Batman didn't often think for extended periods.
Generally speaking, the situations he faced required immediate decisions. Critical decisions. Life-or-death decisions made in split seconds. Time was a luxury he couldn't afford. Crises didn't wait for analysis.
And his IQ was sufficient for snap judgments.
But tonight was different.
Tonight's strangeness wasn't a super-crisis. No supervillains. No doomsday plots. Just simple weirdness.
And something warm.
The ridiculous Santa Claus stirred steaming porridge slowly, peacefully, as if the night itself had stretched longer. As if this corner of Gotham was whispering: It's okay. You can slow down. Tonight is just an ordinary night. This is just an ordinary street. No crime here. No conspiracy. You can rest. Just for a moment.
But he wouldn't stop.
Batman never stopped.
Gotham was more than this corner. Batman always had work to do.
He glanced back one last time at the makeshift shelter, at children queuing for bowls of porridge, then raised his wrist communicator and made a call.
A moment later, he turned and disappeared into the night.
"Boss, why'd you call everyone out this late? It's the middle of the damn night."
"Shut up and keep walking." The gang leader trudged through snow. "Something weird's happening. Those street kids gathered together, built some kind of shelter, started cooking. We're checking it out. If they're up to something, we teach them a lesson."
"Right!" A scarred man grinned. "Maybe they stole something good. Even if they didn't, I'll beat a few brats anyway. Vent some anger. I haven't slept enough and it's freezing out here."
"Achoo! Fuck, it's cold. Snow's thick as hell. Can't these little shits stay quiet until after Christmas?"
"Hey, didn't we have an order recently? Maybe we could—"
"That was the last order, moron. Already delivered. No sign of the next one. Now we gotta spend money keeping brats alive. You gonna pay for it?"
The voice that answered came from somewhere else entirely.
Low. Hoarse. Cold. Inexplicably terrifying.
"Who!" The leader spun around. "Who's there?!"
Moonlight filtered through clouds, casting flickering shadows on the snow. In the weak light, everyone could vaguely see a tall, dark shape standing in the white landscape.
Was it human?
But humans didn't have pointed ears like bats.
"I said, get out of here." The voice was quiet. Final. "Don't make me say it a third time."
Scarface didn't care. To him, the figure was just some TV comedian. Some stage clown in a cheap costume. Those pointed ears were nothing but props.
He started cursing. "Who the fuck do you think you—"
"Shut up! You idiot!"
The leader grabbed Scarface's arm, cutting him off mid-rant. The leader had heard the urban legends. Stories told in bars and alleys about Gotham's nocturnal creature. First time seeing it with his own eyes, but he knew its reputation.
But didn't Falcone have a million-dollar bounty on the bat's head?
Thinking of that sum, he licked his lips unconsciously.
Batman saw the greed in his eyes. Saw the same hideous smile spread across every gang member's face. They were already imagining their futures. Joining the Romans with merit. Living carefree lives with a million dollars.
They'd made their choice.
The wrong one.
"Boss, he's gone!"
The leader whipped around. Someone had turned on a flashlight. The beam illuminated nothing but bright white snow. The bat's shadow had vanished.
"Damn it! He ran away!"
"We made Batman sound so scary, but he took off in seconds!"
A gangster stammered from somewhere behind them. "B-boss. Boss. Boss."
"What the hell do you—"
Everyone looked up.
Under the silver full moon, the bat-like shadow spread black wings. His body expanded with the shadow, growing impossibly large, blocking out the moonlight entirely.
Somehow, Batman tonight was more terrifying than ever.
The blurred, distorted bat wings amplified rapidly with the sound of a high-speed dive. In that moment, every gang member understood why bats in Gotham meant fear.
"Hit him! Shoot him!" Scarface squeezed out the words through pure terror, voice trembling. "Shoot the bastard!"
He wasn't fast enough.
CRACK
Bone broke. Clean. Precise.
Batman moved like a tiger through sheep, dropping the burly men one by one into the snow. Everyone drew their guns. Everyone tried to aim.
Nobody fired.
Too dense. Too clustered. Bullets would hit their own people.
Gang members fell into the cold snow one after another, clutching broken hands, shattered feet, ruined ribs, wailing into the frozen night. The dim moonlight occasionally illuminated Batman's figure, then he vanished into shadow again.
"Flashlight! Shine it on him!"
The words barely left his mouth before a stun grenade detonated in the crowd.
High-decibel sonic boom. Blinding light. The explosion enveloped everyone instantly. Severe tinnitus. Complete blindness. Every gangster carrying a flashlight fell like wheat before a scythe.
Fire. Fire. Fire.
The white snow and dark sky seemed to burn. Biting fear scorched every mind. Everyone still standing trembled violently. They raised guns with shaking hands, trying to maintain their last shred of courage, but seeing how few companions remained, everyone knew the game was over.
"Gotham City Police Department! Drop your weapons!"
Police lights. Sirens. Horns.
GCPD patrol cars arrived at the scene.
Every gang member nearly wept with relief.
These weren't hateful cops about to arrest them. These were kind angels leading them out of hell.
"Quick! Officer! I confess! Arrest me right now!"
"Please! Take me to jail! I'm begging you!"
"Thank God for the police department!"
In the chaos, Batman disappeared quietly from the crowd.
That night, the Gotham City Police Department holding cells were packed.
Every gangster who'd dared approach the Santa kitchen had been beaten to pieces by the Dark Knight.
In contrast, the children drank porridge and spent a warm, peaceful night.