BATMAN: The New Continuity

Somewhere in Gotham City, 10:26 p.m.

Ten men remained of what had once been known as the Falseface Society. They had been the elite group of men whom had served well enough to have been rewarded with the trust of Gotham City's kingpin, Black Mask. Now, that kingpin was toppling, and the mighty elite were too few to call themselves a society any longer. They sat now at the same long table that had once been filled with their colleagues and they, but which was now largely empty.

Black Mask sat at the head of the table, as always. He looked down at the glossy black finish of the wood, preparing to address his diminished senate of lieutenants. Black Mask raised his head and regarded the men who sat near him. He was reminded of exactly why the group was no longer elite enough to be called a Society; somehow, Batman had known exactly which members of the Falseface Society to eliminate to make things that much more difficult. The remainder of the Society was more than adequate to run any normal criminal organization, but for one as large as that of Black Mask, the current group would be barely functional.

"Gentlemen," Black Mask began, touching the tabletop with the tip of his index finger, "I believe you all know what comes next. I now know with fair certainty that it has been the Batman who is attempting to undermine our businesses. He must be dealt with."

The masked assembly nodded in unanimous agreement. Black Mask brought his fist down on the table hard with anger. "So? You give me your agreement? Is that all?" The group looked to Black Mask with confusion, then around to themselves. "You agree that the Batman is a problem who must be dealt with, yet you offer me no options when it comes time to address dealing with that problem. If you do not come up with something soon, something effective, something that can accomplish what no one has yet been able to do, destroy the Batman--permanently--then you will leave this room, and I will anonymously donate to the police full details of each of your criminal activities, excluding any ties to myself, of course."

Of course, this suggestion didn't serve to make the group any more comfortable. It did seem to make them busier though, as they began to talk amongst each other, using phrases like "what if we . . ." and "okay, what do we know about . . ." Black Mask sat back and listened, a crooked grin spreading over his mouth behind his mask.

"Okay," said the man who wore the demonic Halloween mask, "obviously, Batman controls the men in the white tuxedos. But, he was there when they burst in and mowed down Nixon and the gang. That means that either Batman had a lot of confidence in his ability to evade bullets, and in the aim of his associates, or . . ."

Sitting across from the demon was a man who wore a black executioner's hood. He folded his hands and rested them on the table. "Or," he picked up, "it wasn't really Batman who was there."

Black Mask shook his head. "We have no idea who, if any one man, is truly Batman. People have theorized credibly for quite some time that Batman, Robin, and so on, are not solitary people, but a group of organized vigilantes."

"If that's true," the demon offered, "then it's certainly possible that the man in charge of this assault on us--"

"On me," Black Mask firmly reminded his underling.

"On you; sorry, boss. I mean, it's possible that whoever is in charge of the attacks on Black Mask, the Falseface Society, the businesses, is just some rogue member of the Batman group. I think you told us that the man disguised as Eddie Yardley said that he was trying to infiltrate us in order to find out who was behind the campaign against uh--Black Mask."

"He could have been trying to find out if it really was one of the Batmen," the executioner offered.

Black Mask shook his head again. "These are all interesting theories, but we're basing so much on the unproved assumption that Batman is not singular. If that's not true, then all of this conversation so far is moot."

"I have a solution to our problem that works no matter whether Batman is one, or ten, or a hundred different guys," the member of the group sporting a plastic mask of a policeman's face with a charred bullet hole through the center. "Simple: whenever we see Batman, or Robin, or . . . the other guy, in black, with the ponytail?"

"Nightwing, I believe," Black Mask said, resting his face on his chin.

"Nightwing, whatever. Anyway, every time we see one, we waste the bastard. Even if there are more than one of each, there has to be a limit on how many? We'll kill them all before too long."

Black Mask nodded his head. "That is the obvious solution. It raises another problem, however: how are we to gather the manpower needed to undertake such a task? Batman is sighted all over Gotham City on a nightly basis; just finding him will be a task in and of itself. It is complicated further if indeed our theory of multiple Batmen turns out to be true."

"What about hiring people?" someone suggested. Black Mask looked up and saw that it was the member of the group dressed in a white skull mask. "You know, like, thugs? I mean, street shit."

"I been thinkin' 'bout somethin' similar ta that," said someone with a heavy Italian accent who wore a Humphrey Bogart mask. "I been thinkin' that you need to expand your operations outside the usual shit that we been doin', ya know?"

"Just what did you have in mind?" Black Mask inquired, although it was hard to tell if the interest in his voice was feigned or genuine.

"He's talking about consolidating the street gangs, boss," answered the Falsefacer with the fuzzy pink pig mask. He turned to look at Bogart. "And, it was my goddamn idea."

"We don't need to get in bed with every single street gang in Gotham City. To combat the Batman, or men, we'll only need to get a few gangs on the payroll," Black Mask surmised. "We'll just have to get the right ones."

"And equip 'em with the right stuff to be able to stand up against Batman," Bogart reminded everyone. "They got the street knowledge, but not the shit to put it to use."

"The North Street Serpents and the Bone-Eaters on Ascotte Avenue are the largest in numbers, but their leaders are strong, not the type to sell out, even to me," Black Mask observed.

"Next obvious choice would be the Schenmacher Avenue Copperheads," the pig suggested.

Black Mask shook his head slowly. "I said that it would be difficult to get the Serpents and Bone-Eaters in with us, but it won't be impossible. I'm still number one dog in Gotham," Black Mask reminded his lieutenants. "Pig, I want you, Bogart, and Osiris to head over to North Street, see if you can talk the top punk in the Serpents to have a chat with me. When that's done, then we'll go for the guys on Ascotte."

The group stood from the table and left. Black Mask watched them leave with silence. He decided that, if they didn't succeed with the street gangs, and if Batman didn't hit any more, Black Mask would kill the rest of the Falseface Society himself. He had less and less to lose everyday, anyway.

Beneath Wayne Manor, 10:59 p.m.

Dick Grayson trotted down the stone steps into the cave, where Batman was already suited up and making his way into the gymnasium. "In the mood for a late night workout, are we?" Dick asked in an overly friendly tone. Batman turned at the sound of his voice.

"I've been putting in appearances at Wayne Enterprises all day. I barely found time for my workout today, and haven't practiced combat hardly at all today. I can postpone patrol at least twenty minutes; that should give me some time to practice a few moves, play out a few scenarios."

Dick shrugged. "Looking for a sparring partner?"

Batman looked back at the elevator that led down to the second level of the cave, which housed the laboratory as well as the gym. "I was going to spar with Robin; he should be here anytime."

Dick looked around. "He's not here now, is he? Come-on, it's been awhile since we've had a good old fashioned . . . slobberknocker."

Batman stopped and looked at Dick a moment; he couldn't be sure, but it seemed to Dick that beneath the cowl, Bruce Wayne was raising an eyebrow. "Slobberknocker?"

"Isn't that what they call a knock-down, drag-out in the midwest? Oklahoma?"

Batman turned and started for the elevator. "Funny thing, when I was learning languages during my years abroad, I neglected to pick up midwestern slang."

Dick caught up with Batman and put his arm around the costumed man's shoulders. "One day, that little oversight will come back and smack you right in the face. And, I mean hard, too."

"Master Dick, I do hope you aren't planning to harm my employer." Dick turned and saw Alfred walking calmly down the steps, having heard only the last sentence of the conversation. "Master Bruce does sign my paychecks, afterall."

Dick grinned wide. "Hey Alfred. Hope you don't mind, but I left myself in. You must've been dusting something, or . . . something."

Alfred drew in a breath and began speaking. "I was actually preparing a late meal for myself. Master Bruce called upon my services as a chauffeur for most of the day, and I've yet to have my dinner. I thought that a small chicken would do for tonight."

Dick nodded in agreement. "If Batman didn't need me like he has lately, I'd be tempted to sit down and have a breast or two with you."

Alfred looked to the side and said drolly, "I didn't neglect to mention that I would be dining on an animal?"

Dick smiled widely at his friend's remark, shaking his head and walking to the elevator behind Batman, who had already resumed his walk. The two men stepped into the elevator, and the device transported them to the lower plateau of the cave. Batman stepped off, flipping a row of switches. The rows of lights that lined the walls around the lower plateau flickered on, making the interior of the cave as bright as day. Dick looked up with something resembling nostalgia as several bats that had been resting high on the stone walls, and even a few way up at the roof of the cave, left their perches and flew deeper into the massive cavern to escape the grasp of the light.

The Batcave's gymnasium was a cavern within a cave. It's ceiling was as high as that of the entire cave, and it was completely surrounded by high limestone walls that reached up all the way to the ceiling. From outside, the gym appeared to be just a huge stone room, naturally hollowed out by the forces of time. Inside, however, one could see that the forces of man had played almost as large a role as those of the earth.

The high limestone walls were as smooth as polished marble, and reflected the high-powered lights that hung from the ceiling of the gym. The ceiling still hung with stalagtites, and was the only part of the cavern that Batman hadn't renovated into something a bit more fitting for an exercise area. Bruce and Dick, with Alfred's able assistant of course, had smoothed and polished the interior walls and floor of the gymnasium themselves. They worked on the room for several hours a day, but their lives as Batman and Robin took precedence over the construction of the gym. As a result, it had taken a total of three years for the gym to be completed. The room was finished just before Dick took off his Robin costume in favor of the identity of Nightwing.

Since then, Dick tried to make it a point to visit the gymnasium he had helped to build. Now that he was living in Gotham City again, on a permanent basis, he hoped, Dick expected to stop by the gym for a workout a few days a week. Afterall, Batman had begun to equip it with the most modern and effective physical fitness equipment available as soon as the room was stable enough to safely house the equipment.

Batman and Dick walked into the gym, and Batman flipped another row of switches; the lights hanging from the ceiling flickered to strong life. The gym was divided into two areas; one area housed equipment designed to build muscle, increase stamina, and hone fighting skills; the second area was built into an obstacle course that consisted of an Olympic sized swimming pool that had an electronically controlled depth regulator, stone walls that varied in steepness and height, and hundreds of yards of tunnels that wrapped around each other and ran all around the obstacle area.

Batman walked over to the sparring area. Dick followed. "Actually," Batman said, holding up his hand, "I was hoping to get in a few minutes with the dummies before we had a session."

Dick held up his palms and back off the mat he had been standing on. "No problem, although I don't know how Alfred and Tim would react to being called dummies!" Batman ignored the remark; any iota of a sense of humor he had as Bruce Wayne was driven from existence when the cape and cowl went on. Batman walked to the edge of the practice mat, where a small computer console rose up from the floor. Batman looked at the largest of the practice dummies, then typed several commands into the computer.

The dummy's arms and legs made several small movements, then it assumed an offensive posture, walking forward, as if searching for something to fight. Batman walked directly into its path, assuming a defensive stance. The dummy stopped, its motion-sensor eyes sizing up its opponent. As the dummy's programming was deciding what to do, Batman stepped forward, ducked down beneath the automated unit's reach and swept its legs out from under it. The dummy rolled over backwards and reassumed its initial fighting posture.

Batman and the dummy began to circle each other. When he was closest to the control computer, Batman tapped in several new commands. The dummy immediately made a charge for him, throwing one punch after another. Batman blocked each blow, but didn't offer any offense of his own. Instead, he ducked down and away, rolling behind the dummy and assuming another defensive stance. The dummy executed a perfectly calibrated roundhouse kick. Batman stepped back away from the kick, and the dummy recovered by planting its front foot down and spinning its back leg around, catching Batman on the side of his head.

Batman took hold of the dummy's leg before it could be pulled down and away, and twisted it hard. The dummy hobbled away, as if injured. Standing at the side of the mat, Dick crossed his arms and smiled with interest; he had never seen the dummies operate with such sophistication. Batman moved back to the control console and typed in another command. Batman stood in the center of the mat, and all of the practice dummies came alive and surrounded him. They began to advance in on him, and Batman dropped to his knees, falling forward on his hands and thrusting his right leg out behind him in a hard mule kick, knocking over one of the dummies.

Jumping from his knees into a low crouch, Batman swung the back of his fist into the abdomen of the closest dummy, reaching up with his legs and catching the head of the next closest in a scissors, flipping it down to the mat. Batman took hold of the head of the dummy he had punched and flipped it down on top of the first one. One dummy remained, and Batman floored it with a simple sidekick to the shoulder. A few keystrokes on the computer console, and the dummies stood and formed back into a straight line at the end of the practice mat.

As he was walking off the mat, Batman looked up and saw Dick smiling. The younger man clapped his hands and nodded admirably to his mentor. "I don't suppose you're applauding my fighting skills?"

Dick shook his head. "I've seen all that before. Heck, I've felt it in our sparring sessions." Dick pointed at the dummies with his right hand. "But, I've never seen those things do what they were doing. That's just amazing, Bruce!"

Batman nodded, reaching for a towel and drying off the exposed section of his face. "I've been tinkering with them, expanding their abilities with more complex programming." Batman looked at them and shook his head ruefully. "They're far from perfect, though. They need constant reprogramming during sparring sessions, they can't do aerial moves very well, and I have to be careful not to hit them too hard. They aren't as durable as I'd like."

"Still, pretty impressive. But, have these dummies made you soft? Can you still handle a real flesh and blood opponent?"

Batman shrugged once. "Just who did you have in mind?"

"How about Nightwing?"

Batman looked at the man before him, the man who had been his partner, his prot�g�, and stepped back onto the mat. Batman walked around the perimeter of the mat, slowly, decisively. He stopped at the far end of the mat, on the other side of the dummies, and reached up and pulled the cowl from his head. "I don't see Nightwing," he said, dropping the cowl to the mat. "But, I do see Dick Grayson."

Dick smiled and stepped onto the mat, shrugging off his jacket and pushing it off the mat with his foot. He threw his arms out in front of him several times, did three deep squats to loosen his knees and legs, and took two steps forward, facing Bruce. The two men circled each other until Bruce was near the computer controls, where he typed in a command, and the group of dummies dutifully marched off to the sides of the practice mats. Dick continued to eye Bruce, rolling up his sleeves as the two men continued to move opposite each other.

Bruce didn't allow himself to smile, but Dick sensed that maybe Bruce was enjoying this little exercise more than he was letting on. Knowing that, if neither man acted, they would be circling each other for hours, Bruce stopped, standing firm near the edge of the mat nearest to the gymnasium entrance. Dick continued to circle for several paces, causing Bruce to turn in order to keep Dick in sight. About to complete one half of a turn, Bruce shifted his feet slightly to make the move smoother. Dick seized what he saw as possibly his only opportunity in a fight with an opponent as skilled as Bruce.

Utilizing speed and timing that he had possessed in some form or another since his days with the Haley Circus, Dick stepped forward, shifted all of his weight to his right side and dove straight for Bruce's ankle, his right hand outstretched. Bruce jumped up and backwards, no doubt hoping to somersault and land safely several feet away, free to rethink strategy. If anything, Dick wanted to deny him that opportunity. Bruce went for the somersault, but Dick maintained his grip on the ankle.

Bruce hit the mat back first, but recovered quickly by back flipping and landing on his feet directly opposite Dick. "Nice try," he relented. Dick just shrugged, and the two men began circling each other again. Dick began moving in closer, shrinking the circle in which he was walking slightly every few times around. There was no doubt that Bruce noticed this, and that was just what Dick was hoping for. Once the two men were close enough, Bruce's back-weighted foot shifted and shot forward suddenly. Dick blocked the kick, snaring Bruce's leg effortlessly with his left hand. The next instant, Bruce jumped with his free leg and swung his foot up towards Dick's head. Dick ducked his head slightly to avoid the kick. Bruce's foot landed and immediately swung up again, catching Dick off guard this time, kicking him on the side of his face.

Dick staggered back, holding the back of his hand to his smarting face. He smiled, his inborn confidence not allowing him to show any other expression. Nodding, still smiling, he said, "You were never that rough when I was Robin."

Bruce answered simply, "You weren't this big as Robin."

"I was nineteen when I became Nightwing."

"Yes, but you spent most of the last year or so you were Robin working with the Titans. We didn't spar much." Bruce heard footsteps and turned around to see Alfred standing in the doorway; Tim Drake was standing behind him.

"Master Timothy Drake, Esquire," Alfred announced formally, then stepped aside to allow the young man to pass. "How was that, sir?" he asked as Tim walked past.

"Perfect, Alfred." Tim made an O with his thumb and forefinger. Dick was staring at Tim curiously, and Bruce was just staring. "Sorry," Tim said, jerking his thumb back in Alfred's direction, "I asked Alfred to do that. I've never been announced before, you know?"

Dick stepped off the mat. "You'll have to get Bruce to invite you to one of his many social gatherings." Dick walked past Bruce, and mouthed the words, "Yeah, right." Tim grinned widely and waited until Dick had left the gym before approaching Bruce.

Tim stopped at the edge of the practice mat and looked back at the door where Dick had been a second ago. "You . . . you and Dick were having a little sparring session, huh?"

Bruce walked over to where his cape and cowl were laying, picked them up and draped them over his right forearm. "I had some time to kill, so I decided it was a good idea to get some practice in with the dummies."

Tim smiled, much as Dick had when he heard a similar statement. "Dick might be a little irreverent sometimes, but he's hardly--"

"I've already heard that one tonight, thank you," Bruce interrupted. "By the way, the next time we have some time during the day, I want you to come down and help me work on some new programming for the practice dummies. WayneTech is developing a more sophisticated type of motion-sensing electronic eye, and I'd like to run some unofficial tests."

Tim nodded thoughtfully. "I can probably come over this weekend, maybe Saturday afternoon."

Bruce agreed. "Fine." He closed his eyes and looked down at the floor for a moment in light concentration. "It's nearly eleven-thirty. We should be on the streets." Bruce walked past Tim, pulling on the cape and cowl as he exited the gym.

13123 North Street, 11:33 p.m.

The building was called the Snakepit by those who inhabited it on a nightly basis. No one actually lived there, but the condemned three-story structure that had once served as North Street Junior High School served as a meeting place and base of operations for the North Street Serpents, the largest assembly of the gang which inhabited several large cities up and down the east coast, including New York and Metropolis.

Until ten years ago, the Serpents hadn't been a major force in the Gotham gang scene. They had never been large in numbers, never got involved in turf wars or fights with rival gangs; they didn't maintain enough contact with others to actually have any rivals. Ten years ago, with gang violence climbing steadily in Gotham, the numbers of the Serpents, who then were located mostly between 25th and 27th Avenues, began to grow. As the numbers grew, their territory expanded. The Serpents soon grew to overtake several smaller gangs in their area, adding the members to their own ranks. Two years ago, the police had cracked down on the Serpents, either killing or convicting and imprisoning nearly a third of their numbers in a six-month span of time. The remaining members pulled up stakes and moved deeper into downtown Gotham City, moving into the closed up North Street Junior High building.

It was a very poor neighborhood, and when the black Mercedes pulled up outside the front of the building it became the most expensive vehicle to come to rest within the limits of North Street since the police had busted up a crack house there three months ago.

The car's four doors opened all at once, and three men stepped out onto the ground. The other two waiting for him, the driver of the car walked around and led the group up the crumbling concrete front stairs of the building. The leader moved to knock on the door, then upon realizing the stupidity of what he was about to do, turned the knob and pushed the door open. The three men walked inside, examining their surroundings; there was more of the ceiling lying crumbled on the floor than there was actually above it.

"Jesus," the Pig said, brushing fallen plaster from his shoulder, "Look at this place."

Osiris, called so because of the Egyptian-style mask he sported, scanned the floor and walls as he and his two companions proceeded cautiously down the hall. As the Pig was about to round the corner at the end of the hallway, he felt something hard smack him in the face. He fell back into Osiris, and Osiris stumbled back onto Bogart. Two young men appeared from beyond the corner, holding .9 millimeter handguns. Their heads were shaved, their bald skulls covered with tattoos of, what else, serpents.

Instinctively, the three masked men moved along the wall quickly, lining up outside the door. The Pig, who was closest to the door on the left side, signaled to Bogart, who stood on the other side of the door; both men pulled their guns. Behind the Pig, Osiris readied his weapon, prepared to back up whoever went back in first.

The Pig looked back at Osiris, then stepped into the doorway. "Hold it!" he yelled viciously down the hall. The two Serpents opened fire, laughing maniacally. The Pig jumped back behind the door, unhurt. Once the gunfire had subsided, he stepped back into the doorway and fired six shots one after another, each shot impacting the wall closer to the Serpent on the left, the fifth and sixth shots finding rest in the arm and shoulder of the gang member. The wounded Serpent collapsed, his gun clattering to the floor. His partner disappeared beyond the corner of the hallway.

Holding their weapons ready out in front of them, the three Falsefacers re-entered the building. When they reached the wounded Serpent, Bogart knelt down to feel for a pulse while the Pig and Osiris continued on around the corner. At the end of that hallway was a half-open door. The two Falsefacers moved slowly to the door. "All right, now listen," the Pig yelled into the room, "We're not here to start anything, all right? No gang wars, no . . . we're not going to start anything, no shit like that, got it? We've got a business proposition for you guys."

The Pig waited silently by the door, and received no reply. Then, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet tore through the door, whizzing down the hall to just miss the approaching Bogart. The Pig kicked the door open and fired a shot straight ahead. The bullet took down a young Serpent, and his cohorts leapt to their feet in retaliation. The Pig realized what a stupid move he had made, and expected a flurry of bullets to start flying in his direction.

"Hold it, you assholes!" he heard a young voice say instead. "It's cool," the Serpent said, walking towards the Pig, lowering the gunarm of one of his fellow gang members, "He's Falseface. They're all Falseface." The young Serpent stood beside the Pig and looked at the rest of the gang members in the room. "It's cool," he reiterated.

"What the hell does Falseface want with us?" one of the younger gang members asked cynically.

The Serpent standing beside the Pig, and who was obviously the leader of the gang, grinned at his fellows. "Black Mask sent 'em." The young leader of the Serpents picked a ball of fuzz from the Pig's mask. "Sent 'em to beg for our help."

"Shit," the younger member offered. "Why would a big dog like Black Mask want our help, anyway?"

"Because, asshole, the Batman's putting some serious hurt on him," the leader said with heavy annoyance. "Don't you listen to a damn thing I tell you? Huh?"

"Just, how do you know what's happening with Black Mask?" Osiris asked, assuming a position behind the Pig, in the hallway.

The Serpent leader walked to the center of the room and grinned pompously. "Please, Egyptology. You think that just because I'm not wearing a pig mask that I don't know what's happening further on up the ladder? I got connections--I got 'em, baby! And, as long as I'm in charge, the Serpents will be the street gang that knows everything--everything--about what you all are doin' . . . not to mention what's being done to you."

The Pig looked beside and behind him at his partners. Looking back at the leader of the Serpents, he holstered his gun and said, "Okay. So you know about the troubles we've been having. Found out a little while ago that it was the Batman behind it all. We need some help--that's manpower, something we don't have as much of anymore."

The Serpent leader crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. "What're you askin' me, Miss Piggy? Your big black boss want our help?"

"You know the streets. We need people who are just as at home in Gotham as the Batman."

"Doesn't Black Mask hire competent help?"

"All of our . . . competent help was killed. That's why we're even here."

The Serpent leader opened his mouth and nodded in understanding. "I see . . . so, you want our help?" The Pig nodded once. "Against the Batman?" The Pig nodded again, twice. "All of us?"

"Are you going to help us or not? Don't fuck with me, punk," the Pig shot back, annoyed.

The Serpent leader broke into an open grin, looked around the room at the rest of the Serpents. "You really think that we can take out the Batman?"

The Pig looked back at his partners, shook his head reluctantly, and turned back to the Serpents. "Honestly? . . . No. No, I don't."

The Serpent leader extended his hand to the Pig. "I do," he said. The two shook hands, and when the shake was over, the Serpent leader stepped back and turned the collar up on his black leather jacket. He ran his right hand over his shaved head and said with confidence, "We'll kill Batman."

2300 Block, Tetris Avenue, 12:03 a.m.

"Does the name George Ricon name anything to you?" Batman asked Robin as he piloted the Batmobile through Gotham City.

Robin shook his head. "No. No, I don't think I've heard it before. Why?"

Batman kept one hand on the steering wheel, and used his free hand to punch several commands into the console that sat between the driver and passenger seats. The computer screen flashed on, and a file window opened up. Robin examined it; it was a voice print, from an oscilloscope. "This is the voice analysis you were running?"

Batman nodded. "On whoever killed the Rabbit. The only file in the electronic dossiers that comes close is that one, George Ricon. According to this, he's sixty-three years old. The man I saw shoot the Rabbit was about that age, frail looking."

"Is that where we're going? To Ricon's?"

Batman shook his head. "Not yet. I'm going to swing by tonight just to get an idea of the lay of the place. Tomorrow, I'll ask Nightwing to begin surveillance of the place. I want to make a few good swipes across the city tonight."

The Batmobile came to a stop in an alley between 3243 and 3245 Tetris Avenue. It's two costumed occupants exited and made their way to the roof of 3243. Batman walked to the other side of the roof and began scanning the surrounding buildings. He pulled a small yellow gun from the back of his utility belt and aimed for a high balcony that jutted out from the side of the Greenwich Hotel. Batman fired the gun, and a grappling hook shot from its barrel, a powerful poly-fiber cord trailing along behind it. The grapple found its place on the support rail of the balcony, and Batman pulled the cord tight and jumped off the roof of 3243 Tetris Avenue. Swinging on the end of the cord, he flew across and down the street, landing on the roof of a smaller apartment building located at 3234 Tetris Avenue.

Robin followed suit, joining his partner on the roof of 3234 in much the same manner. Batman examined the roof quickly, then found another target and readied the grapple-gun.

A gunshot rang out over the city, and Batman dropped the grapple-gun, his hand tightened in sudden pain. He looked at his hand and saw a bullet lodged in the top of his kevlar glove. Batman turned his head to the source of the shot: seven members of the North street gang, the Serpents, each sporting large semi-automatic weapons. Batman moved at once for the edge of the roof, pushing Robin on ahead of him. One of the Serpents fired, and the bullet found its way past Batman, knocking Robin's left leg out from under him. Batman had heard the shot, but already leapt over the edge of the roof.

The largest of the Serpents ran up, and Robin kicked him hard in the stomach, springing to his feet and punching the gang member hard in the teeth. He fell backwards, and one his partners fired his own weapon as soon as the beaten Serpent was out of the way. The bullet struck Robin in the chest, knocking the young man off his feet and stunning him.

The Serpent who had shot ran up and stood on Robin's arms, pointing the gun down at the boy's masked face. "You make a move, I'll blow your head off." Robin stared up at the barrel of a gun, his mind racing, trying to find a way out. "Hell," the Serpent said, "I'm gonna kill you anyway!"

The Serpent pulled the trigger.