Batman had slept even less than usual while pursuing Two-Face, haunted by the video of the Black and Whites being executed.
When Two-Face began livestreaming across every major news network and video platform in America, the Batcomputer immediately flagged it. Triangulating the signal took considerable effort, and even then, it couldn't shut the broadcast down.
Whoever was backing Two-Face and Bullseye had access to technology beyond even a supercomputer's capabilities.
Batman had theories. Joseph Bell was a candidate. The boy had openly admitted to knowing—and approving of—Bullseye and Two-Face. He had the resources, thanks to his newfound wealth tied to LuthorCorp, and the motive: a desire to "fix" his former city.
Considering Joseph had repaired Red Tornado on his own and somehow integrated advanced technology like a Fatherbox into his suit, the possibility couldn't be dismissed. Perhaps the LexCorp nanites injected into his body were paired with an advanced AI and capable of self-evolution, explaining his ever-growing strength and expanding array of abilities.
As for Bullseye, Batman could find no trace of his existence prior to his association with Two-Face. No records, no mercenary files, no match for his combat style, hacking skill, or psychological profile. Batman still remembered how Bullseye's so-called "pocket sand" protocol had bypassed his suit's advanced firewalls and blinded his visors.
Bullseye's origins were an enigma—though that wasn't uncommon among Gotham's rogues. Even the captured Joker was a mystery with his sole reason for existence seemingly being to torture Batman.
Regardless, Batman wouldn't allow Two-Face to finish livestreaming his execution to the entire world. That wasn't justice.
So he would stop it.
Batman crashed through the window, sending two batarangs toward Joker with one hand and two with the other—one aimed at Two-Face's gun hand, the other at the primary camera broadcasting the event. Scarecrow and Professor Pyg were already dead. Unfortunate, but done.
Yet as the batarangs curved expertly toward the ropes binding Joker's arms and legs, three were intercepted midair by precise gunfire, knocked wildly off course. A fourth was caught inches from the camera lens.
Bullseye.
Batman rolled on impact, bleeding off momentum before rising to his feet, eyes narrowed.
"A surprise guest, ladies and gentlemen," Harvey Dent announced smoothly, unfazed, as if this were all part of the script. "Batman has decided to bear witness to a new era of justice."
Several cameramen trained their weapons on Batman.
"Two-Face," Batman said, his voice low and edged with promise, "end this. Now."
"Sorry, Batman," Two-Face replied casually. "Things are already in motion. We can't stop now."
"You're crossing a line Gotham can't come back from," Batman said, discreetly palming smoke bombs and fresh batarangs as he edged closer, searching for an opening to extract Joker.
Harvey raised his revolver, pressing it against Joker's head.
Joker, for his part, looked delighted, his familiar twisted grin plastered across his face.
Saving him under these conditions would be difficult. Calling in the Justice League was a last resort. A televised intervention by gods and aliens would only escalate crime in Gotham—forcing villains to turn to alien tech or magic and increasing civilian casualties. It was the same reason Batman had refused to let Nova operate here.
"On the contrary," Two-Face said, "that line was crossed the moment freaks like Joker decided to terrorize thousands. I already crossed it myself when I blew up the Black and Whites yesterday anyway. Now all I'm doing is making the new line clearer. Gotham will adopt a zero-tolerance policy for domestic terrorists. Cross the line, and you're erased."
"And what about you and your gang crossing that line?" Batman asked.
Two-Face shrugged. "Correction—the scale's bigger now. It's a mob. And I'm called Two-Face; I'm allowed a little hypocrisy. Besides, our operations have legitimate business fronts and focus on less violent crimes like gambling rings and black-market trade. Violence is incidental, not integral—aside from the occasional armed robbery, corrupt official needing removal, and destroying gangs that don't like our new way of doing things."
He was being far too open. Playing to the cameras.
"Do you really think you're untouchable?" Batman said. "I won't let you turn Gotham into a city ruled by executioner justice."
"You won't let me?" Two-Face asked, incredulous. "You think you can stop me?"
"Robin. Batwoman. Now."
Batman didn't wait.
He hurled a smoke bomb at his feet as the room flooded with thick, choking fog. From the rafters, Robin dropped, crashing into Two-Face and knocking both him and his gun sprawling before turning on the camera crew.
Batman surged toward Joker—
—and Bullseye intercepted him mid-stride.
The kick came in low and fast, aimed at Batman's knee. Batman twisted just enough that it struck his thigh instead, the impact still launching him sideways. He hit the pavement shoulder-first, rolled with the momentum, and came up in a crouch as Bullseye was already advancing.
Superhuman strength, Batman confirmed. The kick had carried far too much mass behind it.
Still, Batman was no stranger to fighting above his weight class—especially while holding back. Bane and Deathstroke could both attest to that.
Bullseye didn't rush. He stalked forward, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, shoulders loose, eyes locked onto Batman's centerline. Even through the thick haze of the smoke bomb, his gaze never wavered.
Batman lunged first this time, throwing a feint high before driving a straight punch toward Bullseye's sternum. Bullseye parried with his forearm, pivoted, and snapped an elbow toward Batman's jaw. Batman ducked under it, stepped inside the man's guard, and drove a knee upward—
Bullseye caught the leg mid-motion.
He twisted, dumping Batman onto his back, and followed him down, trying to transition immediately into a mount. Batman framed against Bullseye's hips, rolled his shoulder, and reversed the momentum, the two of them scrambling across the concrete before separating in opposite directions.
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Clean, aggressive transitions.
Batman came up first and hurled a batarang. Bullseye didn't even look at it—his hand snapped out, catching it between two fingers. In the same motion, he flicked it back.
Batman barely got his gauntlet up in time. The batarang sparked off his forearm and skidded across the ground behind him.
Bullseye closed again, this time with a flurry of short, brutal strikes. Palm-heel to the chest. Low kick to the shin. A knife-hand strike aimed at Batman's throat. Krav Maga—direct, efficient, designed to end fights quickly.
Perhaps an Israeli operative gone rogue. Something to look into in the future.
Batman absorbed what he couldn't block, redirected what he could, and countered with a sweeping kick that knocked Bullseye's legs out from under him. Bullseye rolled with it, came up on one knee, and fired a single shot from his revolver.
Batman twisted aside. The bullet clipped his shoulder plate and Bullseye was on him again, ramming a shoulder into Batman's chest and driving him back into the auditorium seats.
"I see you upgraded your lenses," Bullseye said calmly, even as he pinned Batman there and hammered a forearm into his throat.
Batman slammed his head forward, cracking it into Bullseye's nose. Bullseye grunted but didn't lose his grip. Batman brought his knee up hard, forcing space between them, and rolled away just as Bullseye fired again. The shot punched through the metal frame of the seat where Batman's head had been a second earlier.
Batman rose, chest heaving and eyes alert.
Batman had upgraded the firmware of his suit, stripping out vulnerabilities. He wouldn't get caught by the same trick again.
"Is this what you meant when you said our goals were similar?" Batman said, circling. "Becoming judge, jury, and executioner?"
Bullseye lunged, hooking Batman's arm and attempting a shoulder throw. Batman countered, locking the arm and driving them both into the ground. They grappled, muscles straining, each trying to gain leverage.
"I told you our methods differ," Bullseye said through clenched teeth. "Mine will work."
Batman headbutted him, breaking the hold, and rolled free.
Bullseye sprang up instantly.
Batman read the truth in his movements. The micro-adjustments. The lack of hesitation. This man had killed before. That kind of efficiency didn't come without blood. Tells someone trained by the Demon's Head could easily recognize.
Still—Bullseye wasn't going for lethal shots. He was targeting joints. Center mass. Nerve clusters.
Incapacitation. The same line Batman walked.
"You're still complicit in their deaths," Batman said, launching forward with a barrage of punches that forced Bullseye on the defensive. "They should've faced consequences in prison."