Bruce's dream world was somehow stuck in the 1940s or so. The pedestrians walking by wore three-piece suits and fedoras instead of blue jeans and tennis shoes, and they carried newspapers and cigars instead of cell phones. An old Gotham City metro car clattered through the night on the elevated tracks overhead. Across the street, a neon red "Diner" sign flickered and through the window he could see a white-frocked waitress with bobbed hair carrying plates to the tables. Alfred filled was a wonderful sense of nostalgia for his own childhood, and he wondered whether all that time watching old movies with Bruce had somehow influenced this world.

"Eames, get that car going," Cobb ordered, pointing to a gleaming black Studebaker parked under a streetlamp nearby.

Alfred stepped back from absorbing Bruce's dream world. They were here to do a job, not as tourists. The car's window was already rolled down, which made Eames' job significantly easier. After a minute or so of fussing under the steering wheel, he hotwired it and the engine roared to life. Big band music began blasting from the radio, a song that Alfred recognized. One of the ones that he'd left on Bruce's record player at night so that the boy wouldn't feel alone.

"You'd better drive," Cobb told Alfred with a gesture toward the car. "You know Gotham and Bruce better than any of us."

"Well, I'm not sure I know this Gotham," Alfred answered, but climbed behind the wheel regardless. Arthur climbed in the passenger seat, and Cobb and Eames into the back. "Where to, gentlemen?"

"We need to look for Bruce." Arthur said. "Normally I'd suggest somewhere he feels safe, but given this 'hero' aspect of his delusion... we may be looking for the exact opposite."

"That could be anywhere," Cobb added. "Let's stick with the places he knows."

"Well that would be the manor, then," Alfred said. "Bruce has spent most of his years under my care there. Or perhaps Wayne Tower, where his father's office was. He always did enjoy going to work with him."

"Whichever is closer," Cobb answered.

Alfred pulled into the street and began searching for the highway. This all looked like Gotham, but the street names were all in the wrong. Alfred realized that Bruce, having had a chauffeur for his entire life, didn't really know where anything actually was in the city. That made navigation a bit harder.

They finally made their way down to the docks district, looking just as seedy and disreputable as it did in all of Alfred's favorite gangster movies; perhaps he and Bruce had watched 'On the Waterfront' a few too many times. Across the river, he could see Wayne Tower dominating the skyline. It was generally the same, except there was an enormous "W" that covered the top twenty floors or so. That certainly wasn't there in real life. Apparently the Waynes were a bit more ostentatious in Bruce's dreams.

The view also afforded them a glimpse into just how different this dream world really was. The skyline behind Wayne tower was completely different, and Bruce had added a few islands to the bay. But all that Cobb, Arthur, and Eames could look at was the giant Zeppelin parked over the city, emblazoned with a large badge and the words 'Gotham City Police Department.' Light poured from spotlights slung under the craft's belly and illuminated the streets below. By the light of the moon, they could see a few smaller airships hovering over different parts of town as well.

Alfred found his way onto the Westward Bridge, merging in between the bright yellow taxis and other old-timey cars. This was the Gotham he was used to: angry, rowdy drivers waving empty bottles of liquor out their windows. Some things never change.

Off to the left on one of the islands that Bruce had invented, there was an explosion. A huge, massive explosion that briefly turned night into day. A fireball climbed into the sky, seemingly growing even larger as the flames spread. Smoke billowed overhead, illuminated by the lights of the nearby city. Against the backdrop of the fire Alfred could see the silhouette of some sort of Victorian castle or fortress or something on the island.

He was so engrossed by the explosion that he temporarily forget that he was supposed to be driving. That is, until he slammed the Studebaker into the back of the yellow cab in front of him that had come to a grinding halt to look at the explosion. All around them, cars on the bridge slammed into one another because of driver rubbernecking. The honking horns and crumpling metal just added to the chaos as more and more cars piled up.

The drivers didn't seem to care much for their cars, though. Everyone climbed out and immediately moved to the side of the bridge for a better view. Alfred, Cobb, Arthur, and Eames followed suit. Overhead, the giant Gotham Police zeppelin stirred to life and turned toward the island with sirens blaring.

"Not again" one of the onlookers said aloud. "I thought Gordon said they were increasing security?"

"Apparently it didn't take," someone else in the crowd answered.

"Who do you think it was this time?" another asked. "The Joker again?"

"Excuse me," Alfred asked the closest person, a portly man with a thick black bear and a sweat-stained shirt. "But what is going on? What is that place?" He pointed to the burning building on the island.

The man shifted a cigar to the other corner of his mouth and gave Alfred a weird look. "Tourist, eh? You picked a bad time to visit Gotham, my friend." He chuckled to himself a bit. "Not that there's ever a good time, it seems. That there is Arkham Asylum. Home to the most dangerous and deranged criminals Gotham has to offer." He took another look at the island and shook his head. "Or, at least, used to be their home. Who knows how many will escape tonight."

"Or how many Batman will be able to round up!" another onlooker added.

"True," the man said, looking up at the symbol of the bat projected across the clouds. "God bless that Batman, eh?"

Alfred turned back toward Cobb and the others. "I think we know where to find him."