Chapter 8: Feeling Your Age

Lucius descended the stairwell into the cave following Bruce, who, despite his age continued to read the files and navigate the steps without difficulty.  He took note of the pain pills sitting on a bench near the vault of suits.  “Bruce…” Lucius said cautiously “have you thought about what could happen if things go bad?”

“The city could fall.” Bruce replied flatly.

“No, I mean what if one of these lunatics gets the drop on you, puts the Batman down permanently.  What will the Wayne legacy be?  What will happen to Wayne Enterprises? What will happen to Carrie?”

“I’ve prepared for that eventuality.”

“Eventuality?  You mean you expect that to happen.”

“Of course.” Bruce said as he went to the vault. “Every now and then someone says something that sticks in your brain, Lucius.  Long ago I heard a man say “Think about the future.” And I have recently.  After that night at Arkham, I had a lot to consider.  What would I leave behind when I am gone?  I’m not a lunatic, Lucius.  I am aware that my actions impact those around me.  They impacted Alfred and Jim, they impacted Harvey, they impact you, and they impact Carrie.”

Lucius watched him suit up in a modified version of the reactive armor.  “Upgraded I see.  Are you preparing for patrol?”

“No, this suit takes a few minutes to get on.  Commissioner Gordon is about to shine the signal to summon me to police headquarters.  The FBI is dispatching a task force to hunt for the escapees and me.”

Draping the cape across his shoulders both men looked as Carrie ran down the stairs.  “Sir, the signal.”

“Are you psychic now?” Lucius asked.

Batman looked across at his old friend “No, Gordon told the mayor this morning.”

                Barbara Gordon stood on the roof of police headquarters, next to the glowing spotlight that shone a bat shaped symbol into the sky.  The early evening wind whipped around her trench coat, the same pock marked, bullet scarred coat her father once wore.  She thought about him at these times, when crisis loomed on the horizon, when fear of the unknown started in the pit of her stomach.  She wondered what advice he would have given.  “Don’t smoke.” He’d tell her.  Course that was after the doctors gave him three months.  “Don’t be distracted by what you can’t do.  Focus on what you can do.  When everything is chaos, find that one thing to focus on and keep that, hold onto it fiercely.  Eventually things will settle down, but if you don’t hold onto that one thing, then you’ll get swept into the crazy.  And sometimes, you’ll be lucky and have a friend to lend a hand.”

The signal light shut down abruptly, startling her and temporarily blinding her.  She knew who it was even though she couldn’t see him.  “The FBI…”

“Are here.” Batman said from the shadows.  His silhouette moved to a button on his belt.  Flash bang grenades went off on various rooftops nearby sending black clad agents flying and scurrying for cover.  As they started to regain their senses, high pitched screeching erupted from their posts.  Clouds of bats swooped in, sending the agents fleeing from their positions all together.  “The extra sound will mess up their long range listening equipment.” Batman whispered.  “We don’t have long.  They will get here in about two minutes.  I know they sent a team to come for me and the lunatics.  But you have something more.”

“City councilman Bleak was dragged into the sewers tonight by what witnesses describe as something huge, green, and growling.”

“Croc is making his move.  I can lead the team to where they can find him.”

“Are you sure?  If they find you…”  Suddenly Barbara realized she was talking to herself.  “Son of a bitch.” She whispered.

                What Gothamites referred to as the “sewers” weren’t strictly that.  They were abandoned transit tunnels that were repurposed in the 1950’s into storm drains.  Miles and miles of vaulted ceilings and dank, watery floors ran underneath the city, below the modern subway line.  There was a small colony of homeless that existed in these tunnels, but they kept to the sides, well away from the water, only crossing on the sturdiest of makeshift bridges.  Killer Croc’s name was well known down here in the moss and mildewed tiled caves.  Batman knew that if he was seeing fewer and fewer of the lost, he was getting closer and closer to Croc.  The team of agents wasn’t far behind him.  Batman had time to consider his strategy in facing Croc.  The brute would overpower him in seconds, and had the bite force to chomp a man’s hand clean off, as was discovered by an unfortunate correction officer at Arkham.

The deeper and deeper into the black Batman went, the more clearly he could hear Bleak’s moaning.  He attached a re-breather to filter out the noxious smell in the artificial caverns, and heard the sound of claws scraping on concrete.  It was a long, drawn out scratch sound, slightly deeper than nails-on-a-chalkboard, less annoying and more intimidating.  He heard faint splashing as something large slid into the water.  A guttural voice announced with a growl “You’re in my world now…bat.  I got your scent.  I’m gonna tear you apart.”

Batman struggled to remember everything he knew about Waylon Jones.  He’d been in the United States Navy, dishonorable discharge for fighting, having a violent temper.  Batman’s heart began pounding.  The long dark shadows of the maze loomed over him.  Batman shook his head, Jones was drummed out of the navy, took to smuggling weapons and drugs.  He ran afoul of Carmine Falcone who had him flayed alive and had some nut job scientist graft new, experimental “super” flesh onto him.  Jones went insane, killed the doctor, and became the monster he is today.  A monster that was going to track Batman down and eat him alive.  He was paralyzed by the thought.  Something deep inside him seemed to speak to him.  “It’s a trap.  Something is wrong.  You are not afraid, you are vengeance, you are the night…” Through the fear seeping into his brain he whispered.  “I…am…Batman.”  Something moved behind him and he moved on instinct.  Spinning he slapped Croc’s outstretched hand away, then lashed out with a kick to Croc’s knee.  Crock didn’t notice and kept advancing.  After several seconds, Croc landed a flat palmed punch to Batman’s chest, sending him sprawling back into the water.

Before Batman could recover Croc was on top of him, dragging him to the depths of the flooded tunnel.  He could feel the pressure of the water on his chest straining his bones.  Croc dragged him through the water, hoping to drown him, not realizing that the re-breather was still firmly in place.  Frustrated that his prey wasn’t gagging on the noxious water, he let go of him to gain a better grip.  Batman seized that moment and pulled his grappling hook from his belt and fired it into the monster’s face.  The projectile was slowed by the water, but moved with enough speed that it hit Croc in the face like a professional boxer at full strength.  Batman pulled a second grapple gun and fired it into the ceiling and it yanked him clear of the water.  Batman swung to the concrete shore, nearly collapsing from the strain on his body.  A leather clad boot threatened to crash down on his skull, Batman rolled just in time to see the Scarecrow standing before him.  Coming to his feet, he took a fighting stance.  He could sense Croc swimming through the water, looking for an appropriate time to strike.  Scarecrow carried a scythe and swung it, keeping Batman out of reach.  He thrust again with the ancient tool, Batman back stepped to avoid it, realizing Scarecrow was herding him to the edge of the water.  “Freeze!” a man yelled from across the waterway.  He was dressed in all black gear with a duty belt, a shotgun and a bullet resistant vest that read “F.B.I.”

Scarecrow gave a ragged chuckle.  The agent was sweating, his eyes were wide.  “What are you going to do, Mr. Agent man?  What makes you think we’re even really here.”

Croc exploded from the water against the agent, but rather than flee, the agent raised his weapon to aim and fired round after round into Croc’s chest.  At first the bullets thudded harmlessly into his thick hide, but then rivers of blood flowed from his chest.  The agent, much to Batman’s surprise, was hitting the same spot every time.  A shotgun, he knew, was an unruly weapon at best, but to be able to hit the same spot, even while trembling under the Scarecrow’s fear gas, was nothing short of amazing.  Batman ducked under the scythe and came in close on the Scarecrow.  The villain yelped and pulled a gun.  He fired point blank at the Batman’s chest but the rounds slapped into the armor and fell to the ground as worthless pieces of lead.  Batman reached out and snagged Scarecrow’s wrist, yanking him forward and plowing his fist into the masked man’s face.

Croc fled below the water, lost in the murky blackness.  Batman brushed the remnants of the rounds off his armor and pulled a dart gun launcher from his belt.  He fired a small dark into the agent’s arm.  “It’s a counter-agent to the Scarecrow’s toxin.  Should clear up your senses in a few seconds.”

“You…you don’t need it?” the agent asked, slumping against a wall.  “Built up a tolerance to it a few years ago.  Plus the rebreather…filtered most of it out.  Still had to push through it though.”

“The councilman.” The agent said, pulling himself to his feet.  “Over here!” Bleak shouted from a tunnel.  Batman helped Bleak to his feet and guided him to the agent.  When the agent looked back, Batman was gone.

Three GCPD officers found them quickly, all wearing gas masks.  They guided them out of the tunnels to ambulances who were already treating the rest of the FBI team that had fled once they were hit by the gas.  Gordon was waiting.  She went to Bleak first.  “Are you alright, sir?  We’re you exposed to the fear gas?”

“I dunno…maybe?” he said weakly.  “I was unconscious for the most part.”

“Well let’s get you some oxygen then.”

Bleak wiped his nose and braced himself on the lip of the ambulance “yeah, okay.” He said weakly.

Gordon checked on the FBI agent.  “How are you doing Agent…I’m sorry I never got your name.”

“I’m alright.  I’m going to be fine, I think.  Batman gave me some kind of anti-toxin.”

“It’s standard in all Gotham ambulances now.” Gordon pointed out.  The agent nodded and looked back into the tunnels.  “We’re going to re-think our strategy.  I’ll get with you in the morning, but as of right now, I’m taking over the FBI operation in Gotham.”

“What about the supervising agent?” she asked.  They both looked at the ambulance that held the former supervising agent.  He was screaming incoherently about clowns.  “I don’t think the Bureau will argue with me.”

After a few moments, the ambulances pulled away.  A shape descended from the shadows of the decrepit buildings that flanked the entrance.  Like a living shadow it moved towards the spot where Bleak’s ambulance had been.  Batman stood over the spot and scooped something off the ground.  Nose plugs.  Small, if you weren’t looking for them you’d have missed them, even when face to face with the man.  These were specially made to filter gas.  He knew that because they were designed and produced for law enforcement purposes by Wayne Enterprises.

                Somewhere in the city a red haired man stared at computer screens, each one showing an angle of the tunnels.  “Where did you go?” he muttered.  He rolled back the footage to the agent and Batman retrieving Bleak.  “Hmmm…” he watched as Batman backed away from the two into a spot completely off camera and disappeared.  “He just fucking disappears.” He growled.  He rolled the footage back even further, to Scarecrow shooting at Batman.  “Doesn’t even flinch.  Use to be you hit the Batman with a high caliber round like that, he’d at least have the decency to fall over.”

Two-Face came up from behind him.  “It’s some kinda armor.” He grumbled.  “Its high end armor, my bisected friend.”

“Sssexy…” Duela hissed from a couch where she sat upside down.  “So he’s got a benefactor.  What do you think?  The old Batbrain hired some kid to take his place?”

“No…” Croc said wearily from the door.  He was slumped, bleeding heavily.  “It was him.  It was the bat.”

He collapsed to the floor.  “Recognize the smell.  Its him.”

The man at the console got up, stepping into the good light of their makeshift headquarters.  “Well…” Ed Nashton said with a smirk.  “Anyone know first aid?  A doctor?  A vet?  We can’t question a dead…whatever the hell he is.?” He looked at Two-Face.  “Would one of you please call Dr. Davis.  Tell him we have a patient.”


Dr. Davis emerged from the back room a nervous man, shaking and sweaty.  His once thinning hair was now white with age, his breath smelled of cheap whisky and beer, and his arms were covered in blood up to his elbows with a large splash across his chest.  He sat heavily in a chair.  “What the hell did you do to him?” Duela asked.

Two-Face emerged from the room “Well he’s alive.  We had to strap him down when Croc tried to take a bite out of the doctor.”

The doctor nodded weakly.  “I got all zee pellets.” He said heavily.  “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t want to know.  Please I just want to go.”

Duela leaned into the doctor “You were the one who worked on dad, right?” she said through her Joker mask.  Davis shuddered.  “What was he like?”

“He tried to kill me after I finished working on him.  He was rather unpleasant in that regard, miss.”

“Well…” Ed said, hands on his hip “Guess the only question is what do we do with you?  I mean do we pay you or kill you?”

“Why not both?” Duela asked innocently.

“Pay him then kill him or kill him then pay him?”

Two-Face pulled his coin from his pocket.  “The doc isn’t going to tell anyone anything.  He didn’t rat out Jack back in the day, he ain’t gonna rat us out now.  Clean side, we pay him and he goes.” He flipped the coin and caught it.  “Sucks to be you.” The computer behind them issued a soft “ping”.  Ed turned.  “Hey hot pants…feel like delivering a message?”

“Oh Eddie…I wanted to have some fun with Doctor Dumkoff.”  Ed turned to the doctor and a wide smile crossed his face.  “Maybe you still can."