Screech. Screech. Screech.
The harsh sound of a steel file echoed through the basement. Loud enough to grate on nerves, but not loud enough to disturb anyone upstairs.
The basement door opened. Light spilled down the stairs into darkness.
"Harvey? Harvey, are you down there?"
A soft female voice. Harvey's wife, Gilda Dent.
Harvey set the file back on the messy workbench. Yellowish light from the overhead fixture illuminated him and the table's contents—various metal parts, bullets, gun components scattered haphazardly across the surface. He looked up as Gilda descended the stairs. Her face carried obvious anxiety.
"I saw on the news that you burned a lot of Falcone's money. I'm worried."
"Worried I'll end up like Richard Daniel?" Harvey's voice was gentle but firm. "That's really unnecessary, Gilda."
These conversations had become the couple's routine lately.
Gilda's composure cracked. As she spoke, she buried her face in Harvey's chest. Tears glistened in her eyes. As the wife of Harvey Dent—the fool who insisted on upholding justice in Gotham—she spent every day tormented and nervous just waiting for him to come home safely. She'd been crying like this since the day after Richard's murder.
Harvey held his wife close. His eyes narrowed slightly, expression mixing love for her with cold anger toward Falcone's grip on Gotham City. The flame of justice in his heart seemed to burn brighter, not dimmer.
Ring ring ring ring
"Honey, go upstairs. I need to take this call."
"Okay."
"Oh—there's a package that arrived for you. It has a lock. I couldn't open it."
"A lock?" Harvey frowned slightly. "I'll be right up, dear."
After comforting his wife and sending her upstairs, Harvey answered the still-ringing phone.
An electronic voice emerged from the speaker, obviously disguised by a modulator. Impossible to determine gender or age.
"Mr. Harvey Dent. The Romans send their greetings."
In a black car outside the house, through tinted one-way reflective windows, five figures silently observed the Dent residence.
"So, did Dent's wife take the bomb inside yet?"
Boy Donny held the detonator patiently. "Why rush? Wait until we're certain Dent's out of the basement."
Hypocrite Kevin sounded curious. "What's Harvey Dent been doing in that basement every day? It's been almost two weeks now, right?"
"Who knows?" Slippery Jimmy chuckled, hands on the steering wheel. "Maybe preparing for next time he takes action against the Falcone."
"Two shots took out a prominent Falcone family member. If it were you, wouldn't you be planning another one?" Mickey the Mouse's voice carried sarcasm. "Our justice crusader spent so long getting Johnny Vitti to testify in court, and in one night, Johnny reconciled with uncle Falcone."
"In my opinion, no matter what anyone wants to accomplish in Gotham—good guy or bad guy—using a gun is much easier than using the law. If he keeps killing like this, the Falcone family will panic. Those two shots accomplished more than a year of legal warfare."
"Hey, Harvey Dent just appeared. Yes, he's coming out." Duet Willy suddenly alerted them.
"Perfect! Brothers, Jimmy, Donny, get ready. Once we finish this job, we'll be living the good life!"
"No problem, boss. Just watch."
"Ready when you are, Mick."
"He's coming out, but his wife seems to be heading into the basement. What do you think—should we detonate now? Or wait until his wife?"
"With the power of my bomb, as long as he's on the first floor, that package will blow him to pieces. As for his wife—I'm too impatient to wait. Detonate it now."
"Why aren't you pressing it?"
"I am pressing it! Why isn't this button working?!"
Under the stunned gaze of his four teammates, Donny frantically pressed the detonator repeatedly. Nothing happened at Harvey Dent's house. He looked desperately at Mickey.
"Mick, is there something wrong with the bomb?"
"No way! Damn it, I checked this morning—"
BOOM…
"You see that?" Mickey, quickest to react, came to his senses and forced bravado. "Told you my bomb at least works—DRIVE! NOW!"
The black unlicensed car roared to life and disappeared around the corner.
"Mick, why doesn't this bomb have the power you said it would? That it could blow Harvey's house sky-high?" Kevin kept watching the Dent residence. "Did you seriously fail?"
"You bunch of idiots who don't understand explosives, don't question my bomb-making skills!" Mickey snapped defensively. "Wait until you see tomorrow's news. Then you'll know how good I am."
"Harvey Dent is dead."
Batman's voice cut through the darkness like a blade.
"Those nails you purchased—you know I'll find you. It's only a matter of time."
The words came cold and low, without emotional inflection.
But in Mickey's ears, whether from the dazzling neon signs outside his window or lingering hangover, he could swear he saw pairs of bat eyes staring at him from every shadow. The voice felt deafening. He was certain he'd be torn apart by an angry monster in the next second.
The sudden presence scared him so badly his hair stood on end. He nearly dropped his bottle. He knew exactly whose voice that was and what would happen to him. He'd just been deliberately not thinking about it.
The screaming man threw himself out the window and landed hard in the alley below. He looked up in horror.
A terrifying black shape walked toward him step by step from the alley's shadows.