She had her hands folded behind her back and exuded the air of someone in the middle of a business deal.

"Mr. McGinnis, so glad you could make it," said Black Mask in a would-be friendly tone.

"Not like I had a choice," said Terry, slowly – cautiously – rising to his feet.

"I apologize for my boys," said Black Mask in a faux apology. "They can be a little…excitable. But since you're hear now, we can get straight to business."

"Look, if this is about the money, I can get it later," said Terry. "I just need a little time – "

"You need a little time?" Black Mask parroted, walking in a circle around Terry like a shark that smelled blood in the water. "Do you know how many people say they 'need a little time?' Quite a few. A very rarely do they ever uphold their promises. Sometimes in need to make an example of them – " CLICK! Black Mask whipped out a pistol and pressed it to his right temple "- so that other clients don't make the same mistake."

"Look, you're a businesswoman, right?" said Terry, trying to maintain a level of calm. "We can make a deal. I hear you like people who owe you favors."

"I do like favors," Black Mask admitted. Terry withheld a sigh as she removed the pistol from his skull and stepped away. "As it just so happens, I know a way for you to clear your debt."

"That fast?" asked Terry suspiciously.

"I do research on all my clients, McGinnis," said Black Mask, rounding to him. "During my investigation, I noticed that your father is a researcher at Wayne-Powers Enterprises."

"Yeah…," said Terry slowly. He didn't like where this was going.

"There are…rumors circulating around Old Gotham that Wayne-Powers is developing a biological weapon," said Black Mask.

"B.W.s have been illegal for forty years," said Terry. "Not even military contractors are allowed to make them."

"I see you did your homework," said Black Mask, chuckling. "Yes, ever since the Stagg Act of 2015 went into effect, it was made illegal for anyone in the US. Which makes me curious to see if any of the rumors were true. Because if they are, acquiring the B.W. would make for a very lucrative business opportunity."

"You want me to break into my dad's work so you can sell a B.W. for the highest bidder?" Terry scoffed. "If you think that's happening, you might want to get that mask adjusted."

Black Mask let out a deep, exasperated sigh, shaking her head, and said, "Such a waste. Guess we're going to have to pay off your debt the old fashioned way. Boys!"

Their leader took a step back as the False Facer moved in on Terry. The young street punk looked back and forth between the white-suited goons, looking for a way out. Let's see…narrow space, high walls, goons blocking both ends of the street. Yeah, no exit. Looks like he'll have to make his own.

One of the masked thugs marched up to Terry and took a heavy swing for his head. Terry leaned out of the way, then countered with his own punch across the goon's jaw. Not very practical since they were wearing wooden masks, but it did knock him off balance. Terry rounded with another punch to the other side, then knee him in the abdomen, making his double over. Terry then grabbed the man's arm and tossed him over his shoulder. The goon yelped as he was sent soaring down the alleyway, landing face down at Black Mask's feet.

Black Mask looked down at her good, then glared at Terry. She snapped her fingers again.

One goon charged straight at him like a rampaging bull. Terry stepped aside and pushed him from behind, sending him face planting into the brick wall. He ducked underneath a third goon's swinging fist and uppercut his chin, making the man stumble. Before Terry could follow-up, another masker thug pulled him into a bear hug from behind.

The man Terry had uppercut growled in annoyance, then lunged forward and threw a punch at his stomach. Terry bended himself upwards, letting the fist fly into the man's stomach, who unconsciously released Terry after getting the wind knocked out of him. Terry wrapped his arms around the man's neck and flipped him over his shoulder into the goon in front of him, throwing them down into a pile on the ground.

Terry was doing well so far, but his luck was about to run out –

BANG!

Terry flinched as a bullet rocketed past his face, only narrowly missing his ear and hitting the wall behind him. He followed the source of the shot back to Black Mask, who was holding a smoking pistol at him.

Terry stared at the gangster, ready to move out of the way of the next shot, when two goons came up from behind and restrained his arms. As Terry struggled to break loose, a third goon punched him across the face. Followed by a second. Then a third. Then a knuckle to the stomach. Over and over, the thug beat Terry senseless until he could taste blood in his mouth –

"Hold it!" Black Mask commanded.

The goon immediately stopped and stepped aside. Black Mask walked up him, grabbing Terry by the chin and forcing his to look at her. He had a split lip, the right side of his face was starting to swell, the markings of a black eye were there, and Black Mask imaged there might be a loose tooth or two. Terry had seen better days.

"Last chance, McGinnis," said Black Mask threateningly. "You going to help us or not?"

Terry glared, then spat some blood on the cheek of her mask. The goons moved forward to resume his beating, but Black Mask held up her hand. She retrieved a dainty handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her mask clean, then folded it and passed it off to one of her men.

"I like you, McGinnis," said Black Mask, pointing her pistol at his forehead. "You have a fire in you. Too bad you never learned respect."

"Respect is earned, not given."

Black Mask turned slowly towards the end of the alleyway, as did everyone else. They heard the clatter of a cane hitting against the ground before they actually saw it. The one using it was a grizzled old man with a slight hunch in his posture. Despite pushing what seemed to be seventy years, he was still large and surprisingly well-built.

To Terry's surprise, Black Mask actually holstered her pistol and walked over to meet him halfway.

"What are you doing here, Matches?" asked Black Mask.

"I was taking a stroll through the old neighbor when I heard a commotion," said Matches in a nonchalant. "Given my profession, I was naturally curious." He leaned around and looked at Terry. "Is there a problem?"

"The kid owes us some serious creds," said Black Mask in a strangely respectful tone, like a granddaughter speaking grandfather. "We're collecting."

"I see," said Matches, tapping his cane musingly. "I don't suppose there's any reason you could let him go? He seems like a nice young man."

"He owes me fifty thousand credits," stated Black Mask.

Matches whistled impressively, and said, "That's a lot of cash…. Well, what if I were to offer you something just as valuable. Then would you let him go?"

"…It depends on what it is," said Black Mask thoughtfully.

"The same as always: information," said Matches. He reached until his pocket and pulled out a folded note, offering it to Black Mask. "As if just so happens, I found out where Animal Kingdom is manufacturing their splicing technology. If their supply was wiped out, that would mean less slicers on the streets, which would hurt the Animal Kingdom's numbers."

Black Mask told the note, read inside, and considered it for a moment. After a few seconds of silence, she folded the paper back up and tucked it into her pocket. She rounded to Terry and said, "You must have a guardian angel, McGinnis. Boys, we're leaving!"

Black Mask snapped her fingers again and the False Facers dropped Terry unceremoniously on the ground. Terry picked himself up with a pained groan as the False Facers fled the alley. She winced and held his ribs. Yeah, they were probably broken – or at least cracked. The old man – Matches – walked over and offered his hand.

"Thanks," said Terry gratefully, accepting the hand. "You really save my butt, Mr…."

"Malone," Matches introduced himself. "Matthew Malone. But everyone calls me matches."

"Terry McGinnis," said Terry, shaking Matches' hand. "That was pretty schway, the way you got Black Mask to back off like that without throwing a single punch."

"I've had a long career of dealing with low lives like her," said Matches. "The people may change, but their kind are always the same."

"Yeah, they can be a – AUGH!" Terry winced, dropping to one knee, holding his side.

"You okay, kid?" asked Matches.

"Yeah, they just…," Terry winced again, standing back up, "got a few lucky shots."

"You're in no condition to go home," said Matches in a voice that left no room for argument. "My office is nearby. We can patch you up there."

"Office" was not the word Terry would've used. It was a three-floor building that was in slightly better shape than the rest of the buildings around it. Mostly because it still had its windows intact. There was a small sign hanging lopsided on the wall next to the door that read "Malone detective Agency" in bold letters.

"You're a detective?" asked Terry, noticing the sign as they walked up the front steps.

"One of the best," Matches smiled like he knew some inside joke.

"And you're selling info to Black Mask?" said Terry questionably.

"Her, most of the gangs in Gotham, and the GCPD," said Matches. "The difference is that while I give criminals information to destroy each other, I give the GCPD to locations of their gun stashes, their drug labs, the secret meetings – "

"Smart," Terry complimented.

Matches smirked and opened the front door, letting Terry inside. He had barely closed the door behind them when a large black Great Dane came pouncing down the staircase. He got one look at Terry and immediately started snarling and barking.

"Down, Ace, he's okay," said Matches, waving his walking stick at the dog. Ace the Hound immediately stopped barking and perked up, his tail wagging against the wooden floorboards.

"Nice dog," said Terry.

"Not really," said Matches.

"Matt, is that you?"

This time it was a woman who came bounding down the stairs two steps at a time. She looked to be in her middle twenties, her hair a mop of short, shaggy brown, and her sleeveless shirt showed off the toned muscles underneath her tanned skin, meaning she was not someone Terry should mess with.

"Where the hell were you?" the woman chastised the old man. "Commissioner Bard called about that case we were running with the Wonderland Gang's new leader – oh, who's this?" she looked at Terry, only just noticing he was there. "Another stray?"

"Not quite," said Matches. Once again, it looked like they were sharing a joke only they knew. "This is Terry McGinnis. Terry, this is my assistant, Julia Pennyworth. She's a…family friend."

"Nice to meet you, Terry," said Julia, offering her hand.

"Nice to – OW!" Terry tried to reach for her hand, but winced instead.

"Oi, what's wrong?" asked Julia, concerned as he held his side.

"He had a run in with the Black Mask," Matches explained.

"Ah, say no more," said Julia understandingly. She gingerly held his arm and directed him to through the first room on the left, which was a small den with a few comfy armchairs and a surprising number of bookshelves. "Here, take a load off."

"Thanks," said Terry gratefully, sighing in relief as he sank into the chair.

"I'll go get the first aid kit," said Julia.

"And I'll get an ice packet to do something about that swelling," said Matches.

Terry offered his gratitude again before the pair left the den.

Now that he was alone, Terry took a look around the place. It was a lot fancier on the inside than it was on the outside. Besides the armchairs – which were super comfy by the way – there was a small table with a chessboard; it looked like they were still in the middle of a match. An old-fashioned oil painting hang above the wall, depicting a man and a women with their hands on a small boy's shoulders. Were those Matches' family, Terry wondered. There were four bookshelves that lined the back end of the wall, each of them filled to the brim with books of every variety –

That when Terry noticed something off. One of the bookcases was slightly more forward than the others. He leaned forward in his chair and noticed that there were also scratch marks on the floorboards, like something heavy had been moved repeatedly.

Terry looked at the doorway to make sure that Matches and Julia weren't coming back. Then he got out of his chair and walked over to the bookshelf. He knew he shouldn't touch their stuff since he was a guest, but he was just too curious not to.

Based on the grooves in the floor, Terry assumed that the bookshelf must swing out. He gripped the edges and pulled it out, the wood making a harsh grinding noise. Terry's jaw dropped when he found a elevator door hidden behind it.

"Wow, Scooby-Doo moment," Terry muttered to himself.

He pressed the call button and the doors opened with a ding. He stepped inside and looked at the panel as the doors closed. There were four buttons: G, B1, B2, B3. Terry pressed B1 and felt the elevator move. The ride only lasted a few seconds before the elevator dinged again and the doors opened. Terry stepped inside, blinking in befuddlement at what he saw.

"Holy shit…," Terry breathed.

It looked like he had stepped inside a secret underground bunker decked out with all kinds of expensive equipment Terry couldn't imagine Matches having the money for. Directly across from him was a high-tech computer system with six monitors, all of them working on something different. There was a workbench where someone was in the middle of developing some strange gadget that required a lot of wire rope. Next to it was a wall of similar gadgets, all of them coated black with red accents. On Terry's left was a raised platform made of white tiles. Terry recognized them as AR projectors – augmented reality devices that can create hard-light constructs like the ones used in the Arcades.

But what took Terry's breath away was the cylindrical display case nestled in the corner of the bunker. Behind the glass with a tall, all-black bodysuit (surprisingly around Terry's height with a silver belt, spikes on the arms, and two pointed ears poking up from the head. But the most important detail was on the suit's chest –

A red bat symbol.

"Batman…," Terry murmured softly.

He reached out to touch the glass…then suddenly found his arm being twisted behind his back.

"How did you get in here?" Julia roared, threatening to pop his shoulder. "Well?"

"I – I saw the bookcase was open and – " Terry sputtered, hissing in pain.

"That's enough, Julia!"

Matches stepped out of the elevator with Ace loyally by his side. He was holding an ice pack. Julia gave Terry a suspicious look before reluctantly releasing him. Matches hobbled over and gave Terry the ice pack.

"Keep pressing until the swelling goes down," said Matches.

"Thanks…," said Terry, holding the ice pack to his face in a daze.

"I'm sure you've already figured out who I am," said Matches with a neutral expression. "After seeing all this."

"You're him…," Terry murmured in disbelief. "You're Bruce Wayne…you're Batman!"

"Was Batman," the man known as Bruce Wayne stress, walking over to the Batsuit. "Not anymore. The Batman died forty years ago."

"So it's true?" asked Terry. "All those stories about…fright guy – "

"Scarecrow," Julia corrected. "Geez, you'd think the guy who exposed Batman would be remembered. Almost feel bad for Crane. Almost."

"With my identity exposed, I couldn't go back to being Batman," said Bruce. "To protect my friends and allies, I had to fake my death. I've been living exclusively as Matches Malone for the last forty years. The Batman…is gone."

"Except he isn't," said Terry pointedly. "Otherwise you wouldn't have built all this stuff…."

Bruce silently stared at the display case for a long moment, then said, "Julia will patch you up and give you a ride home. After that, I don't want to see you here again…."

Terry said nothing, silently staring at the old man who suddenly seemed smaller than he was. It wasn't until Julia shoved him into the elevator that Terry snapped out of his daze.

Terry's mind was still reeling as he rode passenger in Julia's car, taking the exit ramp into Neo Gotham.

After the woman had patched him up, she all but kicked him out of the house and into her car. She was pissed. She was clearly protective of the old man. She didn't speak to Terry the entire time except to ask what his address was. That was fine. Terry was content to stay out the window, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had a random encounter with Gotham's Dark Knight.

"You realize you can't tell anyone what you saw, right?" Julia finally spoke up as they entered Terry's neighborhood.

"Even if I did, nobody would believe me," said Terry.

"I'm serious," said Julia. "The old man has been through a lot. And I don't mean the whole 'secret identity exposed' thing. He's given so much to Gotham without asking for anything in return. He deserves to rest."

"Doesn't look like he's doing much resting," Terry commented.

"He's always been like that," said Julia, sighing in annoyance as they turned down Terry's street. "Grandpa Alfie said he's always been stubborn…." She suddenly trailed off, stopping the car, and peering through the windshield. "Is that your house?"

Terry looked, too. There were several GCPD police cars parked out front of the McGinnis household along with an ambulance. All their neighbors were outside, clamming behind the yellow tape, some of them even whipping out their phones to record.

"Oh no," Terry mumbled, fear bubbling in his stomach.

Terry practically kicked the door open and ran up to his house. Julia exited the car more slowly, apprehension visible on her expression. Terry shoved his way through the crowd and ducked under the police line, only to be stopped by two police officers.

"Hey, kid, stay behind the line!" shouted one of the officers, trying to push him back.

"You don't understand, my dad is in there!" yelled Terry, trying to throw them off.

"I said stay behind the line!" the officer shouted heatedly. He reached for his belt when –

"Stand down, men!" Ethen Bennet arrived just in the nick of time. "He's with me." The officers glared at Terry, then walked away with annoyed grumbles. Ethen stepped forward and touched Terry's shoulder with concern. "Terry, are you all right? What happened to your face?"

"I'm fine," said Terry, brushing his hand away. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Jokerz," Ethen answered simply. "They ransacked your house – tore through the whole place and tagged it. We think they might've been looking for you."

"Where's dad?" asked Terry worriedly. When Ethen lowered his gaze and didn't respond, Terry's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. "No…oh god, no…."

Ethen didn't try to stop him as Terry rush blindly into the building.

Julia stood on the edge of the crowd, closing her eyes in sympathy as she watched him run inside, knowing what he was going to find. She turned away as his anguished cries carried through the night.

Another good man taken by Gotham.

(*) Black Mask is based on the concept art of the cancelled Arkham game.