'Straighten up. Keep off my radar. That shouldn't be too hard, right, Tim?'

'Of course, sir.'

Principal Pollack leant forward in his seat, resting his folded arms on the desk. The room was too clean. Sterile. The diplomas and awards on the wall behind him were evenly spaced in matching chrome frames, but everything else looked like it had come from a government surplus store.

'Then I think we're done. If you don't mind, Tim, I have some paperwork to go over with your parents.'

Tim ran his hand back through his short black hair and made his way out of the office. He closed the door and leant against it.

'Mr Drake was it? Someone from the student rep committee will be here soon to show you around.' Curiously, the secretary spoke without looking up or even slowing down her keystrokes. That was impressive.

'He's a good kid. He's just... distracted.' His father's voice was muffled through the door, but discernible.

'I understand, Jack. Young men sometimes have trouble focusing, or prioritising. But honestly, Tim is going to be on thin ice here. Given his record, if he doesn't pull himself together-'

'Hi, I'm Stephanie.' He'd missed her approach, but there was no missing her now. The smiling face, framed by bright blonde hair, was perhaps a little too close to his own for Tim's liking. Her eyes were a similar shade of green to his.

Weird.

'Welcome to Burnley High! They've asked me to show you around.' Her voice was perky and loud. Like a hamster on coffee.

He followed her, not really paying attention as she vomited information about the debate team and the volleyball squad. She was tall, for a girl. She must have just come from Gym; she was wearing a short, pleated, maroon skirt and white polo shirt, rather than the school's hideous lemon yellow shirt and maroon tie. Her hair looked somehow nicer than normal hair. Puffier, or something. Tim shook his head, and wondered how much longer it would be until they reached the classroom.

The tour was pointless. There was a map in the student diary they'd mailed out, and his near-eidetic memory recalled it in perfect detail.

She'd stopped walking, and was staring at him, as if expecting an answer.

Damn, forgot to listen.

'Sorry, didn't catch that last bit.'

'I said, don't you think it's important to make friends?'

'Oh, yeah. Friends.' He took a breath, and coughed loudly. 'Look Stephanie, I appreciate you showing me around like this, but I think I've got it from here.'

'No, that's ok. I'm in your class, so we're heading in the same way anyway.' Her hair seemed to shine more when she smiled.

Magic hair? Get a hold of yourself, Drake.

'Ok. Thanks, I guess.'

The day dragged on, and Tim waited impatiently for the final bell. Stephanie had made it her mission to make sure he made it safely to each class. He spent the final period staring at the clock while his math teacher lectured on some principle that nobody was listening to. The bell went, and the classroom emptied. Tim followed the crowd outside, where a line of school-busses began to fill.

Tim walked away from the busses, around the corner. A black Chrysler sedan was waiting for him, and a stranger sat at the wheel. The man had short dark hair, dark sunglasses, and wore a black suit. One of his Mother's assistants, Tim guessed.

Great. It looks like I'm being driven home by the secret service.

'Your mom asked me to take you home today, kiddo.'

He dropped into the back seat and silently pondered his parents' absence as his mother's crony drove to their house on the outskirts of town.

The Drake Estate was a two storey family home nestled among the mansions and three-car-garage mini-mansions on the mainland side of the Gotham River. Bristol, the swanky, low density residential area was home to old-money millionaires, captains of industry, and high-end public servants with no time to spend their money on anything but extravagant houses and expensive cars. Overlooking the ocean, and covering almost as much ground as the rest of the properties together, Wayne Manor rested majestically at the top of the hill.

The Drakes had moved there from Metropolis after Jack, Tim's father, inherited the house from his father. The house had been old when they first moved in; Tim remembered the squeaky floorboards and boarded windows. On his visits home he saw the house slowly renovated. Tim had gone to school at the prestigious Brentwood Academy, a private boarding school in Burnside, the growing suburb just west of the Gotham River. He lived in the dorms during the week, but went home on weekends. Each week he saw a new room of the mansion stripped out and rebuilt.

The lavish home was uncommonly quiet as Tim entered the foyer and dropped his school bag by the door to his study. He followed his stomach to the kitchen, and made a quick sandwich. As he chewed into the piece of turkey wrapped in wholegrain bread, he spotted a scrawled note on the table.

"Tim,

Going out of town for a few days.

Will call soon.

Love you,

Mom and Dad."

Tim's frowned as he read the message. It was definitely his mother's handwriting, but it wasn't her voice in the note. Something was off.

His gut instinct was right. Tim's parents never came home. A few weeks into their absence, about the time he was starting to worry, a package appeared at his front door. It was too early in the morning for the post, and it was unmarked, which meant hand delivered. He tore open the satchel, discovering a DVD inside. It was also unmarked, save for a small post-it note stuck to one face.

"Play me."

He sat in front of his computer quietly after the message had ended. He stared into the blank screen for so long he lost track of time. When he shook himself into movement, it was late afternoon. He wiped tears from his face and went to the kitchen. He took the note, still sitting on the counter-top, and pinned it to the crowded corkboard in his study. He needed help. Tim needed to find Him soon.

The light was bright in his face. A drip of drool from his chin dribbled onto his chest. Around him, his classmates were all staring.

'You've decided to join us, Mr Drake?'

'Uh, I was um… just resting my eyes?'

'And snoring.'

The classroom laughed. Tim yawned.

'Now that your eyes are rested, perhaps you can tell us all about Kepler's laws of planetary motion. You obviously know all about them, given that you've clearly got better things to do than listen to me.'

She looked pointedly at his notebook, and the squiggled drawings of circus acrobats with capes.

'Sorry, Miss Bertinelli, I had a paper due first period this morning. I didn't sleep much.'

The tall, slender lady in front of him stepped back.

'Now remember to read chapter 12, thanks folks. I'll see you all tomorrow. Class dismissed. Tim, a word?'

Great.

The classroom emptied quickly. Tim kept his seat. When the classroom was empty, she perched herself on the desk in front of him. She was young, for a teacher. Probably her first gig out of college. And from the look of her outfit, he guessed it wasn't her only job. She was probably moonlighting as a bartender in the city. There was no way she could afford designer shoes of that quality on a teacher's salary.

'Tim, I don't know what to do. I mean, you've only been here, what, two weeks, but you're late to every class, when you show up at all. And then you sleep through the lecture anyway. I don't know how they ran classes at Brentwood, but here we like you to be at least conscious.'

'I already said, Miss, I had a late night.'

'Yes, but it seems like you're having a lot of those. Is everything alright at home?'

Tim stood up.

'The orbit of every planet is an ellipse with the Sun at one of the two foci.

A line joining a planet and the Sun sweeps out equal areas during equal intervals of time.' He smirked, grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

'Tim that's not th-'

He let the door snap shut behind him. He slipped on his silver, mirrored sunglasses as he shouldered his backpack. He didn't have time for her amateur psychology. She couldn't help. Nobody here could.

The afternoon was hot and humid, and Tim could feel the afternoon storm coming, even from inside the halls of Burnley High School. The bell rang, and the halls filled with babbling and shoving. Tim made a quick beeline for the nearest door. The summer sun was harsh, and the thick, black clouds were working their way slowly across the sky. He waved down a cab and scooted into the back seat.

'Tim!' The call came just before he closed the door. A scrawny redhead, was skittering across the carpark towards him. Ives had been Tim's friend since the boys had been in elementary school.

'Heading home Tim? Wanna split the cab?'

'Sorry Ives, gotta meet Dad in the city. Hey, I'll see you tomorrow?'

'A'ight Timbo. Don't forget we've got that history quiz second period tomorrow.'

'Yeah, thanks. Catch ya!'

He pulled the door shut. When Tim had been at Brentwood, Ives had been a near perfect student. But without Tim, it seemed his focus had shifted. He never talked about what, but something had happened, and Ives had been kicked out of the illustrious school. Tim never asked too many questions; he was glad to see a friendly face at Burnley High.

'So, the City?' The cabby asked.

Tim shook his head.

'Drake Estate, Bristol.'

The cabby thought about it for a second, but nodded as he pulled out. Tim pulled his cellphone from his pocket, and flicked through news articles as the cab wove through Gotham.

'Just drop me at the gate, buddy. No need to drive up to the house.'

The cab pulled to a stop on the white gravel. Tim paid the driver and pulled himself out of the car. The rain started to spit as he made his way up the drive. He ducked into the foyer just as the downpour struck. The door wasn't locked. It never was anymore. Tim dropped his bag as he walked into his study. He pulled up the chair to his computer and slumped himself into it. There were no new videos or news on the sites he frequented. Nothing on the news, and no new police reports. He lent back in his chair and stared up at the mess of photos, news clippings and scribbles on paper pinned to a corkboard.

"Bat Watch", they called themselves. A group of anonymous internet users who made it their hobby to follow The Batman, and post poor quality videos, blurry photos, and wild speculation at every opportunity. Tim had contributed a few photos, but nothing good. He kept the best ones for his own files.

Gotham was full of skeptics, and despite a handful of confirmed sightings, some photos, and even police reports, most didn't buy into the stories about a caped vigilante who prowls the rooftops, protecting citizens from muggers and murderers. Tim had seen him in action, though. Batman, who most stories painted as an 8 foot tall, monster with wings and fangs, was merely a man in a mask and cape. A small number made it their mission to discover Batman's identity. Tim, however, knew that The Batman had three allies. Until last year, anyway. Two had been killed in the gang war that had nearly consumed the city last year. Tim knew that if he was to discover The Batman's secret, finding out who was on his team was just as important.

One of them was definitely a woman and the other two were much younger, school age evn. He had scoured every image, every video, and spied on way too many police radio conversations.

The first partner had worn a red tunic, green armour, with a yellow cape. Not exactly urban camouflage. Some eyewitnesses had heard The Bat call him "Robin", and the way he moved it was no surprise. He must have had some pretty amazing training to fly the way he did. Probably a gymnast.

Later, the woman had made appearances, her colour palate was set in blues and purple, distinguishing her from The Batman's black. She was slender, too, and tall. She moved like a gymnast too, and a good one at that. Tim had played with some pretty serious sound editing software to clean up a recording, and heard Robin referred to her as "Batgirl".

Two years ago, Robin had started wearing black and blue. He started going by "Nightwing" and stopped working with Batman. But then Batman took a new sidekick, but this Robin wore darker green, and a black cape. He was a lot more aggressive than the others, and less acrobatic. He hadn't lasted long.

After the Joker went to war with the GCPD, Batgirl and Robin had disappeared. At first Tim had thought they had just been less conspicuous, but after over six months, he was starting to have his doubts. Combined with Nightwing relocating to Blüdhaven, and Batman becoming more violent and uncontrolled, he was almost certain that the junior vigilantes had been killed.

Tim stood up from his desk, and sat on the floor. He watched the news on the TV across the room as he did crunches, then push ups. He was an accomplished hacker and a skilled programmer, had studied taekwondo, jujitsu and hapkido and taught himself to throw shurikens with brutal efficiency. When he should have been doing homework for school, he had instead studied forensic principles, chemical and fingerprint analysis and ballistics. Once he cracked the Batman's identity, he would join his crusade. A new team was what he needed. Without his partners, Batman had started taking more risks, and seemed to be pushing himself that much harder. Before the Joker, Batman had been untouchable. Lately he was taking a beating each night, whilst dealing out his own beatings to any criminals or gangs he encountered. He was burning himself out.

The news blathered on about things Tim couldn't pay attention to. He finished his workout, and sat back at his desk. A notification was waiting, one of his Bat Watch forums.

"New Video – Batman in Blüdhaven"

Idiots. Clearly not Batman, there's no cape. He watched as a shadowy figure engaged a trio in an alley. The footage was shot from a cell, so the quality was appalling.

Tim clicked reply. "It's not Batman. Batman wears a cape."

His mouse hovered over the post button as he watched the video again. Nightwing dodged the gunfire of one bad guy with a cartwheel, and disabled another with a kick. He sprung off a derelict car and caught the fire escape above him. He swung back, and flung himself into the air, pulling a perfect triple tuck, finishing with a kick square to the final gunman's chest. He fired some sort of grappling hook into the air, and was gone. The whole video was only 23 seconds long, but it was enough.

Tim held the backspace key, deleting his message.

He didn't need to post anything. He'd solved it.

He knew who Batman was.