Commissioner Gordon.

"Batman, it's the Commissioner. Our informants just warned us that Riddler, Black Mask, Two-Face, and Penguin's gangs are about to clash at the docks; I've sent a couple units but they won't get there in time. Could you help us out?"

"I'm on my way, Jim," Batman ended the call and turned to Bat-Mite. "We'll talk later. Don't cause any trouble, and stay out of my way," Batman said sternly with his signature scowl.

"Whatever you say, Mister Batman, sir!" Bat-Mite responded while waving his arm.

Batman then leaped off the building and spread his cape, soaring over the city. The wind carried him towards Port Adams. A hotspot for smuggling illegal arms and narcotics. Whichever gang controlled the area owned Gotham's black market. A war of this size, between four gangs, would undoubtedly put civilians in danger. He needed to hurry. No time to deal with mystical nonsense and other-dimensional beings.

Bat-Mite watched Batman glide away to continue his never-ending war oncrime. It was both exciting and saddening for the imp. Batman spent his time, effort, and resources defending his city, yet even he only ever managed to keep it just on the brink of collapse; if only there were a way to make things easier for him.

But wait. The problem with Gotham was that it had too many bad guys and needed more good guys, right? So, the imp decided to do something to balance things out. Bat-Mite pointed the finger at Batman. A thin, cerulean bolt manifested, the neon light of fifth-dimensional energy zapping the crimefighter. He merely kept gliding, oblivious to whatever Bat-Mite had just done to him.

Feeling very satisfied with himself, Bat-Mite transported himself to docks where he patiently waited with a bowl of popcorn and baited breath.