He had been off-world when the news broke. Vigilantism outlawed, the appearance of a new threat trying to rile the masses up against them and calling for the Batman, his manor destroyed. He had made the effort to keep up with the headlines in spite of his much more urgent work. When he had first left Gotham, he was receiving updates day to day from Alfred as well as having his suit hooked directly into the local newsfeed in an attempt to micromanage the situation from however afar he went. Eventually this had proved taxing, and with his butler's encouragement had abdicated this duty to Tim.
Still, even with Tim managing proceedings, it had taken him a long time to 'disconnect' himself from events in Gotham. It was not that he thought he could not trust Tim, it was quite the opposite. Of all the proteges that Batman had taken under his wing Tim had proved himself to be the most mature and suitable for a leadership position in Batman's absence, as well as seeming the most capable of dealing with Gotham's constant requirement for a crime-fighter. But it had taken a lot of effort to sit back and not critique Tim from an armchair. It Bruce was hard-pressed into saying a weakness about himself, it would probably be his difficulties when it came to delegating tasks.
He could and would delegate like any good leader, and naturally found himself barking out orders and attack strategies to the other members of the League. But it didn't matter who he was directing or who they were fighting, from Superman to Robin, Joker to Darkseid, he could never fully put his faith in someone else. One dark night as a child in Crime Alley had taught him that the world could be chaotic, and dangerous. And in those moments of need, you couldn't just rely on someone else to protect you and the people you loved - you needed to do that yourself. Faith was nice, and some could take comfort in it. He had enough faith in Tim that he could manage to sleep at night without the constant, harassing thought of Gotham falling to pieces plaguing him for too long. But to have complete and utter blind faith? A wise man once called that the one unpardonable sin.
He tried, he really did, to put off checking the news for as long as possible each time. It had become a compelling experience to follow the Gotham news, flicking through papers and conducting his own investigations on cases of little consequence using the Justice League databases purely for peace of mind. He tried to limit himself to the headlines. If it was all celebrity gossip and vapid garbage - that was a good thing. Nothing of note to report meant that Tim was doing his job. But after a few months or weeks he would relapse into his little habit once more. Batman prided himself on his strong character, his ability to fight off the temptation of addictive substances through sheer force of will alone. But there was one habit that had always gotten the better of him - impossible to willingly give up.
He glanced at his wrist, thinking of Tim and mulled over calling him. He was a smart kid, and he put it at 50/50 whether he was still in his cell or not. But that was too much of a risk. A smart kid like him wouldn't be needing his help just yet anyhow. Although Batman himself was in need of some...
This is the place. A luxury, over-indulgent mansion within the gated community of the Diamond District with a state-of-the-art security system. Oliver Queen, formerly the Green Arrow, had moved to Gotham City more than a decade ago to get himself involved with local charities as well as taking centre stage in the debate over what city government should be doing against its host of resident vigilantes and helping out the mayoral administration on the issue. And of course, as Bruce was aware, the very generous millage rate, Gotham's attempt to encourage land developmemt, did not hurt one bit.
He studied the manor from across the street, checking for a point of access into the building as well as a weak point in the security system. No lights on, his favourite car was absent from the garage, and zero individuals detected in the house. Looked like nobody was hone. Cameras were dotted about the place, but to quickly put one or two on a loop to get inside... that wouldn't be a problem. They wouldn't need to hold up to scratch when being looked back on. A window towards the back with a traditional-style lock was noted, that could be picked. Multiple infared lasers could then blind the sensors on the motion sensor long enough for him to get close and kill its eyes with silicone spray. Then all he needed to do was sit in the dark and wait for his target to return home. Easy.
After a quicky survey he decided to wait in the living room of the fifth floor, skin cells and recent fingerprints suggested that a lot of time was spent there. Across the room he noticed a dartboard, with giant clusters filling the bullseye, treple 19 and 15, and double 12 and 18. Nine-dart finishes. Another dart, from quite recently, was placed slightly off the bullseye. Interesting. On the other side of the room he found a framed photo of a younger, suited Queen shaking hands with what looked to be Ronald Reagan.
While in the process of breaking into his one-time friend's house the idea of simply waiting outside and knocking on the door like a normal individual did occur to him. But then there was every chance that the door would be slammed in his face soon after, and that method denied him the amusement of appearing by surprise. Popping in and out of the dark was a small pleasure he allowed himself.
"Hello Oliver, I found a few problems with your security system."
