The nights in Gotham have always been worse than the already dark days. Chaos and evil never slept, just like him. A guardian of the people who tried to lead a normal life in this almost hopeless city. A guardian who brought justice to those who deserved it.

One night was like the other, the symbol in the sky appeared often, not daily but often. And so it was on this night.

Bruce should have had a small celebration at his estate that night, a new high was reached in Wayne enterprises. Something he hadn't been interested in for a long time, he had other worries than a few ups and downs in his company.

He would be forgiven if he didn't turn up at his own party. All those pompous suit wearers who thought they were more important than the others wouldn't hold it against him either way, after all Bruce could make them broke with a snap of his fingers.

Even Rachel, his beloved - or rather his best friend - would forgive him. They had known each other too long for her to hold it against him. And Alfred? He would never admit it, but he often wished that Bruce would just be Bruce and not the Dark Knight.

This evening was another one of the few days when Bruce meant too well. His suit, thanks to Lucius, was well equipped and outfitted, but even that eventually reached its limits.

Blows were just more bruises. Scratches were just more small wounds. Stitches were just more scars. Shots just more holes to stitch up.

Broken and battered, Bruce made it back to the Bat Cave beneath his mansion. The Bat-Mobile's engine died and the only thing you could hear was the flowing water from the small waterfall in the cave and the bats hovering around as if they owned the place.

But if you listened carefully, you could also hear Bruce's occasional groans as he moved step by step to the table and monitor that gave him the insight into the whole of Gotham.