Dick Grayson lay in the next room, critically ill with massive internal injuries; he’d survive, he has to!  The events of the last two days whirled again in Bruce’s mind, questioning every decision, looking for where he went wrong, but it was academic.

Alfred entered the dining room, suit pristine as always.  He noticed that the food on the table was still there, largely untouched, just moved around the plate in absent minded arrangement.

“Sir, you need to eat,” he ventured softly. Bruce didn’t answer; just opened his eyes to the scene before him.

The sun had long descended now, but the orange glow remained.  Gotham was burning still, even after two days.  The fires dotted across the city like some sick map of terrorism.

This was only the beginning.

For a moment, Batman was back in time, on the night that he had last encountered the beast that is Bane.  The night that this thing came close to doing what so many have longed to do, kill Batman.  The broken back, the months of rehab, the frustration welling up, uncontrollable sometimes, as Wayne recuperated from a wheelchair.

Now it looked he would have to face this living demon again.  Not only was Bane immensely strong, way beyond anybody else Batman had faced, Bane was amazingly agile and cunning.  A very destructive mix.

“We have to get out of here,” Batman thought, “to face this beast in here would be suicide.”

Guards were now running down the corridor, towards the only exit, the sealed blast doors.

As the device in the prison had detonated, Bane had used the cover of the sound created by it to place a very well aimed fist into the lock on the door.  It had given way much too easily, but he wasn’t about to worry about that.  Freedom was closer.

In the next few moments of utter confusion amongst the guards at the far end of this corridor of cells, Bane had smashed the doors of fellow inmates to free them too.  Yet this wasn’t some magnanimous gesture to his Brothers incarcerate, he needed a distraction, and they were the closest cells to him.  Truth be told he’d happily squash these maggots without a seconds thought, but now they were useful.

Before the guards had realised what was going on, Bane was already moving up the corridor to the exit with his band of maniacs.  The element of surprise is always the best option, especially against a group of guards with shotguns.

Batman stared down the corridor into the dim light as shotgun blasts began to ring out.  Making his way towards it, Bane’s figure loomed into view, shotgun blasted bodies of two prisoners lying dead just behind him.  Some guards lay unconscious.

This thing was swiping at the guards with clenched fists, knocking them away like flies.  Batman glanced back to Sergeant Deggio, “Get that damn door open now!” he yelled with a tinge of panic in his words.  Deggio began to protest but his words were lost in the chaos.

“NOW!”  Batman commanded considering whether to just go do it himself.  “And recall your men back to the door.  We’ll try and hold him off long enough so we can escape.”

Nightwing hated the idea, but what choice did he have.  He couldn’t leave his mentor alone to handle this, his sense of duty was over-riding the urge to run.

The Sergeant was already going through the complicated unlock routine, as the remaining guards trying to hold back Bane and his small gang ran at high speed past Batman and Nightwing towards the door.  Some of them were already banging at the door, pleading to be let out.

In seconds, two inmates came out of the dark straight for Batman and Nightwing.  They had the advantage of speed, but fortunately they were also dumb.  Two well directed kicks to the head of each prisoner sent them tumbling into a heap, skidding along the floor a few feet behind Batman as inertia kept them moving despite having been knocked out cold.

Expecting more, Batman and Nightwing braced whilst edging backwards towards the blast door in unison.  The only advantage they had was that they couldn’t be flanked, it was past them or nothing, a thought they both tried to forget.

Yet there was no further attack.  Twenty feet in front of them now, Bane was slowly but surely moving to them, three further inmates now behind the giant, realising they had a better chance behind this thing than in front of it.

The gap began to decrease, so Nightwing quickened his retreat, Batman following suit.  The blast door was only 100 feet away, but they had to hold Bane back long enough for Deggio to open the door and all the guards to escape.

“Another minute,” Deggio called out, “give me another minute and I’ll have it open.”

“We might not have a minute,” Batman angrily shouted back.  As he turned his head he now saw a line of three guards, all pointing their shotguns down the corridor.  “ I hope they don’t have itchy trigger fingers, or we’re done for either way,” he thought.  Certainly the men were showing signs of frayed nerves, noticeable even at this distance.

What happened next was so quick it felt like time stood still for a few seconds.  Turning back to face the approaching behemoth, Batman only had chance to see the forearm of Bane heading towards his face.  Somehow his instincts told him to drop, narrowly missing the 12-inch thick ram heading his way.  Nightwing had done the same, leaving Bane forcing between the two of them arms outstretched in a double lariat.

The three remaining inmates still stood back from the fight that had now begun.  Defying his massive weight, Bane stopped quickly and turned on his heels to face his foes, blocking their escape route.  Fists began to fly in all directions and it took every bit of athletic skill the men had to avoid the blows.

Batman managed to land a few kicks whilst twisting and turning but they seemed to have little effect.  He ducked underneath Bane’s left arm as it swung at him once again, and moved to the giants back, landing a punch directly into the kidney area.  Bane grimaced in pain, but it only made him angrier.

Another left hook glanced off Batman’s shoulder tumbling him off guard.  For the next five seconds, Nightwing was on his own.
The sound of ribs breaking cracked across the air as Bane landed a punch on Nightwing’s right side, instantly crippling him into a doubled up heap on against a cell door.  Grabbing him by the neck, Bane yanked the screaming Nightwing into the air and threw him hard towards the blast door.  They were now only 40 foot from the door.

Nightwing’s body tumbled through the air, limbs flailing like a rag doll, landed hard on the rough concrete, and slid into the door with force, stopping lifeless.

Batman had watched in anguish as this scene played out above him.  Bane was now standing over him almost.  From here Batman had one option, and he swung his foot out as hard as possible into the left knee of his assailant.

Another cry of pain, halting Bane long enough for Batman to stand and sprint to the door that was now beginning to open.  As he passed the guards with the shotguns, each man left off a blast directly at Bane.

None of them were sure if they’d hit the bastard or not, but as the smoke cleared, Bane’s body was lying on the floor motionless.

“Is he breathing?” Deggio nervously asked, staring at the bleeding and bruised Nightwing before him.

“There’s a pulse, but it isn’t strong.  We need to get him to my medical facility now,” Batman hastily replied, fearing how bad the injuries may be.  Nightwing was a mess, but it wasn’t a shock considering the man they had just faced.

Batman found himself staring in hate at Bane now as the guards began to quickly exit the room.  The mountain began to stir.  Quite how he’d survived the gunshots was impossible to guess, but he was alive, and they had to get out quickly.

With Nightwing in his arms, Batman carried him out of the shelter into a mix of rubble and dust.  All guard staff were clear now and the door was closing.  Just to make sure he wasn’t imagining, he turned back one last time just as the door was inches from closing.  Sure enough, there was Bane lumbering towards them, bleeding badly.

The blast door slammed closed with an almighty shriek of metal on metal.

“Twenty seconds,” Nightwing said, closing his eyes as he did so.

They both felt trapped.  There was nowhere to run to or hide.  Staring at the blast door, Batman wanted to run up to it, force his weight against it to offer any kind of extra weight to stop the blast ripping through them all.

“Breath, think clearly, this is only the beginning of the night,” he thought, fighting the irrational survival instinct gripping him.

Then, it came.

First the deadened roar of the detonation followed a split second later by a rumble so violent everything vibrated as if an Earthquake had hit.  The epicentre was close, maybe too close.

Even through the steel-reinforced concrete that was many feet thick, the shockwave still hit like heavy weight punch to the chest, momentarily making everyone gasp for breath.  The rumbling continued, but now it sounded different, like debris falling.  The Asylum up above must have been levelled.

Dazed, Batman looked around, visually checking everything was ok.  The first voice to break the silent awe was Deggio’s.

“Begin cell integrity checks.  Report any problems,” he bellowed.  Radio chatter instantly sprang from the internal communication system receiver on the desk in front of Batman as the guards began sounding off the cells one by one.

“Now we wait to make sure everyone is secure,” Deggio said, pre-empting the question about to be asked.  “Once that is done, we are free to leave except for the prisoners and night watch staff.”

Batman began wondering what the hell they were going to walk out into, but the thought soon passed.  A fearful voice declared from the receiver, “Sir, there is a problem with one of the cells.”

Before the frightened guard could utter another word, a primeval roar came from down the corridor of concrete cells.  Batman knew in an instant the game had changed, but it was a question of by how much, or in this case, by how many psychos.  The answer wasn’t one he wanted.

Yet it wasn’t the explosion that was now only three minutes away that was causing this.  More the demons stood in the long corridor of concrete encased cells in front of him, most of which he felt had one thing on their mind; revenge!

Sensing his unease, Deggio strode towards Batman.

“Trust me,” he offered, “that door will hold against megatons of explosive power.  Plus each of our guests are safely tucked away in their cells, awaiting room service,” the Sergeant said with a slight laugh.  “Go take a look for yourself.”

“I need to call in to find out if the other sites have been cleared, but I’m guessing radio transmission in here won’t get out,” Batman quizzed.

“A few thousand tons of concrete and many more of earth do not a good transmitter make,” the smile was till evident on Deggio’s face.  “But there is a secured phone line behind you at the desk.  Kemp,” he motioned to the guard at the desk, “give our guest some privacy.

The two men left the area.  Batman picked up the phone and began dialling, but he only called one number.  Within two rings, the call was answered.

“Alfred, are the other sites clear?”

“Indeed they are, just made the final call moments before your own sir.  I took the liberty of making the checks as I assumed you would be somewhat busy.”

“Thank you,” Batman said, a deep sincerity in his voice.  “I don’t know when I’ll return, but I could be at Arkham a while.”

“Of course sir, contact me if you need me.”

“And now I’m here to save these scumbags from a fate that most of them deserve!”  Batman thought to himself as the front gates of Arkham Asylum loomed into view.  The sanctity of Human life was something he treasured, but the people he’d come into contact with, and sent here, just didn’t have the right to life anymore.  Yet thanks to a far from strong legal system, those who had foregone the right to free life by their actions, often ended up in some wallowing prison, or here.

Trouble was, Arkham was arguably the best place to make contacts in the underworld, get ahead, and begin to meet the ‘right people’.  This place was more corrupt than anywhere in the city.

The gates were already open as Batman peeled through them, accelerating to the guard house.  The man on duty took one look at the advancing car, caught a glimpse of the outline, and recognising the speeding chariot, immediately opened the gate.  There was just enough distance between car and door for the heavy metal entry to rotate away, leaving mere inches either side of the Batmobile as it sped through.

Reaching the main door of the complex, Batman noticed another car parked up; door ajar, lights still on.  It had to be Nightwing, a thought that brought a wave of relief to Batman’s conscious.  This was one job he could never do alone.

Running inside now, sure enough, Nightwing was already there, hastily discussing options with a patrol guard.  The time was now 8.39pm.

“Sergeant Deggio,” the guard nodded, fixing Batman with an efficient stare.

“Sergeant,” Batman began, “what’s the situation?  Have you begun an evacuation?”

“Yes sir.  Fortunately one of the night watchmen had the TV news on in the monitoring room.  Hardly my best idea of how to watch over the criminally insane, but tonight I shall let it slide.”  Deggio was obviously a stickler for rules and regulations, even in such dire circumstances.

“He saw the whole broadcast, and called me as soon as this place was mentioned.  I then had him mass page all off duty guards to get here as quickly as possible.”  Each guard at Arkham Asylum was essentially on 24-hour call, no matter when his or her shift started or ended.  Sadly it was the result of many past breakouts and riots with not enough bodies on hand to deal with the crisis.

As Batman looked around he then began noticing the guards busy as ants, scurrying down corridors from this main hub.  The radio chatter as corridors and cells were being ticked off an invisible list as being clear.  It looked like madness but the organisation was clear in the guards actions, and by the clarity and calm by which Sergeant Deggio was addressing them.

“Fortunately I was on duty tonight and have been coordinating efforts to move the prisoners safely and without incident,” Deggio finished.

“Just where are these psychos being moved to?” Batman inquired

“Down to the riot shelters about 500 meters East of the outer buildings,” Nightwing interjected, having already asked the same question.

“That’s not far enough away, we don’t know how big the blast radius could be,” Batman shot back, stunned at the seeming ignorance of the move.

“The inner shelters are protected by nuclear standard blast doors,” Deggio snapped, “Unless Mr Tranter has placed a nuclear warhead, everyone will be safe.”

Batman decided against offering the suggestion to let the inmates rot in the explosion.

“That said how are you going to fit all of the prisoners, and guard staff, into the shelters,” Batman questioned, his concern growing again.

Sergeant Deggio almost sighed, feeling like time was being wasted explaining the finer detail of the Asylums design.  It was his sanctuary for the damned, and he was sure that no ill fate would fall upon them.

“I can assure you that there is enough space for every prisoner here!”

Batman opened his mouth to question how they could keep them all alive down there for an unspecified time, but he caught a glimpse of the wall clock above the main desk.  It read 8.43pm, the seconds appearing to move faster the longer he gazed at the face.

“Fine, we don’t have time to discuss fineries now,” Batman said, “How much of the complex have you cleared?”

“West and South Wings are all clear, with prisoners moving down the shelter now.  East Wing clearance is already under way.  Now I must go and assist my men,” the Sergeant almost growled the last few words.  “Follow me, and I’ll show the entrance to the shelter,” he beckoned Nightwing and Batman to follow him.

After descending a flight of stairs from the main entrance, Batman guessed they were about two stories down.  Up ahead, a throng of uniforms, prisoner and guard, was thick with movement and shouting.  Arms waved, shotguns were pointed with intent.

As the three of them neared the crowd, Deggio called to one of the guards present.

“Status report,” he demanded over the bustle and noise.

“About 80% of East Wing cleared sir,” the young man offered, the fear and exhilaration in his eyes, “the remaining cells are being opened up right now.  We should have them all in, and us, within ten minutes.”

“Make it five,” Deggio demanded.

Batman and Nightwing began running back out of the corridor to get to East Wing to help clear the rest of them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Deggio screamed with anger.

“To help your men move the remaining prisoners,” Nightwing replied, almost stopping on the spot.

“Not a chance,” Deggio said with an almost mocking tone, “the sight of you two up there is enough to incite these barbarians to god knows what.  I need you two down here once we’re all secured in the shelter.”

As if the presence of Batman, the man who helped put many of these maniacs here in the first place, wasn’t enough, let alone being cooped up behind blast doors, with nearly 200 of them.

Dutifully, they turned back and began forcing the prisoners down the corridor, towards the huge 3-foot thick blast doors.  The faces of the guards would have been funny at any other time.  Here they were, doing their job, with Batman and Nightwing alongside them helping.  Although the looks were a stark contrast to the hatred and death spilling from the narrowed eyes of every prisoner who walked by.

As he pulled up a half mile from the building, the throngs of people were already amassing outside to witness the terrorist circus playing out before them.  Batman expected to see armed guards from Tranter’s mini army, keeping people from trying to get to the building.  The only uniforms he could see however were those of the few police officers, rushing around seemingly lost as to what to do first.

This was going to be a rare public appearance from The Bat, as Wayne usually shied away from the spotlight in this guise, preferring the shadows and stealth as his ploys for movement.

As he drew nearer, Batman realised it would be impossible to get through the assembled mob of people.  Fortunately Gotham was home to many tall buildings, especially around here.

With barely a glance up, he pointed and shot his grappling hook to a dark ledge above.  It hit its mark, instantly gaining purchase in the concrete.  It took only seconds for the winch to hoist Batman up five stories.

Traversing the building, he picked a spot on the GSC, which was now opposite, and fired the hook again.  Attaching the other end firmly to the concrete where he was standing, the newly created zip wire allowed him to glide over the heads of the crowd.

A few onlookers began to realise the figure swooping above them.  Their circus had just got better.  The Dark Knight had arrived and things were about to get very interesting.  As the realisation took hold, people began to surge forward, trying to get a closer glimpse of the vigilante hero.

Dropping from the zip wire and landing in a crouch some 50-foot from the GSC building, a startled Police officer spun round to see the imposing figure of Batman stood next to him.  He closed his eyes for a second, trying to make sure it was real.  “Oh my god,” he quietly stammered.

“How many men do you have here?”  Batman demanded.

“Err, twenty-five, I think.  I haven’t had time to count, it’s all been so rushed,” the officer was still struggling with the fact he was talking to Batman!

“Who’s in charge?”

“Well, you, now, I guess,” the officer replied, feeling very lost at this point.

Twenty-five men to control this crowd, and search the building for anybody still inside.  The time was now 8.15pm.  “Only 45 minutes,” Batman thought to himself, knowing he still had Arkham to contend with.

“First, I need your men to secure the people here, and get them back a quarter mile…” the officer cut him off.

“With this many men, we haven’t a chance.”

“Begin doing what you can, use force if you have to, but no one gets hurt.  I’ll make a call for further help, meanwhile I’m going inside to check for stragglers.  Where is your security control room?”  Batman’s mind was racing now, the rush of the moment was making him feel alive, invincible.

“Entrance hall, far end, behind the main desk.  It’s unlocked already,” shouted the officer as Batman began to make his way to the front entrance.

“Thank you.  Send me five men to that room when you’re done here.”

The Police officer didn’t have time to reply as the crowd was surging once more.  “Keep them back,” he screamed with authority to his colleagues, but their efforts seemed wasted against the hundreds of people in front of them.

He drew his gun, completely against protocol and fired a shot into the air.  The radius of onlookers in front of him stopped dead in their tracks.  He felt like he had the attention of the whole crowd, as other officers began to draw their weapons too.

Batman took a last look before entering the building having fought to ignore the gunshot of moments ago.  As much as he disliked the weapon use, it was working.  Besides, he had no time to argue.

Moving across the entrance hall, he called the Fire Department.  After a quick explanation to another astonished serviceman, a promise of assistance was given.  Reaching the security control room, he began scanning the myriad of camera feeds in front of him.  Fortunately there were no cells here, so that meant no temporary prisoners to move and hold somewhere.  Odd for a building of this nature, but tonight Batman was grateful for it.

Some 20 screens flicked different images every five seconds.  As he looked, across them all, the faint sound of Fire Trucks wailing across the city could be heard, getting louder as they neared the building. “Amazing what a bit of influence can get you in this town,” he thought.

Three minutes ticked by agonisingly quickly as the images continued to play out in front of him.  The place was so large inside, with subterranean floors as well, that this was the best place to spot anybody left inside.  To search alone on foot would be ridiculous.

It was 8.21pm when the running footsteps of the five Police officers he’d requested came echoing across the hall.
“Situation outside…under…control,” a breathless officer gasped out.

“Good.  I need you five to continue a foot search of as much of the building as you can.  Concentrate on the lower levels, everywhere from this floor up looks clear,” Batman said, motioning to the screens.  “You have until 8.45pm.  When time’s up, you clear out, and get to safety.  No arguments!”  Batman said, but there wasn’t going to be any argument from the men.  “I have to go now…”

“Go,” an officer blurted, “but we need you here!” the panic in his voice evident.

“If you want to go sort out Arkham Asylum instead of me, be my guest,” Batman shot back, feeling instant guilt for his harsh tone.

“No sir.”

“Remember, 8.45pm, you leave, no questions, no hesitation.  Get out and get away!”  Batman was running now, out of the GSC entrance, back towards his car.

No time for fancy zip wires.  He bellowed “MOVE!” as the front row of people neared.  And they did, like some biblical parting sea.  Whilst still running at full tilt, he pressed some almost indistinguishable buttons on his wrist.

A quarter mile away, headlights, beamed into action, and the Batmobile engine sang its unique tune, accelerating towards its caller.  Seconds later it was 100 foot from Batman and slowing quickly to a halt.  He jumped towards the now open door, landing feet first in the seat, before spinning around, and sliding into the driver seat.

Breathing hard from his dash, the door closed, wheels spun, and suddenly he was away.  Towards Arkham Asylum.

He half expected to hear Wayne Manor called out as a target.  The relief when Tranter called out Wayne Tower was immense, but guilt ridden, as for one awful split second Alfred’s mind raced with possibilities, outcomes too hideous to consider.

Sat in Bruce Wayne’s study, the radio call came in.

“Alfred, come in.”

Alfred clicked open the microphone, “Master Bruce, I’ve been expecting your call.  How can I assist?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen what has happened with our friend Virgil Tranter,” Batman asked, knowing full well Alfred’s ritual of scanning the news channels on nights when Bruce was on watch.  It was his own way of keeping tabs on his Master, as he often felt like a worried father whose child had stayed out playing too long; although Alfred would never admit it.

“Yes,” he said with a contemptuous tone, “sickeningly simple unfortunately.”

Batman had to agree there.  “Alfred, I need your help.  Please can you contact the building manager at Wayne Towers.  Get him to coordinate the evacuation of the building with a half mile clearance zone.  Tell him that whatever resources he needs are at this disposal.”

“Yes sir, right away,” Alfred affirmed.

“Alfred, you’re in control of this one.  I can’t deal with all of the sites, and I need someone I trust implicitly.”

“Naturally, I won’t let you down,” the pride in Alfred’s voice clear as a bell.

“I know Alfred, I know.”

Right now, it didn’t matter about trying to find each device and making them safe.  There were people at risk.  Lots of people!

Ok, maybe no one would miss the socio-paths currently holed up in Arkham Asylum, but then where would you put the nutcases in the future.  You can’t magic a sanatorium out of nothing, not even with Bruce Wayne’s influence.  Never mind the chance of some of those bastards surviving the blast and getting free.

“Yet Wayne Tower, what the hell did I do to Tranter?” Batman deliberated.  “ I haven’t even touched the guy once, had no reason too.  Till now.”

Wayne Tower is a centre for business in Gotham City, but Batman was sure none of them were corrupt.  Each firm had to go through rigorous checks before being considered for office space within.  Sure, corruption and deceit was everywhere in the many companies that called this city home, not to mention organised crime, but Bruce had set up this tower to provide a home for those people who wanted to do business the right way.

Batman checked his watch. 8.01pm.

No time for investigations or questionings.  Going for Tranter would be a waste of time Batman guessed, and he’d be unlikely to cooperate anyway, not after going this far.  He wished this could be like the comic books he read as a young boy, the hero steps in, saves the day, nobody gets hurt, and the villain found, arrested and sent to prison.

“Snap out of it!” he snarled, and quickly switched communication channels back to Nightwing.

“Nightwing, this is Batman,” a calm considered tone descended on his words. “We have only one option here.  I need you to get to City Hall now, begin clearing out as many people as possible with a quarter mile blast radius perimeter.”

“WHAT!  On my own!  That’s impossible!”  Nightwing began wondering if Bruce had lost his mind.  “We’re just gonna let him blow these buildings up?”

“If you can give me a better option, with what little information we have, I’m all ears!”

There was no reply.

“Use whatever police or authorities in the vicinity to help you.  I’m heading to Gotham Superior Courthouse.  Once that is under control I’m heading to Arkham Asylum.  I need you to meet me there when City Hall is under control. Now GO!”

Without a word, Nightwing clicked off his radio and ran back to the car.  In what seemed like one motion the engine was started, first gear engaged and the car was spun around, ready for the ride.  Moments later, Nightwing was gunning the engine, disappearing towards the bright lights of the city.

Jim Gordon was still hanging on the phone, waiting for Batman to pick up again.  He knew that in situations like this, you do not hang up on the one man who could just be your best hope.

Suddenly the line clicked back on, “Jim you still there?”  Batman’s voice had become softer.  He and Commissioner Gordon had been through a lot and they treated each other with reserved friendship in the face of their business.

“Of course, where else am I going to go on such an exciting night?”  The sarcasm dripping from his words.  Batman allowed himself a smirk at Gordon’s deadpan sense of humour.  “You want me to get on to GCPD Headquarters for clearance of the building and surrounding area, right?”

“Yes, a quarter mile blast radius, we don’t know how big this device is or what collateral damage it can do.”

“Agreed.  Plus I already made the call, as soon as I heard Tranter’s announcement,” Jim replied.

“Ok, I also need you to send any available men you may have over to City Hall to assist Nightwing’s clearance of that area.”

“Not sure how many I can get,” Gordon sighed, “but I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks!”  Batman ended the call.

“I think that went quite well,” he said smugly.  A nearby aide smiled weakly in approval.

“Best of all,” he continued, “I have the best seat in the house!”

At the very top of the NVT central tower sat the office of Virgil Tranter.  His almost god-like delusions had lead him to building this monolith of an office block that contained one office, his own.  Having visited the CN Tower as a child on a family holiday to Canada, he’d been struck by the views afforded from the rotating restaurant part way up the spire.

“How about this for ‘High Office’ son?” his father had joked.

Tranter stared out across Gotham from his chair, a fixed grin of self-indulgence at his plan coming together beaming through.

“High Office indeed Dad, High Office indeed!”

As the mini TV in the Batmobile came to life, she was already mid-flow.

“You may remember our coverage only two months ago about the new super-energy source, Omnipotens Radix, and how this highly efficient and safe energy could revolutionise Gotham. GCN received a call from none other than Virgil Tranter, head of Nuclear Vision Technologies, and the self-proclaimed saviour of the future of this city.”  The sarcastic sneer Gail was fighting to hide gave a clear indication that what she was about to reveal was way beyond what a saviour should be doing.

“Mr Tranter asked us to make a brief recording to be played out to explain the situation.  I must warn you that what follows makes for shocking listening,” she said in the usual journalistic sell tactic to keep people glued to their TV.

“Good Evening Gotham City!”  Came the voice, accompanied by a library shot on screen of a smiling, well-suited man.  Tranter’s deep tones were difficult to mistake, it was him all right.  Batman’s hopes for a hoax were suddenly smashed.

Instantly, he patched the audio through to Nightwing, “Dick, you’ll need to hear this!” Batman said abruptly.

“For too long,” Tranter’s voice continued, “we have all had to suffer the ruling of the criminal underclass, and I for one have had enough!  Nowhere is safe.  Our streets are littered with thugs, the prisons are full, business is corrupt, the Police force even more so.”  His English accent was bordering on indignant.

“An honest life has become difficult to live.  That is why tonight, I, Virgil Tranter, plan to shake this City to its very core and begin to purge the rats from our streets, our offices, and law enforcement buildings.”

“Who does he think he is,” Nightwing mused, “the Pied Piper?”

Tranter’s voice suddenly became cold and calculated, “My team and I have placed five devices in key locations in Gotham City.  Those locations are City Hall, the GCPD Headquarters, Arkham Asylum, Gotham Superior Courthouse, and Wayne Tower. Each device contains enough Omnipotens Radix to level each building and the corruption inside.”

Batman’s head began to spin.  How the hell could Tranter have gotten into each of those buildings, and placed a device within them?  The only way he could do it was if he had people on the inside, moles, digging to find the perfect spot to carry out this act.

How he’d done it didn’t matter though.  For a guy who is supposed to be one of the most brilliant minds in Gotham, it was quite ridiculous to announce the locations.  All he had to do was find each one, diffuse or remove them, then find Tranter and have him arrested and tried for Terrorist activities.  The reality of the situation then hit home.

“Sounds simple doesn’t it?” Tranter’s voice broke Batman’s train of thought as the recording continued.  “And it is.  What’s even simpler about it is that each device is primed to detonate at precisely 9pm tonight.  Oh and if any do-gooders out there are thinking of trying to defuse or move them out of harms way,” Batman felt the comment aimed directly at him, “don’t bother!  Each device weighs around two tons, and has auto-detonate systems should they be tampered with in any way.  I shall see you all in the dawn of a new era!”

With that the recording ended.  Gail Niebach continued her report, but Batman wasn’t listening anymore.  His mind was in overdrive.

“Dick, you get that?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, “every word.  What do we do now?  It’s already 7.50pm, and there is no way we can make it to each location by 9 to…”

“I know.” Batman flatly interrupted.  “Even if we knew where each device was within each building, we couldn’t feasibly reach each one in an hour.  Let alone make the devices safe.”

The resignation in his voice was hard to hide.  He’d prided himself on protecting Gotham from maniacs such as Tranter.  It was his life’s mission to do so.  For the first time in many years, thoughts of failure began to creep in.