The days that follow were less than productive. Once word came in from Star Labs' regarding the progress in distributing a mass antidote to the alien viral, my concerns for the infection spreading in Gotham were put to rest. But as Alfred had predicted, that was just the beginning of the city's troubles. The streets began to suffer an uprise in crime, beginning with unclaimed territories like The Narrows before moving directly into the western slums. Word of an epidemic - mistakenly believed to be an outbreak of bird flu - had virtually cleared away any activity outside of the financial district, leaving a third of Gotham open to looting, robberies, and other related attacks. And with Selina Kyle watching over my shoulder, I was left with fewer options than to move my nightly work as Batman to the very early hours of the morning - giving me considerably less time to round up as many as I could before sunrise. Thousands of dollars worth of stolen goods were going straight to the black market, and I wasn't in a position to stop it.
The stress contributed to a number of sleepless nights, following me into the daytime. On a positive note, trying to convince "Andrea" that my life was relatively boring was becoming an easier task. I spent my next few days sleeping into the afternoon, only to awake and begin my day by drinking away a bourbon, taking a brief conference call from Waynetech and continually inviting women over for evening dinners that would never happen, for whatever excuse I could make up. And while I knew that my disappearance on the night of Star'ro's attack left her more than suspicious, the questions that Selina would given me became infrequent. Yet I could tell that no matter what I did, she remained determined to look beneath my facade and uncover some truth that extended far beyond a simple assignment to protect me.
Between the brief interrogations that she'd attempt to conduct within my own home, I occupied my time with reviewing previous cases in my database. Oracle was still weeks away from rebooting it's systems, leaving me to go about my nights in a newer, more improvised way. Instead of focusing on the broad whole of Gotham, my attention instead went towards everything I had left behind in my determination to take down the mob. Starting with the reports that confirmed something I had been made aware of by both Salvatore Maroni and Jason Todd - that a new vigilante, one inspired by my own methods, had taken to the streets and made a prescence for herself.
Batgirl, as the media labeled her, had been spotted on several occasions near a specific area of the East End. She was slowly branching out of the area with each week, but it wasn't hard for me to trace where the origin of her first few nights of activity had originated. With that knowledge available to me, I began to quietly seek her out during my patrols. Stopping by the area in question and keeping watch for as much time as I could spare. It seemed pointless at first, but it didn't take long for my search to bear fruit. Because eventually, she had developed a routine for a reason that I immediately understood: "Batgirl" was only a teenager - visibly old enough to be a freshman in college, at most. She was a living representation of everything that I didn't want to bring into the middle of this war, as reinforced by my brief experience with Dick. A rookie youth using vigilantism as a means to engage in the most extreme form of thrill seeking.
While my initial reaction was to immediately confront her, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and watch whatever skills she had brought with her. From the way she effortlessly seemed to travel from rooftop to rooftop, her athleticism was unquestionably keen. Then I watched as she lept headway into a fight with one of the local gangs, giving off an air of confidence that made her evidently careless, and ultimately lucky to have survived. The last thug wasn't even fully unconscious, leaving me to down him with a batarang before she could be ambushed from behind. Unimpressed, I decided that she needed to be dissuaded of this life before something terrible would happen - but my effort to engage in a direct discussion were interrupted with the arrival of the police.
Batgirl had escaped the night. But I wasn't finished with her yet. It took me a few days, but I had devoted my time towards compiling a list of suspects matching her height, weight, hair color, and age, based off of a couple of educated guesses. I suspected that she was between the ages of 16 and 19, weighing in at about 110 lbs and standing at 5'5. While there were at least thirty possibles, only a few names seemed to match the description best, and through careful examination, I narrowed it to three. The most intriguing possibility leading me directly to a familiar face...
Barbara Gordon.
Despite my hostility when it came to her corrupt father, Barbara Gordon seemed to be an innocent amidst the line of fire in the Commissioner's many vendettas. Months earlier, not long after our initial encounter when I had saved her from a kidnapping and extortion attempt, her brother and Gordon's son had been murdered by a psychotic ganglord named Roman Sionis, known as The Black Mask. And while Sionis himself had been subsequently gunned down by an enraged Commissioner, James Gordon Jr. was pronounced dead just minutes after paramedics arrived. If I could have somehow prevented it, nothing could have stopped me, but I've learned to accept my limitations. Barbara, on the other hand, was left without a brother.
Whether or not that grief motivated her into adopting my symbol in an attempt at vengeance, Barbara definitely had the drive nessecary to push a young woman out into Gotham's worst corners. But I needed to be sure before I rushed to dispel her attempts at heroism. To do that, I'd need to visit the Gordons' home - a thought of which dispelled me to no end, but I knew I'd have to withhold my desires to take down the Commissioner. The following night, I glided into the East End and approached the home from a nearby rooftop, waiting until the family of three was asleep. I felt like I was entering the lion's den, but the Commissioner and his wife were surprisingly low guarded. My plan was simple enough - sneak into Barbara's bedroom and quietly search for the costume, or anything else that incriminated her as Batgirl. Once I found that, I'd make my way out and figure out where to go from there.
But as I moved for my grapple, I noticed as an unlicensed car pulled up to the curb infront of the house. A disheveled man covered in shadow stepped out, watching the house for a moment, and walked across the street in a rush. I couldn't tell what his motives were at first, but I recognized what was in his hand immediately. A loaded semi-automatic pistol. Something was definitely wrong. Compelled to act as the man proceeded to smash in the living room door's lock and creep his way inside, I was caught off guard by an oncoming cruiser that I recognized. It belonged to Edward Nygma. He and another officer were approaching, and approaching fast, as if they had been expecting the car to be parked there. Neither of them looked particularly happy as they vacated their vehicle and rushed for the door.
That's when it hit me. Nygma's evident desperation told the entire story. My pulse dropped as I leaped off of the building and dived straight for Gordon's bedroom window, the soles of my boots rocketing straight for the glass. With one word, wrapped in only one thought screaming across my mind.
Holiday.
