The trail leads here: a slightly run-down brownstone in the old, prominently decaying section of the Scituate of Gotham. The building is grey brick beneath the grey sky: the angel above the door has had it's face and wings half-eroded by generations of rain, discolored by the acidic content. Nobody owns this building, as far as the city is concerned, but the word is that the Cataglias have set up a safe house here, nothing fancy, but they've never gone in for much fancy stuff when it comes to business. They're making money hand over fist with their protection racket on Gotham's cinemas, at least until tonight, and this was where the bagman said the satchel was going. The Caped Crusader looks at the building for a while, burning its structure and the malice it represents to him into his mind's eye. Without a word, he shifts his stance atop a neighborhood church across the street. Raising a black fist, he levels a small grapnel launcher at a gutterpipe along side of the brownstone. He fires the piton and pulls the line taut after it connects. Tying one end of the black silken cord to the weathervane atop the downbeat house of worship, Batman begins treading across the improvised tightrope, cape dancing at his heels, as the line sinks under his weight and he starts a quick march over the pavement. The sweltering summer night looms overhead in the starless sky. The only light from the house comes from a downstairs window: Batman's keen ears pick out the sound of a few men laughing there, but upstairs the house is quiet. Batman ends his quick display of acrobatics by dropping to hold the taut line with his bunched fists. He then lets go, gripping onto the ledge by a top floor window, letting the pain of the exertion run down his fingers, hands, and shoulders. He takes in a breath, centering his energies, and lets fly with the flat of his boot on the frame of the window, pushing himself to land inside of the upstairs room. The window, ancient and rusty, flies out of the house frame with a BAM, then shatters on the wooden floor with a CRASH. Dust flies up from the floor. "What the @&*@&* was that?" a voice cries from the lower floor. "Someone's upstairs." another says loudly ...there is a scuffle of motion that quickly fades into (relatively) stealthy silence. Batman walks with determined steps towards the door out of the room he's currently in, and takes a small amount of plastic explosives from his utility belt. His hands and eyes work in perfect unison to plant the explosives on the floor roughly above the room where he saw the light. Measuring the explosives to make sure he doesn't cause any serious injuries, he wires a small remote detonator into the putty-like substance. He turns to face the doorway, hunched slightly. There are still people in the room down there...their breathing and stumbling footsteps filter up through the floorboards. Someone is coming up the stairs, possibly two someones, by the time the bomb is in place. Batman waits, like a garish gothic statue, his hands extended in a vaguely claw-like fashion from the folds of his cape, knees bent slightly. The thumb on his left hand hovers over the button to activate the explosives. Someone is in the hall. There is the sound of a gun being cocked. Semiautomatic. The hot breath of the breeze eases into the house. The Dark Knight smiles. The door of the room next door, the room where Batman entered, squeaks open as someone nudges it. "In there." someone hisses. There's a footstep outside the door, someone leaning back...to kick it? Spray it with bullets? Listening? Batman's expression grows more wary, and he swivels his cowled head towards the other room, judging distances. He rolls a smoke canister across the floor. The small yellow module suddenly comes to life with a high pitched expellation of air, hissing slightly as smoke roils up around the room he made his entrance into. Someone in the hall says "Hell...he set the place on fire!" A foot slams into the door, which pops open easily, revealing a man in an ill-fitting black suit carrying a pair of .45 caliber pistols. He hesitates a moment, seeing Batman wreathed in the smoke. Batman smiles. "Boo." The thumb depresses the button, and there's a sudden flash of heat and collapsing air from the floor nearby, sending scattered shards of wood and brick around the two upstairs rooms. The Batman shields himself from the debris with his cape, and falls back towards the hole in the floor. The man upstairs flinches backwards, shouting an epithet and shielding his face before he is lost in the flash and the smoke. The downstairs room goes completely dark, all the lights shattered: shadows flail crazily across the room as timbers collapse across the windows. Human figures on the floor crawl, stunned, in no direction at all. They all look male, and Batman is the only one even vaguely in control of himself. Batman gains his bearings after a 360 spin on his heels, cape arcing around him like a fluttering appendage. He gives a growl he brought over from the plains of Africa, and starts looking for anyone who looks like they're in charge...or anyone who will give him any trouble. One of them is groping for a handgun, but it's clear that he's been blinded by the flash. There is an oldest man, but none of them look specifically like they're in charge. Someone upstairs shouts "I told you mother#&*#&* that he'd show up!" A door slams upstairs and feet clatter down the steps, headed for the back of the house. Batman backs away towards the stairwell, his attention fully on the figures splayed out in the broken pieces of flooring and crossbeams. His voice cuts through the chaos and confusion. "I want whoever's in charge...whoever's going to talk." He is fully aware of the likely response to this command, and moves into a defensive stance. Whoever is going down the stairs isn't headed this way: he's headed for the back of the house. Someone else also starts stumbling down the stairs, cursing loudly. The older man on the floor curses and spits, the one scrabbling for his gun gets it and squints in terror and surprise towards Batman's direction. Nobody replies at once. The older man manages another obscenity, then dabs at the blood on his face... Batman turns, glaring at the rear of the house. He pushes through the settling dust and falling flakes of paint in that direction now, pulling off to any cover he can find as he leaves his back open to any shots from the main group of disshelved mobsters. The man with the gun fires wildly at Batman's motion, but the shots go wide of the mark. Batman reaches the hallway just in time to see someone with a small submachine gun rushing towards the back door, and only has a split second to react before the racing mobster also sees him...the person on the stairs must be the one with the .45s... Batman clutches a swirl of his cape in one hand and leaps into a flying kick at the gangster with the submachine gun. The mobster utters an animal cry of surprise and alarm, squeezing off a burst of bullets in the Batman's direction before the kick thuds into his chest. Off balance, he takes the kick hard and falls back against the wall, instinctively raising his gun again. A stretch of his cape torn by some of the flying lead, the Batman smoothly transfers his stance to bring up the flat of his left hand in a upswinging chop aimed at the offending criminal's gun hand. His hand splays out convulsively, letting the gun drop. His right fist comes around in a meaty roundhouse puch at where he thinks Batman's face must be...at least he can see the chin. Batman's head snaps as the punch connects, a small spatter of blood on his lower lip now. He slowly brings the head back around to face the mobster, and he quickly rotates into a spinning axe kick, barely missing a broken light fixture with the tip of his boot as he brings it down forcefully on the man's shoulder. The mobster, battered now, slumps to his knees, flailing at the Batman halfheartedly, whining something inaudible with the breath now knocked out of him. Batman turns to try and catch up with the fleeing gangster he spied earlier. He nearly slides into a wall as he turns in mid run. The other gangster has already passed through the back door: at least it stands open and the sounds of running footsteps echos down the alley. Somewhere in a nearby building, a baby starts to cry, awakened by the explosion and the gunfire. Scowling after the one who got away, the Batman returns to face the man who split his lip. He pulls the beaten mobster up and looks into his eyes with a bloody grimace. "Alright...you'll do..." You say "...how'd your organization know there was going to be a killing in the movie house protection racket...who leaked the Joker's plans?" The mobster reaches for the gun but, of course, it's inches from his fingertips. "We aren't with him...dammit...there was a guy...working with him...came with info...don't know his name...talked to the boss...said Joker was planning something to do with the TV stations...we took a chance..." He coughs heavily. Batman doesn't seem satisfied. "What 'guy'? Whats his name? Whats he look like...?" ---------------- The Question is crouched on the edge of a rooftop, overlooking the Theater, and the rest of the Scituate.. Somewhere in the streets below, there's the sound of police sirens. The Question can see the flashing lights of two patrol cars pulsing alongside of a brownstone building. He notes the brief fringe of a leathery black shadow against the edge of the wall. The Question mutters to himself "I wondered when he would show his ears.." A voice comes from somewhere behind Vic. "...I'm sure you have." The Question says "Hello, Bats. Long time no see. Of course, I sure the next phrase to pass through your lips will be "Not long enough."" The Question stands up, and turns around to face you Batman steps from the shadows of a large metallic heater assembly, looking about as grim and self-righteous as always. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Question. So...what are you doing in my city?" The Question says "That's a good question." The Question says "Perhaps you should rephrase it somewhat..what am I doing in our city. Lucky for you, I've moved in." Gotham's stoic avenger doesn't seem terribly amused by the repartee. "Is that right? I assume you mean that you think your presence here is somehow...a benefit to me?" The Question shrugs.. "Another good question. Actually, I was being sarcastic.. But then again, i forget humor is a lost concept to you." Batman rests a foot atop a small pipe running across one part of the rooftop. "...and subtlety is one lost on you. I heard about your little foray in 'Dick's Bar. Messy. And pointless." The Question says "I never said I was the subtle sort. Hell, I lived in Hub City... Never did learn the fine art of manipulative comunication.." Batman gives a cold glare back, resting a hand on his hip as he gestures with the other one. "Listen: I don't know what possessed you to come to Gotham City, but you'd better reconsider your future here. I don't want to have to pick up after you anymore than I already have. And every minute I waste on straightening you out is another minute my other concerns grow worse." The Question says "So don't worry about me. I'll take care of my own buisness, and you can concentrate on your concerns...which I am sure will sometime coilate with mine. Like this think with your green haired pal." The Question says "So, Bats, ask yourself this question.. What harm can it be to have a second pair of arms, and a second pair of eyes to help you out."" Batman sneers, pointing an accusatory finger. "...The Joker is mine. He earned me. You can forget about him. As for me not worrying about you...I have to. People like you are precisely why I don't like other people operating in Gotham, Question." The Question says "Oh...people like me. Pray tell, what do I do that is so different than you?" The Question crosses his arms over his chest, relaxed Batman gives a short, humorless smile. "You're the kind of vigilante who thinks with his fists first in any situation. The kind who gets innocent people and criminals alike in lethal situations. Bodies and revenge scenarios follow you around like a stray dog, and the police'll look to me to pick up in your wake." He shifts his cape over his shoulder. "...you look for trouble, and you start it if you can't find any. Thats whats different about me and you." The Question hrms.. "I don't go looking for trouble, Batman.. It has a tendency to follow me around. I don't go picking fights, I rarely make the first move, unless it is in necessity. I've learned alot since we last met, Batman. Disipline, control... The Question says "Yes...I have a rough edge. I may not be as smooth as you. But I used to be alot rougher." Batman gives a long dubious stare back. "The same discipline and control you showed earlier when looking for information on the theatre incident?" The Question says "Did I smash any bottles? Did I break any limbs? Did I break anything? No. I flung some jerk over the bar when he tried to take a swing at me, yah.. But that's it. I could have been a whole lot meaner in there." You say "Something tells me you could have been, too. Easily. Anyways...I don't have time to get into an indepth arguement. Let me make it simple; don't get enmeshed in my affairs, don't cross into my territory when I'm working, and you sure as hell had better not expect my back-up if you get in over your head. Push your luck any further, and you'll be hearing from me. Again." The Question says "Let me make it simple, Bats.. I don't intimidate easy. I'm going to be around, like it or not. So you may as well get used to seeing my face around. I'd prefer it if we got along, but I doubt that will ever happen. So i'll do my best to stay out of your way. But if our paths do cross, and they might in the future, might as well work together then spend the time bickering over whose case is waht and why." Batman turns, and flings out a line attached to a batarang. "There won't be any 'bickering' if our paths cross again." He swings out from the rooftop, disappearing like a black apparation amidst the darkening streets of Gotham. You move through the sky or over rooftops to the Central Gotham Skyline. ---------- Gordon nods slowly "Have a seat Sarah.. I'm expecting someone soon. I thought it best if we try to pool our resources." There is a mild twitch to Sarah's cheeks, as she grinds her teeth momentarily, before sliding calmly into the chair. You say "I agree, Jim." At the voice, Sarah refuses to turn around, or glance towards the sound, its obvious /who/ this person it. With a mild curve of her mouth, her back goes straight. Gordon nods slowly "Hello friend... hope you have had more luck." The shadow near a hatrack sidesteps into partial view, the bluish aura of the moon over Gotham highlighting the familiar shape of his cowl and broad shoulders. You can make out a slight haze of stubble around his jawline, and there's the smell of...fire and cordite about him. You say "...I've had some. Broke a lead in the Cataglia connection...a potential leak from the Joker's organization." Sarah's eyes begin to water, just a bit, at the pungent smell eminating from The Batman. One eyebrow arches up, before her head turns, to peer over in Batman's direction, gaze intent as she sweeps it over his deeply shadowed form. As he speaks, her attention is fully on him, hands planted on the arm of her chair, body swiveled around. Gordon nods "We have been doing some research on them as well...." He looks to Sarah "How much do the files have on them Lieutenant?" A small black DAT tape flies onto Gordon's desk, spinning around a little as it slides to a stop against the blotter. "Thats the details of my...questioning. The Cataglia's aren't too deeply involved. But maybe if we can find the man who tipped them off, we can get a better angle on the Joker's current organization." Gordon The man before you seems to have one of those aura's that most people seem to respect. He stands an average height of 5'9", ad loooks fairly trim. While his white hair and mustache may sometimes give away his true age, he appears to be in the same shape he was some 20 years ago. His blue eyes are covered by a pair of wire rimed glasses that are always worn. He is currently wearing a pair of dark slacks, white shirt, vest, and tie. When he is outside these cloths are usually covered by a long trench coat. Like all officers he also carries his firearm, and badge with him at all times. His coat pocket also carries his pipe and tobacco, even though he has quit the habit. Sarah This woman's age is hidden behind a mask of beauty, a dewy rose rather than a lacquered televangelist's wife. Her hair still knows the rivers in which to spill, blonde with a sheen of fresh strawberries, sunlight over a field or glinted off of a river. H er nose is sharp, her eyes equally the province of a peregrine, save for their vaguely almond shape and silvered tones blooming from the irises. Her mouth, as well, has a line in which it has always set, a clamped horizon of petal-shaded colour. Her chin, too, comes to a point; her eyebrows are razor-thin and at the angle of lightning. Her shape is nothing remarkable, save for its wiriness; long, thin fingers with stubbed nails belong more to an artist than one of her profession, but she doesn't much seem the sort that would care. She wears a bright yellow suit, the fabric catches the blond of her hair, giving it a spun-gold shade to her locks. The jacket drapes over her slim shoulders, coming down in a perfect cut to her waist, covering over the shirt underneath. The white shirt is tucked into the skirt, which drops to her knees, exposing her long legs from knee down. A pair of matching yellow pumps grace her feet, adding height, and form to her slender frame. There is a distinct pause as Sarah watches the small tape fly towards Gordon's desk. Her mouth quirks, into a mild smirk, before she begins, her voice, surprisingly.. soft. "Basically, what I'm sure you both know. Its an organized crime family that has been under on and off investigation from the GCPD and the Feds for a long time. Nothing the size of the Maroni machine, but they're nasty enough. We haven't had any known connections with the Joker before.. At least until now." You say "...the punk I talked to seemed to want to make their lack of affiliation with the Joker crystal clear to me. They were just 'playing the market'." Sarah stands, slowly, before turning and sitting on the edge of Jim's disk, leaning to avoid a crink in her back. Her hands plant on each side of the surface, head bowed as she thinks. "Going for the money side..?" She murmurs, quietly to herself. Gordon hms folding his hands together "Well at least the children seem to be safe... for now anyway." Batman tilts his head, the shoulders slouching ever so slightly. "Yes. That was...atypical. And possibly indicative of the Joker's current motivation." He takes in a slow breath, the fringes of fatigue showing through his stoicism. One hand moves up, to lightly brush against Sarah's hair, pushing it away from her face. "But for how long. And for what reason." Her eyebrows are furrowed in thought, as she considers. Before her head raises upwards, eyes turning first to Jim, then over to Batman. Gordon says "Well we can look at what the Joker is literally saying.. wanting people to read a book... however this does not seem to be happening." He pauses for a moment "Meaning.. things will get worse."" The Dark Knight Detective's mouth seems to tighten as he considers things. He nods. "That goes without saying...I'd start looking at putting some surveillance on radio stations around the city, and any other major media centers you can think of." There is a soft, and quiet sigh, before Sarah states. "And the budget's grumbling already about things." She shakes her head, hair bouncing over her shoulders. "What else is there that he can effect.. People are going to riot more than they are now." Her eyes dart, unconsciouly towards the windows. "In the end.. if he has continued ease.." Batman lattices his fingers over one another as he folds his hands beneath his cape. "...I don't think he just wishes to create chaos. He's been rather clinical in his methods. When the Joker wants to drive people towards the edge, there's few boundaries he won't cross. He's surgically cleaved Gotham from its television, with little in the way of purposeful injury or destruction...he's made people afraid to go to the movies...taking care to not harm any children. This is more than just random mayhem. He's working up to something, something that hinges on a theme." Sarah listens to Batman, and for all intents and purposes, actually seems to be taking in what he says. Her eyes narrow to slits, arms crossing over her chest. She nods slowly, eyes glancing over towards Jim, before turning back to Batman. When she speaks, finally, her voice continues to be edged with professionalism, yet, has that tone of .. mild .. respect? Nah. "Do you know what theme that could be? anything we can put a finger on? Use to our advantage?" Gordon removes his glasses, cleaning them slightly. He watches Batman and Sarah closely, listening. Silently he thinks. Batman looks with a vague sense of deja vu at the Commissioner, and then with a somewhat fresher (if still downcast) expression at Sarah. He turns ever so slightly on his heel, the lights of the city outside playing out in his white solid eyes. "I think we can count on little, if anything. Its always hazardous to make any assumptions when dealing with him. Still..." He scowls at the smiling face emblazoned on a billboard across the street. "...using what I know so far, several things are apparent...." As her arms uncross, Sarah pushes her hand through her hair, being as.. nice.. as she possibly can, she nods slowly, mouth twisting into a scowl, deep, and filled with a mild edge of horror at any prospect that this mad man can create. Gordon places his glasses back. "There is a key to this.. we just need to find it. Perhaps if we try to tame the press somewhat... something the Joker seems to be using for his advantage right now." Batman seems to be speaking more to himself than anyone as he looks out of the window. "We know he's working towards a specific goal. Possibly even something that is essentially unnattainable. And yes...he's using the media to his advantage. Even more so than usual. He wants this to be a public statement...a piece of 'performance art' for all of Gotham to be a part of. He craves a role as a spokesman for...for what. We don't know yet, exactly. Perhaps some perverse cause he created on his own. But...where's the irony. The joke." He glances back at the two top cops of Gotham. Sarah simply shakes her head, not really knowing, her expression bleak, quiet. Hands rest at each side of her, legs outstretched as she leans against Jim's desk. Eyelashes slowly lower, then raise, as her mind races with the possibilities, and endless things that this demon could possibly find amusing. Rusing to admit she's at a loss, she simply remains silent on that aspect. Gordon hms "Spokespeople sell things... perhaps this 'art' project is to find a new way to make money... He already controls the advertizement side of things." "Advertisement side.. money.." Sarah states, quietly digesting that aspect. "Books, reading, against media, through using it." Speaking aloud, then realizing what she's done, she falls silent again. Batman shakes his head as Gordon speaks, looking extremely dubious. "No...no..." He places a hand on his belt, elbow extending his cape out a little, the edge of his trademark chest emblem peeking out. "The cost of all of this is much more than what he could possibly gain. So far, at least. No, Jim...he's not in this for the cash." "If the children are safe now.. they might not be later." Sarah muses, thoughts drifting towards that aspect. "False sense of safety.. " Gordon hrms, folding his hands together again "Perhaps he wishes to gain everything... control not just of television... but of the people of Gotham as a whole?..." Batman bows his head, then looks up again, a cowled eyebrow arching slightly as he regards Sarah. "Maybe. I think more than likely this whole plan somehow hinges on that unusual spate of 'kindness'." He slants his mouth downwards slightly. "He works in his own sick way with a great deal of...purpose. He thinks he's an artist. Every murder, theft, or spate of destruction is a stroke in some horrible work of art. The exclusion of the children at that theater means he has a use for them." Gordon says "Educators feel that if one starts with the children they are able to shape society. Bringing about change in the future for all." Batman nods, contemplatively. He points to Jim. "I think thats a good line of thought, Commissioner. Read a Book...maybe, instead of just Gotham in general...he was talking to Gotham's children." He pauses, as the thought sinks in. Sarah listens quietly, nodding. Gordon looks up "Yes... maybe the answers are right in front of us then. But instead of looking for them, we should have been reading something. One book may hold the key... " Batman paces back to the window. "I'll begin doing some research on that end...when I'm not working on the streets." He pauses and narrows his eyes. "...if we're right, Jim..." He lets the words die off, and disappears.