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Chapter Text

Wayne Manor

Alfred opened the door and stepped aside to let Barbara in. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Gordon.”

“Happy holidays, Alfred. Am I late?”

“Not at all. Knowing Master Bruce, I never set an exact time for dinner.”

“Smart.”

“Did you have a safe drive up? The roads around here are rather treacherous this time of year.”

“I was fine.” Barbara rolled through the entrance hall. “Where’s the dining room from here?”

“Ah, I’d forgotten that you rarely enter the manor this way anymore. Please, follow me.”

Alfred led her to the dining room and ushered her to her seat. Helena and Jean-Paul were completely engrossed in their quiet conversation. Alfred cleared his throat and Helena jumped.

“Oh, Barbara! I didn’t hear you come in!”

“Happy holidays, Ms. Carbone.”

“Happy holidays. And you know you can call me Helena now.”

“I do. ‘Ms. Carbone’ is kind of hard to get out of my head.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Happy holidays, Jean-Paul.” Barbara looked around the room. “Is Bruce here?”

“Not yet.”

She frowned at Jean-Paul’s response. “He is coming, right?”

“Believe me, Master Bruce knows better than to skip this dinner. It would make me very cross. He knows not to make me cross.”

“... Alfred, are you sure you were just in the SAS?”

“Were I to tell you more details about my previous employment, Ms. Carbone, I would be forced to ensure you would never tell anyone else.” 

The doorbell rang. “Ah, she chose to come. How nice.”

Alfred returned to the entrance and opened the door for Selina. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Kyle.”

“I’m just here for you. Don’t expect me to stick around.”

“Time has done nothing for your manners, it would seem.”

“Merry Christmas, Alfred.”

“Much better.”

Alfred took her coat and led her to the dining room. The others turned and fell silent at the sight of their new guest.

“Hi. I’m Selina. You may know me from the extensive criminal file Bruce has on me.”

Helena rounded the table to shake her hand. “Charmed.”

“You are a thief.”

“Jean!”

Jean-Paul looked confused. “It’s true, is it not? Am I to attempt to start conversation with a lie?”

“No, just not that type of truth!”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “Your… necklace appears to be of high quality.”

Selina took her seat. “Thanks. I stole it. I’m a thief, you know.”

“I do know.”

She looked at Helena. “This guy’s fun.”

“We’re working on… well, interaction in general.”

“Do you need any help in the kitchen, Alfred?”

“No thank you, Ms. Gordon. Everything is already prepared. But one more guest must arrive before-”

The familiar rumbling of the grandfather clock opening interrupted Alfred. “Speak of the devil.”

Bruce opened the door at the other end of the room and walked in, pressing a washcloth against one eye.

“Master Bruce! What happened?”

“I was ambushed on the way back. A group of men in pinstripe suits, apparently looking to collect a bounty.” Bruce took his seat at the head of the table. “It’s fine. One of them got a lucky hit in.”

“Remember to replace that with a warm compress in time.”

“I will. The pinstripe suits suggest Black Mask’s involve-”

“Master Bruce, what did I tell you about bringing work to dinner?”

Bruce stopped. For the first time, he noticed who all was at the table. “Hello, Selina.”

“Bruce.”

An awkward silence fell as Alfred served the meal. He sat down at his own place and sighed in exasperation. “Right, can it. The both of you. It is Christmas Eve, of which I will remind you I most likely have few remaining.”

“That’s not fair.”

Bruce nodded in agreement. “He’s been using it more often lately. You’ve got plenty of Christmas Eves left, Alfred.”

“And I expect every one of them to be a joyous affair. You may resume your feud tomorrow. But tonight-”

“Can it.”

“Exactly.”

And can it they did. Neither extended more than polite conversation to each other, but nor were they cold. Bruce managed to hold out for an hour and a half before looking at Alfred imploringly.

“Very well, I’ve stolen you four from Gotham for long enough. I suppose this ‘bounty’ must be addressed.”

“That’s my cue to leave.”

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Kyle. I hope we will see you for New Year’s.”

“Maybe. Grand Plaza’s a great area to pickpocket around that time. Since I’m a thief.” 

Selina exited. Jean-Paul stared after her in confusion. “Was she mocking me?”

“Yes. Don’t take it personally. She mocks everyone.” 

Bruce almost ran out of the room to the grandfather clock. Helena and Jean-Paul followed him while Alfred and Barbara took the longer path to the cellar elevator. Bruce already had a computer file pulled up when they arrived.

“I’ve been wary of something like this for some time. Throughout the summer, there were rumors that someone was planning to finally put a bounty on my head. Penguin knows it would never work and Two-Face doesn’t have deep enough pockets. But Black Mask does, and the attack earlier this evening shows that he’s decided to use it. I saw this earlier tonight.”

A poster appeared on the screen. Underneath a blurry photo of Batman was a dark, bolded label: “DECEMBER 24. ONE NIGHT TO KILL THE BAT. Payment for this hit is $50,000,000.”

“Just 50 million? If I were you, I’d be insulted.”

“That was just the official announcement. As I said before, this bounty has been in the works for months. And over those months, five of the world’s deadliest assassins have either moved to Gotham or ramped up their activities here.”

Another image covered the poster. A man in a black bodysuit and an owl-face mask covering his face. He was throwing a knife at an offscreen target and slashing the throat of another with a clawed glove. “Talon, the sole remaining member of the Court of Owls' enforcers. Since the Court’s death, he’s been selling his skills to anyone who can afford him.”

Talon was replaced by a mugshot of an African-American woman. “Real name unknown, alias Copperhead. I’ve encountered her before. She was active when I was a boy, and was hired to kill Selina. Age has since robbed her of much of her physical abilities, but none of her cunning. She relies on stealth and a fast-acting cross between a hallucinogen and poison to kill her targets.”

The next picture had been taken at the perfect moment. A woman was smiling at the camera, unaware of the approaching bullet that had been photographed just before impact. “This is the closest anyone has to an image of the assassin known as Deadshot, a firearms expert and sniper of incredible skill. He’s known among criminal circles as ‘The Man Who Never Misses’.”

“I certainly hope that changes tonight.”

The next image to come up wasn’t a picture at all, but an artfully etched calligraphy of a mountain. “This was created by Sandra Wusan, alias Lady Shiva. If she’s not the world’s most skilled martial artist, she’s certainly among them. I trained under her for a year, with the agreement that she would track me down at a later date and fight me to the death. She’s done this with all of her pupils and hasn’t lost yet.”

“And this didn’t raise a red flag for you?”

“I never planned to actually engage her.”

“Looks like she’s forcing your hand.”

“Lady Shiva is a formidable opponent.” Bruce opened a short video. “But the last of them is most concerning.”

They watched the screen as a shadowed man sprinted through a room, quickly and efficiently killing everyone else in it with twin handguns, a katana, a bo staff, and his bare hands. He swept by the camera and Bruce paused the video, revealing a single grey eye peering through an orange and black mask.

“Slade Wilson, alias Deathstroke. The result of a supersoldier project during the Vietnam War, a gun for hire now that the war’s over.”

“Wouldn’t the government want to hold on to a supersoldier?”

“They did want to. Slade convinced them it wasn’t worth their while. The project granted him enhanced strength, speed, senses, and stamina. On top of that, he’s an accurate shot with nearly every ranged weapon in the world, an expert in close-quarters combat barehanded as well as with his sword and staff, a master of stealth, a proficient tactician, and has half a century of combat experience to his name.”

“That’s… quite a resume.”

“It is.” 

Bruce minimized the various assassin profiles until all five could be shown onscreen and pulled up another image- a burly man with a shaved head thrusting his fist forward at a screaming police officer. Arcs of lightning connected his glove and the officer. 

“Those five are just the well-known names. Also of interest is Lester Buchinsky, an up-and-comer calling himself the Electrocutioner.”

Helena frowned. “Isn’t he dead?”

“The original Electrocutioner died in Arkham after then-Officer Gordon stopped his rampage. Lester is a distant relative of his. He found a cache of the original’s equipment and took those gloves for his own use.”

“Shocking.” Alfred grinned at his own joke.

“Finally, the men I was tracking before I was ambushed were discussing ‘letting Jones and Dorrance in on the fun.’”

“So, that’s Killer Croc and Eduardo to watch out for.”

“Both are currently imprisoned at Iron Heights.”

“Black Mask wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack Iron Heights for something as small-scale as letting a few assassins out, would he?”

“Roman isn’t known for his tactical brilliance.”

As if to punctuate his point, an alert took over the screen. Iron Heights was reporting an attack. The cellblocks were already opened, but the prison was on lockdown. Bruce stood. “Suit up.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Iron Heights Penitentiary

The prison gates had been rammed open by an 18-wheeler. Corpses in pinstripe suits and guard uniforms littered the yard. The door into the prison had been forced open as well and the sounds of continued battle rumbled from within. Batman considered his approach plan. Knowing Waller, the sublevels would be completely sealed off. That left seven surface floors to pacify. 

“Oracle, status of the aboveground facility.”

“The cells are open, but the power’s still on. Every door is sealed. Bad for them, but not the best for us either.”

“Can you find a way for us to control the doors?”

“Sure. Got four hours to spare?”

A squeal resonated from the watchtower loudspeakers and Amanda Waller’s voice rolled across the yard. “Batman, stand by for override codes.”

“How is she- oh. Here they are. Tell me what you want open.”

“Azrael, clear the bottom two floors and make sure no one escapes through the open door. Huntress, the middle two. I’ll clear the top three.”

“Affirmative.”

“Got it.”

Batman left his position, gliding to the roof. Oracle opened the rooftop door and he plunged into the prison.

Iron Heights was arguably the most secure prison in the world. Those who entered were meant to never leave. In its long history, only the Joker had successfully escaped. This sterling reputation was there for a reason- inmates of Iron Heights were among the worst humanity had to offer. Serial killers and mafia masterminds were the tamest inhabitants of the prison. They’d been isolated from the world for years. They wanted out and would do anything for their freedom. But even the most hardened among them hesitated at the sight of Batman. Some fled outright. Those that chose to fight often didn’t stay conscious long enough to regret their mistake. He moved room by room, pacifying every inmate he came across until he descended to the fifth floor and stopped in front of the door labeled “Warden”. Someone inside was threatening Waller.

“I heard you give them to Batman. You must have them. The codes! Now, woman!”

“Has screaming ever gotten you what you wanted, Eduardo?”

“Give me the codes. Or I will break every bone in your legs. You will crawl away, begging me to stop, but you will not be able to evade me. It will be years before you’ll be able to walk again.”

“At which point you will still be in Iron Heights.”

He switched Detective Mode on and examined the room. Waller was sitting behind her desk and Eduardo was leaning over it with his back to the door. Without Venom, Eduardo possessed the physical abilities of a man in his 50’s. In other words, not much. Batman threw the door open, tossed Eduardo to the ground and knocked him out all in the space of a second. Waller raised an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

“I was busy restoring order to your prison.”

“I like to think I’m prepared for a lot of things, Mr. Wayne. I was not prepared for someone to be stupid enough to just roll up to Iron Heights and start shooting. I thought, obviously mistakenly, that no one could possibly be that simultaneously well-equipped and idiotic.”

“Are the sublevels secure?”

“Why do you think I have so few people up here? Yes, they’re secure. A single inmate managed to get to the sewers before we reached his floor, though. Waylon Jones is now the second person to successfully escape Iron Heights.”

“I’ll be sure to congratulate him.” 

Batman left and quickly pacified the rest of the floor. His comn beeped and Oracle chimed in.

“The only major waterway nearby is the Gotham River. Assuming he’s heard of the bounty, Killer Croc will have surfaced in the city. I’ll track him down.”

“Start with the Dixon Docks.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Oh, this’ll interest you. You know that derelict cargo ship Penguin brought a while back? The Final Offer?”

“Yes.”

“Well, all evidence points towards it being used as a munitions black market and fight club. It’s got a website with coded messages as to the match of the night, what type of grenade is on sale, all that stuff. And tonight’s match is apparently you versus the Electrocutioner.”

“So Buchinsky plans to lure me there somehow and defeat me in front of an audience.”

“Does he really have to lure you there now, though?”

“Whatever his plan is, it most likely involves civilian bait. So no. I’ll arrive long before he can set it up.”

“Alright. Oh, and be careful.”

“Of what?”

“Well… if kids hear someone pattering across their rooftops, they’ll be expecting Santa Claus, not, uh, you.”

“I don’t patter.” 

Batman opened a channel to Huntress and Azrael. “Oracle has the location of one of the assassins. I’m headed there now. Finish here and begin your typical patrols.”

“Are you sure you don’t want backup?”

“For some of the others, yes. I can deal with this one on my own. If you encounter Talon, Copperhead, or Deadshot at any point tonight, deal with them. If it’s Jones, Lady Shiva, or Deathstroke, do not engage. Wait until I arrive.”

“Very well.”

“Good luck.”

Batman returned to the rooftop, used his cowl to mark the location of The Final Offer, and leapt into the swiftly darkening evening.

The Final Offer

“Did you find blueprints for the ship?”

“Nope. It’s so old, it’s all probably on paper. But I doubt they’d make the arena hard to find. Just ask nicely if you get lost. We all know what a people person you are.”

Batman landed on the deck, scanned the nearest door to confirm that it was locked, and pounded on the door. An eyehole slid open. “Yeah, knock louder, why don’t-”

The man stopped at the sight of Batman’s face.

“You know who I am. It would take me a 30-second call to learn everything about you. Do you want me to know everything about you? Or do you want me to know you as the nice man who opened the door for me and didn’t tell anyone I was here?”

The door squealed open on rusty hinges. He walked through, ignoring the cowering doorman, and followed the posted signs to the armory. Batman sprayed an isolated patch of explosive gel on the wall and another under a table piled with grenades. He left the armory and followed the signs again to the arena, descending a staircase to the gladiator entrance. A crowd was already gathered around the pit and a gaggle of fans told him Lester’s location. Batman drew his cape around his body and walked in.

As his presence was noticed, the crowd silenced for a moment before erupting into boos. The fans parted to reveal Lester, gloves already charged and sparking. 

“You’re early, Bat! Couldn’t wait for your own ass-kicking? I don’t blame you!”

“Stand down, Buchinsky.”

“Why don’t you come up here and make me? Better yet, why don’t I come down there and SHUT YOU UP?”

The crowd cheered wildly. Lester seemed fueled by their praise. “I’mma KILL YOU! Then, I’mma jump-start your heart and KILL YOU AGAIN! This is it, Bat! The fight of your life! Your last tango! ARE! YOU! READY!?”

Lester slammed his fists together, creating a shower of sparks, and jumped into the arena. He lifted an arm and charged, lightning crackling around his raised glove-

Batman ducked his telegraphed punch, kicked his legs out from under him, pressed his boot into his neck to keep him on the ground, and punched him unconscious. He swept his cape aside, revealing the detonator clutched in his hand, and activated the isolated explosive gel. The ship swayed from the force.

“That was a test detonation. The next one is right next to a table full of grenades. You have three minutes.” 

The crowd scattered. Batman lifted Lester’s body and dragged it out of the arena, calling Oracle as he did so. “Are the drones in position?”

“Yep. I’ve got pictures of everyone who’s fled so far and I’ve called the police. You can just leave Lester on top of the boat.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

Batman carried Lester to the deck and up a flight of stairs to a spotlight. He pulled off Lester’s gloves, tied him to the spotlight in a spread-eagled position, tore his clothing to create the silhouette he wanted, and turned the spotlight on. Lester’s body covered the light, creating a bat-shaped shadow in the clouds.

“I just looked out the window. Never knew you had a flair for the dramatic.”

“It’s a warning to the other assassins. And a threat to Black Mask.”

“Not sure any of them’ll take the hint.”

“They’ll regret it if they don’t.”

Chapter Text

Maroni Shipping

Azrael sat and removed his helmet. He had patrolled for hours and night had truly fallen. Helena was not there to help him, but he’d been improving. It was time to remind himself who he was.

“I was Jean-Paul Valley. I had a family. A purpose. A faith. Then I was Azrael. My family manipulated me. My purpose was twisted. My faith was tainted. Now, I am neither, though I use both names. I am someone new. I have been accepted by another family. I have another purpose. And I still have a faith.”

Something stabbed into his neck and was removed just as quickly. “You’re about to see if it’s true.”

Azrael leapt to his feet, put his helmet back on, and turned with sword drawn to see nothing. He walked forward cautiously, searching the room. Then the faint light from the streets outside was drowned out by a blinding glow. A figure dressed in robes of purest white stood in the center of the room, their face concealed in shadow. He had seen this being before. The Metatron, the angel who spoke for God. Or, as he had learned, the illusion that passed on the will of the Order of St. Dumas.

The Metatron spoke in a booming voice. “Good and faithful servant, hear the word of your Lord.”

“You will not speak His name.”

“I have every right to, Azrael. Complete your mission. Barbatos must die.”

Azrael turned away, ignoring the hallucination.

“You DARE turn your back on me!? I, who speak for the Ancient of Days!? You have forgotten your place!”

“You speak for man. Nothing more.”

“Foolish cur! You risk the flames!”

“If taking lives is following God’s will, then let me burn.”

“So be it.”

The light became red. The Metraton’s face was visible now, and it was the haughty face of judgement. Flames crawled along the walls and cackling figures twisted within. The floor was rent as claws struck from below. And in the black canyon torn by claws, the laughter resonated. The First of the Fallen reached for his newest servant, and hell came with him. Hiding within the shrieks of night was the voice of a woman. “Tell me where your leader is and this ends.”

Azrael’s body was heavy. His flesh was weak. But his spirit remained unbroken. “My Master… is in Heaven.”

“Not that leader. You know who I mean.”

“He… will find you… long before you find him.”

“Do you not understand what’s happening to you? My poison is death.”

Azrael’s laugh overpowered the cries of hell. “Look… at my armor.”

“I am. The red bat. I know you work for him. Where is he?”

“Beneath… the bat.”

“A cross?”

“Then you know… why death holds no fear… for me.”

“I have dealt death to many. Do you know what they saw, in their last moments? No savior. No afterlife. Only me.”

As darkness fell, so did the illusions. She was visible through the fading flames. Azrael checked his next stumble so he faced her. “You LIE!”

He pounced, sweeping through the flames and tackling the woman to the ground. She tried to rise and the pommel of Azrael’s sword felled her. He rolled off her prone form and turned on his comn. “Batman… I believe… I have located Copperhead.”

“Get her to the police.”

“About that… I may need… assistance.”

Darkness fell completely, but Azrael was not afraid.

Sionis Industries

Black Mask was at least smart enough not to take up residence in the abandoned building that bore his family name. He was not, however, smart enough to leave it entirely untouched. Hidden among the darkened rooms were safes containing a rainy-day cash collection of at least four million dollars. At least, they had.

Selina emptied the last safe and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. She stuck it to the safe door and wrote her farewell message on it- “Crows safes? Really? Buy Kord Industries next time.” Having finished her nightly middle finger to Black Mask, she slung a duffel bag full of money over her shoulder and prepared to leave.

“Selina.”

Bruce. Great. Because one meeting that night wasn’t enough. “Here to take me in? You should know who I’m robbing first. It’s very Robin Hood of me. I steal from the corrupt and give to-”

“Yourself.”

“Well, yeah. But I always put a dollar in those Salvation Army buckets.”

“I’m not here to arrest you. I need your help.”

“I don’t have to remind you what happened last time I helped, do I?”

“All I need is Black Mask’s location.”

“According to the tabloids, you’re the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’. Can’t you just… Sherlock the answer?”

“Yes, but asking you is quicker. He’s sent assassins after me that may endanger innocents to draw me out. I need to focus on that.”

“Well, that sucks for you. What do I get out of it?”

“The knowledge that lives were saved because you helped me.”

“Cool, cool. How much is that knowledge worth?”

“Selina…”

“We’re not all rich enough to be altruistic. I’m thinking you could tell me what areas of town won’t be graced with your presence tomorrow night.”

“I’m not going to bribe you.”

“Then I’m not going to tell you where he is. You get how quid pro quo works, right, Bruce?”

“You’ll tell me.”

“Ooo, there he is! The big, scary, Batman! What hope do I have against Gotham’s fearsome avenger of the night? Yeah, the intimidation thing doesn’t really work on someone who’s known you since you were 12. I look at you and I see the nervous, curly-headed kid who couldn’t build up the courage to kiss me when I personally invited him to.”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you, Selina. You’ll tell me because people’s lives are in danger. Because no matter how much you claim to be selfish, you care. And because you know that our personal disagreements cannot stand in the way of saving lives.”

“Appealing to my humanity? Wrong choice. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Rule Number One.”

“Don’t tell me you ever really followed that rule.”

“You’re wrong about that too.” Selina sighed. “Lucky for you, I have absolutely no reason to protect Black Mask’s secrets. You aren’t the only one he’s put a bounty on, though he hasn’t brought out the big guns for me yet. So, if it gets you off my back, he’s got a penthouse in Chinatown. The Lacey Towers down there.”

“Tha-”

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you. Life is a lot easier without a mobster hunting me.”

Bruce stopped just before leaving. “Alfred was… happy to see you at dinner.”

“It was good to see him too. Tell him to find me if he ever wants a vacation.”

And then he was gone. Selina found her own exit as well. There was nothing there worth sticking around for.

Chapter Text

Chinatown

Selina had told him the truth. The penthouse apartment of Lacey Towers Chinatown, though empty, was clearly owned by Black Mask. Deeper in the apartment complex was a conference room that had been booked for a “Mr. Deadbat.” Batman didn’t need to think very hard to figure out who had booked it. He’d planted a bug and a camera in the room, retreated to a vantage point, and was now observing the room. Over the past half-hour, Killer Croc had lumbered in and put enough chairs together to support his weight, a man had set up a computer connection with a videoless participant labeled “Deadshot”,  and Talon had found a corner of his own. Lady Shiva didn’t so much enter the room as appear there, as though she had always been seated at the table and Batman just hadn’t noticed her. Deathstroke entered last, casually laying his sword and an assault rifle on the table so he could sit comfortably. All five waited in silence, as did Batman. Finally, the door opened again and Black Mask strolled in.

He’d updated his outfit. Gone was the opera cape and black suit. In its place was a bone-white pinstripe suit with a black shirt, a white tie, and black gloves. Bulges in the jacket and right pants pocket marked the locations of two small guns. He moved to the front of the room and stood at the head of the table, looking over the gathered mercenaries. “Ladies…  lady and gentlemen, welcome to our first quarterly performance review. As I’m sure you know, Batman deaths are coming in far under projections. We’re going to have to turn this around.”

Lady Shiva put her cup of hot chocolate down and scoffed. Black Mask instantly turned to her angrily. “You got something to say?”

“Batman is a deadly opponent.”

“So what? You’re supposed to be the greatest kung-fu fighter in the world or whatever. You’re telling me you’re not better than him?”

“Of course I’m better than him. In that area. The fact remains that for many of us, this is not our city. We cannot possibly know it as well as he does. And thanks to your very public announcement, he knows we are hunting him.” She looked around. “I don’t see Copperhead at this ‘performance review’.”

Deathstroke shifted in his seat. “Don’t forget that thug on the boat.”

“Yes, him too. Batman has already caught two of us. Forgive us for our caution.”

“Yeah? I don’t want caution. I want results. Remember, your shot at the money is up come daybreak.”

“You’re not the only payer out there.” Deadshot was clearly using a voice modulator.

“What’d you say, computer?”

“There are at least a hundred people in Gotham who’d pay good money for Batman’s head. And that’s just the Gotham clients. You just so happen to be paying the most.”

“Just.. just kill him! Is that too much to ask? Just… do your jobs!”

Killer Croc stood. “So, are we done here or…”

“Yes, we’re done. Get out.”

Deadshot closed the computer connection as the others filed out. Deathstroke remained seated.

“Can you hear me through that stupid orange helmet? Go. Kill. Batman!”

“I will. He knows you’re behind this by now. Shiva’s got a shot, but those other clowns are done for. And when he’s done with them, he’ll be coming here.”

“He’s got no idea I’m here.”

Deathstroke shrugged. “Maybe. My instincts tell me this is where I’ll find him and I think my record speaks to the accuracy of my instincts.”

Black Mask stormed out. Deathstroke put his feet on the table and tipped his chair back, pulling a pistol from his suit and loading it. He slid the last bullet in, spun the gun in his hand- and waved at the camera before shooting it.

Batman’s initial assessment had been correct. Croc, Talon and Deadshot were annoyances. Shiva was a concern. But Deathstroke… the thought of fighting Deathstroke made him more nervous than he’d felt in years. He cut his connection to the camera and turned to see Lady Shiva standing behind him.

“I saw you watching as soon as I exited the building. Who taught you how to conceal yourself?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“You heard me?” She smiled. “You may yet have a chance.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“Of course we do. It was the agreement. You knew this would happen.”

“I won’t kill you.”

“Then you will die.”

Batman adjusted his stance in preparation. Lady Shiva looked him over. “Yoru-Sensei. Ted Grant. Dinah Lance. Richard Dragon. Is that a hint of the League of Shadows I see? You were certainly meticulous in your training.”

“Not that it makes a difference to you.”

“Not at all.”

Lady Shiva lunged and Batman fell back into defense.

The battle was over in four strikes. A hit too fast for him to see sent Batman to the ground and her foot on his neck kept him there. Lady Shiva blew a single loose strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head. “Another disappointment. Last words?”

“I hope you enjoyed your hot chocolate.”

Her final blow came crashing down- and stopped suddenly, gripping her stomach. She hissed in pain, doubled over, and staggered off of him. “What…?”

“I was in the conference room before you arrived. You’re a woman of very few vices. One of them is chocolate. So I poisoned it.”

“T-this is… unfair…”

“It’s winning. When my life, when the lives of innocents are at stake, there’s no such thing as unfair.”

“You have lost… every shred of respect… I once had… for you.”

“Guess how much I care.”

“This… changes nothing!” 

She attacked again. Even poisoned, Lady Shiva was incredibly fast. But not fast enough.

“You probably shouldn’t raise your heart rate.”

“Coward…”

She fell to her knees, then fell completely and laid still. Batman sent a text to Commissioner Gordon- “The abandoned skyscraper near Lacey Towers Chinatown. Be careful. She’ll need medical attention and every restraint you have.”

He opened a channel to Alfred, Oracle, and Huntress. “One more down.”

Chapter Text

The Clock Tower

Oracle watched through the cameras as Lady Shiva’s unconscious form was thrown into a holding cell. That just left 4. She returned to the recording of their meeting and isolated Deadshot’s audio. The modulator was a nice touch, but background noise was still present. Multiple motorcycles had passed his location about halfway through the second thing he’d said. If she crossed that with traffic camera images from the exact same time, that would at least get her a ballpark. She prepared the algorithm when an alert appeared on her screen. Someone had pressed “Penthouse” in the elevator. Oracle pulled up the camera feed.

Talon was standing in the elevator, spinning a throwing knife between his fingers.

Calculations ran through her head at the speed of thought. Probability that he was here for her? Absolute. Hers was the only penthouse, and the recently paralyzed daughter of the police commissioner was excellent bait to draw Batman out. Possibility she’d be taken alive? Also absolute. Response?

The elevator would take 13 more seconds to reach her. Oracle shut down the computers, reverting the apartment to its concealed form. She rolled to her desk, opened the hidden compartment, and pulled out her taser gun. The door was already locked. Batman and Huntress would’ve been alerted of her abrupt shutdown. They were most likely already on their way to see what was wrong. Talon was pounding on the door.

He’d knocked politely. What an absurd thing to remember. Three soft raps on the door, just loud enough to notice. Was it some private joke? Beginning courteously before the real work was underway? One more sick way to make himself laugh?

Oracle breathed deep, letting the memory and the panic that came with it dispel. With the physical enhancements the Court of Owls had given him, Talon wouldn’t be quickly incapacitated by the taser. She needed a backup weapon. Oracle tucked a decorative candlestick between her leg and the wheelchair and aimed the taser gun at the door. The pounding was replaced by an earth-shuddering THUD as Talon threw himself against the locked door. She entered a command into her wheelchair keypad and the door unlocked. Talon was unprepared for the sudden lack of resistance. He barreled ungainly into the room and was immediately met by six rapid shots of electric charge directly to his chest. The shots sent him stumbling back out of the doorframe. Talon drew a throwing knife and Oracle shot his throwing hand twice, forcing him to drop it. He shouted in frustration, shaking feeling back into his hand. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, girl. You’ll be bait for Batman. It’s almost inevitable that he will rescue you.”

“Considerate. It’s still kidnapping.” 

There was only one shot left. Talon tried to charge again and she hit him directly in the head, pulling the candlestick out immediately after. He rose unsteadily to his feet, a throwing knife already prepared. Before Oracle could do anything to disarm him, he threw it at her shoulder.

Time seemed to slow. Like it had when she’d seen his smile. But this time, she was in control. If Talon wanted to incapacitate her, the knife was most likely coated with a sedative. She couldn’t afford for it to scratch her. Dodging was, for obvious reasons, impossible. She did, however, happen to have a hardback copy of The Silmarillion right next to her. To her racing mind, her hand seemed to be moving even more slowly than the knife. But it was fast enough. The knife plunged into the book, penetrating both covers and stopping at the hilt. Oracle tossed the book at Talon’s head, hampering his charge one last time before he came into range. She hit him between the legs, on both kneecaps, and across the face in rapid succession. Talon hit the ground and Oracle didn’t give him a chance to get back up. By the time the roof entrance opened and the Huntress dropped in, Talon was unconscious.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m not okay.” Oracle picked the book back up. “I was just getting into this and it’s ruined.”

“Better it than you.”

“I’m not entirely sure about that.”

Otisburg

Oracle had gone back online before he’d reached her. One more assassin down. Oracle and Alfred were tracking down the others, so there was no need for Batman to expend his energy. He’d need every bit of it for Deathstroke. He’d found a concealed position and was memorizing the floor plan for Lacey Towers Chinatown. Black Mask’s presence notwithstanding, the building was still an apartment complex and filled with civilians. It would have to be a surgical strike. Get in, apprehend Black Mask, lure Deathstroke away from the building.

An alert blinked into life on his gauntlet computer. Batman had set up a monitoring program for Gotham’s airwaves long ago that would record any TV or radio broadcast that spoke directly to him. His enemies were fond of getting the word out through media hijacking, after all, and there was no guarantee he’d be watching the right channel at the right time to catch them. Batman selected the alert and a recorded radio broadcast began to play.

“Weeeee’rrree back from commercial with our next caller! Caller, you’re on Gotham Nights with Vesper Fairchild. Once again, the question is-”

“That won’t be necessary.” The voice modulation made the caller Deadshot. “I don’t usually resort to this, Batman. I pride myself in tracking my targets down. But you’re a special case. I doubt I’ll be able to find you before the night’s over, so I’d like you to find me. I’ll be at the First Bank of Gotham along with some people who’d rather not be there. You have 20 minutes before I start shooting.”

The recording ended. From Batman’s position, given any changes in wind, it was at most a 13 minute, 56 second glide to the bank. He leapt off the rooftop.

Chapter Text

The Dixon Docks

The Huntress left her jet ski idling, climbed to the top of a nearby stack of cargo, turned Detective Mode on, and performed a cursory sweep of the shipping containers around her as quickly as she could. “Well, he’s not here. You were wrong. Guess it’s time to go.”

“You sure? It’s Croc’s favorite haunt according to Batman’s intel. He’s got ambitions beyond tonight’s bounty, given his past behavior. He has to have set up a base somewhere.”

“You already told me that.”

“I know. Just thinking out loud. Are you sure Croc isn’t there?”

“Yep. Positive. Nothing here.”

“How hard did you look?”

“Plenty hard.”

“Just because you’ve never beat him in the simulations-”

“That’s not it at all! He’s not-”

The shipping container underneath her feet was suddenly lifted. She skidded off the top, landed on the ground, and ran just in time to dodge the falling container. Killer Croc clambered on top of it, glowering avariciously at her. 

“Son of a bitch .”

“I’ll contact Batman.”

“Yes, do that, please.”

Croc licked his lips. “You’re not tonight’s main course. But I deserve to treat myself.”

“Treat? Oh, I’m not a treat. I’m all skin and bones. And hair! Lots of hair. You’ll choke on me all the way down.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Croc spread his claws and lunged. The Huntress knocked out the restraints holding a stack of boxes in place with her staff, running as they crushed Croc behind her. The calm voice of the Wayne Enterprises A.I. echoed in her head, reciting the analysis she’d heard a thousand times.

“Waylon Jones, alias Killer Croc. Enhanced night vision and sense of smell. Lungs partially adapted for extended periods of time underwater. Scaled hide is nearly impervious to bladed weaponry, electricity, fire, and bullets. Teeth and claws are sharp and durable enough to penetrate most body armor. Complete control over prehensile tail. Greatly enhanced strength capable of lifting cars and crushing human bone with ease. Former wrestling champion. Countermeasures: large amounts of blunt force, excessive firepower. Do not engage at close range. Do not engage alone.”

Fat lot of help that advice was. Killer Croc burst out from under the boxes and began stalking through the docks. “I’ve got your scent now. You can’t hide from me!”

The Huntress loaded her crossbow and stepped into the open. Croc spotted her instantly. She quickly aimed and fired above his head, cutting through the rusted chain holding a shipping container up. Killer Croc caught it just in time, but the weight forced him to his knees. The Huntress sprayed explosive gel across the floor and fled. Croc took the bait. His bestial roar was cut off by an explosion that blasted the Huntress to the ground. She rolled to her feet, wiping blood from a cut above her eye before it obscured her vision. The containers were scattered and the few wooden materials near the epicenter were burning. Croc was nowhere to be seen. Oracle returned to the comns. “Bad news. Batman’s not picking up.”

“Where is he?”

“It looks like he’s at the First Bank of Gotham. The only reason he wouldn’t respond is if he needed to be absolutely quiet, so he’s probably going after one of the assassins. You’re facing Killer Croc and Deathstroke’s still at Lacey Towers, meaning he’s confronting Deadshot.”

“So… it’ll be a while.”

“Yeah. How’s it going?”

“He hasn’t gotten me yet. I used explosive gel, he tripped it, and now he’s disappeared.”

“Watch the water. Batman’s intel claims he likes to hide there.”

“Got it.” 

The nearest waterway she saw was yards away. But this portion of the docks extended over the river with no foundation, meaning he could be-

A clawed hand burst from the ground under her, narrowly missing her foot. The Huntress quickly climbed to the top of a scattered stack of containers, forcing Croc to tear more of the dock away and leave the water through the resulting hole. She loaded and fired her crossbow again, hitting him in the chest with a flare bolt. He growled in surprise before the flare exploded into life, nearly lifting him off his feet. As he tried to get rid of it, the Huntress pounced. She rolled over his scaled back, leaving three remote-controlled bombs behind her. Just as Croc recovered from the flare, she detonated them. Croc fell flat on his face. The Huntress pulled out her staff and snapped a rotten support board in two with it, sending the shelf of barrels it held up crashing onto him. The barrels began to move immediately as Croc rose from them. He was winded. Blood cut channels down his back, centering around three scorch marks where the explosives had been. He didn’t look happy. Croc roared, dropped on all fours, and galloped across the ground towards her. She ran.

“YOU CAN’T RUN FROM ME!”

A sudden silence was her only warning. The Huntress threw herself to the ground and Croc sailed over her, tackling the air where she’d been seconds before. He landed heavily. Too heavily. The boards beneath him surrendered to his weight instantly and Croc splashed into the bay below.

The Huntress was up and running before either of them could take a breath. Roars and the sound of shattering boardwalk told her he was right behind her. She dove off the pier onto her jet ski and gunned the engine. Croc’s claws seized the boat as his head emerged from the water.

“You’re trying to escape in a boat? You don’t know very much about me, do you?”

She smirked. “I know you love things exploding in your face.”

The Huntress cranked the engine to the self-destruct setting, fired her grappling hook at the crane above her, and swept to the top of it. The jet ski exploded before Croc could follow her. That was the knockout blow. Croc slipped under the water noiselessly, a slow stream of bubbles the only sign of life. 

Her comn beeped. “Did I just hear your jet ski blowing up?”

“Croc’s down, isn’t he? And not a scratch on me.”

“Batman won’t be happy about paying for another one.”

“That’s the whole point of working for someone rich.”

“The police are on their way. You might want to fish him out of the bay.”

“Croc can breathe underwater. He’s fine.”

“So… how are you getting out of the docks?”

“I probably should’ve thought of that before blowing my boat up.”

First Bank of Gotham

Deadshot had gathered 7 hostages at the center of the bank. 4 men were keeping guns trained on them, with another 9 patrolling the building. Every single one of the men was dressed identically and showed no signs as to who the leader was. Deadshot’s plan, as far as Batman could surmise, was to ambush him as soon as he got a clear shot- and any one of the men could be him, meaning that anyone getting a clear shot was potential death.

4 men were patrolling the outer hallways, too far to interfere should anything happen in the main lobby. None of them were Deadshot, then. Of the 9 in the main lobby, the way 3 of them were holding their guns betrayed their inexperience with firearms. The 4 guarding the hostages were boxed in, trapped in positions no experienced sharpshooter would choose. That left 2, each on opposite sides of the room. Both were clearly comfortable with the guns they carried. Both kept a professional air about them- no fear, just calm scanning of the space around them. Batman silently moved to a balcony above one of them and prepared a Batarang for the other. He’d have to be quick. Faster than a speeding bullet , he thought, and smiled grimly at his own gallows humor. He climbed onto the railing of the balcony, waited until only the man he’d already planned on incapacitating was looking towards his position, and took the leap.

He threw the Batarang in midair, knocking out the first candidate, and landed on the other with enough force to shove him to the ground. Every other gun in the room was instantly trained on them. Batman threw the handful of smoke grenades he’d prepared in his other hand and vanished from their sight into the shadows. He fired a cable at the desk behind him, swung it into the air in a parabolic arc, and released the cable at just the right instant to send it flying across the room into the chests of 2 of the men guarding the hostages. Wild firing converged on his location, but he avoided it easily. His analysis had been right. None of these men could possibly be Deadshot. Two more Batarangs dealt with the other guards before they decided to do anything with the hostages. The 4 hallways patrollers burst in and, after a moment of confusion, began to search for him along with the 3 in the room. Then everything was silent. Batman stalked through the smoke-filled room, dropping miniature speakers in each corner. When he spoke, his voice came from everywhere at once. “Leave. Now.”

One of the 7 remaining was bolder than the rest. “Shut up, Bat! Just wait ‘till you show your face! Deadshot’s gonna put a bullet in it before you can blink!”

Batman marked the man who’d spoken, creeping towards him as he responded. “I already dealt with him. If he fell, what chance do you have?”

“Y-you’re lying! You gotta be!”

Batman switched the speakers off so the man would hear where he really was- right behind him. He leaned forward and whispered into his ear. “I don’t lie.”

The man turned with a scream, but it was too late. Two more rushed through the smoke. A Batarang knocked one out and Batman stabbed a cable through the other’s shoulder, dragging him across the ground to meet his fist. 3 of the 4 remaining ran for the door, only to find him standing in front of it. “You missed your chance.”

One gunman remaining. He’d rushed to the hostages and was pressing a pistol against one of their heads. “I’ll shoot, Bat! J-just let me out and everything will be fine!”

Batman turned the speakers back on. “Okay. Do it.”

“What?”

“Do it. Shoot her. You know who I am. You’ve seen firsthand what I can do. Every single one of your friends will be needing a trip to the emergency room. Do you know what they were to me?”

“...”

“Obstacles. In my way. I was indifferent towards every single one of them. Now, you’re about to kill an innocent woman. That would make me angry. You’ve seen what I do to people I’m indifferent towards. What do you think I do to people I’m angry at?”

He was trembling. “I… I…”

Batman turned the speakers off and emerged from the smoke, standing directly in front of the gunman. “Do it. Right now. Shoot her and see just how mad I get.”

The man dropped his gun and ran. He was fast, but not faster than a Batarang. Batman approached the hostages and began lifting them to their feet. “Are any of you hurt?”

All of them shook their heads. Batman pointed to the door. “The police have set up a blockade just outside. Go to them.”

He turned to leave- and suddenly, he was on the ground. The entire back of his head exploded with pain. He heard the gun the next time it fired and another shard of agony drilled through his cowl. The hostages. Of course. He should’ve scanned them as well. 

The next gunshot seemed muted, a BANG extending into a long, muffled rumble. His mind raced. Both shots had penetrated his cowl, but only barely. That made them armor-piercing bullets of incredibly high quality. His cowl would hold up to a few more shots, but Deadshot’s rate of fire gave him a second at best. Deadshot wasn’t the type to prolong the end of a job. He wouldn’t waste any time talking. But Batman’s armor was of a quality unmatched by almost anything else in the world. Deadshot had to be unnerved that he’d survived two shots to the head. That counted for something. Nothing in Batman’s arsenal could be used quickly enough to outpace the fatal shot. If, by some miracle, he got up, that would only succeed in exposing his naked mouth and chin. The hostages were close behind him and the shots had happened too quickly for any of them to have moved from their positions from the last time he’d seen them. The one thing known for sure about Deadshot was that he was male. That ruled out 4. Of the 3 men, one had been to his left, one would be directly behind him now, and one had been to his right. Each could potentially be incapacitated, but he couldn’t turn around to see who was shooting. So which was it?

Alfred was kneeling beside him. “Come on, Master Bruce. Who is it? It was Deadshot, with the gun, in the bank lobby, so who’s Deadshot? Come on, your Watson’s here. Explain the mystery to me.”

3 men. If the bullets had hit at an upwards or downwards angle, they wouldn’t have penetrated. Deadshot would’ve been able to level his gun with Batman’s head. That ruled out the short one on the right.

His mother was crouching beside Alfred. “I know you can solve it, Bruce. Don’t ask me for the answer yet. You’ve almost got it. The pearls are already scattered. Don’t let the third bullet fire.”

The first shot had fired before the hostages had had time to run. That meant no one was in the way. The man on the left had been surrounded by 3 women. It couldn’t have been him.

His father was standing above the other two. “You figured out what’s inside the study. You found the answer all by yourself. But that’s not the end. What do you do, Bruce? What do you do with the answer?”

So it was the man directly behind him. How to deal with him? He was standing too far away to kick- was he? The second shot had impacted with more force than the first. It could’ve been his weakened cowl, or the source could’ve been moved closer. What do you do when your target’s still alive? You try again. What do you do when they’re down and helpless? You take advantage. You get closer. The rumble was fading. The third bullet was in the air. Batman closed his eyes, hoped, and kicked.

The third bullet hit, as painful as the other two. Batman’s foot hit the man behind him in the shin and Batman was rolling, rising, ripping the gun away as Deadshot fell. Deadshot tried to stand. He failed.

In a burst of adrenaline that fooled even him into thinking he’d flown there, Batman was on a rooftop blocks away. His head was pounding. His cowl’s comn wasn’t working. He pulled out the emergency radio. 

“Alfred… could use a pickup.”

Then only the pounding in his head remained.

Chapter Text

The Batcave

“Three armor-piercing shots from point-blank range directly to the head. I’d almost believe you were superhuman myself.”

Bruce dragged his eyes open. “Deadshot?”

“Captured. And identified. One Mr. Floyd Lawton has a lot of explaining to do.”

“How long has it been?”

Alfred checked his watch. “It is 4:16 in the morning, Master Bruce. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Bruce looked around the medbay. “Where’s Azrael?”

“He recovered fully from the poison an hour ago. Both he and Ms. Carbone are currently with Ms. Gordon, planning their raid of Lacey Towers.”

“Without me?”

“There was the matter of your being shot in the head.”

Bruce began to sit up and Alfred gently pushed him back down.

“The serum-”

“Has done plenty of good. It is not a magical healing elixir. You are still suffering from a mild concussion and it’s a bloody miracle that’s all you’re walking away with.”

“I’ll be fine. They need me.”

“Deathstroke is troubling, to be sure, but they are fully capable of dealing with him.”

“And if they’re not?”

“I have told you a thousand times, Master Bruce, and I expect to tell you a thousand times again: you are not a one-man army. It is perfectly acceptable to let others take responsibility.”

“They haven’t studied Deathstroke. I have.”

“Ms. Gordon is aware of his capabilities, and both Mr. Valley and Ms. Carbone are quick studies.”

“That’s not a substitute for extensive prior knowledge. Deathstroke won’t give them a chance to learn.”

“He is not unstoppable. You have to have faith in your allies.”

“I do. Just not in situations like this.”

“This situation is a single man guarding one of the most incompetent criminals in Gotham. If you do not trust them with this, what do you trust them with?”

“That ‘single man’ is the deadliest assassin in the world. Do you remember the Star City vigilante?”

“That fellow with the bow and arrows, yes.”

“He vanished for a reason. Deathstroke killed him. Jean-Paul and Helena are entering a battle they’re unprepared for against a man who will show them absolutely no mercy.”

“They have the slight advantage of not coming to that fight from a hospital bed.”

“You said it yourself, it’s a mild concussion. I’ve fought through worse before.”

“Yes, who could forget the state you were in after Arkham City? But if what you’re saying about Deathstroke is true, you cannot engage him at anything less than full strength.”

“That’s what my allies are there for. I’m not going to fight him alone, but I’m not going to let them fight him with no knowledge of what they’re getting into.”

Bruce stood. “I know you want me to be safe, Alfred. I’m in the wrong line of work for that.”

“How do you know he won’t kill you too?”

Batman emerged from the suit capsule. “You’ll have to trust me.”

Lacey Towers Chinatown

Oracle, Azrael, and Huntress had already made a plan of attack. To simply charge in would hamper that plan. Batman stayed out of sight, creeping through the back hallways of the building and keeping track of Azrael and Huntress through their icons on his cowl HUD. They were climbing the side of the tower, with their apparent goal being the penthouse. So they’d planned to capture Black Mask first. Knowing Oracle’s similar thinking pattern to his own, they would most likely use Roman to lure Deathstroke out of the building and well away from any possible collateral damage.

Alfred’s voice piped up. “You may wish to keep an eye out, sir. There is an apartment leased to one Billy Wintergreen on the floor you’re currently on.”

“Deathstroke’s associate. I’ll be careful.”

“Come to think of it, I actually knew Billy. Nice lad. We did a few joint UK/US missions together.”

“Clearly, he’s taken a turn for the worse since then.”

“I’m sure the sight of you is all he will need to have the sense scared back into him.”

Oracle came onto the comns. “Batman, are you in Lacey Towers?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… did Homefire clear you for action?”

Alfred sighed. “I most certainly did not, Oracle. You know how he is.”

“It’s a mild concussion. I’m fine.”

“Weren’t you-”

“Shot, yes. Three times, directly to the head. I have armor for a reason.”

“Remember that one time you said you were only human? I can’t believe I ever took your word for it.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Drone intel has Black Mask in his penthouse. Huntress and Azrael are scaling the building to avoid Deathstroke and get Roman early. From there, they’ll escape in a way Deathstroke will be sure to notice.”

“He might not follow. I’m the target, not Huntress and Azrael. And he knows he can always break Black Mask out of whatever precinct they take him to.”

“I’ve got a backup, but that’s the plan for now.”

“Where do you want me?”

“... You sure?”

“This is your operation. Where do you want me?”

“You probably won’t get to the penthouse in time. Follow them when they leave and-”

The rest of Oracle’s plan was drowned out by the crashing sound of the wall bursting open. A strong arm wrapped around Batman’s neck and dragged him through the wall, tossing him to the ground. He rose to see Deathstroke pacing around him, spinning his staff.

Aside from the staff, he was unarmed. He’d backed outside of Batman’s reach and his staff would ensure that that distance was kept. Batman raised his fists defensively and backed up slowly before drawing and hurling two Batarangs as fast as he possibly could. Deathstroke’s staff blocked one, but the other stabbed between two plates of armor into the side where his mask had no eyehole. Deathstroke was one-eyed and it was clearly still an impediment. Batman lunged, focusing his attack on the blind side. Deathstroke blocked every strike with some effort and fell back. Batman ducked his next swipe, kicked his legs out from under him, and kicked the staff away as he hit the ground. He restrained Deathstroke and tore his helmet off- revealing the very two-eyed face of Billy Wintergreen.

“Where is he?”

Billy grinned. “‘Where are they?’ is a better question. And they’re just across the street. Better hurry, Batman.”

Huntress and Azrael’s icons were no longer scaling the building. They were in the abandoned building across the street, and the positions they were in suggested that they’d been restrained in some way. Batman knocked Billy out and ran out of Lacey Towers. “Oracle, did you hear that?”

“Yes. It happened while you were fighting Wintergreen. From what Black Mask’s security cameras can tell me, Deathstroke was waiting there in a spot I couldn’t see until they arrived. He used knockout gas on them and took them to the other building by zipline. Black Mask followed him.” Oracle was keeping her tone professional, but she was clearly forcing back stress.

“Do you have any information on the building?”

“I’ve sent you the blueprints. There’s no cameras, or at least none I can access. I can’t see what’s happening in there.”

“Keep it together, Oracle.”

“I am.”

“I’ll get them back.”

“I know you will.”

Oracle cut the connection. Batman switched Detective Mode on and scanned the building. Four heat sources were inside. Two gun emplacements were aimed at the front door and one was aimed at every window. He sprayed explosive gel on each of the door hinges, prepared an explosive Batarang in each hand, and detonated the gel. Batman charged and threw both Batarangs, destroying the guns before they could get more than a shot each. Both shots staggered him, but neither penetrated his armor. From his balcony, Black Mask applauded sarcastically. “Good job, Batman! You figured out how to open a door!”

“It’s over, Sionis. Your assassins failed.”

“The bounty’s good ‘till daybreak, Batman. And one guy’s still around to collect it.”

“You think Deathstroke stands a chance?”

Black Mask stepped aside and gestured towards Azrael and Huntress, chained to the concrete columns behind them. “With your pals here tied up? I think he does.”

Deathstroke’s heat signature was behind a suspended paint-splattered canvas. Batman glared at Black Mask and tossed a Batarang at the canvas, cutting through the ropes holding it up to reveal- absolutely nothing but a small, grey box. Black Mask burst out laughing. “Were you going for dramatic there? His suit’s sensor-invisible, idiot!”

A slight gust of wind was his only warning. Batman dove aside as Deathstroke’s sword stabbed into the ground he’d been standing on immediately before. Deathstroke stood and spun his sword into a ready position. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You’re not the type to complicate a job, Wilson. Why not just shoot me?”

“That’s what I said. But the guy paying up there wants you to get a ‘deserving’ death, whatever that means.”

“It’s a favor. What do you wanna tell future clients, that you killed Batman with a cheap shot to the back or that you beat him into submission and stabbed him in the heart?”

“I’d rather just tell them I killed Batman.”

Deathstroke snapped around and cut the Batarang he’d thrown out of the air. “Sloppy. You’re used to fighting people far below your level. You’ve grown complacent. Confident. Let me fix that.”

And with that, Deathstroke lunged. Batman blocked the sword with his gauntlet and Deathstroke dodged his counter, stepping away and immediately striking from a different angle. He was stronger than Batman. Just as fast, if not faster. And he’d been conserving his strength all night, meaning his stamina would hold out longer. Batman weathered his next barrage, dodging, blocking, and taking far too many hits for comfort. Deathstroke’s sword had glanced off his armor every time, but he hadn’t gone for a killing blow yet. He was showing Batman just how outmatched he was. Batman exploited a split-second pause in his assault, seizing the offensive before he could continue. Deathstroke couldn’t use his sword to defend himself, so he used his free hand and moved so that every hit Batman landed bounced uselessly off a plate of armor.

“Shouldn’t have brought your fists to a swordfight.”

Deathstroke drew a small sphere from his belt and tossed it to the ground. A retina-scorching flash of light was accompanied by a deafening BANG as Deathstroke darted away. It would’ve been absolutely debilitating were Batman’s cowl not designed to protect him from flashbangs. He fired a cable after Deathstroke, stabbing into his leg between two plates of armor.

“Get over here.”

Batman retracted the cable, dragging Deathstroke across the ground back to him, and checked his backwards momentum with a haymaker to the face. Deathstroke’s mask flew one way, the rest of his helmet flew another, and he landed heavily on the ground.

“Flashbangs don’t work. Good to know.”

The mercenary rolled away, ripped the cable out of his leg, and stood. Batman immediately rushed him, aiming a kick towards his injured leg and following up with a crushing series of blows to the abdomen. Deathstroke slammed the pommel of his sword into Batman’s head exactly where Deadshot’s bullets had impacted, stepped aside, and shoved Batman to the ground. By the time he’d stood, Deathstroke had backed away again. His limp was already disappearing. Batman fired his grappling hook at a rafter above them and was in midair when a shruikan sliced through the diamond-reinforced cord. He crashed to the ground and Deathstroke stabbed between his armor and into his stomach before he could stand. Batman scraped a handful of dust from the concrete next to him and tossed it into Deathstroke’s eye, standing as soon as he stumbled away. One hand instinctively raced to his stomach before he forced it up again. Black Mask laughed. “So the Bat bleeds. I knew it. I knew you were human under there.”

Deathstroke charged again, as fast as ever. It was Batman that was slowing instead. Batman that was getting steadily more desperate. He was bleeding. He was reeling.

He was losing.

Deathstroke knocked him to the ground again, his next stab coming directly for Batman’s eye. He clapped his hands together, trapping the blade inches from its goal. Deathstroke growled and pushed harder.

The blade slipped closer, barely hindered by friction.

It slipped again, resting gently against his right eyepiece.

The eyepiece cracked and went dark with the next slip.

Batman roared and bucked, the strength of desperation forcing Deathstroke off of him. His eyepiece shattered entirely, the sword’s tip leaving a parting gift of a deep cut just under his right eye. He threw a Batarang. It whistled past Deathstroke’s head and continued towards the balcony. Black Mask laughed mockingly again. “You missed!”

Deathstroke got it first. The shock on his face quickly became a wry grin of respect. “No, he didn’t.”

The Batarang turned around the column Azrael was chained to, cutting nicks into the chains. Nicks were all Azrael needed. He shattered the chains, barreled past Black Mask, jumped, and landed between Batman and Deathstroke with sword drawn. Batman caught the Batarang and returned it to his belt. “You people always forget what a boomerang is supposed to do.”

Azrael pointed his sword at the assassin before him. “Deathstroke. Know that your greed values money over lives. Know that you have abused the power you have been given. Know that you will be punished.”

As their duel commenced, Batman bounded up a nearby staircase to the balcony. Black Mask drew both guns in his suit and began firing wildly, the shots ricocheting off Batman’s armor. He reached Black Mask, tore both guns away, and lifted him into the air. Black Mask was panting with terror. “You… you… he stabbed you in the eye! I saw it! W-what are you!?”

He pulled Black Mask forward, forcing him to stare into his very unstabbed eye. “I’m Batman.”

Batman knocked Black Mask out, dropped him, and picked the lock holding Huntress’s chains together. They leapt from the balcony, prepared to enter the fray- only to see Deathstroke sheathing his sword.

“What are you doing?”

Deathstroke shrugged. “The client’s down. He’s probably going to Blackgate and prison tends to hinder peoples’ ability to pay me. I’ve got no more business here and no problem with any of you. See you-“

A blunt crossbow bolt hit him in the forehead. Electricity coursed across his head and Deathstroke fell to the ground. Huntress hung her crossbow back on her belt. “We’ve still got business with you.”

A faint light began to shine through the windows. Dawn had broken. Black Mask’s deadline was up. Oracle returned to the comns. “Everyone okay?”

“We’re fine, Oracle. Black Mask is down.”

“And Deathstroke?”

“His record’s going to be a little less perfect.”

The Batcave

“I thought you might like to know that the others are upstairs. They’re doing this absolutely mad thing. Sitting around a gaudily decorated tree and giving each other presents. I’ve never seen anything like it, sir.”

“I’ll be up in a minute. I’m compiling evidence against Black Mask for his trial. And another Holiday Killer victim turned up.”

“It can wait for an hour.”

“Half an hour.”

“An hour, and not a minute sooner. You’ve already missed a delightful evening. Why, you should’ve seen what happened when I hung a sprig of mistletoe-”

“Jean-Paul and Helena used it as an excuse to kiss. I’ve been tracking the progression of their relationship.”

“You have a way of removing the fun from everything nowadays.”

“I had to get a superpower eventually.”

“Perhaps you could show it off upstairs.”

“I just need to finish this-”

“Master Bruce, you will come upstairs right now or I will wrap a wreath around your neck and drag you there.”

“I’m coming.”

“Smart lad.”