Kimber rushed into the garage, tossed a hefty trash bag in the waiting can, and slid into her old sedan in one fluid movement. She started the engine and backed the car out of the driveway. She was excited; why wouldn't she be? It was nights like tonight that she lived for now. The air was crisp with a slight, cool breeze, the gibbous moon was obscured by shadowy clouds, and there was no school the following day meaning she could be out much later than usual. Tonight was perfect.

She parked her car in an overnight parking structure near the local strip mall and exited her vehicle in a careful rush. Taking a duffle bag from the trunk, she moved with practiced efficiency to a hidden corner where she stripped off her casual clothes, exchanging them for the clothes in the duffle. Her tee shirt and sweater were traded for a thick, black long-sleeve undershirt and matching gloves. Her jeans came off and were replaced with a pair of pants that were slick like a wetsuit but breathed easy.

Over her clothes, she donned modified motorbike padding and armor. Her sneakers were replaced with modified motorcycle boots and she fastened a makeshift utility belt around her waist. She slung a long, dark cape down her back, clipping its two latches to her shoulders. To complete the transformation, she pulled on a motorcycle helmet she'd modified, its metal bat ears catching the obscured moonlight sharply. Her transformation complete, she climbed up the parking structure's fire escape and once on the top level, she ran to the edge. 

There once was a time she would flinch at the end of a run like this. She would get scared and nauseated. She wondered about what would happen if she fell over the edge. She thought about the shame and ridicule her father would have to endure; the sadness. But she eventually got over those fears, filing them away with other thoughts that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things like a past boyfriend. Upon reaching the edge, she leaped. 

This was the feeling she lived for: the lights blurring in the corner of her vision, the wind tugging on her cape as she fell through the air to the next building top. She hit the roof with a controlled roll before continuing her run. Her ears picked up the sound of sirens just off to her left. They were getting closer to her position. Two buildings away, her motorcycle was waiting for her.

On the final building, she vaulted over the side and grabbed a drain pipe with one hand, then slid down the pipe to the alley floor where her motorcycle was hidden. She had gotten to the bike faster than she had expected, the police were still a few streets away. Kimber uncovered her ride and stowed the disgusting canvas cover in a nearby trash bin. As she straddled the bike, the squad cars passed by and she tuned the radio in her helmet into their frequency. The rush? Armed robbery at a local apartment complex. Three robbers with reports of at least two hostages.

Easy.

Tonight was perfect.

"Delete. Delete. Delete. And delete." Curtis let out a sigh of relief. He'd just nuked his entire script folder from his laptop. He'd wanted to hold onto them for posterity as well as reference, but now he'd learned it was too risky. If he wanted them back, he could easily rewrite them, but they had served their purpose. With the Justice Lords out of the picture, he didn't expect to need them ever again.

Curtis exited his room and wandered into the kitchen to scavenge some grub in his house. His lonely house. His father was still at work and his mother wasn't around. So, with nothing to do, he turned on the television set. Summer Gleason's pretty face was creased with a mixture of fear and anxiety.

"Though the scene behind me doesn't seem active, the armed robbers are reportedly making their demands to the police. Demands that the police will no doubt reject. Until the reinforcements arrive, the police have no choice but to stall for time. Tensions are high and..."

Curtis sighed. Gotham was returning to the way it was before the Justice Lords – before Batman. Gotham needed Batman: his city was screaming.

Batman sat at the Batcomputer, elbows on the control panel, fingers intertwined and his nose resting just atop them. On the screen, the same scene played out. Yes, Gotham was screaming for a hero. But he wasn't the hero Gotham deserved. As he watched the screen, a flicker of movement caught his eye. "Alfred," he broke the cave's silence, his voice echoing among the crevasses. "Split screen output. Rewind broadcast thirty seconds and then pause."

"Yes, Master Bruce." The BatCave's artificial intelligence, named in memory of his father figure and friend, quickly split the display into two images. The newer window rewound the broadcast for the specified number of seconds and then froze the feed.

There it was. Or rather, she was. A feminine figure was in the top corner of the screen mid-leap, as if soaring in from a perch offscreen. Against the cloudy, dark sky, the casual observer would have missed her. But Batman was not the casual observer. Her costume, though dark, was unmistakably theatrical and seemed to mimic his own design.

"Alfred," he spoke in a tenser tone. "Zoom in and upscale image."

Within seconds, the image was enlarged and the figure was enhanced as best the AI's algorithms could allow. Batman's suspicions proved correct; the girl had modeled her costume after his own. Grey padded suit, black mask and cape, and a belt that appeared to be some shade of yellow. Of course, there were obvious differences in design and quality, but the resemblance to his motif was nothing short of uncanny.

Batman leaned back in his chair, a hand to his chin in thought. "Alfred, loop the next five seconds." The clip played from her appearance to her disappearance over and over and he studied it intently. "Sloppy landing. Her footwork needs practice." Without even realizing it, he began to critique the woman's technique. "Has a gymnast's grace, but her footfalls look heavy. I would've known she was on the roof before she was even halfway to the access door."

"So, you are just going to let untrained children run around doing what you vowed to do?" The voice was unmistakable. It was his voice, but it was not from his mouth.

Not missing a beat, Batman replied to his dimensional double, "Surprised you could find your way back here."

The other Batman huffed and then replied, "If that is your excuse for a greeting, your social skills need more work."

"You know what I meant." Batman stood from his chair and turned to his double. "Besides, I am not worthy of defending this city against whatever may come."

The other Batman left his spot in the shadows near the dimensional portal and approached the Batcomputer. He scrutinized the scene playing out. "Those hostiles wouldn't stand a chance against you. Within minutes, the entire building would be swept and they would be in handcuffs. Your public image does not matter. You've been framed as worse things. What does matter is the mission to make certain that what happened to you will not happen to anyone else. Ever."

Batman turned away from the other. "That is impossible. There are millions of people in this city. Thousands of them are put in life-threatening situations daily."

"It all adds up."

"Never fast enough to pay back what is lost. When the Justice Lords reigned, the streets were safe."

"At what cost? The people weren't free and the law was skewed. Working in the shadows and within the spirit of the law gives hope in the darkness."

Batman paused. "Another man spoke of hope. But look at how that turned out." He leaned forward onto the table and grimaced. He knew what he was saying was wrong. He had become Batman to give hope to people; to become something incorruptible. He became a symbol, a legend. But now because of one choice, he had run his reputation into the ground and tarnished that symbol.

The other Batman turned from the screen. "You made a mistake. So what? Pick yourself up. You have gifts that not many are granted: wealth, intellect, training, and determination. Sitting in this cave and sulking about one bad decision is a waste of those gifts." His voice started to echo as he retreated to the portal. He was about to leave. "Your Gotham is crying out to you – for you – so much so that an inexperienced juvenile is putting herself in harm's way just to do what needs to be done; What you need to be doing."

The dimensional gateway powered up and a dull yellow light flashed through the cave. "You once said that you are willing to put your life on the line to do what's necessary, but it had to be yours. No one else's." He started to step through the gateway. "I do hope the next time I come through here, things will be different." And he was gone.

Batman turned to look at the looping video on the monitor. He paused it and the young woman in motorcycle padding was suspended in the air just before her elementary landing. Even so, his feelings did not change. There was no weight lifted from his shoulders. The burden on his back was still there and he didn't know why. 

He looked at his faint reflection in the monitor. He was right earlier; he wasn't the hero Gotham deserved. He looked at the live news broadcast still playing on the first screen. The hostages were still in the building and there was no mention of the dark-clad figure who had flashed in the corner.

Five minutes ago she had hit the rooftop of the apartment complex. Without breaking stride, she ran to the closest skylight and jumped through it. The resulting shatter and sprinkle of glass stunned the two gunmen and thanks to a quick foot in the face, one was out before she even touched the ground. The other reached for his gun and his fingers wrapped around the hand grip. However, he didn't have the chance to draw it: her fists came fast and furious to his gut. One, two. The man doubled over in pain and Kimber brought her armored knee up fiercely. Upon connection, the man's head snapped back and he was out.

To be safe, Kimber released the magazines from both guns and tossed them out a back window before moving on to the last room.

That was five minutes ago.

Now she was dodging bullets.

This is not how I had planned for it to go. She had safely freed the two hostages before the final gunman found his buddies and decided to check on the hostages. She had planned for them to be armed with small arms, like a pistol or revolver. What she hadn't planned for was one of the thugs having a submachine gun.

"Escalation is a bitch," she muttered as she dove behind another metal table. She had no ranged weapons except for metal-throwing stars she had fashioned out of a luxury car brand's emblem. She'd been practicing with them but she had yet to actually test them against targets under pressure. "No time like the present."

"C'mon out, you sneak!" the criminal shouted as he shakily started to switch out his now-empty magazine for a fresh one. "I know you are still here! You think you the Bat or somethin'?"

It is now or never... Kimber jumped up from behind her hiding spot, curled her arm into her body, and then let the makeshift shurikens loose. The first missed, but two others hit their mark; one stabbed into his bare arm and the other embedded itself in his cheek.

The man howled in anguish and made the mistake of the night: He dropped his now-loaded gun and clenched his eyes shut as his hands instinctively rushed to his face. A boot slammed heavily down on his spine from behind, pushing him forward and to the floor, and then another kick rolled him over. The shadowy figure's helmeted face intruded on his personal space and a gravelly, yet feminine, voice met his ears: "I'm Batgirl."

Kimber reared her head back and smashed her armored forehead into the bridge of the thug's nose, rendering him unconscious.

"Now for some fun."  She dragged the unconscious man to a window facing the road and carefully ripped portions of his heavy jacket with a knife. From her a utility loop on her belt she loosened a length of rope. Usually, it was reserved for scaling buildings, but she had a different task in mind for it now. She looped it around two supporting pillars near the window and then she tied the unconscious man's arms to either end of the rope. Once finished, she pushed him out the window where he hung like a macabre ornament, arms splayed wide. To anyone outside, it hopefully looked like a crude representation of a bat with open wings. Let's see how will Papa cover this up. She smirked behind her helmet at her handiwork.

Footsteps. The police must have understood the building was clear when they saw the man drop. Soon they would be in the room. Not a problem. She broke down another door and escaped through a second-story window, parkouring to the ground and heading for a sparsely populated parking lot where her bike was parked. She walked her bike to the rear of the building. As she did, she noticed a motorcyclist with a skull-painted helmet standing on the opposite side of the road, watching her. She nodded at the citizen, then sped away just as police started to turn the corner of the building, barely missing the sweeping spotlight of one of their cars.

Okay, not easy. But still a perfect night.

Batman watched the man drop and recognized the shape created as the body settled against the building. The steady heaving of the thug's chest gave away his vitals. He'll live. He had a strange feeling of nostalgia watching the girl's performance. He had done something similar when he was just beginning. He allowed himself a smile as he recalled tying Falcone to the spotlight. The mobster's reputation never fully recovered.

"That's it then. This is a fresh start for Gotham. Recognizable enough to be familiar, but born from this new era." Batman shut the screen off and removed his face for the first time in two days, thus putting on the façade of Bruce Wayne.

As he continued to remove his second skin and put on the costume he wore by day, he contemplated what would become of him.

Curtis wanted to applaud. It had been like watching a movie from the backseat of a car. He had caught a flicker in the corner of the screen and, thanks to the magic of satellite television, was able to rewind the broadcast. Watching closer and at a slower speed, he saw the person on the roof. From there, he ignored the reporter and even muted the television to focus on the background.

He noticed the flashes of light from gunfire and even caught a second glimpse of the person jumping across an opened window. The grand finale of the segment came when one of the thugs was unceremoniously dropped out of a window. The news reporter suggested infighting among the criminals led to one of them being thrown out of a window as a distraction for the police, but to Curtis, the thug looked like a tattered bat signal. He was sure that it was an unmistakable display for everyone tuned in to GNN that Batman was back and crime was about to have a really tough time.