"Please God, don't hurt me..." The man in the suit backed away, tossing his wallet onto the ground.
His attackers close in, one of them scooped up the wallet and fingered the notes inside. "Jackpot!" The other cracked his knuckles and threw a punch, dropping the suit to his knees, holding his broken face.
Money won't save you. But he can.
The ripple of taunt fabric as a shadowy cape swooped down.
He'll go for the sweep.
The thug was busy counting when Batman took his legs. The wallet spun into the air as the sound of his skull cracking pinballed around the alleyway. The other thug turned and charged.
His style has changed. Less elaborate.
Batman threw his arm into the swinging hook, popping out the shoulder joint.
Strike the vulnerable areas. End it fast.
His fist slammed the thug's tattooed solar plexus, stopping his body like a bolt of electricity.
The longer the fight, the more it hurts him.
Batman stood over the unconscious man. Head tilted back, eyes shut. Breathing hard.
How can he leave them? They don't deserve to live.
Azrael looked down from the rooftop. He'd studied Batman for long enough. He knew what Gotham needed.
Divine justice.
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