"Kimber Stephanie Sé-Yeong Lee."

The Korean-American girl strode across the stage proudly to receive her diploma. This was the moment she had looked forward to over the last four years: she was graduating high school. Gold cords over one shoulder and tassel flopping jauntily off her hat in the corner of her eye, she happily shook hands with the principal as she was handed her diploma.

Finally out of this place! She looked out into the audience as the photographer snapped a shot of the moment and saw familiar faces cheering her on. "I did it, Papa!" As soon as the principal let her hands go, both her arms shot up, and she waved at her family.

Her father smiled widely as he clapped for her while the rest of her extended family screamed and hollered in barely restrained excitement, making as much noise as possible. At first, she'd been embarrassed when She'd seen the rather large group taking up a row and a half with her face printed out on large poster board signs; but now, as she saw her young cousins wildly spinning plastic noisemakers, she knew she wouldn't have it any other way.

Kimber turned to make her way off the stage and get out of the way of the next graduate when someone else in the crowd caught her eye. She faltered. In the audience, sitting near the back, was Bruce Wayne and he was clapping as well.

For the past few months, Wayne, as Batman, had been training her to become a more effective vigilante. He made it explicitly clear that the training was coming from the best of the best. During downtime, he would share stories of the years he spent globe-trotting and of the different fights he'd had over the years as Gotham's guardian angel. She loved hearing them. However, he always maintained that their relationship was a professional one: the relationship of a student to a teacher and nothing more. So to see him in the audience clapping for her filled her with pride. Finally recovered from the surprise of seeing her mentor, she waved to him. He didn't wave back - just a nod and a polite smile.

As she stepped off the platform and headed to her seat, the next name was called.

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Bruce watched from his seat against the back wall of the gymnasium as teen after teen went through the graduation rite. He wasn't particularly interested in most of them. He already was pushing it coming out to this event. He had left a Wayne Enterprises board meeting early to attend, but he wasn't here to support Kimber; no – there was another promising child graduating today.

"Mawk Zander Machaelson! The announcer interrupted Bruce's train of thought. He checked the list of names and then turned his attention forward in time to watch Kimber's boyfriend slowly walk onto the stage with a veritable heap of flower leis and money necklaces draped around his neck and rather touching music playing in the background.

After a month-long hospital stay, Mawk had been discharged late in January under the instruction to take it easy. Through all the tests and surgeries, he had thankfully recovered and even managed to catch up and finish school on time. The graduation committee had already held a small, special service for Mawk and the other victims from that winter party six months previous, but people stood and clapped for the dark-skinned boy all the same as he received his diploma with a wide, though slightly pained, smile.

Bruce's face twisted as the events of that night came back to him. he closed his eyes momentarily and relived the rush of adrenalin he'd felt as he'd made an aerial approach. He recalled taking out the two men on the roof before even landing and then triggering the EMP to extinguish all electronics before entering the house. He remembered the goons, he remembered Jean-Paul Valley's speech; but most importantly, he remembered the looks on those children's faces. It was a look he hadn't seen in years: a look of utter helplessness. As far as they were aware, no one was coming to save them. The Other was right: it would have been worse. He snorted under his breath as he tried to focus on the task at hand. Even so, his mind wandered to thoughts of the last six months.

Life had gotten harder. Reestablishing the mythos of being a creature of the night after having been out in the light for two years preceding a rather public fall was much more difficult than establishing one from scratch. He was starting at a disadvantage. But the girl... the girl did not have that handicap. In fact, her short solo tenure before he came out of self-imposed exile last December afforded her some limited street cred with both cops and low-level crooks. She'd done good work – a bit heavy-handed in some places, but good work all the same.

"Curtis Reginald Orson Walker," the announcer called out, again snapping Bruce back to the present. Had he really stayed for the whole event?

The African-American teen stoically ascended the stairs with silver and red cords over one shoulder and a neck bare of accessories save one: a medal from the Chief of Police. General applause rose from the crowd, but there was a distinct lack of familial fanfare on par with what other graduates received. No one in the audience stood and belted out support for him, no noisemakers were rattled, and no vuvuzelas were blown. Only a few teens in the graduating class shouted out the teen's name in support. Bruce's eyes scanned the crowd for any sign of Curtis' family members but found nothing.

As Curtis finished taking a photo with the principal, the next name was quickly called. A boisterous chant rose from the back-left corner of the room as a quartet of family members stood and hooted their support for the next graduate.

Bruce looked at the program. "Two names left." He stood and exited. He had another appointment to keep.

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As Curtis stepped off the stage and headed for his seat, Kimber lowered her hands from yelling Curtis' name. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the kid. She'd overheard him telling another kid, Morven, that his father was working and wouldn't be able to make it to the event.

Thanks to Gotham's, and by extension America's, broken healthcare system, the Walker household of two had been served a bill from the response team that had arrived at Mawk's house. Even though Curtis had denied medical attention the company still wanted money and charged his father's insurance for work they hadn't done. Neither Curtis nor his father had the money to fight the bill in court, so they just decided to pay it. As a result, Curtis' father had to pick up extra shifts over the summer. It wasn't fair and just thinking about the whole ordeal made her blood boil.

As the last graduating senior of Gotham High School crossed the stage to receive her diploma, Kimber craned her neck to look over the audience for her mentor. Her eyes skipped over her row and a half of family and shot straight for the chairs supporting the back wall but she found her mentor's chair vacant. Bruce Wayne was gone. Somehow, she expected that.

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It took only thirty minutes for Bruce to arrive and pull into the driveway of a simple apartment complex. He walked up two flights of stairs, took a deep breath to focus on his role, and then knocked on the door just below the engraved placard of plastic that read '207b'.

"Who is it?" came an apprehensive voice on the other side.

"Take one guess, Princess," Bruce replied with his sweet baritone voice.

"Bruce!" The door swung open and Diana Prince enveloped him in a bear hug. "What are you doing here?"

Bruce laughed at her rather enthusiastic greeting. "Don't act so surprised, Your Highness," he replied with a touch of sarcasm. "You know that the terms of your release require regular check-ins every week for your first six months out. Your assigned officer wasn't able to make it, so I'm... filling in, as it were."

Diana sighed with a smile. "I had hoped you were visiting for more than just that." Her lips curled up in an alluring smile as she invited him in. "But you do enjoy this, don't you? This isn't your first time filling in for Maury."

Bruce couldn't contain his grin. He did enjoy his few visits with Diana, he had to admit. There had no doubt been a thing between them during their short tenure as in Justice League and even as Justice Lords. But he, as Batman, had kept his identity a closely guarded secret. Diana never learned who the man behind the mask had been and he intended to keep it that way. As tempting as it was for Bruce Wayne to pursue the potential relationship where Batman left off, he knew it was best to stay away from the beautiful Amazon. However, a little honesty wouldn't hurt. "Yes I do, but let's focus on the reason I'm here."

Diana sighed in defeat. "Fine. Let's get the evaluation over with. This is the last one, right?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe we could have some fun later?" Her voice was hopeful.

"Don't push your luck," Bruce teased.

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Finally, a moment to myself. Kimber stepped out of her house and into the night.

She had wrestled with herself over the week about whether to go out patrolling tonight or not. She eventually opted against it and surprisingly Batman agreed with her decision. It would have caused too much trouble and she knew her father would want to celebrate her achievement. Besides, with her extended family – some of whom she hadn't seen in years – visiting, she knew that they'd be all over her for the whole weekend. The only way she had even gotten this moment of respite was by volunteering to take the overstuffed trash bag out to the dumpster. She looked at the bag of garbage in her grasp and then tossed it into the bin and grumbled to herself. The party with family was fun, there was no denying that; however, she wanted to celebrate not with cake and ice cream, but with her fist against a child abuser's sternum. It was those moments she lived for now.

"Having a good time?"

She turned with a slight jump and saw Curtis in jogging gear reclining against the gate that now fenced off her house from the street. "What are you doing here?" she asked. She was sure he hadn't been there when she'd exited the house, so how hadn't she noticed his approach? She'd have to work on her situational awareness more.

"Jogging. What's it look like?" he casually replied.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating with your family and friends, or something?" I never realized how close he lived to me. Kimber looked from the direction he'd come. "Today was a pretty big day, you know," she added with a sarcastic smirk.

Curtis' face twisted into an expression she couldn't quite place and she hoped she hadn't offended him. "Dad's working an extra shift. Morven and Taylor are both hangin' with their folks, so I'm just taking advantage of the quiet night." His eyes turned skyward as if searching for something.

"Oh..." Lucky. She almost wished she could join him. She stepped closer, shoving her hands in her back pockets as she did. "So... What are you going to do now that high school is over?"

Curtis pushed off of the fence as she approached, preserving the distance between them. "I got an internship with WayneTech for the summer," he answered. "If all goes well, they may keep me through the year. I was accepted to Gotham University on a scholarship."

"Are you gonna go?"

"Might. What about your plans?"

Kimber shivered as her anxiety about the future wrapped around her bare shoulders like a cool breeze. "I'm starting at the community college. Should take two years to get my Gen-Eds out of the way. Hoping I'll know what I want to do by then. As for extracurriculars... I'll be busy. Trust me." She unconsciously smiled.

"Kimber! C'mere!" It was Kimber's aunt. "We want to get a picture of you with your cousin!"

"Looks like they want you back." Curtis started to walk back to the side of the street.

"Yeah..." She turned to the door. "Coming, Auntie! Hey, Curt, if you wanna come in and celebrate with me, you—" But by the time she turned back to her new friend, he was already halfway down the street. "–can..."

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Batman climbed up the sheer side of the cave for the seventh time that night. Each hand found its place and each foot rested securely on nearly imperceptible ridges as he ascended and within what felt like the blink of an eye, he was at the top. He checked his stopwatch. "Seven seconds." That was three seconds faster than his previous drill, finally breaking the double digit mark; it was getting easier. But it still was not good enough. His all-time best for this wall had been five seconds, a time he'd been able to consistently hover around before the Justice Lords made him lax. He leaped from the top and landed on the ground soundlessly. "Must do better," he muttered as the faced the climbing wall again.

Hand over hand, foot over foot, he rose again rapidly. His fingers were were raw and dry and his soles were growing more and more numb to the climbing holds with each step. As he went up, his mind blocked out the physical sensation with thoughts of Diana. Not thoughts of romance as earlier in the day, but thoughts of worry.

She'd been released six months prior to great elation, but she seemed more frightful and withdrawn in more recent months. The way she'd answered the door earlier reminded him of how some citizens answered the door during the regime. Timid and defensive. But the regime was over, and Bruce Wayne was no character she had to fear – if anything he had been her advocate. Then again, it wouldn't be easy for Wonder Woman to blend into a crowd. Nearly a head and shoulder taller than everyone else and just as beautiful, Diana would stand out in any crowd. The idea had been floated among the world governments of returning her to her people, but Queen Hippolyta was adamant in her initial ruling on Diana's banishment. It seemed there was no place for Diana to go: she was an exile of her people and an outcast in Man's World. He almost felt sorry for her.

He crested the edge of the wall again and checked his watch. Eight seconds. "Terrible."

"I thought you did quite well."

Batman looked down the wall and grumbled under his breath as he locked eyes with his interdimensional twin. "What are you doing here?" He glanced at the interdimensional portal. The light was slowly dying out and the ambient hum was fading away. Had he really been that much in his own head that he hadn't noticed the intrusion? Not good.

"Had a spare moment and figured I would check in on you," the Other replied. "I'm glad you've found yourself. Your will."

"It's a hard compulsion to kill." He descended easily and faced his mirror. "To be honest, I expected a visit from you sooner."

"We've had some problems."

He dusted more climbing chalk on his hands. "What kind of problems?"

"Superman took a rather surprising and... lengthy leave-of-absence. Leave it at that."

"Fair enough." Batman turned his attention back to his exercise.

The Other's eyes glossed over a workbench where a helmet and a belt rested, awaiting further tinkering from Batman, as well as a case file. His eyes scanned the file. "Trouble in Star City, and it seems you're not tackling it alone. You've picked up some new partners?"

"Yes," Batman grunted halfway up his climb.

There was a brief pause as space-time was ripped open, creating a doorway for the dimensional double to return to his proper place and time. As the portal stabilized, the other Batman left parting words. "Try not to get these two upset with you as well."

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A man hung from a wall. His hands and feet were completely encased in round, spheres made of specialized metals. He wasn't sure how long he had been here, but he knew that it had been too long. Maybe weeks, months... a year even. His restraints held him upright and suspended in a bare room of dull, red light. Despite the dimness of the glow, it was such a debilitating hue that he opted to keep his eyes closed. The darkness was more comforting than the red light. But the darkness was also overwhelming. Yet he had a glimmer of faith: something stirred in the back of his mind, a foreign thought. A spark.

"It won't be long now," he growled.

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"Lights out!" A gravelly voice shouted over the intercom.

All through Blackgate Penitentiary the lights in the cells were shutting off with loud 'chuck' sounds. In one cell sat a man, cross-legged. It was going to happen tonight. He was sure of it.

A bored prison worker strolled by, pushing a case full of books. "Do you want anything for tomorrow?" He asked with monotone weariness. He angled the dinky flashlight down into the cart and started listing book titles. "Animal Farm, Beowulf—"

The sitter interrupted with a deep, rumbling voice. "War and Peace."

The cart-pusher didn't seem surprised that the man knew what was available in the cart – or if he was, he didn't care enough to inquire. He reached into his cart and, by the fading light of his electric torch, retrieved the requested book. "Here." He handed the book to the inmate. When he heard the book crack open almost eagerly, the cart-pusher chuckled. "Are you planning to strain your eyes and read in the dark?"

No response.

The worker shrugged and resumed pushing his cart.

The prisoner behind the bars smiled as he listened to the other man leave. The book had been partially hollowed out, just as he knew it would be. Out of the space fell a package: a small envelope. He opened it up with hands shaky with anticipation, already knowing what it concealed: a dark ring. He slipped it on his finger and felt the warmth of a power he'd missed so much.

He had a new oath. He'd written it the day he'd been incarcerated and committed it to memory, reciting it mentally multiple times a day. Now, it was finally time to recite it aloud. He sat back on the ground, legs crossed, and focused his thoughts.

"From Olympus high to Tartarus floor... All treachery must be answered for!" His voice rose with each stanza.

"Shut up, man!" groaned a prisoner a few cells down.

But the man's voice only grew louder. "My power returned sevenfold more!"

A dark crimson hue began to emit from his body. It filled his cell and spilled into the hallways. Guards rushed to the cell.

"Those who rise against me shall be...!"

The guards, surprised at the harsh light from the cell, were barely able to aim at the man sitting with his head down in the center of the cell. Some had to shield their eyes. "Put 'em up, Stewart!" demanded one guard, squinting against the oppressing light.

John Stewart raised his head slowly, with an unpleasant grin and crimson-black eyes, and finished his oath with a gentle yet threatening whisper: "Nevermore."