The skies of Gotham turned orange as the sun began to set; not the majestic golden glow of the sunsets of romantic novels, but the rank orange of rampant smog. The skyscrapers which dominated the city's skyline took on a menacing appearance as they became slightly obscured in the late-day haze, with their sharp angles and numerous adornments. The gothic statues and gargoyles of the tops and corners of each building seemed to come alive as the day began to turn to night, appearing as if they were ready to leap onto any unsuspecting resident unlucky enough to be on the streets at sundown.



One building was different, standing above the rest in the center of the city. Built decades after the others, with modern sensibilities in mind rather than in an attempt to live up to the city's name, Wayne Tower's simple elegance stood in utter defiance against Gotham's stubborn refusal to move on from a distant past.



Wayne Tower had been built by Bruce Wayne as he expanded his family's company Wayne Enterprises, of which he was the CEO. This made him the largest employer in all of Gotham, as well as the city's wealthiest citizen. But few knew that he was truly the most important man in Gotham's long history.



Bruce looked out over his city from the large window of his office at the top floor of the skyscraper he built. To an outside observer he would have seemed as man at the height of his powers, with his tall build, wide shoulders, and impressive three-piece suit giving him the image of a monarch surveying his kingdom. But to anyone who truly knew him, his appearance told a different story.



Beads of sweat dripped down from his hair, which was starting to grey around the temples. His breathing, which would have been normal for any other man, was noticeable, a very unusual occurrence for him. His impressive shoulders were ever-so-slightly slumped, as if he was finally starting to feel the weight of all the years he had given to this city, asking for nothing in return.



Bruce's fingers ran over the golden medallion in his hand, feeling the image ingrained onto it.



He slowly turned around, slipping the medallion into his pocket as the door to his office opened. There was no sound, but even in his current state, Bruce did not need to hear his visitors enter to know they were there. He scowled.



"I never thought it would be you."

---

"Begin."



The two combatants wore almost identical full-body white fencing uniforms and masks. The only difference was one was sized for a large, muscular male, while the other was fitted for a medium-sized athletic female.



There was no one around to watch the duel as the male combatant attacked, striking out with his saber. The female combatant stepped back as she deflected the first strike, and continued to give ground as her opponent struck a second and third time.



The larger fencer saw his chance for a quick and easy victory and put his entire body into his fourth strike.



This was exactly what the girl had been waiting for.



In a blur of motion, she spun around her opponent, and he stumbled forward, over-committing to his attack and losing his balance as his blade met no resistance. He had no time to even turn his head as her saber shot out in her first and only strike, tagging him on the small of his back.



"Point!" the referee shouted.

---

"Hey, wait up!" Brody March called out.



Stephanie Brown turned around. She and Brody had taken off their masks, but still wore their fencing uniforms.



Brody was what was called a jock. It was his family name, connections, and fortune which had gotten him into Gotham Academy, rather than his academic acumen. He was most comfortable when competing in sports, and his skills in those areas more than made up for his lackluster grades, as far as the student body was concerned, at least.



Stephanie expected Brody to be angry at his loss to her, but he was all smiles.



"That was amazing. I've never seen anyone move like that."



Stephanie gave him a half-smile in return. Her long blonde hair, which she usually let down, was still in its ponytail from their match. "It's amazing what you can do when you're underestimated."



"If we ever have a rematch, I won't be making that mistake again."



A small group of students from the track team passed them on their way to the field. Three of the runners high-fived Brody without giving Stephanie a second look.



"I'll see you guys at six-thirty!" Brody yelled after them before turning back to Stephanie.



"Hey, my folks aren't home tonight, so I'm throwing a party at my place. You should come."



"Are you sure?" she asked. "You do know I'm one of 'The Wayne Twelve.' We don't get invited to parties."



"You can consider that rule rescinded."



"So, if I were to tell the rest of the Wayne grant crowd that they're invited …"



"They can come too," Brody declared.



Stephanie's half-smile morphed into a full smile, and she nodded. "All right. Your place at six-thirty it is."

---

Night had fallen when the group of twelve students arrived at the March residence. Where Bruce Wayne lived in stately Wayne Manor and only worked in a skyscraper, the March Tower doubled as both the family home as well as place of work, the perk of owning an entire 20-story building that had once been a high-end hotel.



The music was loud, uncomfortably so. The penthouse was full of teenagers talking and mingling amongst themselves, secure in the world of wealth they had been born into.



A scrawny ginger boy with freckles and old, slightly crooked glasses stepped next to Stephanie and looked around. Not one head had turned to the door when they entered.



"Just like school, no one even notices we're here."



Stephanie scowled. She was aware of a growing number of partygoers who were glancing at them out of the corners of their eyes.



"Oh, they notice."



Her eyes focused on one couple who had been making out when her group arrived and were now engaged in a conversation in which neither one was happy. It was difficult to concentrate with the music blaring, but Stephanie was pretty sure she read the words "Wayne" and "trash" on the girl's lips.



"You made it!"



Brody was all smiles again as he approached the Wayne Twelve. "I was beginning to think you guys weren't coming."



"We're fashionably late, like all important guests should be," Stephanie replied.



Brody turned to the other eleven newcomers, who were becoming more self-conscious about their clothes upon seeing what the rich kids were wearing.



"Mi casa es su cassa. Have fun, but not too much fun," he said with a knowing wink.

---

Most of Wayne Tower's staff had gone home for the night. Senior manager Bernie Benson was among the last to leave his office. Benson had little hair left, and none on the top of his head. He had only recently stopped wearing a black toupee when Bruce Wayne informed him that he would not face mandatory retirement at the age of 65 and could remain in his position as long as he could do his job.



Bernie was pleased to see the elevator stop at the top floor before he had reached it. It wouldn't save him more than a minute or two, but it still meant he would exit the building and get home just a little bit sooner.



The janitor who came out of the elevator was young. Bernie didn't recognize him, but that wasn't too surprising. Bruce Wayne's big heart was notorious throughout the company, and it seemed that every sob story who came through the doors looking for employment found it in some form or another, even kids unqualified for anything who needed something part-time to help pay their way through college and were willing to use a mop. Bernie's continued employment was a product of that generous spirit, though he was as qualified as it was possible to be.



"Hey," the kid said. He looked uncomfortable, having not expected to find anyone still on the floor.



"Don't mind me," Bernie said as he got into the elevator. "But I want the floor in my office so clean and shiny tomorrow morning that I can see my reflection in it."



"You got it, sir," the kid replied. "It'll be so shiny you'll need sunglasses."



Bernie laughed as he pressed the button to take him to the parking garage. His office was carpeted, not that a janitor cleaning the top floor for the first time would be expected to know which office was his in the first place. But it was always fun to tease the newbies a little.



When Bernie was gone, the janitor took the mop out of his cart, but instead of starting to wipe the floor with it, he wiped the lens of the security camera in the corner above the elevators.



"Ok, they're blind, we're clear," he said, taking off his janitor's uniform.



A girl emerged from inside the janitor's cart, trying to crack her stiff neck. "Next time…" she said, a mix of exasperation, impatience, and pain in her voice.



"I'll ride in the kart," the fake janitor finished. He had moved on to the next part of their plan, removing the cover from a vent in the inner wall.



"There's not gonna be a next time," the girl said, "at least not with her."



Another girl leapt out of the vent. This one was clearly different from the other two. Where they were serious, nervous even, she was grinning from ear to ear and had a manic look in her eyes. She held up a box with torn wires sticking out of both ends and said "motion sensors are toast."



"Come on, team," she told her partners, grabbing the cart and pushing it forward, "crime is money."



This odd trio consisted of two siblings, Cullen and Harper Row, and Duela Doe. The latter was well-known in the criminal underworld, not for anything she had done, but for what her father had done. Cullen and Harper would not have agreed to work with her unless they had no other choice, and there had already been four times on this little adventure in which she had given them cause to second-guess their decision.



They approached a fancy door which bore a plaque with the name 'Bruce Wayne.' Duela examined her reflection in the plaque.



"What?" she asked when Cullen stared at her. "I've never broken into a place this fancy."



Harper ignored them as she focused on picking the lock to Wayne's office.



None of them had ever seen a CEO's office before, but they were all sure this was unusual even by eccentric billionaire standards.



The room they entered had two couches facing each other and chair in front of the large window, but no desk. In one corner stood the armor of a samurai from 15th century Japan. On the opposite wall hung several antique swords and masks from various cultures. Next to these was a bookcase filled with literary classics.



Duela laughed. "This place looks like a museum had sex with a bank vault."



"That's not what I was thinking," Cullen responded, "but yeah, also not impressed."



Harper opened a cabinet underneath the antique wall, revealing a steel safe. She took out a device which made a high-pitched whine as she attempted to crack the safe's code.



Duela fixed her gaze on one of the antiques. "Hello, how much are you worth?"



"Duela, can we focus on our plan, please?" Cullen asked.



"You mean my plan, which includes me waiting not-so-patiently for your sister to get the safe open?"



There was a whishing sound, followed by creaking, as the safe popped open. Harper frowned as she looked inside.



"Somebody beat me to it."



The other two looked over Harper's shoulder to see a safe that was empty save for an old handgun.



"Uh, I don't like this," Cullen said.



Duela reached in and grabbed the gun. "There you are, you .38-caliber cutie."



"We got paid 100K to steal an old gun?" Harper asked incredulously.



Duela lovingly caressed the pistol. "She's not just any old gun. She's the one Joe Chill used to pop Bruce Wayne's mom and dad."



She frowned as her fingers moved up the gun. "The barrel's warm."



Harper bent down and sniffed the weapon. "It's been fired recently."



"Now I really don't like this," Cullen said.



Harper shut the safe and the trio looked up. They could hear a helicopter overhead. Even Duela looked worried.



They stepped into the next room, the true office, and collectively gasped.



The window had a large, jagged hole in its center. Above the hole, in red paint the same color as blood, was written: "YOUR BAT IS DEAD"



"Oh my god," Cullen said.



The helicopter circled overhead, its searchlight moving back and forth, occasionally lighting up the office. Duela stuck her head out of the hole in the window and looked down, the others peering over her shoulders.



At that height they could not make out many details or see the surrounding blood, but there was no mistaking the body sprawled on the sidewalk below.



"We've been set up!" Duela screamed. "Go, go, go, go, go!"

---

The sight of cop cars rushing down the streets with their flashing lights and the sound of multiple sirens were commonplace in Gotham City, but it was unusual to see so many police vehicles approach Wayne Tower.



What was even more unusual was that one of these vehicles contained the city's District Attorney. But then, this was no ordinary case.



One of the policemen who were examining the body called out: "Hey, Dent, you're gonna want to see this."



Harvey Dent suppressed a shudder as the body was turned over. The three-piece suit and white shirt were stained with blood. The eyes were still open, and the face even seemed to bear a slight smile.



But the face was partially obscured by a mask Harvey knew all too well, a mask that while broken in several places by the fall from the top of a skyscraper, was instantly recognizable thanks to the pair long, pointed ears sticking up from the head.



"Bruce," Harvey whispered, looking up at the building from which Gotham's most famous citizen had fallen.

---

Two policemen were already coming out of the elevator when the criminal trio ran out of Bruce Wayne's office.



One of the officers shouted: "Freeze! Stop right there!"



Cullen froze, but the girls continued running straight at the police officers. The first officer had barely drawn his gun when Duela grabbed his wrist and began repeatedly striking him in the head. He dropped his weapon and Duele hit him with it one last time, knocking him out. She then used the gun to bludgeon the second policeman, knocking him down so Harper could deliver a kick to the head which sent him into unconsciousness as well.



The immediate threat dealt with, Cullen bent down and took out the first officer's radio. "Suspects spotted entering north stairwell," he said into the device in a thick Gotham accent. He proceeded to do the same with the other officer's radio, dropping the accent and putting on a deeper voice. "Copy that: Have visual confirmation. North stairwell, north stairwell."



A voice on the other end said: "All units, converge on the north stairwell."



They ran to the south stairwell, encountering no further obstacles on their way out of the building.



"We need a car," Harper said. She spotted one of the cop cars from which the police had entered the tower and began moving towards it.



"What, are you crazy?" Cullen demanded. "They'll find us for sure if we take a police car!"



"Just act casual," Duela said. The police had not yet established a true perimeter. Otherwise they would have been spotted and arrested the moment they left the building. A crowd had begun to gather on the front side of the tower where what police who were still outside were congregated, drawn by the commotion and eager to see the body of Bruce Wayne. Carefully, they walked around the building and joined the growing crowd.

---

Harvey could not look away from Bruce's face. The billionaire was one of his best friends, and the vigilante was his most trusted ally in bringing order and safety back to Gotham. But in all these years, he had never realized the truth, not until now, when the broken mask and lack of black eye shadow revealed the face of both Gotham's Dark Knight and most notorious playboy.



One of the policemen touched his shoulder, and Harvey looked up. "There's too many people around. You should go before something happens."



Harvey stood up and turned to the crowd. The police had their hands full keeping the civilians back. Many were taking pictures and videos on their phones, but a few had actual cameras, and the flashes were almost blinding.



One girl caught his attention as she pushed her way to the front. She was young, no older than 17, and had dyed her hair a shade between red and purple., indicating that she was in some sort of punk phase.



The girl titled her head as she took in the sight of the body, utterly fascinated by it. After a few moments, she noticed that Harvey was staring at her. She lifted her hand and smiled at him, giving him a small wave before disappearing back into the crowd.

---

The party was going quite well, mostly. The twelve newcomers were no longer being stared at by anyone and were now being entirely ignored. This suited them just fine, as they were free to enjoy the refreshments and explore the apartment at their leisure.



Brody's ex-girlfriend Heather approached him, a glass of champagne in hand. "You actually invited the Wayne Twelve," she said.



"Yeah, why?" Brody asked. "What's the problem?"



Heather glanced at Stephanie, who was one of the only people there pouring herself a glass of soda instead of alcohol.



"I think they've gotten enough charity and don't need anymore."



"It's a party, not a charity ball," Brody insisted.



"Yeah, whatever. I'm just saying, you could do a lot better."



A girl across the living room held up her phone and yelled: "Hey, Wayne brats! Guess what?"



Most of the group ignored her, having learned not to take the bait of their more well-to-do classmates. Stephanie glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, being careful not to betray too much interest.



"Your benefactor's dead!"



Immediately, all eyes turned to her, and then people began pulling out their own smartphones.



"Holy crap, Bruce Wayne really bit it," one boy said.



"It says here he was murdered."



"Thrown off the top of his own building. What a way to go."



"Who'd want to kill Bruce Wayne?"



"Half the rich women in Gotham, probably. A lot of the rich men too."



Stephanie glanced over the shoulder of the boy standing in front of her, reading the news article on his phone as best she could at that angle and distance.



"I bet it was one of those criminals he hired," someone said. "My dad says Wayne cheeps out by hiring people when they're released from jail. He pretends that he's being altruistic, but really, it's just so he can get away with paying them really low salaries."



"Hey," Stephanie said loudly, "a man is dead. Show some respect."



"All right, everyone calm down," Brody said, walking into the middle of the room in an attempt to take charge. "This is a party, not a funeral. I don't want to hear anymore talk about dead people."



Most of the partygoers put their phones away, and any discussions on the death of Bruce Wayne continued only in whispers.



Brody went over to Stephanie. "Sorry about that. I was worried a fight might break out."



"Don't worry," Stephanie said, handing her half-full cup to him. "I was just leaving."

---

Widowstone Creek was a run-down neighborhood in one of Gotham's outer boroughs. Much like the rest of the city, it had a glorious past before falling on hard times. Petty crime was high, with muggings and stick-ups being regular occurrence. Three street gangs constantly fought over territory and illicit drugs and guns were sold on practically every block.



The neighborhood had two things going for it. It had seen only two super-villain incidents in the previous decade, one of the lowest rates of any part of Gotham. And its housing prices were the cheapest in the city.



That last factor was the reason Stephanie lived in Widowstone Creek.



Two boys were leering at her from across the street. One's arms and face were covered in tattoos and his smile showed a missing tooth, while the other had dyed his hair green and made it into a spiky mohawk.



Stephanie was familiar with those two and the gang they belonged to. She was surprised to see them back on the street so soon after they had been sent to jail, but then, criminals always did find their way back into crime in Gotham.



As she took out her house key, Stephanie turned her head and gave the pair an intense glare to ensure they did not get any ideas. With certain people, one had to let them know that one was not prey.



"Mom, I'm home!" she called out as she quickly shut and locked the door behind her. "Mom?"



Stephanie found Crystal Brown lying on the couch in front of the TV. The middle-aged woman was passed out, two empty bottles of beer and a box of pills lay on the floor in front of her.



Stephanie scowled and shook her head before bending down to pick up the bottles. The TV was still on, and Stephanie froze as the bat-image with was the symbol of Batman appeared.



"Gothamites received a second shock tonight following the sudden death of Bruce Wayne," the news anchor on the screen said. "In addition to billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and humanitarian, we can add vigilante and superhero to the list of roles Wayne played. The police and the mayor's office confirmed this evening that Wayne was in fact the legendary Batman."



The beer bottles fell from Stephanie's grasp and shattered on the floor. Crystal snorted in response to the sound and fell back asleep.



Stephanie almost collapsed and would have fallen onto the couch her mother not already been there. She stood frozen in shock as the words 'Batman Dead' flashed across the screen, taking short labored breaths as the color left her face.



It took over ten seconds for Stephanie to begin to move, but when she did, it was with astonishing speed, running straight into her room.



Stephanie bent down and reached under her bed, pulling out a wide metal box with a lock keeping it shut. Her trembling hands fumbled with the combination the first time, and it took two attempts to get the box open.



What she pulled out was the last thing anyone would have expected to be in her possession. It was a boomerang, made of a completely black metal, three inches long and eight and half inches wide. The inside of the boomerang was carved into four scallops that looked exactly like the wings of a bat.



Stephanie sat on the floor in front of her bed and held the batarang to her heart. She wanted to scream, but she could not. There was no one around to comfort her, only a drunk woman on the couch and two gang members outside who she could not risk giving any ideas. Stephanie bowed her head, droplets of water falling onto the batarang as she sobbed in silence.

---

"What the hell were you thinking?" Harvey demanded.



Mayor Hamilton Hill rubbed his forehead. Being the chief executive of a city like Gotham was an often-thankless job. There were no magic bullets to fix all of the city's longstanding problems, and no end to complaints from every kind of person imaginable, from special interest groups to the police to fellow politicians such as the city's district attorney.



"The killers wanted the fact that Bruce was Batman to be publicized! By signing off on revealing that to the public, we played right into their hands – not to mention told every criminal and crazy in the city that it's open season!"



"What would you have me do, Harvey? Lie to everyone?"



"You could have at least consulted with me, given us a chance to prepare for repercussions of everyone realizing that Gotham doesn't have its protector anymore."



Hill stood up from his desk and looked out of his window. "Its protector. You and I were supposed to have that role, weren't we?"



"Sir?"



"For decades now, justice, hope, all the things Gotham needed, came only from the shadows. We all counted on someone whose face we never saw, whose name we never knew. Bruce lied to the whole world, and the world loved him for it."



"The death of Batman is the end of an era. Maybe it's time to stop relying on the shadows and start trusting the people with the truth. Maybe that's the only way to truly save the city."



"A noble sentiment, coming from a politician," Harvey said under his breath.



"What was that?"



"Nothing, sir." Harvey turned to leave. "I'd better get back to work. We're going to see the biggest crime wave in Gotham in 20 years."



"I wish you luck, for both our sakes. If you can't get control of the situation, my reelection goes up in flames."



"I'm glad to know I can count on your support," Harvey said dryly as he closed the door to the mayor's office behind him.

---

"Miss Brown, could I see you in my office?"



Stephanie stopped. "Mr. Millicheck?"



"I said I wished to speak with you, Miss Brown."



Stephanie was nervous as she took her seat in front of the headmaster's desk. Being called to the principal's office was never a good sign, especially not at a school where they called them 'headmaster.'



"Are you all right, Miss Brown? You look like you've had a hard time recently."



Her eyes were dry and red, and had bags under them.



"I'm ok," she said. "I just took the news kind of hard."



"Yes. Many of us did. I can't say that Bruce was a model student, but he certainly left an impression."



"Am-am I in trouble?"



"Not yet."



"Not…yet?"



Millicheck sat down. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You need to keep out of trouble."



"I don't understand."



"There are those in the school administration who don't want you associated with this institution."



"Why? I earned that scholarship."



He nodded. "You did, but you bring with you some … unfortunate associations."



"Half the students have parents who have done something illegal-"



"We've never had a student who was the child of one of these-these supercriminals. Gotham Academy has maintained its reputation by keeping that world far outside these walls. If you didn't have Wayne fighting for you, you're test scores wouldn't have mattered."



Stephanie's draw dropped.



"Bruce Wayne put his foot down when certain board members attempted to use your father as an excuse not to admit you. He threatened to cancel the scholarship program entirely, as well as withdraw other funds the school receives from the Wayne Foundation. He was quite adamant that you be judged on your own merits and not for the sins of your father."



Stephanie had to take several deep breaths. Her eyes seemed to grow wider with each passing moment as she struggled to process what she was learning.



"Bruce Wayne … did that?"



"Do you see the situation you are in now? With Wayne gone, so is your protection. There are powerful people who will be looking for any excuse to have you expelled. Your record must be completely spotless if you are to remain a student here."



Stephanie did not seem to hear him. She stared off into nothing.



Millichek rose from his chair and walked over to her. "Look, classes will be cancelled for the funeral, and we've reserved a spot close to the grave from the faculty and students who'll attend. You can thank him then."



Stephanie closed her eyes and exhaled as she returned to herself. "I … I understand, sir. Thank you for warning me."

---

Bruce Wayne's funeral would have been a major event on its own. Batman's funeral was the largest and most widely televised the country had seen since JFK was shot. Tens of thousands of people lined the streets along the funeral procession. So many lives had been touched by the caped crusader or his alter ego, so many had been saved, or changed.



Harvey saw many signs, hand-drawn by children or adults. Drawings and paintings of Batman or the bat-symbol. One sign, held by a boy who couldn't have been older than eight, showed the Bat-Signal shining in the sky along with the words: "Batman Forever."



Gotham's district attorney shook his head. For a moment, the boy holding the sign looked to him like the spitting image of the photograph of eight-year-old Bruce Wayne which dominated the front page of all local newspapers the day after the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne.



It was such a simple motivation, so obvious in hindsight. How had Harvey and everyone else missed it?



The roads had been cleared, and they had no trouble reaching the cemetery. The mayor was not part of the motorcade. He arrived earlier in secret, out of fear that one of Batman's many enemies would attack the procession in one last bid to get revenge on the Dark Knight. Harvey had it on good authority from the police that no criminal elements were plotting to attack the funeral, but many crooks were planning to take advantage of so much of the city gathering along the funeral route to commit robberies elsewhere. Police were stationed in otherwise empty areas for that very reason.



They parked and walked through the cemetery, toward the plot where Bruce's parents had been buried so long ago. Harvey had barely gotten out of his car when Detective Ford approached him from behind.



"What is it?" Harvey asked. He wasn't a fan of Ford, but he didn't dislike him either. The man had shockingly little imagination for a detective, which went double for a detective in a city as wild and wacky as Gotham often was. But to his credit, Ford's never seemed like his pride was hurt whenever Batman solved a crime in such a way that proved his assumptions about the case wrong.



"Got an anonymous tip on where Wayne's killers might be holed up," Ford said.



Harvey turned to him, and for the first time since he found his friend's body, the fierce, no-nonsense district attorney who could spend hours and hours standing before a judge and jury convincing them that there was no doubt a criminal needed to be behind bars was back.



"Good."

---

Wads of cash fell out of the bag, sprawling out all over the table.



Cullen fought back bile as he watched the others begin to divvy up the money. "Guys, th-this is blood money."



"This is the money that is finally going to get you and me out of Gotham," Harper assured him. "And we didn't kill anyone."



"An entire city thinks we killed Batman, which is exactly what whoever set us up wanted," Cullen said. "Why else would they pay us all this money up front?"



"That's your complaint?" Duela asked. "Really, that I didn't get the money on an installment plan?"



"You didn't even get their name," Harper pointed out.



"Oh, well what was I supposed to do? Ask for an ID? A gun license? In crime, people who hire you to do something illegal usually don't want it traced back to them."



"So it only traces back to us," Harper said angrily.



Cullen glanced at his watch. "Funeral's starting. If we want to get out of here, now's our best, and probably only, chance."

---

Harvey didn't pay attention during the mayor's speech. Hill had never met with Batman and was never more than an acquaintance of Bruce Wayne. He was much closer to Lincoln March, Wayne's biggest competitor in the Gotham business world. March himself stood close to the mayor the whole time.



Lincoln March stood at the top of the list of people who would have benefited from the sudden death of Bruce Wayne, or he would have if not for the revelation that Wayne was Batman. That previously unknown detail complicated every aspect of the investigation and made narrowing down the number of people who had motive impossible.



With any luck, that anonymous tip would pan out and the entire episode could be put to rest. It would be good for the city to bring the killers to justice as quickly as possible.



Harvey looked at March, whose gaze seemed to focus on the area where the students and faculty of Gotham Academy were gathered to pay their respects to Bruce Wayne. Harvey was not surprised at all to see March's son standing at the front of that group.



He was surprised, however, to see the blonde girl who was standing next to Brody March. Lost in her own thoughts, she did not notice that the eyes of Gotham's district attorney had fallen upon her.



When the mayor finished his speech, it was Harvey's turn to speak. He stepped up next to the casket and fought down a gulp. This was the part he had been dreading the most.



"I confess that I am at a loss for words," Harvey began. "In some ways, I probably knew Bruce Wayne better than almost anyone, having been friends with both Bruce and Batman. But now, I feel like I never truly knew the man at all."



"Bruce was always a man of masks. The face he put on at parties, that of the rich playboy without a care in the world, was never the real him. That much I always knew. When we talked, the conversation was never about women or money or where he was going on vacation next. It was always about the problems facing Gotham and how his money could be used to fix those problems.



"Because of the playboy image he cultivated, most people thought Bruce had little to nothing to do with the charities of the Wayne Foundation. But in fact, he was personally involved in the establishment of every new fund. In hindsight, I can now see how the cases he encountered as Batman influenced each new charity he initiated. He did not merely fight crime, but truly sought to eliminate it as its root.



"A lot of people thought former Commissioner James Gordon was crazy for trusting a vigilante. By the time I became district attorney there was no longer such a stigma attached to working with Batman. Gordon and I both quickly realized that Batman did not fight crime because he enjoyed beating up the poor and the mentally unwell. We both saw that this was a person who cared deeply about his fellow man, even the criminals he stopped.



"Many times, Batman would come to me and ask that I seek a lighter sentence for a criminal he had stopped. He would tell me that this person was not a criminal at heart, but someone who was desperate or someone who just needed a chance to do better. Sometimes I listened, and sometimes I didn't. There were those who truly believed were evil to their core, but Batman believed they could be something more. Many of those people went on to work for Wayne Enterprises, proving him right about their capacity for change.



"So, if there is one thing which I believe we can learn from the life of Bruce Wayne, it's to have hope for a brighter future. Everything he did, as Bruce or as Batman, was done to move Gotham a little bit closer to that brighter tomorrow he envisioned. And if we can all show the kind of growth he believed even the worst of us were capable of, that future will be here sooner than we realize. I can think of no better way to honor his memory than by creating a better tomorrow by being the best versions of ourselves."

---

Several swat teams converged on the abandoned warehouse where the trio was holed up. They were backed up by many dozens of officers who had established a perimeter around the building, a far more complete and professional effort to cut off any escape rout than had been made at Wayne Tower.



There was nothing Duela, Harper, or Cullen could do as heavily armed and armored swat officers kicked down every door to the building at the same time and pointed their weapons at them, but that did not mean that they would not try. Duela put up a good fight, even managing to steal one officer's rifle and strike two more with it before she was tackled by multiple policemen. Harper got in a few good hits on the closest policeman to her as well. Only Cullen put his hands on his head and did not resist being arrested.

---

Stephanie waited until most of the mourners and onlookers had left before approaching the casket and placing a single red rose on top of it.



She had not meant to linger there, but her legs would not move and her heart beat fast in anticipation, making her realize that deep down, she was expecting to see the coffin open and Batman emerge, or to see that there was nothing inside. In her heart, she did not believe that Batman was truly gone, that this time he had not found yet another clever way to cheat death.



"What did you want from me?" she whispered to his ghost.



"How are you doing, Miss Brown?"



Stephanie was shocked out of her reverie by the words of the district attorney, who had moved beside her.



"I'm surprised you remember me, Mr. Dent."



"That was a pretty unusual case, even for Gotham."



"I suppose it was."



"That was a very brave thing you did," Harvey said, turning to her. "Thanks to your testimony, the entire Carson gang is in prison and we finally got your father sent to Blackgate instead of Arkham."



"At least something good came from everything that happened. I wish I could forget the whole thing."



"That's a Gotham Academy uniform, isn't it? How'd you get into the most elite and expensive school in Gotham?"



"A Wayne scholarship."



"Right. I remember now. Bruce mentioned that he was setting up a fund so disadvantaged students could attend. He put a lot of money into fixing's Gotham's educational system the last few years. I'm glad to see you were able to benefit."



"I guess. I was one of twelve."



"The way Bruce explained it, the test students had to take to get that scholarship was extremely tough and designed to ensure that Gotham's most elite minds didn't slip through the cracks because of bad schools or poor backgrounds."



"How do I know I really earned it, and didn't just get in because Batman knew who I was through my father?"



"I doubt that's the case. If Bruce didn't think you could handle Gotham Academy he would have arranged for you to be able to attend one of those new charter schools he funded."



Tears welled up in Stephanie's eyes again, making her look down to hide her face. She had told herself that she was done crying, and was angry at herself for not being able to keep that promise.



"Damn it."



"What's wrong?" Harvey asked.



"I just – this is gonna sound so stupid, but … ever since I was a little girl, I always had this dream, this fantasy … that I'd be adopted by Batman and taken away from this life of drugs and crime and poverty. And now I find out that Batman did more to ensure I have a future than my real parents ever did – but I didn't know until after he died."



"He was your real-life Hogwarts letter."



"Yeah."



"I'm sorry. We think we're close to catching the killers, if it's any consolation."



"I sure don't envy whoever you're sending to catch them."



"What do you mean?"



Stephanie paused as her tears stopped, and she set her eyes on the casket with a look of pure determination.



"Anyone who's skilled enough to take down Batman is not someone to be trifled with."



She stepped away, and Harvey looked back to the casket. He felt a newfound concern for the policemen who had been sent to capture the suspected killers, as well as a worry that even if they were brought in, it would only be the beginning of a case which would fester like an open wound upon the city.

---

By the time Stephanie came home, the news had moved on from its live coverage of the funeral to the aftermath.



"Widespread looting took place across the city today as police were spread thin during the funeral of Bruce Wayne, who was also Batman," the anchor said.



"The mutant gang, emboldened by the Dark Knight's demise, claimed responsibility for a series of arsons in the Narrows. Several people were hospitalized for smoke inhalation, and one man was killed in the violence. According to police, the man attempted to stop the mutants himself by pretending to be Batman. He wore a Batman costume with hockey pads for added protection. Unfortunately for him, the costume's cape got stuck on the fire escape he leapt from when he attempted to face the mutants and he landed on his face next to them. The slipup proved fatal, as he was immediately set upon by the gangsters, who beat him to death."



Her cohost continued: "Experts are warning that this is just the beginning of what is expected to be a major crime-wave as criminal elements become more active following the death of Batman. Authorities have called on citizens to call the police if they see something and not to take the law into their own hands as today's Batman impersonator did to such tragic results."



Stephanie turned the TV off and went to her room. She quickly removed her school uniform and changed into a tank top and exercise pants before re-opening her door. Near the top of the doorway hung a metal bar she hand installed long ago. There was no need to close her door to hide what she was doing; her mother would not notice or care.



Stephanie grabbed the bar with both hands and pulled herself off the ground until her chin was above the bar.

---

"We got em, Mr. Dent," Detective Ford said. "Why not announce it?"



"I want to be thorough about this, especially after Batman's identity was revealed to the press so quickly," Harvey said as we looked over the mugshots of their three suspects. "You really think a bunch of teenage punks like this killed The Batman?"



"They can fight," Ford said. "The girls, at least. Four swat officers injured in the bust. That's nothing to scoff at."



"Still, this is Batman we're talking about."



"Yeah, but the guy was pushing sixty. Maybe he wasn't as good as he was 20 years ago."



"Maybe," Harvey conceded.

---

Ford opened Duela's file. "Born in Arkham. In and out of juvie. Back in again. Petty theft, grand larceny, assault, assault…"



He threw the file to the side. "Assault."



"And that's just the stuff you know about," Duela said, giving him a mischievous grin. "I would like to speak with my legal counsel."



"Then you shouldn't have shattered her kneecap," Ford said.



"She shouldn't have tried to get me to plead guilty to something I didn't do."



"We've got your prints on the gun that killed Bruce Wayne. Not to mention the pile of money we found you with. So, who paid you? The Cascimentos? The McKillens?"



"I don't know," Duela said angrily.



A buzzer sounded as Harvey entered the interrogation room. He held out a playing card and put in on the table in front of Duela. It was a joker card.



"The police found this on you. So, is it true? Are you really the Joker's daughter? Is that why you murdered Batman?"



Ford grinned. Whatever Harvey's doubts about the case, he would not go easy on these kids, nor would he ignore what the evidence said.



"Wait," Duela said, looking at Ford. "You're saying I did it for the money." She turned to Harvey and said, "and then you're saying I did it for revenge. So, let me get this straight. Somebody paid me to do something that you say I would have happily done for free?"



"I mean, I'm not a big, fancy lawyer, I'm just a girl with two working kneecaps. But you two might want to get your stories straight before you take this to a judge."



Harvey sat down next to Ford. "You're right. You're not a big fancy lawyer. If you were, you'd know everything you just said is wrong."



"Those two motivations are hardly exclusive," he explained. "You have no murder in your record beforehand. Perhaps your desire for revenge is what allowed you to cross that line this time, and the money simply made the decision easier."



"Moreover," he continued, "your motivation is immaterial at this point. We have the literal smoking gun with your fingerprints on it, as well as the money you were paid for the job. That's enough for any jury."



Harvey put his hands together. "We already have everything we need to put you away for life, even without all the other crimes you committed. The only thing that can possibly help you now is that you're a small fish in this pond, and I want the big fish. I want the people who paid you to kill Batman."

---

"Harper Row," Harvey read from her file. "Straight As, honor roll, but seven months before graduation, you dropped out. Unlike you, I didn't take AP calculus, so maybe you can do the math for me."



"It's not math, it's history," Harper said. "Mom left, dad couldn't beat on her anymore, so he turned to his kids. He didn't have a problem with bisexual chicks in his porn, but having one under his roof was another story."



"I had to get me and my brother out of there," she declared.



"Your brother?" Ford asked skeptically.

---

"My name is Cullen Row."



"Really?" Ford asked. "Because it says on your birth certificate-"



Harvey interrupted him. "Don't deadname the kid."



"Fine, I got another dead name for him: Bruce Wayne!"



"Ford," Harvey said, "take a walk."



The detective scoffed as he rose and left the room.



"Sorry about that," Harvey said. "From what your sister told me, it sounds like you got enough of that from your dad."



Cullen fought back tears as he responded. "Look, I- know what you're doing. This-this is building trust through performative allyship."



"Or maybe I'm just not a dick," Harvey retorted. "And maybe I know that you are not a killer."



"No," Cullen said, "just desperate for money. And then Duela just pirouettes her way into the Union Street soup kitchen with a plan, a one-time robbery."



"And you didn't know that the thing she really wanted to take was Bruce Wayne's life?" Harvey asked.



"No, I-" Cullen stammered.



"I can make a jury believe that," Harvey said.



"But-you can't make me believe that," Cullen protested, "because it's not what happened! You're just trying to turn us against each other!"



Harvey shook his head and had to stifle a yawn. He'd been working for far too long that day. "I'm just trying to get the truth."

---

"It was me," Harper declared. "I killed Bruce Wayne."



Harvey leaned forward. This was the last thing he had expected her to say.



"I'll sign whatever confession you want, but my brother walks," she insisted.



"Who paid you the money?" Harvey asked.



Harper shook her head, and her voice cracked. "I don't know."



Harvey stood up. "Then we don't have a deal."



As he left, Harper banged her hands against the table and screamed.

---

Ford had a donut in hand when he found Harvey sitting outside the interrogation room.



"What do you think?"



"I don't like it at all," Harvey replied. "I could believe that Duela pulled the trigger. We have her prints on the gun. But why are the other two defending her? They've got no reason to lie for her sake and everything to gain by giving her up."



"Maybe she's got something on them. Or maybe they're just teenagers who think they're smarter than everyone even though they're stupid."



Harvey scowled. "Maybe, but my gut tells me this isn't as cut and dry as it looks."



"The evidence is overwhelming."



Harvey looked to the side in thought. "Bruce…and Batman, told me to always follow my gut."

---

Stephanie sat in front of one of the school library computers, staring at an article on the arrests made in connection with the murder of Bruce Wayne. The pictures of the three suspects dominated the screen in a manner more suited to a tabloid than the Gotham Gazette, the most prestigious newspaper in the city.



She scowled as she scrolled through the article. The author or editor presented the suspects as if they had already been tried and found guilty. The words 'alleged' or even 'accused' did not appear once, with every publicized detail depicted as a stone-hard fact.



Stephanie flipped open her phone and with a glance around to make sure no one was looking at her before dialing. The phone rang and rang without going to voicemail.



"Come on, Dinah, pick up," she whispered. She hung up and dialed again.



"Is that a flip phone?"



Stephanie started and nearly dropped her phone as Brodie appeared behind her.



"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."



"What do you want?" Stephanie asked tersely.



"If you're gonna use your phone in school, you need a better hiding place. I have three places on campus where I can get away with being on my phone as much as I want."



"Thanks for the advice."



"How old is that phone, anyway?"



"What, have you never seen a flip phone before?"



"No, actually. I didn't realize they still made them."



Stephanie glanced up at the ceiling, which was adorned with paintings and chandeliers worth more than her house. There was no point in having such decorations in a school other than to flaunt the wealth of the institution and its students and alumni.



"In the real world there are a lot of people who can't afford fancy smartphones or just don't want a phone that doubles as a computer."



Brodie looked over her shoulder at the computer screen. "Crazy, isn't it? The Joker's daughter killed Batman."



"It's bullshit is what it is," Stephanie said angrily.



Brodie looked at her in shock. He had never heard Stephanie engage in profanity like that before.



"There is no way three kids our age killed Batman. If they had that kind of skill, they'd never be arrested so easily."



"So what, you think they're being framed?"



"Exactly."



Brodie stared at her for a few moments. "Did you … know Bruce Wayne? You're taking this really hard."



Stephanie closed the browser and stepped away from the computer. "Sorry. Forget I said anything."

---

Cullen was brought back to the cell where Duela and Harper were being held. He spent the most time in interrogation because the police had decided he would be the most likely to break and give up the others.



Duela gave him the stink-eye. "So, you convince them you're too innocent to kill anyone yet? You're lucky I know you're too spineless to sell us out."



"Hey, leave him alone!" Harper yelled, coming between them.



"Harper, I don't need you to fight all my battles for me," Cullen said.



"I'm not," she insisted.



"Then why'd you try to cut a deal to save me?"



"Hey! What deal?" Duela yelled, grabbing Cullen's arm. "You're gonna say I pulled the trigger?"



"I don't have to!" Harper yelled back. "Your prints are all over the damn gun!"



Duela grabbed Harper by the shoulders and head-butted her before throwing her into the prison bars. Cullen tried to grab Duela, but she kicked him in the side. This gave Harper a moment to recover, and she leapt on top of Duela, knocking them both to the ground as they began to hit each other repeatedly while screaming.



Two police officers heard the commotion and ran to their cell. "Break it up! Settle down!" the first officer yelled as he opened the cell door.



The officers began hitting the three prisoners with their batons, even Cullen. Duela and Harper fought back for a few moments but were quickly overwhelmed.



Detective Ford arrived just as the fight was brought under control. He spat in disgust. "Get these animals cuffed and stuffed."

---

Stephanie was once again using the metal bar in her room. This time, she was doing a form of one-armed pull-ups, her left arm holding onto a strap hanging from the bar while her right hand held onto the bar itself. She grunted in pain from the extreme effort it took to pull her body up high enough so that her chin was above the bar.



At the end of her count, Stephanie let go of the bar and let herself drop, her feet making a loud thud against the floor. She took two deep breaths and wiped the sweat from her brow before reaching up and removing the bar from its place on her doorpost.



"Steph?" Crystal called as she came from the kitchen holding an empty pill bottle. Stephanie quickly hid the bar behind her back.



"I need you to run down to the drugstore. I have to get a refill on these," the older woman said. "Are you going out later?"



"Mom, are you sure you should be taking so many? You're going through a bottle a week," Steph said.



"I need these!" Crystal yelled. "I'll get sicker without them! Do you want me to be a wreck all the time? You going out later or not?"



Stephanie's hand tightened on the metal bar held behind her back. "Yeah. I'm going out soon."

---

Duela, Cullen, and Harper were led in handcuffs to a police van. As they were seated, an officer attached their handcuffs to the floor with a chain.



The officer left and shut the door, and Duela grinned at Harper. "Great job back there. You made it look very convincing."



"Oh, I've been thinking about clawing your face off for a while," Harper retorted. Duela winked, showing off a long scratch Harper had given her above her left eye.



"Everyone got their trinket?" Duela asked, pulling out a pin she had grabbed from the shirt of one of the officers who broke up their fight in the cell. Harper opened her mouth and spat out a GCPD label she had been hiding in her cheek. Cullen likewise produced a pin.



The van doors opened again, and Detective Ford and a masked policeman with a rifle entered and sat down next to them.



Ford was ecstatic to get the three of them out of the GCPD headquarters. "All aboard the Blackgate Express.



The van began to move, and, escorted by four police cars, made its way into the Gotham night.



Ford dozed off quickly despite the blaring sirens of the van's escort, and the masked officer kept his eyes trained on the driver, allowing Duela to begin attempting to pick her handcuffs. Unfortunately, her pin was not the right size or shape, and all she ended up doing was creating a metallic noise that alerted Ford.



"What are you doing?" he demanded.



"Well, I'm trying to get these stupid handcuffs undone with this damn pin," Duela said, "but it's not working."



The masked policeman stood up in response and looked down at her.



"Cullen and Harper had no problem getting theirs off," she said.



"What?" Ford yelled as Cullen kicked the masked officer. Harper grabbed Ford's wrist, preventing him from being able to point his gun at any of them. Cullen seized one of their police batons and hit Ford over the head with it, causing him to drop his weapon.



While the twins dealt with Ford, Duela was able to grab a bottle of mace from the belt of the masked officer and spray him in the face with it. Harper tossed her label over to Duela, and the other girl was finally successful in undoing her handcuffs.



The driver of the van heard the fight, but was unable to do anything more than look back as it played out. Duela and the masked officer were now wrestling over the officer's taser, causing it to go off. The projectile shot through the gap in the metal partition between the front and back and shocked the driver, causing him to spin out and the van to roll onto its side.



The four police cars stopped and eight officers emerged with their guns drawn and approached the back of the van.



"Come out with your hands up!" the officer in the front ordered.



One of the doors to the back of the van opened vertically, and Detective Ford began to crawl out, bleeding profusely from a head wound. "Don't shoot!" he yelled, "she's got my gun!"



Duela emerged behind Ford, holding the weapon to his head. "And if you don't all back off, I'm gonna give him back the bullets!"



"You're surrounded!" the other officer said. "We will fire!"



"What a coincidence, so will I!" Duela yelled back.



"Just let us go, and no one gets hurt," Cullen said as he and Harper emerged as well. "We didn't kill anyone, and we don't want to start now."



"So why resist now?" Ford asked.



"Are you kidding?" Harper responded. "We know exactly what's going to happen when we get to Blackgate. Whoever set us up is going to silence us forever."



"You've got that right," Ford whispered as he grabbed Duela's arm and twisted it, causing her to drop the gun. He picked up his weapon and backed off, putting some distance between them as he pointed the gun at Duela.



"Dent was right," he said. "You punks really couldn't have killed Batman. All the more reason to get rid of you now before people get a chance to see it."



"They're all in on it," Cullen exclaimed. Ford was flanked by the other eight officers, all of whom were pointing their guns directly at the trio.



"Your little escape attempt just made my job a whole lot easier," Ford said triumphantly.



He clicked his gun and his finger began to tighten on the trigger, the barrel still pointed at Duela's head.



"No hard feelings, kid."



Something struck his hand, just before he could fire, knocking the gun from his grip. All eyes turned to see a black boomerang with bat-scallops come to rest on the ground.



The police had no time to react as a figure barreled into them. At, first, all anyone could make out was a blur of purple moving through the officers like a tornado. Two were down before the figure came to its first stop.



The figure wore a dark purple costume that blended into the night, with a black mask and utility belts around its waist and left thigh. The eyes of its black, full-face mask were largely covered by a hood which connected to a long, flowing cape the same deep purple as the body. In its hands it held a long metal bo staff.



Two of the officers who were still standing managed to point their guns at the figure, which somersaulted over one of the police cars to strike them with the staff. The figure pirouetted, spinning the staff around to strike at distance and with tremendous force.



The masked and caped figure continued to spin at it launched against the remaining armed officers always keeping out of their reach as they fell before the bo staff. Finally, it turned to Ford, who had been left for last since he had been disarmed first and therefore posed the least threat. With one final strike, the last of the police force sent to kill Duela, Cullen, and Harper was rendered unconscious.



The teens stared at the figure as it collapsed the bo staff into a short metal bar and bent down to pick up the batarang. Half of Duela's face was grinning, while the other half was scowling, at the newcomer.



Cullen was the first to find his voice. "Who the hell are you?"



The figure looked at them and spoke in a feminine voice, revealing itself as a girl. "I'm the Spoiler. And not to sound cliché, but you'd better come with me if you want to live."



Spoiler bent down over Ford and began searching him.



"Please tell me you brought the batmobile," Cullen asked.



Spoiler pulled a golden coin out of Ford's pocket along with his cell phone before putting them in two compartments on her upper utility belt. "Nope," she said, "just my mom's car."



The others looked at each other in bewilderment. Spoiler had just taken out nine armed policemen in barely thirty seconds, but was using her mother's car, they all wondered.



Duela shrugged and stepped forward. "Whatever. I call shotgun!"

---

The older Harvey got, the more he hated talking to the press, especially before an investigation was complete. But there were times when there was no choice but to hold an impromptu press conference, because his job was not only to keep criminals off the streets, but to make the citizens of Gotham feel safe.



"In the wake of the violent escape from a GCPD convoy earlier tonight, I want to assure the citizens of Gotham that we are marshalling all of the city's resources to hunt down these fugitives, Harper and Cullen Row, and the Joker's daughter, as well as anyone who aids or abets them."

---

The Spoiler brought them to Gotham Academy. It took some work to avoid the school's security cameras, but eventually they reached the belfry overlooking the rest of the academy.



This was a part of the campus which few had set foot in since the days when Bruce Wayne was a student there. Several of the windows had been broken years or even decades ago, and plants and moss grew on several of the walls.



"No one comes here," Spoiler explained, "not even to hook up. Urban-legend stuff."



"I like it," Duela said. "No one would think to look for us at the rich-kids school."



"Guess we finally got in," Cullen told Harper, who was more focused on Spoiler. Their savior was looking through the recent calls made on Ford's phone. Her hood was down, but her mask remained on, allowing them to see the white eyes on the otherwise black fabric.



"How do you know about this place? You go here?"



"That would be the logical assumption."



"Figures," Harper said. "Guess you have to be rich to be a vigilante in Gotham."



"That wasn't a rich-person's car we came here in," Cullen pointed out.



"Why'd you save us?" Harper asked.



Spoiler looked up. "I know you didn't kill Bruce Wayne. And if you died, any chance I have of figuring out who did likely dies with you."



"I knew it wasn't just out of the goodness of your heart."



"So what are you?" Duela asked. "Batman's secret sidekick? His secret love-child looking to avenge daddy?"



"Neither. I'm an independent vigilante."



"Can you really not tell us who you are?"



Spoiler sighed. "You people may not have killed Bruce Wayne, but you're still criminals. How am I supposed to trust you?"



"And how are we supposed to trust someone who won't even tell us their name?" Duela retorted. "How do we know you're not working for the people who framed us in an attempt to make it look like we could have actually pulled it off. And don't say 'you have no choice.' I hate that cliché."



After a moment, Spoiler nodded and pulled her mask off, revealing the face of teenage girl with blonde hair. "My name is Stephanie Brown."



"Brown?" Duela asked. "Please tell me you're not related to Arthur Brown."



Stephanie met her eyes. "He's my father."



"Oh, god damn it!" Duela exclaimed, turning away. "This is so effing embarrassing!"



"What?" Cullen asked.



"Arthur Brown is the Cluemaster, a third-rate Riddler knockoff. The Joker's daughter can't be saved by the kid of such a loser supervillain."



"How much of a loser could he be if he can afford to send his daughter here?" Harper asked.



"He can be a very big loser," Stephanie said. "And I'd prefer to judged based on my own capabilities, not who my father is, thank you very much."



"So, what's the plan?" Duela asked. "How's the teenaged daughter of a loser my daddy wouldn't stoop to hiring as a doorman going to solve the biggest crime in Gotham's history?"



"I don't know," Stephanie admitted. "I'm hoping that detective's phone will have something from whoever had him try to kill you. There's also this coin he had. I've never seen anything like that before."



"Coin?" Duela asked. "Let me see."



"It's got an engraving of an owl instead of an eagle, not what you'd expect from a normal golden dollar."



Duela held up the coin and didn't even attempt to fight back her gulp of fear.



"We should have just let him kill us, cause we're already dead."



"You know what this is?" Stephanie asked.



Duela looked at her. "It's the symbol of the Court of Owls. They're the ones who really run this city."



"That's just a fairy tale," Stephanie insisted. "Something parents tell their kids to make them behave like the boogeyman or Krampus."



Duela shook her head. "No. They're real. No one knows who they are, and you don't dare ask, because if you find out, it'll be the last thing you'll ever see."



She pushed the coin into Stephanie's hand. "Your daddy told you bedtime stories about them, huh? Well, while you were being tucked in, I was listening to the warnings that echo through the halls of Arkham."



Duella stepped to the window as Stephanie said: "Beware the court of Owls…"



"…that watches all the time," Duela continued, "ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime."



A tear fell down the side of Duela's cheek as she recited the poem, and the others all turned to stare at the golden coin that ominously lay in Stephanie's hand.



"They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head."