Preface

They sparkled in the twilight, brilliant, white, and unique. The snowflakes floated, whipping in the wind. Suddenly growing larger, revealing the contained chaos held within a glass cylindrical globe. A beautiful, frail figure doing a pirouette in a tutu spins at its center. A tune plays softly as it twirls to the madness surrounding it. "I have seen happiness." A deep raspy voice calls out, monotone and emotionless. "I lived in it...loved in it. Our love shattered into a thousand shards of ice." The dancer tilts as the white plastic flakes collect to one side. The globe cascades off a table's edge and shatters to the ground, the ballerina, splitting in half, the globe's tune undaunted by the sudden crash. "You once told me that the world only grows dark and cold if you let it. "You were my light, my warmth…but you were wrong, the world has always been this way." A hand, bloodied and frozen, almost claw like, reaches out toward the broken object. "I promise you that those responsible will all be reminded of the dark. The COLD…" a figure with blood red eyes appears, splintered in the reflections of the broken glass. A heavy mist engulfs them.

To Have Loved & Lost…

A young, attractive, brunette woman straightens her hair and looks up in a quick glance at the towering figure beside her. She lifts her channel ten microphone to her lips and begins to question the ominous figure before her.

Summer: Four men were found dead in a Goth-Corp industrial facility last night; this is the sixth Goth-Corp break-in in the last two months. I have Reggie Jackson, the chief of security, here.

Guard: Hello, Summer.

Summer: Reggie, can you tell us what, if anything was taken last night and how your men died?

Guard: Well, the only thing I can say is that whatever these men were after they didn't get it.

Summer: So nothing is missing?

Guard: Not a thing, my men were killed for no reason that I can see.

Summer: What happened to them? Why are reports of some of them having severe burns in the areas surrounding their fatal bruises surfacing?

Guard: Well…

A television monitor switches off revealing a board room with four men and two women sitting at an oval shaped table. A seventh at the end of the far side from the television of the table holds a remote in his hand. His brown hair is well kept, possibly fake. He is tall and slender but for a gut that is nearly unnoticeable by his dress jacket. He uncrosses his fingers and sighs.

Boyle: This is the sixth break-in in two months. Why take these items? Selling them to terrorists?

A woman to his right interrupts "Maybe he is a terrorist." She remarks.

Boyle: This is getting bad. No one died before and now we have to answer questions that are...

He chooses his words carefully.

Boyle: Uncomfortable. We are starting to look foolish. If this guy plans to blow something up then our name cannot be found on the debris next to the charred remains of some kid. My birthday is on Friday and we have to pull focus from all this. Make sure our security is beefed up at our other locations.

That night a big rig screeches down the road and crashes through a gate in the Goth-Corp Physics Research facility. Inside the bed, three men begin loading pistols and four holstered automatic weapons at their side. The driver keeps his shotgun in the passenger's seat. Shells lay scattered along the van's floor, rolling with minds of their own. A voice in the back speaks as glimpses of the fragile figure flash by, illuminated by the dim lights set up around the circumference of the bed. His body mostly covered by a hooded cloak. His voice crackles as if his lungs were seeped in tar, black and endless.

Freeze: No mistakes. Last piece of the puzzle, then you can all go die for whatever God it is you believe in. Kill only if fired upon first. Do not mess up like last times' debacle. We will be stopping on the north side where the LN2 room is located.

They stop the truck outside the loading dock entrance and back the bed into the loading area. The figure opens the double back doors and steps outside. He begins to point to the large barrels stored within the facility.

Freeze: Careful, they are filled with liquid nitrogen. Do not be careless with your lives or I shall end them.

Henchman: How many of these things do we need?

Freeze: All of them.

A single guard sneaks up upon the hooded figure. He unsnaps the button on his gun holster, removes the small nine millimeter sidearm, and raises the Beretta level with the figure's presumed head.

Guard: Freeze!

The guard shouts as he musters up whatever confidence he can.

Freeze: ...Not anymore. Let me guess... You shall shoot me if I move?

Guard: Yea-yeah. Yeah I will.

He removes his hood and slowly turns, facing the barrel of the gun. A ghost stood before him. His face was brittle and blue, devoid of warmth and kindness. Veins ran freely through the whole of his head. His eyes are beating red dots, sunken in beyond all recall. Removed was that slight twinkle that convinces us of life. A modified oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose; while one tube fed him carbon dioxide another attached to his neck ran to his back feeding a clear liquid. The main tube ran down to his chest which had a multitude of lights shimmering through the veil of his cloak. His face seemed to crack as he spoke.

Freeze: No, no you will not. And do you know why?

He moves closer, left arm inching upward. His men had stopped momentarily but now resumed their task feeling no great risk from the child with a popgun.

Freeze: Other than the obvious numerical disadvantage... You are young and frightened.

The guard did his best to keep the gun level, keep his hand from shaking. He was wavering in his ability to do so. The figure's arm swung upward, pointing his boned claw like pointer finger toward the frightened youth. His gaze fixed on a gold band.

Freeze: You are martially joined, which means you are loved. That you love.

He pulled back his arm bringing it to the strangely present gold pendant around his neck. He began to fiddle with it for a moment, gazing into the distance.

Freeze: How unfortunate it must be for you.

He said, still not looking at the guard. The young man took the opportunity to gather his strength, and speak, softly at first, then gaining resonance.

Guard: I- I swear I'll take you down if u move any closer. Put your hand down and place both behind your head. All of you, now! The police have been called. They will be here any minu-

Freeze: They will not. You have called no one, and no alarms have been tripped. Furthermore you have gravely misjudged the situation.

As he spoke the truck's driver had gotten out and raised his 12-gauge to the back of the skull of the guard. He pressed it to the guard's skin just below the hair line. The young man let out a frightened whimper as a sickening cold crept in his stomach. The creature slowly walks toward him and softly reaches for the gun in the guard's hand. He wraps his almost meatless fingers around the gun and slowly brings it and the guard's arms down. All the while he brings his right arm upward towards the man's head. Protruding from his arm, just past the elbow, was another tube. At the end of it was a pressure nozzle, held firmly in the creature's hand. He brought it to the guard's left eye.

Guard: Please don't do this. Please.

The guard pleaded, tears flowing freely. The gangly man said nothing as he began to put pressure upon the hose's trigger. Just then, two high pitched whizzing noises broke the silence. A flash of black and silver slices through the barrel of the gun holding the guard hostage, and the other cuts through the tube attached to the cloaked figure's arm. Liquid nitrogen begins to pour from the tube, causing the area to fill with dense fumes. The figure turns a valve on the container holstered on his back and the tube begins to stop spouting the deadly gas.

Everyone stops as they begin to cough, trying to see in the haze of the room. A scream followed by a gunshot, and what sounds like a wing fluttering in the wind, then silence. The henchmen begin firing at whispers, fear guiding them to delusions.

Freeze: Cease your fire. You may hit a barrel. The fumes shall disperse in a moment.

The driver rushes to the truck cabin and sounds the horn.

Driver: Hurry up and let's go we have enough!

He shouts. One of the men begins to run toward the voice as the air starts to clear when through the white haze of emptiness, he loses control over his feet and crashes to the ground, smashing his nose and teeth against the hard concrete floor. He begins to travel backward, propelled, as if the facility would not allow him to leave. He hoists into the air and comes to rest mid-air. A small black wire wrapped around his feet. Disoriented, he tries to shout for help but the only screams were from his muscles, burning in pain as he sways in the darkness.

Three men were already in the bed loading barrels and two more quickly reached it with one last container. They shout at their bankroll.

Henchmen: Come on let's go now!

Freeze: Cowards.

He stares at the security guard. Still in shock, staring back at him. The figure never blinks, just stares. His voice crackles one last time.

Freeze: You shall lose her.

He turns and begins to leave as the smoke had all but cleared when what stood in front of him was a tall shadow steeped in perpetual darkness. Two ears stood straight up. It slithered forward.

Freeze: I have heard of you, though I believed you to be myth. Urban legend among the incompetent and weak minded.

The shadow said nothing.

Freeze: You are not my enemy nor am I yours. Leave me be and I shall do the same.

Batman: Why?

The Batman finally spoke.

Freeze: Because I must.

Batman began to pace around the figure. He tried separating him from the guard, still standing frozen in shock, moving in front of him as a barrier. Freeze walks backward, slowly making his way toward the truck bed. Batman follows.

Batman: The guard was not lying. The police are on the way. You won't leave this place.

Freeze: Yes I shall, I will finish what I have begun.

Freeze takes his left hand and digs into his cloak. He retrieves a small, round, pale green M67 grenade, and removes the safety clip. He places his index finger in the pin of the grenade while maintaining a firm grasp on the body and safety lever. They stare at one another, each boring a whole through the other.

Driver: Victor, We have to leave now!

The driver cries out. Freeze does nothing to acknowledge his demand. He pulls the pin as it hits the floor with a terrible ring and the police sirens began scrambling in the distance. Freeze wanders his gaze to the guard, still petrified in place. His voice thunders in.

Freeze: It is strange that you dress as a demon yet you act as though a saint. You are made predicable because you have compassion.

He tosses the grenade into the air, too high for The Batman to try and catch, his aim gathered toward the guard. Freeze turns and walks away as the Batman hesitantly grants him leave in view of saving the young patrolman. He dashes for the guard. Only seconds to spare as he grabs the frightened man, too fearful to move on his own accord and they tumble to the ground. They roll behind the remaining barrels of liquid nitrogen. The small explosive rattles and rolls to the pavement as Freeze enters the truck bed, never looking back. The explosion pops in numb and deafening, sending shrapnel into the barrels of LN2 causing liquid to spew into the floor. The guard's ears pop as he goes deaf. The Batman was shielded by his cowl, yet still momentarily dazed from the noise and reverberation of the blast. He looks over the man for wounds, gets up from the ground, and hoists the guard to his feet. Sirens draw closer. The Batman looks around, gathering his bearings, and searches in vain for a truck long vanished into the gathering night. He turns to the guard.

Batman: You will be safe here. The police shall be here in a moment.

The man just stared at him as though he were confused. The shadow cloaked in black slips into the night and vanishes to the bleak darkness he came from. The guard, now alone, falls to his knees. The sirens close now. He looks around, astonished by how fragile his world is and how easily it all came crashing down. The cops rush in. A pudgy detective in a brown overcoat comes to the guard's aid.

Bullock: Hey, kid you okay?

The guard looks up, his eyes viciously burning from the salt content in his tears. His young face was red and numb. Ears bloodied and temporarily deafened. He stares deeply into the eyes of the bewildered officer. Reads his lips and whispers

Guard: … No...

The Gotham police department was swamped and overcrowded as always. A large man in a white shirt that was far too small for his girth began hastily shoving through the crowd. He was balding on top and had a scowl on his face as he pushed others aside. Carrying an envelope and assigning himself more important than others, he shoved and squeezed through fellow officers, making a b-line for an office in the corner of the building. 'This should be good.' He thought to himself. He knocks on the door and enters at the same moment. He walks in and sits down in one of the chairs in front of a large oak desk. The name plate reads: James Gordon, Commissioner of Police.

Bullock: Hey, Commish.

The Stout man says. The older gentleman at the desk doesn't look up to acknowledge the remark. He simply removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose with his right pointer finger and thumb.

Gordon: Yes, detective Bullock? It's always so nice to have you barge in here.

Bullock: Well, we found out who those two wackos that your pet caught and left for us.

Gordon: That's enough Harvey.

Bullock: Sorry, um we ah have found out that both are well, terrorists. We found out that they are American born but are Al Qaeda sympathizers. They had some wacko training in Red House, Virginia.

Gordon: They are just children, confused and easily duped.

Bullock: Yeah, well kids don't carry guns.

Gordon: Sure they do. Every day… Is there anything else?

Bullock: They won't say why they were there or who they are working for, but we are working on that. It's weird though because nothing has been reported missing by Goth-Corp and now they steal liquid nitrogen? What are they planning on doing? Freezing turkeys and ruining next Thanksgiving?

Gordon: Nothing has been reported missing but that doesn't mean nothing is missing. Look closer into Goth-Corp. This whole business doesn't make sense. We are missing something, something big.

Bullock: Okay, Jim I'll be back once I get more from them.

He gets up and begins to leave. The chair groans in relief. He grabs the door's handle then turns back.

Bullock: Oh, and one more thing... We found two little bat ninja stars at the scene. We are going to run them for prints.

The commissioner finally looks up, revealing that the sides of his hair had a smoky gray tint and gives almost a smirk.

Gordon: Good luck.

Bullock looks at him, his face washed of the joy from the little nugget of information he had just sent out, and goes back to the grimace he held before.

Bullock: Yeah.

He barely finishes as he slams the door behind him.

Gordon: You heard that I assume.

The commissioner says, seemingly to no one.

Batman: Yes.

A voice calls out from behind the large window overlooking the city fourteen stories down. On the ledge perched as though a gargoyle from a bygone mid-evil age was the vigilante known to the city as The Batman. A myth to most, but some knew the truth, James Gordon being one of them.

Gordon: Looks like you're getting sloppy.

Batman: You will find only traces of Polyvinyl chloride and liquid nitrogen on one blade, gunpowder on the other.

Gordon: Bullock has it out for you. You should watch yourself... He is a slob but he is beyond competent.

Batman: I'll worry about him some other time.

Gordon: So what do you think all of these break-ins are about, and who this guy is hiring wannabe terrorists to hit Goth-Corp locations?

Batman: I think it is someone with a personal grudge against Ferris Boyle.

Gordon: Boyle? People love that guy. He is even holding his little rich people party on Friday.

Batman: Yes I Know. To the public he seems like the poster boy of generosity.

Gordon: ...But?

Batman: The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.

Gordon: And you intend to find his negative?

He turns to see no one standing by the open window. Nothing was there, just the breeze of the cold air nipping at his aging face.

Gordon: Sometimes I wonder if he is even there to begin with.

He says aloud to himself, slouching back into his chair and placing his glasses back on.

The latch broke easily enough. No sensor on the window. Guess they didn't think anyone would break in thirty stories up. The Security was more lax than usual in Boyle's office and nothing of a challenge. A motion detector lined the room. A small sensor flashed an intermittent red dot along the corner of the office wall, inches from the ground. The infrared motion detector is designed to activate when it senses a change of temperature in a room. The room radiates a certain amount of infrared energy. When there is a change in that energy level, such as a person entering the sensors radius, the infrared detector senses this and opens an internal switch, interrupting the flow of electricity. The "motion sensing" feature on this particular system is a passive system that detects infraredenergy. These sensors are therefore known as pyro electric sensors. The sensor is sensitive to the temperature of a human body. Humans, having a skin temperature of about ninety-three degrees Fahrenheit, radiate infrared energy with a wavelength between 9 and 10 micrometers. Therefore, the sensors are sensitive in the range of 8 to 12 micrometers. Batman's suit compensates for the temperature wavelength and masks the body temperature seen by the scanner so that the sensor cannot distinguish Batman from the floor itself. He looked around once more to see if his visit had gone unnoticed. It had. He slipped in the office. Oddly enough no cameras were in his office per request by Mr. Boyle, just the simple sensor at night. Once inside he went to work on finding something. He turned, touched, and twirled the large leather recliner. It was Italian made and beautiful. He knew this because the one in Bruce Wayne's office was very similar. He pushes it aside and powers up Boyle's personal computer. He runs an encrypted flash drive into the computer and copies the hard drive's documents.

Batman: That seemed far too simple.

He whispers to himself. He looks around. "Boyle does a lot of charity work but it's all self-serving. Deep down he is a narcissist of the highest order." He thought, looking around trying to find something else. "It has to be somewhere close to something he looks at every day." His gaze catches an oil painting of Boyle holding a humanitarian award he had won years ago. "Perfect." he assessed. Lifting the large painting and frame was difficult even for him. He sets it aside and proudly stares upon the steel safe lining the wall. He had many ways to open it but looking at the painting he ponders. "It couldn't be that simple." He enters in a series of numbers and the safe registers a satisfying click. "His birthday," He scoffed. "The gaul." Inside were thousands of dollars, an old pocket watch, and a series of manila folders. He grabs one that said Frieze, Victor on the tab of the folder.

Batman: Victor...

He murmurs to himself, as a light flashes back and forth. The glass windows and door lining the office are a liquid crystal that stayed frosted. The security guard's keys jingled as he strolls up. Batman keeps the folder, closes the safe door, and replaces the painting on the wall. He rushes to the computer and grabs the flash drive. The door begins to open as The Dark Knight slips out of the window and slides it closed. The guard looks over the office, and confident nothing was a miss, closes the door then relocked it.

The Cave was a series of interconnected underground systems used during the Underground Railroad. The cave was now home to thousands of Northern Long-Eared Myotis bats and one man's dark alter ego. The Cave's many resident's cries echoed in the small area built housing computers, cars, and many other paraphernalia built up over the many years of narrow escapes, near deaths, and friends long forgotten.

A brooding man sits in front of a large computer screen looking over the manila folder and contemplates. His suit still on but for the cowl haphazardly tossed onto the ground. Without the mask he is a handsome, well-kept man, with sharply defined figures.

Alfred: Master Wayne.

A warming voice calls out behind him, bending down to pick up the cowl on the ground. Alfred Pennyworth was a tall slender man and far older than his boss. His hair was white except for a small mustache which was stark black. He had certain elegance to him in almost every mannerism and even in his speech.

Alfred: What is it that you are looking at?

Bruce: I'm not sure Alfred. This seems to be a former employee of Boyle's. It was in his safe. I'm wondering why he kept it.

Alfred: Disgruntled employees make for great thieves and saboteurs.

Bruce: My thought exactly. At the physics lab I overheard one of the men call the ring leader of theirs Victor. His name is Victor Frieze. Last name pronounced freeze. He was the chief scientist in charge of cryo-stasis research and development.

He flips through the file, stops at a page, and then begins to read it: Dr. Victor Frieze- Cryo Dev. Team lead scientist, grieved by the sudden loss of his wife to an ailment. The doctor blamed her subsequent death on Mr. Ferris Boyle (GC CEO and President). Dr. Frieze tried to pull a firearm on Mr. Boyle and was subdued by security before he was able to obtain it. His struggles with security personnel led to his unavoidable death. Further inquiry will be directed to Mr. Boyle and Mr. Johnson, chief of security.

Bruce finds a compact disc inside a clear case inside of the file. He slips it into the computer and a list of thirty seven files display on the screen. He trips a file labeled Frieze, Victor: Trial Run 37 and immediately video of Frieze fidgeting with the web cam mounted above his computer monitor begins to play, Frieze steps back and smiles at the fixed camera.

Frieze: Today is trial run number thirty-seven of my attempts at finding a cure for Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. As previously mentioned I have put the patient in a cryogenic hibernation in order to stop the disease from progressing further. My…my wife Nora is the frozen figure standing behind me. I will begin the treatments on a sample of her blood as treatment #37 has shown considerable improvements over number thirty-six in the trial animal runs. I am now—

Boyle (distant): Victor, open this door now!

Frieze goes to the door (off camera) and opens it. Arguing is heard as the web cam stares at the frozen figure behind the glass.

Boyle: Shut it down. Now!

Frieze: I-I can't. It's too late in the process now.

Boyle: This is MY money that you have been running your little science experiments on! Did you think I wouldn't notice sixteen million in misplaced research funds?

Frieze: Please she needs help, and only I can-can help her.

Boyle: I'm going to say this once Victor; stop now and let these men escort you off the premises peacefully or we will do it forcefully.

Frieze: Okay, um o-okay I just need time to get her out.

Boyle: How long?

Frieze: A-a day or so.

Boyle: You don't get that. We will let Dr. Langstram attend to her.

Frieze: NO!

He rushes over to his work bench, passing by the camera and knocking it upward and to the right a bit. He begins to type furiously at his laptop when four arms grab him, the security insignia on their shoulders.

Boyle: Time to go Victor; just let them take you out. Don't struggle.

Frieze: Wait, wait. I have to get something!

Frieze pulls himself away from the guards and runs to the small cabinet next to Nora's chamber. He reaches inside the cabinet drawer and begins to pull something out. It shimmers as it catches light.

Boyle: Gun! Gun!

Boyle shouts as the guard closest to Frieze draws his weapon and fires two shots; one hits Victor in his heart and the other strikes the liquid nitrogen cord running into the cryo-statis pod. A gold pendant necklace falls from Frieze's hand as liquid nitrogen begins to spray on the electrical wiring controlling Nora's vitals. Victor falls back into his workbench that was covered with chemicals and fluids from various projects. Victor becomes drenched in them. The violent force at which he hits the bench causes a small snow globe to begin playing a soft musical tune. His laptop falls, taking the camera with it. It tumbles until it rests, still working, on the ground. Liquid nitrogen fumes begin to fill the room.

Boyle: (Cough) Get out now. We will come back for him once the tank empties. Go!

He motions for the guards to leave. Frieze staggers to his feet and stumbles over to Boyle.

Frieze: Hel- help me.

Boyle Grabs him by his throat "Get away from me." He says while pushing him backward into the edge of his workbench, knocking the small snow globe to the floor, shattering it. Frieze falls into the exposed electrical wiring. His body snaps the frigid wires as he lands, impaling himself on a live wire. The mixture of chemicals, liquid nitrogen, and electricity, shocks, kills and then revives him. Smoke fills the room as everything begins to shut down. Fries crawls to the chamber and grasps the hard plastic cover. He makes a final plea to Boyle:

Frieze: Please stop, I…beg…you.

His hand falls along the chamber's glass leaving a streak of blood. The web cam begins to shutter and break apart as the fumes fill the room and the camera freezes. The video stops. Bruce stares at the screen.

Bruce: …God, how could he do this? How could he cover this up?

Alfred: I'm sure it made his wallet significantly lighter.

Bruce: It has to be him. The man I saw was barely alive. Somehow he must have survived. If you can call it that, and now I know what he is building.

Alfred: Are you sure?

Bruce: Yes.

He motions to the computer screen.

Bruce: This is the list of the actual items taken. I copied all the files onto a flash drive and came across it. Boyle is just trying to keep it out of the press. Freeze wants to send a message to Boyle and to the city. He took four single-gallon containers filled with depleted uranium, thirty-five percent hydrogen peroxide, thorium, lithium metal, thermite, aluminum powder, beryllium, boron, black iron, oxide and magnesium ribbon, also forty-five moisture density gauges, then the barrels of liquid nitrogen.

Alfred: What do all those things create?

Bruce: Alfred, He is making a dirty bomb and lining it with liquid nitrogen.

Alfred: Good Lord.

He stares at the invitation on his desk that reads: Mr. Ferris Boyle invites you to his tenth anniversary Birthday fundraiser bash at Gotham Coliseum this Friday night. He turns to Alfred.

Bruce: Alfred what day is it?

Alfred: It is currently 2:32 am. Friday morning, and I beg you to let me sleep if you wish to have Breakfast.

Later that night a special on the 6 pm. news begins to play.

Summer: Summer Gleason here. Tonight we have a special profile on the Humanitarian and philanthropist Mr. Ferris Boyle. Mr. Boyle, it's a delight to have to here. Glad you could make it through all the snow.

Boyle: Pleasure to be here Summer and it's just Ferris.

Summer: Now, Mr. Boyle or um err- Ferris, this is the tenth year in a row that you are having a double celebration of sorts, your birth and your generosity. You plan to raise over five million dollars in neurological disease research funding. That is a lofty goal.

Boyle: Well Summer as you know my mother was plagued with multiple sclerosis and well this is my gift to her, my gift to everyone. My birthday shouldn't be about me. I have everything that I need. This day is about others, less fortunate than I.

Summer: Wow, Mr. Boyle that sounds great and over the years you have...

The picture pans back revealing a laptop streaming the newscast in the shriveled, boney hand of Mr. Freeze. He runs his other hand across the screen.

Freeze: Such words of care and hope, of false love, of misleading kindness. Where was the humanitarian in you when you took my wife from me? When you took everything from me? Will no one speaks of the horrors? It is of no mind. They shall learn when your rotting corpse is strewn across the city... They shall learn.

He lets go of the miniature computer as it carelessly careens to the ground. He turns to his men, loading pieces of machinery into a big rig just across the street from the Gotham coliseum, and yells.

Freeze: Hurry, it starts soon, and we must be ready. A man comes up to him and begins to whisper something into his ear; the man steals a glance toward the roof of an adjacent building and a shimmer in the night.

Batman perches upon a rooftop, silent and motionless. His eyes zoomed in from the binoculars in his grasp. He is staring at the coliseum, waiting for a glimmer of suspicious activity. Suddenly, he clears the snow from the lenses, shifts his weight and blinks... A sharp pain runs down his spine. When he opens his eyes again he drowsily awakens, suspended upside down above the roof, his boots frozen to a broken radio tower, his hands bound by tubing. His head pounding from the blow he has just taken. Dizzy, he awakens to flakes of show billowing from the sky. A voice calls out to him. He swings his head to see his captor.

Freeze: Beautiful are they not? Each one a different world, as though we are watching infinitesimal galaxies fall to the ground, spinning and twirling to the doom of trillions.

Batman: I saw what happened to you and your wife. I'm sorry.

Freeze stares down at the necklace around his throat and holds the heart-shaped keepsake at the end up, becoming eye level to him. He begins to speak as if he were addressing the jewelry and not the helpless vigilante swaying in the cold.

Freeze: Do you know what it is like to watch as the only thing that ever loved you grows dark and lifeless? To beg God to let you mourn the one you love only to realize that you have no tears left in you?

Batman: Yes. I do.

Freeze: Then you will understand what it is I'm about to do. The monster that took her from me shall pay for the lives he took, and the city that sheltered him, lied for him, and now praises him as a saint will all feel the same numbness that took the heart of me.

Batman: Is this worth killing for? Dying for?

Freeze: I have died once before, it is not so bad…What was taken from me shall be reciprocated in kind. You know, my funeral was very eloquent, or at least the person they buried that looked like me. They could not use my body because of how it looked. It did not fit with the police report, so the guard that shot me and his friend, buried me in a lot in the narrows. When I awoke I returned the favor to both him and his partner.

Batman: Please, let me help you.

Freeze: Hel—help me? Help what? There is nothing left. I am a hollow shell, a rotting corpse, discarded, and abandoned. There is no help for me and soon no help for any of you.

Batman: How are you planning on escaping the blast?

Freeze: Escape? No, there is no escape. Do you know what it is I wish?

Batman: …

Freeze begins to walk, almost floating as if he were dancing with a partner that was no longer there, all the while holing up the necklace.

Freeze: To never have to feel the Sun bearing down its heat upon you, to never feel the pain of scorched flesh. The Sun burning, tearing, and ripping at your skin as you step outside. Imagine a world where you never have to feel the discomfort of another's warmth embrace your own.

Batman: How does this help your wife, what do these people have to do with you?

Freeze stops and stares at Batman. He then gazes into the sky.

Freeze: Everyone shall feel what I feel ... Nothing. I will leave you here to watch as the thing you love most is torn away from you and slaughtered. Now you must excuse me for I am petulant, goodbye detective.

He turns and leaves. He gets to the bottom of the building to the big rig with an open cargo hold where he begins to enter until he notices a billboard with a beautiful young blonde on it. He stops and gazes upon it. To him the woman is chillingly familiar. The adjacent door beside him closes and snaps Freeze out of it. He hits the side of the rig and says:

Freeze: Let us go.

The rig begins to pull out of the area. Batman looks around for anything he can use. He swings back and forth. Then, using his momentum, he swings up and slams his bracers into his own boots. Breaking pieces off of them he swings back and uses his weight to cause his frozen boots to break the rest of the way. He falls. The padding on his back absorbs the brunt of the impact. The rig stops in an alleyway next to the convention center and the driver quickly goes to the back and pounds on the door. Freeze swings the door open and steps out to tell his men what to do.

Freeze: To the roof. Set it up, but do not use it. I shall come with our guest of honor. He will watch.

They begin to unload the bomb as Freeze starts his trek to the party entrance. The parties' bouncer holds a clip board in one hand, tucks it under his arm, and searches in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Freeze steps up to the man as he tries to light the cigarette in his mouth.

Freeze: You should not smoke.

The bouncer does not look up to acknowledge Freeze but chuckles and asks.

Bouncer: Oh, why is that?

Freeze: Because…

The bouncer succeeds in lighting the cheery and begins to look up as Freeze shoves his air hose nozzle connected to the liquid nitrogen tank into the man's half open mouth, scraping and breaking teeth in the process, sending the freshly lit Marlboro, crushed and split, to the ground. The clipboard containing the guest list falls to his feet. Freeze adds pressure to the nozzle release and begins to pump liquid nitrogen into the surprised and shocked man. His airways begin to close as he chokes and gargles violently. His eyes glaze and his right eye cries a crimson tear. He drops and begins to convulse on the pavement as Freeze steps over him.

Freeze: They shall be the death of you... you will find that I am not on your list.

Batman lies on the ground, staring into the night's twilight as snowflakes twirl in a twisted, whipping manner to earth. He takes a breath that cuts like glass and rolls over. He snaps the tubing around his arms and hoists himself up from the ground. He feels the wet crunch between his feet. The protection of his boots were gone and left him with only socks and the cold. He sighs then finds his belt discarded on the ground. Grabbing it he catches Freeze's men across the street setting the explosive up out of the corner of his vision.

Boyle stands talking to a man in a black suit at his party as another man pats him on the back. They were all giving him praise for the good he has done and that they believe he will continue to do. A woman begins to play the piano, as the guests chat and muse with one another. Batman jumps from his rooftop. His arms outstretch as his cape bursts into a fluttering glider connected at the tips of his fingers. No noise but the soft strings in the convention hall, a dragon in the night sky as he shifts his weight and changes course slightly. He was headed on a crash course for a lone gunman wiping sweat from his brow. He lands upon the man on the rooftop, plants his right foot into the small of the his back, wraps his arms around his mouth and nose to shelter the scream and stop air flow as he follows him to the ground. He waits for what feels like an eternity for the body to go limp and gets up surveying the roof. He notices three men and devises a stratagem then begins a dead sprint. Swiftly and silently through the cold night he makes a mad dash toward the men, his cape flapping with a mind of its own. He comes across them in an instant; standing, waiting with automatic weapons in hand. They wait with great angst for their financier to arrive, unaware of the shadow about to barrel into them. The Batman catches the first from behind, grabs the nervous teen and throws three shuriken toward the man standing to his immediate left, one striking his hand, another in his upper arm, and the last his chest.

Freeze walks toward his past, through his present and into his future. So many years of him weeding through endless horror, and numbing pain. Tonight it ends as it began... In the cold. If he could still feel nervous he would have, but as he walks through the hall all he felt was the same calm nothingness that had been his world for years. He reaches the double doors to the main ballroom, opens the door, walks into the warmth, and feels no comfort. Two of his men followed him along the way, lock the doors behind them, and tie a plastic zip cord around the handles for extra time. Time was precise. Freeze needed every second.

Batman reaches around and grabs the gun from the boy's hand. He thrusts the butt of it upward into the man's mandible. His jaw cracks open and shatters. Before he could scream Batman lays a blow into his temple, rendering him unconscious as his body crumples in upon itself. Batman takes out a gas propelled grapple and fires it around the legs of the man trying desperately to remove the blade imbedded in his chest. He pulled the wire taught, sending the man swiftly to the ground, the snow doing nothing to pad the man's head from crashing against the roof's floor. The last man counted his loses and began to run toward the bomb. Batman pulls a switch on the grapple and lets the line run but keeping it attached to the man as he holsters it to his belt and tries to head off the final man. He had very little room, and less time, for error. His feet were freezing as he reached the man before the bomb was activated. He pulled the switch back on his grapple, causing the rope to go taught once more as Batman dove with all his might, crashing into the still sprinting man. They tumbled over the edge of the roof, sending all of his weight with him. The line reached its end and began to pull at the dead weight it was attached to, and the man began to slide across the rooftop, propelled faster and faster until reaching the side of the roof wall. Falling to the earth he had nothing left to do but hope the window would give way and he would reach the correct floor. His math was right he knew it. Just then the rope tensed as he swung himself and the man he held grasp of forward with all his might. The rope snapped.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Freeze said, but no one heard. "Ladies and gentlemen!" Once more with no attention paid to him. He stared at the Chandler in the majestic hall. It was beautiful and antique. He motioned to one of his men.

Freeze: Shoot it down.

The man fired an entire clip into the ceiling before the chandler gave out. Coming crashing to the dance floor, nearly crushing a couple that had narrowly escaped as they heard the gun shots ring out. The entire crowd gave Freeze their attention. They stood in utter shock. Utter horror, the piano no longer playing. No sounds but Freeze's labored breathing.

Freeze: I am here to right a wrong. Ferris Boyle need be the only casualty tonight if you all stay calm and do nothing foolish.

He lied. Boyle began to slowly make his way to the back of the crowd. Freeze pointed to him and shouted to one of his men.

Freeze: Gather him.

The man ran through the crowd, knocking people over as he went and retrieved the frightened billionaire. Grabbing him by his arm he slung him over to Freeze.

Freeze: On your knees.

Boyle: Who, who are you?

He whimpered. Freeze glared at him then ran the nozzle across his knees, spraying him with a large amount of liquid nitrogen. Blistering on impact, Boyle could do nothing but scream.

Freeze: I am the ghost of Christmas past, come here to show you that you have no future.

Boyle: Stop…St-Stop, please.

Freeze: Stop? Did you stop as you took the life of the woman I loved? Did you stop as her vitals dropped and she went into shock? Did you stop as she convulsed inside of a plastic coffin? ...Did you stop as Oxygen cut off and the synthetic amniotic fluids rushed into her lungs? Did-you-stop, when her eyes filled with blood as I watched the only thing that mattered to me slip from this world to the next?

Boyle: ...Victor! Oh God! You're d-dead? I'm-I'm s-sorry Victor. The board was pressuring me, t-the money you were draining was eating a-away at our R & D d-department. Please i-it wasn't my choice.

Freeze: …And that makes it okay?

Freeze kicks and shatters his knee caps, causing the skin and melded cloth from his knees to his ankles to rip and tear. He screams once more in agony. Then painfully, he kneels. The on lookers stand in disbelief. One man opens his phone at his side and dials 911. He hits the speaker button. The woman to his left begins to cry then collapses to the fetal position. Her husband, too fearful to comfort her, did nothing.

Boyle: For God's sake p-please stop I beg you.

His teeth were chattering now.

Freeze: You…Beg...

Freeze halts his assault, and thinks back to a not so distant past, thinks of himself bloodied, grabbing for Nora's chamber. 'Please stop, I…beg… you.' He stands in the ballroom, but his mind is elsewhere. He reaches out his arm as if he were back in his lab, reaching for Nora. He snaps back to the present and curls his hand into a fist. His red eyes lock into Boyle's.

Freeze: …No.

He raises the air hose at Boyle's eye. His finger tenses on the nozzle. Just then one of the massive windows overlooking the street explodes as two men violently crash into the room, one tumbling motionless and careening to a violent stop and the figure on top of him glides upward as though he were a moving shadow. The silhouette was distinct and elementally frightening. Freeze belays his attack for just a moment and looks toward the black demon staring back at him, an image of the splendor come to finish the job that Boyle had started all those years ago. Though he knew it was not possible he swore he felt a shiver run down his spine. Just then as though lightning struck, a streak of orange heat cuts the air. The heated shrunken breaks Freeze's skin, cutting into his right arm, and just below his wrist. The mixture of the heated blade, Freeze's blood, and liquid nitrogen creates steam.

Batman: It's over.

The demon cries.

Freeze: Not yet.

Batman: You can still win this. Testify to what happened. There is evidence. I have it! He will be punished for what was done to you... to her.

Freeze: Me? Do you believe I care about myself? No, in the words of Caesar 'Here I abandoned peace and desecrated law; fortune it is you I follow. Farewell to treaties. From now on war is our judge!' I am war and I decree him guilty to which the sentence is death.

Batman: I don't want to hurt you but I can't let you do this.

Batman cautiously steps forward, the crowd looking on in horror and astonishment. Freeze pushes Boyle to the ground and looks at his two men.

Freeze: Stop him. Now!

They take aim and fire. Batman flicks his wrist and dives behind a table covered with a huge decorative ice sculpture of a beautiful female angel, representing Boyle's late mother. The homage splinters and collapses into hundreds of shards. As he dove he had thrown a bola. The small rope was splintered in three and held a weighted ball at each end. The weapon was commonly used to immobilize someone's feet. The throw was much too high and began to wrap around one of the assailant's neck. One of the weights crashing into the man's nose, making a violently wet crunch noise as it shattered his nasal passages Unable to scream from the constricting ropes around his neck crushing his windpipe, he drops his weapon, grabs for his face with one hand, and then tries to release the ropes from his throat with his other hand. He falls to his knees, world going distorted and fuzzy as he desperately claws and pulls at the constricting bola. His partner ceases his barrage of gunfire to help his fallen comrade. He shoulders his weapon and reaches his friend.

Henchman: I've got you.

He shouts, but the man had already lost conciseness. He begins un-wrapping the weights from the now convulsing man, as a dark shadow encompasses his body. He begins to turn his head back to see what was behind him. He is welcomed by what appeared to be a forearm accompanied by a sharp pain and then the empty blackness of being rendered unconscious.

Batman watches as the man falls on top of the other he was trying to save and turns to deal with Freeze, but to his chagrin both him and Boyle were gone. He looked to the side and saw a bright red sign reading EXIT, the stairway. He was taking him to the rooftop. He looks upon the faces in the crowd. Just as shocked to see a man many thought was simply a myth before tonight as they were from the seeming ghost that just attacked the party's host.

Batman: Make sure the police head to the roof.

Batman shouts as he rushes to the stairway, and in an instant the guests were standing there crippled by fear and confusion.

Batman runs up the stairs and reaches the door to the roof. As he opens it a wave of cold air hit his face and he was cold once more. Sirens close now as lights lit up the streets below. Freeze looks upon his bomb, Boyle riving in pain.

Batman: Please, stop this, this madness. Once not too long ago you dreamed of a better world.

Freeze: That dream has become a perpetual nightmare, one which I shall never be awoken from.

Batman: You wanted to help people, not harm them. You tried to cure diseases. You tried to save humanity, stop the pain that struck them.

Freeze: Humanity. Humanity is not concerned with curing disease, only the profit that comes along with it. That extra dime perfectly crafted by the sorrow and misery of the weak and the dying. Once my Nora was no longer of any financial use, she was tossed asunder like a piece of garbage.

Batman: What happened to your wife was monstrous.

Freeze: And so this 'humanity' of yours shall deal with a monster. You are right about one thing…I will stop the pain.

He reaches for the switch on transponder.

Batman: Victor.

Freeze: That is no longer my name.

Batman: …If Nora were here standing next to you, holding you close, what would she think of this?

Freeze: How dare you use her, leav—

Batman: She would hate you. She would hate the things you've done. Imagine her by your side, just as afraid of you as everyone else is.

Freeze: She…she would not...

Freeze begins to caress his necklace.

Batman: She would be in a frozen, lifeless world that you created.

Freeze: But she…this is for her.

Batman: You knew her better than anyone. Is this what the woman you loved would ever have wanted?

Freeze: But…it is not FAIR! She was stolen from me! Someone must pay, everyone must pay.

Batman: Those responsible will pay. I've seen to that. Freeze; don't let what was done to you happen to anyone else.

Boyle: That...that money sucking wench should have died long before she did, you heartless freak!

Batman: Boyle!

Freeze: Monster!

Freeze shoots the liquid nitrogen spray at him; Boyle puts his arm up to block the clear liquid from splashing his face, freezing his arm, causing immediate wrenching pain. Batman throws a heated sheiuken at Freeze's chest plate, rupturing both the liquid nitrogen and carbon dioxide tubes, as the CO2 tube broke it dislodged his keepsake necklace, sending it flying to the snowy ground, bringing Freeze gasping to the cold, wet surface.

Freeze: No (gasp)... vengeance (gasp)... I must (gasp)... I must have it (gasp)… Nor—aaaa.

He falls to the ground, his hand outstretched, reaching for his necklace which was sprawled far across the roof with the keepsake jarring open. Just then the police bust through the roof doors. Batman feels a tug on his leg as Boyle had crawled over to him. "Help me." He mutters. Batman shifts his foot away from Boyle's hand and walks toward the shimmering light of hope that lay open upon the rooftop. Batman bends down to pick up the necklace as Commissioner James Gordon reaches him and asks;

Gordon: What happened here, and what is that?

His eyes look toward the locket in Batman's hand.

Batman: Proof…

Batman looks inside the keepsake and sees a weeding picture of Victor and Nora Frieze, and an inscription on the other side that reads: You are my heart- Love always, Victor.

Batman: That even in the darkest of places there is a glimmer of humanity.

He closes the heart clamp, and looks over to Freeze's smoldering body. His normally emotionless face was now racked in grief for the man he had just struck down.

Batman: I am sorry Victor. You will have justice.

The police rush in and attend to the situation. A paramedic runs over to Boyle as Batman turns and begins to leave, taking the necklace with him. The next morning Alfred watches the television while making breakfast.

Newscaster: Ferris Boyle is in critical condition in Gotham General, he has lost both legs and his right arm in an attack last night after doctors had to amputate because of severe frost bite. Boyle is under investigation for murder charges after a file buried in Boyle's personal safe was found along with this video of what appears to be him...

He brings a food tray to the cave as Bruce is on the computer; soaking his feet in hot water. A file in a manila folder is on a semi-circular table next to where Alfred puts the breakfast tray.

Alfred: I take it last night went well for you, sir?

He places the tray down and picks up the folder.

Alfred: What is this?

Bruce: That? Have you ever imagined what fate could possibly be worse than death?

Alfred: I suppose.

Bruce: Last night I found out.

A small gold chain hangs off the desk. Alfred notices it and walks over to the jewelry; he opens it and looks at the picture inside. He clamps it shut and hoists it close to his face as it twirls with a mind of its own, as though it was purposefully showing off its radiance.

Alfred: Beautiful. Is it a souvenir?

Bruce spins his chair back to face the large screen in front of him. He lowers his head and speaks softly.

Bruce: No, more like a crown of thrones.

Victor hung to life. Armed guards stood outside a solitude hospital room in Gotham General. Machines hooked into his throat and heart, and a new more ordinary oxygen mask encompassed his mouth and nose. The tube lining his arm had been taken away. An elongated stitch ran up his right arm. He awoke. No pain, just the same numbness he always had. His heart barely fluttered. He looked to his left and on a small table was an ordinary brown package. It was small and tall, yet had no postage. He clutched it in his hand, opened the top of the box, and inside was a folded note reading: Dear Dr. Frieze, Something very important was taken from you, as it was from me. Though we can never have what we desire, maybe we can take solace in loving the things they loved. Keeping the things that meant the most to them. P.S.: Try not to break this one. It had no signature or markings of any kind to tell who had sent it. He set the note aside and lifted the gift from the plain box. Inside was a snow globe. It was identical to the one that had broken in his lab years ago. In the middle was a perfect ballerina pirouetting in its center. He winds up the bottom when an enchantingly familiar tune begins to play throughout the room. Freeze stares at the figure in the center and tunes out the madness of the snow and the calming of the song, focusing solely on the dancer. He begins to speak, though no longer having the constraint of his mask; his voice was decidedly softer than it previously had been.

Freeze: I am sorry, my love. You were everything I ever wanted, but I see now that you were nothing I could ever have. I promised you that though the world tossed you aside I would never let you go, but I have disappointed you again. I only wish I could hold you once more, feel your warm embrace for a final time. I love you more than I could ever promise.

Freeze's reflection is seen in the glass of the snow globe.

Freeze: … But I know that such a thing shall never happen, that I will never see you again. You have gone where I can never follow, but I hope that you are happy, that you feel no pain…at least where I go, I shall finally be warm...

A tear drop splashes onto the globe's glass casing, and his tired red eyes close as the dying tune's last hymn fades and all turns to silence.

END.