Complex [fire]: Two or more individual incidents located in the same general area which are assigned to a single incident commander or unified command.

Firestarter series:

Complex

Second of the "Firestarter" Series. A direct sequel to Ignite, Complex follows the events Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight, with alternative-universe undertone, as plot will be manipulated slightly as necessity permits.

It has been a year since Dr. Marianne Lancer took the hand of her best friend, Bruce Wayne, in marriage; two years since the vigilante's Batman and Reacher came to Gotham to defend and protect. The Narrows lost under the sway of Jonathan Crane's "Scarecrow" toxin, Gotham still is slow to recover, and GCPD scrambles to keep the scales of justice balanced in its attempt to subdue the criminal underworld.

New District Attorney Harvey Dent, as hard-hitting on the legal front as the vigilantes are in the shadows, vows to clean up the mob in Gotham; painting for himself a hasty target. Frustrated by the pressure, the mob cautiously enlists the help of a new, psychopathic maniac who vows to not only help the mob get their business back underway, but also kill the Batman, and Reacher.

The fight for justice begins, driving wedges of distrust between the people, GCPD, and masked heroes. As pressure mounts, the people become desperate, and demand the masks be thrown off and identities revealed, driving Batman and Reacher farther apart. It is only when the night is darkest will allegiances be carved out in stone, and love will be tested.

After all, some men just like to watch the world burn.

Prologue
➵

The rhythmic thunder of hooves against the earth did little to drown the excitement throbbing through my chest, instead sending a steady flow of pounding blood through my ears. If the sky above hadn't been such a spectacular blue canvas; the kiss of wind so fresh and crisp as it pulled through my hair, it would have been difficult to determine if I were dreaming or lost in my own thoughts.

The world around the arena seemed to pass by in a blur, mostly due to the adrenaline. However unsettling for most, I'd come to embrace the stinging feeling of pulsating adrenaline racing through my veins; keeping me alive, focused. It pulled at my senses in a sharp way, alerting me to the distance of my surroundings and developing determination as to the importance of each – beneath, a thousand-pound animal running freely wild, though trusting of my leadership; observers across the arena, watching carefully as I navigated the space expertly.

I pulled the reigns of the galloping stallion roughly, signaling a sharp and previously-unexplored left turn. He reacted immediately, slowing only a margin, while whipping around with a practiced grace only acquired through years of training and anticipation. Coming about beautifully, he returned to his full speed, now headed directly toward the arena's gate, where a group of onlookers awaited patiently.

I pulled him back into a trot, and smiled at the man leaning against the gate, one leg propped up on the lowest rung. Even behind aviator shades, the figure of Oliver Queen was soberly attractive, a cool collectiveness hanging about him like an easy, approachable cloud. He smiled back in a knowing, half-smile kind of way, one that no doubt was effective at not only business deals, but the dealings of women, as well.

I brought the horse to a stop before the gate, reaching to flip away a curl which had fallen into my face. Relaxing in the saddle, I leaned forward to pat the horse's neck appreciatively, the animal shifting his weight on his feet back and forth, breathing heavily, though steady, despite our course. I heard Oliver pull the latch of the arena's gate, and tug it open, the gathered crowd beginning to disperse upon realization of their boss's action.

"You looked great, Marty."

Oliver's smooth tone was even, if not impressed, as I led the horse out of the area fully. I swung off, landing on the earth with solid feet, draping the stallion's reigns back over his head. "As sound as I promised, hm?"

I turned to face Queen, shaking my head at his forwardness. "He is put together well, Oliver," he turned; I bringing the horse's chin to rest on my shoulder as I lovingly caressed him. "I never doubted that you'd come through with a sound arching mount."

"People in this business have to stick together. Besides, I think Bruce would have my head if he knew I sold his wife a horse not worth his weight." His chuckle was low, and he shrugged, closing the arena's gate back into place firmly before slipping his hands into his pockets.

He came up beside me, us starting off into a slow walk back to the truck and trailer. The horse between us, Oliver reached up to give the stallion a scratch, the corner of his mouth lifted in a way that belied his enchantment with the arrangement. With a silent gesture of his hand, he had his group of employees rushing over, swiftly taking the reins from me and leading the animal back to his trailer.

I watched him go, Queen's words rolling through my mind familiarly. It had been a little over a year since I had taken my best friend's hand in marriage; after the unfortunate events that had somehow brought us together. And, it had been two years since the Batman had been unveiled to Gotham; two years since his partnership with fellow-vigilante, Reacher.

The destruction of the Narrows still hung over Gotham like a dark cloud, reminding the city of its failing moment, and the deep secrets yet to be revealed from dark shadows. The death of Ra's Al Ghul had done little to sway the need for intervention, propelling both Batman and Reacher deeper into the heart of Gotham's underworld of crime. Despite the uncertainty of where the vigilantes' loyalties rested, or how deep they ran, there were many in Gotham who praised the work of the masked heroes, while many others cursed them for their efforts.

Jonathan Crane and many of the other inmates who had been set free from Arkham by Ghul had not been recovered, having faded into obscurity through a veil of uncertainty and unknowns. While crime by no means vanished overnight, there were reports of lower crime rates. It may have been a good conclusion, though; I speculated that criminals were becoming smarter and more guarded, as opposed to their former recklessness.

Life, though, continued. As a Wayne, you never really come face-to-face with the normalcy of daily life in Gotham, unless you seek it out deliberately. However, I wasn't always a Wayne; accustomed to the finer luxuries and denied the responsibility of reality, as my best friend had been before the days of his alter-ego. I had once been a Lancer, an ordinary citizen, living in the Narrows'sister-suburb, the Traps – raised in the realms of misfortune, ever aware of the reality of suffering. Oftentimes, as Reacher, I explored the world I had left behind, still feeling connected in an obscure way, unwilling to forget. And, my continued work at Gotham General often reminded me of the world outside my expensive, million-dollar Penthouse door.

Which, in a strange way, is all due to Bruce – without his straightforward approach to both his lives, I don't think we'd be as emotionally relatable as we were. His appointment of Lucius Fox as head of the empire, Wayne Enterprises, only cemented a realization that many within the social circle of the Wayne's had always feared – humility. Bruce Wayne, indeed, had changed in the seven years he'd been in the grave; still a sparkling prince of Gotham, yet a more cultured, aware man.

I often wondered if marrying Bruce had been due to a psychological need for a safety net, especially when it came to the mask. Without Wayne money, technology, and resources, Reacher could not exist – neither could Batman, or any of the nightly escapades. Our marriage had happened so quickly, that at times, I wondered if we had contemplated our decision fully, or if we had arrived out of desperation.

Though, as I watch from the shadow of the Wayne name, I find my love for him grow strong each and every moment I am beside him. While once a man lost in the simmering, painful need for revenge, Bruce had found purpose in which to channel the grief of his parents – he had found the Batman, and faith propelled him forward to heal old wounds, and look to the future. He had always been confident, in a rich and pompous way, though now he seemed confident in his own mind and heart, and in his place within his family's legacy.

And yet, Gotham survived. Batman and Reacher's involvement in the fight against the criminal underworld, while questionable in the eyes of the law, continued to reap benefits. Thanks to them, Gotham Police had a stronger hand in fighting mob activities that continued to push through the ranks, threatening to strangle Gotham from the inside.

I was pulled from my reverie when Oliver clapped a hand on my shoulder, grinning at me proudly. Sun glistened off the rim of his aviator's, casting a bright light in its wake that only illuminated his flaxen locks like a glittering field of wheat. He absently reached up to scratch his fingers through his beard, equally blonde has his hair.

"You okay, champ?" His tone was only mildly concerned, aware that I'd been lost in thought instead of listening to his blather. No doubt playfully offended by the lack of attention, I surmised.

Nodding, I smiled at him. "I'm fine," was my placating comment.

He didn't look convinced. I tugged off my gloves, stuffed them in my back pocket, and looked to the horse, which had already been loaded in the trailer and blanketed. An employee loudly closed the trailer's door, pulling the latch into place firmly, which seemed to disrupt the air around us.

I had known Oliver since my engagement to Bruce, who was promptly introduced to me at our engagement party. A billionaire with equal renown as the Wayne legacy, he had been a promising friend to us both, previously only acquainted by the business dealings of our empires. An avid archer with his own company in Star City, he had been a valuable resource for me and my interest in the sport- and, he had become a grand friend, who had stepped up to help me navigate my place in the empire, as well.

However, he didn't know the extensiveness of my arching interests. Meaning, he didn't that each night, I took on a new name, right alongside my husband, equally unknown to him. Some things were not worth gambling, and despite the valuable resource and friendship found in Oliver Queen by Bruce Wayne and I, his wife, things were not to be in the playing field of Reacher and the Batman.

Brushing aside a lock of hair, I swatted at the thin veil of dust on the arms of my jacket, looking again to the trailer, having to squint against the sun, which reflected off the chrome detailing. I could feel Oliver's disbelief as he crossed his arms in front of him, squaring back his shoulders.

Obviously, he was not convinced that I was "fine."

"Don't lie to me, Wayne," his tone was graveled, and strong, as if he were interrogating a criminal instead of a friend. I shuddered to think what an interrogation at the hand's of Oliver Queen would look like. He continued, "I know that look. You're thinking, hard."

I rolled my eyes at him, wrinkling my nose in mock annoyance at his prying. "Oh, so now we're a mind reader, Mr. Queen?" My tone was joking, though I didn't necessarily appreciate the invasion into my reverie - Queen didn't know me that personally, by my own admission. Bruce and I played that close to our chest.

I stepped away from him, moving to my vehicle, which was parked across from the truck and trailer, marked starkly with the bold name of QUEEN INDUSTRIES in bold, abrasive letters. The black, sleek, and intimidating Camaro sat motionless, until it flashed its lights twice as I went to unlock the vehicle. Popping open the door, I tossed my gloves on the passenger seat, reaching for the phone I'd left in the console.

Queen sauntered up to my vehicle, and bent to lean through the open window of my door, watching me as I stood there, looking down into my phone. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, before turning to unlock the device, which read that I had one message from not only Bruce, but also a voicemail from Alfred. Entering my pin, I listened to the message, which instructed me to contact Bruce, immediately.

I cleared the messages, and turned to Oliver on my heel, smoothly. Plastering on my sweetest smile, I slipped the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. Oliver nodded absently, looking down to his feet, as if he knew I was going to dodge his prying investigation and be swept away, back to my duties as wealthy wife of Gotham's crowned Prince.

"Oliver, I -"

He put up a hand, stood, and moved around the door to put a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, I know that look, too. You need to go." He gestured to the phone in my back pocket. "Hospital won't let you have a day off, huh?"

I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was Bruce who had called me away to an emergency. Lifting the corner of my mouth into an apologetic smile, I sighed deeply, pulling my fingers through my hair as if to busy myself beneath my friend's stare.

I stepped up to him, gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze, and kissed his cheek quickly. "Sorry, Oliver," I said quickly, moving back to slide into the Camaro's driver seat. "I am interested in the stallion. I want to start mounting shooting soon, but, I should discuss this with Bruce first. A hundred grand is a big investment for a new hobby."

He shooed me away, guffawing flippantly. "Pretty sure you're the only wife of a billionaire who would think that, Marianne," he shook his head, and slid his aviators up over his head, where they messed in his blonde locks. "I'll wait for your call to negotiate. Blaze is your horse, whenever you're ready to sign the papers."

I grinned at him. "You are the best," I confirmed, flicking the Camaro's keys forward in the ignition. "Talk soon, Mr. Queen?" Jokingly, my tone dripped with mocking prestige as I stared at him from the top of my sunglasses. I gave the Camaro's thrumming engine a light rev, driving Oliver to snort dismissively at me.

His playful smirk returned, brightly. "I'm not sure it will be soon enough, Mrs. Wayne." He winked at me. "See ya later, sweetheart."

He gave my arm a reassuring squeeze from the window, before turning away from the car. He started off toward the truck, where he began conversing with one of his employees, phone at hand. I watched him momentarily before connecting my phone to Bluetooth, ringing Alfred's cell phone as I pulled out of the arena's parking lot, engine roaring as I accelerated into traffic.

The call connected in two rings. "Mistress Wayne," despite my strict instructions for Alfred to call "Marianne," or "Miss," he always insisted to referencing me by my married title. "I am glad you rang. Master Wayne has been awaiting your call."

I slipped on my sunglasses, exiting off the street onto the freeway approach, watching the needle on my speedometer raise as I navigated the vehicle's manual gears, smoothly. I smiled, and chuckled, as I made freeway speed quickly, merging into the steady flow of traffic expertly.

"Of course, Alfred. Couldn't leave him hanging a moment longer." Of course I was teasing, and thankfully Alfred chuckled along with my sweet prodding. He must've been walking, as I could hear faint traces of echoing footfalls on his end of the line.

"Excellent, then. I'll inform him you called, Mistress." There was a momentary pause, before Alfred lowered his tone and added swiftly, "Be sure to take the south route; I'm informed he will meet you there immediately."

I nodded sharply. "Thank you, Alfred."

We ended the call on pleasantries, me stowing the phone in the cup holder to my right. Checking my rear-view and determining that I was in good standing, I punched the accelerator a bit harder, and mentally traced my route to the south entrance of the rail yards, where I knew Bruce would be already waiting for me, despite Alfred's information.

Such formalities could only mean one thing, after all.

Author' Note: Greetings, friends! Wow, I can't believe how long it has been since I've delved into the Batman side of fanfiction, though it does feel good to return! After years away from the fandom, only to return recently, I've decided to resurrect my Nolanverse series, "Firestarters," and give the second installment a go.

I wrote the first installment, "Ignite," many years ago - when I was a young, quite different, author. My writing style and understanding of the series had changed a lot, and I'm thankful that it has. At first I decided to write something fresh for this fandom, but then I remembered how much fun I had telling Marianne and Bruce's story back in "Ignite," and decided to give it a go.

The prologue, here, is meant to serve as not only a reintroduction back into the characters, but also as a pilot. Over the years I had some inquiry as to when the sequel would appear, and truth be told, I never thought I'd do it. But, alas, here I am!

You don't necessarily need to read my first installment to follow this one - it follows the events of TDK steadily, though naturally, there will be changes, because that is what we do on Fanfiction. I hope to write this consistently, but I do work full time and have adult responsibilities, so I'll post as I find time. That said, however, if you really demand more and more, I'll strive to make this a priority!

In the meantime, please, leave your thoughts, comments, concerns, and questions, in a review on your way out. Also please favorite and alert the story. It means so much to have your support! Nolanverse Batman needs it too, honestly, since it's been so long! I wonder how many people actually are still active in this genre, haha.

Enjoy this as I enjoy falling back in love with Batman, and reacquaint myself with his universe.