Batman

This version of Batman is an AU. He's closest to Bruce's Timm's Batman, with a bit of the JLA comics thrown in, Pre-New 52. As a disclaimer, I have not kept up with many of the comics after the events of New 52, nor have I seen most of the live action movies. While I'm happy to play with characters from those universes and timelines, this Bruce's own timeline will not likely include them unless we do some heavy plotting.

I also stole Bruce's dog, Ace, from old man Batman, because I can, so fite me.

The night was deep and cold, though that was typical of Gotham's winters. Fat white snowflakes fell like ash over the dark monoliths of the city's architecture, painting corners and ledges with drifting white powder. One's breath froze in thick clouds on this kind of night, and every footstep was treachery.

The smarter portion of Gotham's denizens had already crowded inside for the night, keen to warm feet by radiators and fireplaces rather than lose toes to frostbite. Despite this, there was a large white van parked in a snowdrift outside of a blocky building, one marked with a weathered sign reading, 'Gotham City General Electric'. Most of the plant's crew had gone home for the night and the majority of the building's windows were dark. But even in the best light, GCGE was a craggy eyesore beyond a tall chain link fence, which was usually locked to deter curious bypassers. The absence of that lock tonight suggested that the midnight visitors in the white van were a third party likely up to no good. Without so much as a lookout willing to brave the cold, at least not to obvious eyes, no one was being subtle about it either.

Of course, no one had ever bragged that Gotham's criminal element was smart, or that they had a very keen sense of self preservation. Likely this bunch had thought that they could take advantage of the bad weather to carry out whatever heist or plot that they had planned, entirely undisturbed and undetected under the cover of the sudden winter storm. Unfortunately for them, they were far from alone in the blue-black shadows of the power plant's soot coated walls.

Unnoticed, a deeper, darker shadow detached itself from the rest, moving lightly along the rooftop of the building before vanishing once more into the darkness from whence it had come. Had any of the men in the van had eyes strong enough to pierce the thick static of the snow, they would have seen a man stooped there above in the gloom like a living gargoyle, watching them back intently. But the long pointed ears of his cowl; the scalloped edge of his cape, so much like a bat's wings; and the hard white gleam of his inhuman eyes all served to make this creature appear far more demon than man, one only waiting for the right opportunity to swoop down upon his unwitting prey.

And yet, as the men from the van finally seemed to receive some unheard orders and began to pile out to set up a collection of delicate looking equipment around the vehicle, the man on the roof stayed exactly where he was. Instead, he reached up with a gauntleted hand to adjust something in the visor of his mask. His eyes, which a moment ago had been an eerie blank white, bled into a brilliant scarlet hue. He narrowed them into the gloom and hunched his shoulders, but otherwise, the Batman did not move.

When the time came, each soul beneath him would face justice. But first, he needed something from these men, and they were going to give it to him, whether they knew it yet or not.

Bruce had been unusually distracted this evening, likely because there was an unusual amount of paparazzi for such a small event. It wasn't that he couldn't typically handle the media's enthusiastic mobbing-- but, typically, he was also at least somewhat prepared for it. The unexpected swarm currently dogging Bruce as he attempted to escape down a comparatively unoccupied hallway left him wondering just who had tipped this lot off to his being here at the Gala tonight. Moreso, he wondered just who else might be there to have attracted the unwanted attention that he was currently enjoying.

Expecting some trouble, Bruce had been incredibly careful to keep his attendance fairly low key, after all. No, he suspected that this group had come for someone else, and he had just been the unfortunate and unanticipated bonus prize.

In fact, over eager reporters and their camera wielding cohorts had been popping out of just about everywhere all night, and each new tail had proven to be a monumental task to shake, even for him. Bruce could swear that one woman had even been hiding in a potted plant when he passed. He had only managed to lose her by convincing her that her favorite music star had been standing behind one of the ridiculous, swan shaped ice sculptures that loomed like ungainly, slowly melting dragons all over the hall.

She had found him again not ten minutes later, and the tenacious blonde who had introduced herself rapid-fire as, "Hi-Cathy-with-the-New-York-Post-Can-I-Have-a-Moment", was now currently rattling off questions about Wayne Tech's latest break in. That very topic had been both an ongoing embarrassment for Bruce Wayne and an irritating mystery that somehow continued to elude The Batman, despite all efforts, and it was the last thing that Bruce wanted to talk about at the moment with a too pushy reporter.

What was she even doing in Gotham if she worked for the New York Post? The robbery had been an irritation, but nothing so important had been stolen as to warrant any out of town attention...

"Cathy, look," Bruce started haggardly. He took a step back, hoping that she'd get the message, but the woman followed him across the marbled floor in front of the main stairs with a look in her eyes that Bruce had sometimes seen in lionesses closing in for the kill. He was willing to bet that she was a force to be reckoned with on the press room floor. He also had no desire to be on the other end of that force at the present moment. He took another step back. "I appreciate your candid interest, but really I'm just trying to enjoy the--"

Something warm and only slightly yielding stopped his retreat, and Bruce grunted in surprise. Realizing the something had been human, he grimaced and turned carefully, trying to avoid further jostling the unfortunate someone. Immediately his gaze dropped to the flute of champagne in their hands. Its bubbling contents were now spilled all over the ground, and probably all over the poor bearer's clothes too.

"I'm so sorry." A faint flush of embarrassment rose immediately to the billionaire's face, and he stooped to pick up the glass, ignoring his stalker for the moment. Bruce knew an out when he saw it. "I hope I didn't ruin anything. Can I get you another--?"

The night air was thick, hazy from pillars of greasy black smoke that boiled up from all across the city. The sullen red glow of the sky posed as a backdrop to the destruction, and made the scene look nothing short of hellish. In the shadow of a gargoyle, Batman perched and watched his city burn. He wondered to himself where to even begin. The reality of the situation was that even with all of his considerable resources coming to bear, he was running triage on a city slowly bleeding out.

When the initial quake had hit, it had left the denizens of Gotham in a city wide blackout. That alone had been enough to throw things into chaos. But then had come the water. Blackgate was all but gone, scraped from its rock by the first wave, and picked clean by the aftershocks. Batman had no idea if there had been any survivors, but if there had been, he presumed that they had made their way to the mainland and joined up with other gangs by now. There was safety in numbers, even for the criminal element.

Batman hadn’t had a chance to survey the damage to the other coastal areas of the city yet, but he predicted that they hadn’t fared much better.

The first twenty-four hours had been about locating survivors. For the size of the quake, an unprecedented 7.6 on the richter scale, the casualties had been less than he had expected, but there would still be plenty to mourn, and the funerals would have to wait.

Almost at the forty-eight hour mark, they had closed off the city entirely, quarantining the rest of New Jersey against the insanity now loose in its streets. They had blown up the bridges and blockaded any other remaining ways out with cement barriers and riot squads. Batman suspected that some of Arkham's more slippery residents would make it out anyway if they were motivated enough, but for the most part, monsters like The Joker had no intention of leaving their newfound playground.

By cutting off the city from the rest of the world, the Government had assured itself that it had effectively stopped the infection that was now Gotham where it stood. They had evacuated many of its citizens before the decision had been made-- anyone who could make it out on their own or with help, anyway.

That left behind many of the sick, and the elderly, and the disabled. As usual, society's most vulnerable were being all but culled as 'acceptable losses' in order to provide an illusion of control to their electorate, each watching the horror unfold on television screens across America while they sat safe within their own homes.

And hell had never looked so real. It was hard to tell the screams from the sirens anymore, and what mother nature hadn't razed, madness had devoured in its wake. From where Batman was standing, he could just barely make out the strip of boardwalk that had once been Amusement Mile. Now it pulsed with a sickly green glow, a carnival ride on a bad acid trip, and a massive, leering clown head stooped over its entrance, declaring, "Jokerville" in flashing neon lights.

The other criminals had staked similar claims. Penguin's Iceberg Lounge had spilled out to engulf an entire block, aided by the heat sapping technology of one Dr. Victor Fries. It had become necessary to put down one of his polar bears earlier in the week after Batman had come across it crouched over an open ribcage, stark red against the white snow, and undeniably human. The rest had been unrecognizable.

Where did he begin? Even if Batman somehow managed to round up every loose criminal and madman tonight, there was nowhere left to hold them. Blackgate was gone, and Arkham wasn't in much better shape. Hell was empty, and all the demons were here. Gotham would suffocate in their darkness.

He needed allies.

North of where Batman stood, the city was quiet, as if still holding its breath. He had stumbled across a scene of carnage there the previous night, and the gangs were still apparently avoiding it. But this had not been any kind of territory dispute, nor had the bodies at the scene been civilian-- an all too common occurrence now. No, what he had found had been the remains of Mugsy and his gang, a small fish in the bigger ecosystem of Gotham's criminal underworld, but still a formidable enough crime boss to have carved out a little niche of the city's carcass for himself.

Whoever had taken them out had been brutal and effective, almost professional. Batman hadn't found any clues left behind to aid him in identifying the culprit, but he suspected that it wouldn't be too long before they crossed paths all the same. He could use someone like that on his side, but not like this. He would not have a killer in his city.

When they met, and they would meet, Gotham's mysterious new vigilante would have a choice to make. They could stop what they were doing and learn to play nice, or they could join the rest of the criminals when the time came. Batman hoped that they would choose the wiser of the two options.