We need all the help we can get—whether the Batman is back or not.

Extending his hand, he helped his friend out of the pipe. The bedraggled cop reached the surface and paused to take a deep breath of fresh air. His breath frosted. Blake could only imagine what that felt like, after being forced to inhale the noxious atmosphere of the sewers for weeks on end. No doubt he was looking forward to seeing Yolanda and little Tara again, too.

A shot rang out from the trees, and Ross staggered backwards, a crimson stain spreading across this chest. He fell lifelessly to the ground. His breath stopped misting.

No! Blake screamed inwardly, even as he dove for cover. It’s not fair! He was finally free…

A small group of killers charged onto the scene, surrounding Blake. He tried to scramble away, only to feel the muzzle of an automatic rifle against the back of his skull. One mercenary kept Blake pinned to the ground while his comrades fired into the open mouth of the pipe, driving back the cops who were climbing out of the depths. Muzzles flared in the night. Screams echoed from deep within the tunnel.

The trapped cops fired back, trying to blast their way to freedom. Bullets ricocheted off the rubble clogging the pipe.

Blake glared furiously from the ground, wanting to avenge his partner, but the goddamn merc had the drop on him. He watched helplessly as another terrorist took out a hand-held detonator and called his men away from the pipe entrance.

They’ve planted charges!

The terrorist triggered the detonator and a deafening explosion shook the rocky ground, burying the pipe beneath a heap of rubble. Dust and smoke invaded his lungs, and he choked on the fumes.

Ross’s dead body lay forgotten on the ground nearby. Was he better off than the cops who had seen a glimpse of freedom, only to be buried alive once more?

It was hard to say. But Blake had never felt so angry—or so helpless.

The merc cocked his gun, preparing to execute him on the spot, when without warning the gunman went flying to one side.

A menacing apparition, cloaked in midnight and shadows, dropped into the midst of the terrorists, tossing them around like crash dummies. Batarangs winged through the air, disarming gunmen and spearing arms and shoulders. Batman fought like a demon. Arms were twisted, legs knocked out from beneath their owners, broken teeth sent flying. One after another, battered bodies hit the dirt.

Blake scrambled to his feet, hoping to join in the fight, but it was already over. Silence descended. Batman stood over his fallen enemies.

One of them stirred slightly, groping for his gun.

“You missed a spot,” Blake said.

Batman booted the stubborn merc in the head. Then he stalked toward Blake, his cape fluttering behind him. The pointed ears of his cowl cast an ominous shadow. Even knowing whose face lay beneath the cowl, Blake had to suppress a shudder. It was easy to forget that Batman was still human underneath.