After a series of brutal fights, Black Mask was defeated and detonated the cargo ship he'd planned to use to flee Gotham.
At the critical moment, Batman pulled out of the battlefield. Hanging beneath the Batwing, he watched with his own eyes as Black Mask was torn to pieces in the blast along with the ship.
Back on shore, waves of police were rushing in from all over the city.
Catwoman subdued Deadshot. After saying goodbye, she left, and Batman didn't try to stop her.
With the music easing into something calmer, the story began to wind down.
Gotham returned to peace. Wayne Enterprises took over JANUS and announced Angel's launch plan was canceled.
Deadshot and Killer Croc were sent to Arkham Asylum.
On the street, Selina Kyle casually slid a copy of the Gotham Times out of a white-collar worker's bag. The front page ran an article praising Batman. She smiled, slipped on her sunglasses, and disappeared into the flow of the city.
Commissioner James Gordon worked until the city lights came on. Just before clocking out, he received a note. He went up to the police station rooftop, where a massive searchlight had been installed.
He pulled the switch.
The score surged again, fierce and triumphant.
In the beam of the spotlight, a giant bat silhouette appeared against the clouds.
Residents in the streets looked up. Pedestrians pointed and whispered. Children shrieked in delighted surprise. Criminals abandoned their deals and melted back into the dark.
The camera slowly pulled farther away.
Atop a clock tower in the heart of the city, Batman stood tall, his black cape snapping in the wind like a banner.
The image froze.
Then faded to black.
The music didn't stop, it climbed higher.
As the end credits began to roll, applause rose in the Sacred Civic Auditorium.
The clapping stayed thunderous for more than three minutes, until the big screen unexpectedly lit up again. The room quickly fell silent.
Arkham Asylum. A large, heavyset Black woman flipped through Deadshot and Black Mask's files, snapped the folder shut on her desk, and said to the middle-aged man across from her, "They're strong. But I need more."
As she spoke, the shot cut to a close-up of the document on the desk. The words "Task Force X Program" were clearly visible.
Before anyone could fully react, the scene flashed out and the music kicked back in.
Whispers spread through the hall.
Viewers who knew DC comics immediately recognized Suicide Squad, a concept introduced in the last couple of years. The large Black woman was Amanda Waller, the team's founder. "Task Force X" was simply the official codename in the paperwork.
So... were Daenerys and Warner going to make Suicide Squad next?
The thoughts were still swirling when the credits ended and the screen lit up again.
A fresh double-stinger.
A lot of media people thought the same thing. Paired with the steady stream of hints Daenerys and Warner had been dropping all year, it was obvious Simon Westeros was setting up something huge.
This time, the screen showed a wrecked room.
A thin figure stood with his back to the camera. In the corner, two bound thugs trembled, eyes wide with terror, muffled pleas spilling through their gags.
"I've been trying to make this city better with justice, and it's all been pointless. So now, we'll leave it to fate."
As he spoke, the camera slowly panned around. First it revealed half of his face, normal and composed. He showed the two thugs a coin, one side scarred and scratched. Then the camera finally swung fully into view, revealing the other half of his face, grotesquely ruined.
Clink.
The coin flipped into the air.
Before it could fall, something else shot in and struck it mid-flight.
In a tight close-up, a familiar bat-shaped projectile pinned the coin hard into the wall.
The screen flashed and went completely dark.
As roaring applause erupted again, one name sprang into nearly everyone's mind.
Two-Face.
Compared to newer, lesser-known figures like Black Mask and the Suicide Squad, Two-Face's legacy was almost as old as Batman himself. Like Joker, Catwoman, and Penguin, he was practically a household name.
Some viewers who knew the comics also thought of one detail: the man who disfigured Harvey Dent with acid, Sal Maroni, had already died in this film. So how would Two-Face be born in the sequel?
But nobody obsessed over it.
The movie was based on the comics, not chained to them. Adaptation was inevitable, and the film that had just ended had already made plenty of changes. Besides, if you copied the comics beat for beat, a movie would lose much of its fun.
All those thoughts did nothing to slow the applause.
Even after the entire creative team had gathered backstage for the upcoming media Q and A, the clapping still wouldn't stop.
Stagehands set a row of chairs on the stage. Simon was about to lead everyone up when he saw Nicole approaching from the auditorium entrance, her posture stiff and awkward, a strange flush coloring her delicate face.
The moment she spotted Simon, she froze like a mouse meeting a predator.
Simon's smile turned faintly peculiar as he tipped his head toward a certain direction.
Nicole looked like she'd been granted a pardon. Taking tiny, careful steps, she pretended to stroll casually toward the restroom.
Simon led everyone onto the stage. The applause, which had just begun to fade, flared up again, mixed now with cheers.
Naturally, Simon took the center seat. Adam Baldwin, Valeria Golino, Willem Dafoe, Tommy Lee Jones, and Anthony Hopkins sat in a line to either side.
Billy Crystal, hosting the Q and A, waited until everyone was seated. He pressed a hand down for quiet, and the auditorium gradually settled.
"Hold on, let me take care of a personal matter first," Billy Crystal said once the room was silent. He waggled his eyebrows at the audience with the microphone, then turned to Simon. "Director, that film was unbelievable. Since you're making a sequel, can you give me a part too? Even if I'm just an extra?"
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Everyone knew it was a playful compliment.
But it also voiced exactly what many people in the room were thinking.
Just look at who was sitting beside Simon Westeros.
Aside from Valeria Golino, who'd appeared in Rain Man, who even were the rest of them?
If time could rewind, no one would have allowed "small-time" actors like Adam Baldwin to land roles in Batman.
Now, everyone could practically guarantee that once the film opened, these little-known names would skyrocket in status and start taking roles that should have gone to them.
Onstage, Simon played along and agreed.
After a few jokes, Billy Crystal opened the floor for questions. In an instant, nearly every hand in the room shot up.
To prevent surprise questions from blindsiding the cast, a lot of this was prearranged.
With practiced ease, Billy Crystal picked someone Simon knew: Los Angeles Times reporter and critic Peter Butler.
Peter Butler stood, took the microphone from a staffer, and said, "Simon, first, congratulations on another outstanding film. I'm curious how you came up with so many details we've never seen before. The Batcycle, for instance, was incredible. And Batman using a hand-drawn sketch to identify Catwoman, Deadshot's slow-motion bullet shots, and most importantly, action design even more thrilling than Bruce Lee's fight choreography. How did you create all that?"
It was probably the same question on a lot of people's minds.
Film language evolved in patterns. When you were talking about investments of tens or hundreds of millions, studios rarely dared to innovate too aggressively.
But Simon's new film had almost completely broken free from the musclebound, gun-toting action formula that Stallone and Schwarzenegger had defined in recent years. The raw, grounded, visually elegant combat design felt like it had yanked Hollywood action into an entirely different era.
And then there were all those details that felt almost science-fictional for the time: the Batcycle, facial searching, touch-screen controls, video calls.
Simon waited until Peter finished, then raised his mic with a grin. "Maybe there's really a whole bunch of ghosts giving me ideas."
The audience blinked, then laughed.
The summer release of The Sixth Sense had sparked a surprise wave of chatter about Simon being some kind of medium, and the media still brought it up. No one had forgotten.
After the joke, Simon quickly turned serious. "Honestly, it's mainly because we had enough prep time. I've been thinking about this movie since two years ago. To put the Batman in my head onto the big screen, I read a massive amount, developed countless concepts, and tested endless ideas. What you saw tonight is only a portion of what I came up dwith. I'm confident the sequel can bring you even more surprises."
It didn't fully satisfy everyone, but it was the standard answer in the industry.
Besides, Peter's question was broad to begin with.
A bespectacled female reporter quickly got the next chance. She stood and said, "Mr. Westeros, I'm Jane Trevor from Variety. Two years ago, I was lucky enough to attend the premiere of Run Lola Run in Park City, and then Pulp Fiction. This is my third time at the premiere of one of your films. And I watch almost every movie you write as soon as it comes out."
Simon couldn't quite remember her, but he replied politely, "Thank you for your support, Jane."
Jane Trevor didn't expect the increasingly dazzling young man on stage to remember her. She adjusted her glasses and went straight to it. "Mr. Westeros, is it true your budget was only fifty million? Compared to action blockbusters in that range these past few years, Batman feels leagues ahead."
"That's right, only fifty million," Simon said with a nod. "I'm very focused on cost control. Once I set a budget ceiling, I do my best not to go over."
It didn't really answer her underlying question.
But this was exactly the sort of thing you couldn't spell out too clearly.
There were plenty of high-salary stars sitting in that auditorium. Calling it out directly would offend people. Simon didn't like winning a moment with words by creating conflict. He preferred doing, not saying.
Still, even without him spelling it out, many people in the room understood.
Two films with the same fifty-million budget could have completely different spending structures.
Take Stallone's new movie Tango and Cash, which had opened the previous Friday, one week before Batman. Its budget was fifty-five million, and rumors said Stallone alone took fifteen million. Kurt Russell, a near A-lister, wouldn't have been cheap either, nor would veteran director Andrei Konchalovsky. Add the supporting cast, and just the major creative salaries likely ate up more than half the budget.
By contrast, Batman didn't have a single star earning over a million.
As for Simon himself, he'd kept his usual deal: a one-dollar base salary, plus ten percent of domestic box office and five percent of VHS sales.
And since Simon held absolute authority as the primary producer, Joe Silver, serving only as a supporting second producer, wasn't paid extravagantly either, just two million with no backend. Simon had named the number himself.
Simon knew the project's upside too well to make the kind of mistake Warner once made by offering Nicholson a layered profit deal.
Even after Lethal Weapon and Die Hard had elevated him into the ranks of top-tier producers, Joe Silver's fixed fee still wasn't anywhere near the level of A-list directors or actors. At this time, even elite producers like Jerry Bruckheimer, who had made Top Gun, were only taking around a million in fixed pay, though they often had profit participation.
Simon paying Joe Silver two million up front was essentially a prepaid substitute for backend.
And because Silver was only the second producer, even without profit participation, that check was still generous.
In the end, with Simon taking one dollar, Adam Baldwin and the other leads earning only a few hundred thousand, and Joe Silver topping out at two million, the combined spend on producer, director, and lead cast stayed under five million.
Which meant Simon poured more than ninety percent of the budget into the actual production.
Compared to other films in the same bracket, it wasn't even close.
After Simon answered, Billy Crystal didn't give Jane Trevor a chance to press further. He moved on briskly.
More questions followed, about the sequel, the stingers, the box office, and everything in between. The premiere and the after-party ran deep into the night.
The next morning, Simon flew to Australia early with Janet.
Meanwhile, the media buzz and critical reaction for Batman detonated across the industry.