"We should not be afraid to go into a new era, to leave the old beyond." ~Zack Wamp

JANUARY 9TH, 2016 – PARK ROW, GOTHAM CITY

          One winter night on January 9th 2016 in an alleyway so corrupt and dark the devil himself wouldn't dare set foot in it; Sal Maroni inadvertently snuffed out the light of one era and brought on the dawn of the next. It happened in the same alleyway where Bruce Wayne's late parents were murdered in cold blood. It happened not five meters from where their stone cold bodies lay limp as a traumatised, sobbing eight year old boy gripped their scarlet stained clothing in anguish and unrecognisable ire. It happened only one agonising hour apart from Thomas and Martha Wayne's undeserving demise.

          And just like their two deaths brought on the era of Gotham's Dark Knight that one fateful evening, the two deaths of Alexandra Markovic and Sean O'Reilly dawned a new era of change; the era of Gotham's Guardian Angel.

          Sal Maroni is generally a reasonable man, which is why it took the other major mafia families some time to fathom why he would kill the eldest daughter of mob boss Dmitri Markovic and the middle son to mob boss Colin O'Reilly. The two heirs were to be married, as a form of strengthening the bond between the Markovic and O'Reilly crime families. Why crime lord Sal Maroni would unjustifiably gun down the kids to two very powerful crime bosses and instigate a ruthless, bloody mob war that would run the streets redder than an infinite poppy field, no one knew.

          No one knew, but Evangeline Winter.

          The Monarch Theatre was showing The Revenant, and contrary to what a lot of men thought, not all women frequented the theatres to watch it simply so they could fawn over a very rugged Leonardo DiCaprio. That was just a bonus to Eve.

          She tossed the rest of her stale popcorn into the bin carelessly, drinking dry the rest of her Pepsi before the paper cup met the same fate. All in all, it wasn't a bad movie. Definitely one of Leo's best in her opinion, but she could think of a few of his movies that deserved an Oscar before it.

          She strolled out of the theatre leisurely, the crisp, winter chill instantly slapping her cheeks mercilessly. She tugged her white, just above knee-length trench coat closer around her, attempting to ward off the cold. What to do now, she wasn't too sure. Eve didn't need to worry about staying out late and being tired for work the next day. She didn't have any cases on at the moment, which was one of the perks of being a private investigator/detective. She chose her own cases when someone called her up, and if she wanted to, she could easily decline them. She was her own boss, and that was definitely another great pro about working a one-woman job.

          Sure, she had worked with Commissioner James Gordon privately the past four months when he found himself in a pickle, but due to her not legally allowed to visit crime scenes or have access to classified files, he hired and payed her under the table. Not even his esteemed ex-detective partner Harvey Bullock knew her name, only a vague knowledge that someone was occasionally helping Gordon out, and that that someone wasn't Batman for once.

          Batman knew of her. Of course he knew of her. He hadn't bothered or approached her thank the lord – she may have had a heart attack if he did – but she knew that he knew of her identity and what she did. He was the World's Greatest Detective for Pete's sake, a title she would probably parade about a tad more if she was him. He was, after all, the only one who had the rights to imprint that on a mug or t-shirt.

          She cast the alleyway that led down past Monarch Theatre a fleeting glance. Despite being born and raised in Greenville, North Carolina, she knew of the historic deaths of the Waynes. The Wayne family was widely well-known and acknowledged for their business, philanthropy and millionaire lifestyle. Thomas and Martha Wayne were a rare breed of people in such cruel, harsh times. They were genuine, kind and actually helped others simply because they desired to, not for a sharp reputation or ego boost.

          Eve wished that they were her parents.

          She was more concerned for their son however. The poor kid watched his parents get murdered in front of him, and he was eight years old. No amount of money, presents or 'they're in a better place now' speeches could make up for that.

          And there Eve was, her feet having overpowered her expanse logic and as they guided her down the alley they died in. The fact that it was an alley in Gotham should've been enough to blare warning bells in her brain, but the fact that it was also the notorious Park Row – nicknamed 'Crime Alley' – made her Spidey senses tingle dangerously and her gut churn like an undigested meal.

          It got even worse when the scatterings of unintelligible voices began to arise from behind the theatre.

          ".... – cut off all ties with you. You're nowhere near as successful as your old man was, there's only so much time until someone knocks you from your high perch." Male. Deep, but not too deep. Estimated age is somewhere in the mid to late twenties. Slight softening of vowels and hardening of consonants, as well as dropping all g's. Inclines towards a small roll of the Irish accent. Mocking language and pitch, leaning into a scowl. Doesn't hold the person he was conversing with in high respect, yet tone is confident and authoritative, which means he holds himself within a high regard. Formal, with thinly veiled but not outright threats. Eve's conclusion: someone within an organised crime syndicate, otherwise known as the mafia. She considered the fact that he had a tinge of an Irish accent and he disrespected someone within an evident hierarchy, which meant he must've been at least a semi-important figure within the O'Reilly crime family, the only Irish crime family in Gotham.

          "And you think your parents are foolish enough to disrespect and toss aside my services? You're still juveniles, playing an adult's game. You know very little in the ways of such delicate business, and would bring your family names to the ground if you went about so rashly." Male. Deep, properly deep, yet not raspy from probable sickness or old age. Estimated age is somewhere in the thirties. Has a softly stern way of talking with a blended 'th' and slightly drops the d's, maybe Italian. Italian and mafia theory further supported by mentions of bringing the family names to the ground, tossing aside services and 'delicate business'. The comment from the previous gentleman refers to the current man being 'nowhere near as successful as your old man'. Father was successful, most likely Italian, and is now dead. Eve's conclusion: Sal Maroni, the only Italian mafia boss who within the past ten years had a deceased father.

          What was Sal Maroni and a relative of Colin O'Reilly be doing here? Eve wondered, but did not know. She faintly recalled spotting a few men in sombre suits towards the back of the theatre room she was in, but she merely skimmed her gaze over them, presuming them to be business men. She should've known better, she was a detective dammit. The North Carolinian internally cursed at herself, when abruptly, a third voice caught her off guard.

          "We're merely eight years younger than you Maroni, so don't hide behind the excuse of an age difference. And you certainly aren't one to lecture us on rash behaviour when you are the one conspiring against our fathers in secrecy. It's only a matter of time until the other families start treating you like Sionis." Female. Young, apparently the same age as the O'Reilly boy. Slight lengthening and accenting of vowels from time to time, teetering in the direction of a Russian accent. Mentioning of 'our fathers'. Must be related to another crime boss. Age difference between the O'Reilly boy and this woman in comparison to Maroni is apparently eight years, and Maroni is currently thirty five years of age. Oh, and Maroni suspicion is confirmed. Eve's conclusion: the woman was Alexandra Markovic, twenty seven year old daughter to Dmitri Markovic, which in turn was the only Russian mob boss in Gotham. The O'Reilly boy from before must've been Sean O'Reilly, Colin O'Reilly's only twenty seven year old son.

          Three of Gotham's biggest crime syndicates were throwing what were most likely not empty threats against one another in the deplorable Crime Alley, the same alley of Martha and Thomas Wayne's untimely departures from the land of the living. Eve knew this was far from good, and was unquestionably coincidental. What better way to make a mockery of a crime family than to butcher them in the same place of Gotham's purest couple's demise? It was no secret that the underbelly of Gotham despised the Waynes with a feverish passion. But to murder major league criminals in the exact same spot? That would not only ridicule the crime family, but dishonour the admirable Wayne family name. It was repugnant. An outrage.

          "Conspiring against your fathers?" Maroni's voice was disbelieving and borderline venomous, a bitter, repulsive taste residing on his tongue from having uttered the very words. "To do such a thing would stir the established peace between the families. A mob war would arise. No one, not even Sionis or Dent would be arrogant or irrational enough to threaten or advocate such copious amounts of bloodshed."

          Eve pressed her back further into the callous, harsh brick wall. One side was lying, whether that was Maroni or Alexandra and Sean, Eve didn't know yet. She didn't have enough context or information. She made a note to herself to read up more on the crime families of the city. It wouldn't do to stumble upon such a daunting exchange without any means to understanding why there may be tension there in the first place again.

          "Don't play us as fools Maroni," Sean chastised, no small amount of malign interwoven into his stern tone. "We only came here tonight to offer the courtesy of a warning. If you continue to collude against our fathers, we will inform them of your ill intentions. Then, we'll see how well the Italian can last against a furious Irishman and Russian."

          Eve physically flinched. In her opinion, they were addressing the possible threat of Maroni's plotting quite well up until that point, but Sean just had to throw in the last unessential comment that teetered into an almost entirely transparent threat. Eve found it pitiful that most mob men – not all, but most – required an ego stroke through such obscene behaviour and ill-mannered remarks. Disrespecting, cursing and threatening others in that regard is wholeheartedly unnecessary and crude. Sometimes it may be excusable, but the fact that they not only do it, but get a rise out of it? Eve discerned it as revolting.

          She didn't need to peek around the weather beaten corner to know Maroni's facial response. She felt the animosity rolling off him and stifling the air, making it so hard to inhale that Eve was sure it had turned solid. Air wasn't supposed to be solid.

          "You accuse and disrespect with a pretension that will end your families should you ever take charge." Eve shuddered. Maroni's voice was colder than Mr. Freeze, and judging by the sudden thick silence that befell the alley, it had struck a similar effect onto Alexandra and Sean. Eve's ears were so numb she couldn't hear her own breath. Was she even breathing at all? She wasn't sure.

         "But it won't end your families' legacies. I'll make sure of that." Eve froze over. What was Maroni implying—?

          BANG BANG – THUMP, THUMP.

          Her heart lodged in her throat. That was the unmistakable crack of two bullets being set free from the barrel of a gun, followed by the unmistakable collapse of two fleshy, heavy masses crumpling onto the unforgiving gravel ground, the sound hardly muffled by the barrier of clothing. Eve could hardly register the thought or process who the two could have possibly been before more erratic gunfire ensued, most likely exchanged between the hired henchmen on either side.

          She scuffled ungracefully for better cover, just in case one of them darted around the corner and found her impudent eavesdropping. Eve slid herself between a large, potent dumpster and the rigid brick wall, having positioned her body so the shadows veiled her as much as they could. Only upon close inspection could you have seen her, but with the raucous ruckus having ensnared the attention of all the criminals around the corner, Eve was certain they wouldn't even spare the marginally larger gap between the dumpster and wall a fleeting glance.

          The two minutes were stretched into two eternities before the thumping, jarring sound of expensive shoes striking the ground fled past her, and the gunshots died out with them. She waited at least another five minutes before she warily extracted herself from her hiding spot, her feet once again seizing jurisdiction of her movements as they guided her to where the entire exchange took place.

          The buzzing, flickering lamp light above shone upon two limp bodied discarded over one another as if it was the light at the end of their dark tunnel, the light of heaven pulling their souls to rest. That was rather ironic, Eve thought, considering the fact they most likely had a reserved spot in hell for all the crime and corruption they had wrought.

          Sean O'Reilly lay over Alexandra Markovic rather perfectly, as if they had been positioned that way for a death scene in a movie. Of course, there were a handful of other bodies strewn across the foreboding alley as collateral damage from the shootout, but Sean and Alexandra were highlighted angelically, despite the almost pitch black blood marring and soaking their clothes. Sean's stone cold blue eyes stared into the empty nothingness, and Alexandra's deep amber ones almost seemed black.

          Eve remained frozen where she stood. She didn't know what to, even though there were thousands of the ideas bombarding her every nanosecond. Two things were clear to her though; one side purposefully jumpstarted this blood feud, and now... Gotham was going to pay the price.

          Not if I can help it, was the one pure thought that pushed through the mad scramble of her mind, shining like a bright halo and beacon of hope around her head.

          Not if I can help it.

A/N: EEEP! First chapter! Well, technically prologue... but same difference.

So, as my foreword may have suggested, I'm taking a break from Marvel for a little while, because I actually absolutely ADORE Batman and his many villains. I haven't been this excited for a story since I started up Falling For the Enemy, BUT warning right here now:

UPDATES WON'T BE ON A REGULAR BASIS.

Played by the Enemy is my main priority, and when I have the time, I really want to get past my writer's block for Conquering an Untamed Flame. I do have four chapters already written out for this story on top of the prologue, but past that I will be focusing on my other stories more.

But I'm still super pumped for this story! I don't know how many of my other readers from my other stories are reading this (because I don't know how many of you are DC/Batman fans) but if anyone from the Nightingale Chronicles, Locked Love or Conquering an Untamed Flame is here, hey!

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L