I see my city before me, a putrid steaming mess of corruption and criminality.

Costumed lunatics wage war amongst themselves with little to no regard for the innocent citizens. A fog of fear and hate covers her once fair streets and all we do is hide and pray. To who? God? God has surely abandoned us. The police? The police are surely on the criminals' payroll. Let's face it. They have money enough for it. Explosives, chemicals, insane vehicles and devices. All used and discarded with wild abandon.

With trappings of wealth, of a sort, such as these, why do they fight? As far as I can tell they revel in chaos, mayhem and suffering of others. Where do we find justice when the Law is lawless. The city, my city, needs a hero. Someone of the people, for the people.

Do I dare to be that someone? I must. There is no one else. Fear not my fair Gotham. I will bring down the worst, most feared of the criminals that plague you. I will bring down The Batman

The Bat Man! Devil of the night, lord of mystery. He haunts the shadows of my fair Gotham, dressed in midnight. They say he is a lunatic from the workhouse, playing Robin Hood for the urchins in the streets. They say he is a phantom, and can make a horse and four appear from the mist to carry him away once he has finished with his coarse vigilantism.

I say he is a man, a man of means, for who else but the bored aristocracy would whittle away their hours in the East End, mucking about with the whores and the ginnies, playing God to those beneath him? His actions are as thoughtless as throwing a ha'penny to a starving maiden -- enough for a loaf, not near enough to save her from her hunger. A villian defeated, another, more powerful, arises, all to challenge the Bat Man.

But I shall have him. Slowly, I am closing in on him, sniffing him out...

...for I recognise his scent on the breeze. That is my great advantage, the one thing that gives me a chance against the greatest of foes; that my nose is sharp enough to discern the individual scent of a single solitary man.

The Bat Man is one of the idle rich; I have smelt his scent before, and I smell it here today. I turn aside from the balcony, and look back into the ballroom. I look into the bright lights, I listen to the music, I smell the scents of the idle rich, who party and pretend that the corruption outside is not happening. I see the dancing, and I know that tonight I must identify the Bat Man, for I have no invitation; I am here on false pretences, and I will not be able to do this again easily.

"Hey, waiter!" calls out a man. I step forward smartly, a tray balanced on my left hand.