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."

 

Chapter 6: Ghosts

The powers that were entrusted to Bruce Wayne were significant.  He had the ability to appoint city officials.  He had just become Commissioner Barbra Gordon’s boss, she served at his leisure.  He looked at the assembled.  Some were concerned.  Some were hiding their fury.  Some eyed him with suspicion.  Bruce had been a strong force for change when he took on the task of city councilman, he had helped Commissioner Clifton Harris clean up corruption in the police department, and instituted stricter background checks on police applicants, paid for equipment upgrades.  Because of his policies Gotham was physically safer.  “My fellow council members.  I accept this appointment in the stead of Mayor Denali.  I take to heart the trust she has placed in me to keep her city...our city safe during this crisis.”

One by one the council applauded him.  He spent the next half hour somberly shaking hands.  There were a few pats on the back but there was no joy in the room.  He never wanted to be the mayor, and he certainly never would have wanted it like this.  There was, however, one opportunity he could now seize.

While waiting for information on the mayor’s status, he had the computer run the name “Joseph Bleak”.  Once it found an image of him taken from the news paper’s coverage of the city council, he ran the facial recognition software and quickly turned up another name in Gotham Police Departments Records Management System.

“Chill, Joseph: Robbery, assault, and engaging in organized criminal activities.”  Information buried in the dark ages of Gotham’s corruption.  Changed his name after Joe Chill faded from history, a minor footnote in Gotham’s war on the crime bosses.  But Joe Chill was still a name whispered in the shadowy corners, a mover and shaker in what remained of the city’s underworld.  The face from the mug shot hit Bruce like a hammer.

                They were leaving the theater.  They had just seen the Mark of Zorro.  Young Bruce’s mind was wheeling from the action and adventure of the hero in the cape and mask.  His father made a joke, his mother laughed.  Then two men emerged from the shadows.  Well dressed, hair slicked back, the first man, now known to Bruce as Jack Napier, struggled with his mother’s pearls while pointing a gun at her head.  The pearls tore away, spilling onto the ground.  Jack fired twice.  His parent’s fell dead, their blood pooling in the dirty street.  Bruce on his knees, tears streaming down his eyes.  Napier leveled the gun at Bruce’s head “Hey kid...” he said “Ever dance with the devil by the pale moon light?”  The second man, however whispered under his breath “What did you do?  We just needed to scare them...what did you do?” Sirens split the night.  “Come on Jack, we gotta go.” He ran down the street.  “Come on Jack!”

“See you around, kid.” Jack said before disappearing back into the night.

And so he had seen Jack around.  He met him a lifetime later as the Joker.  But the second man was lost in time until now.

                Jospeh Bleak sat in his study.  It was a large room with a bank of windows that overlooked the city.  It had once been the abode of Carl Grissom, and for a while after his untimely demise, the staging ground of the Joker’s campaign of terror.  Now, it returned to it’s rightful place.  He swirled his brandy in his glass and sipped.  “Bruce fucking Wayne.” He whispered.  A spotlight illuminated the window, filling the room with blinding white light.  A silhouette emerged from the light, that of a massive black bat.  “Jesus!” Joe called out.  The window shattered into a cacophony of sound as the bat crashed through, rolling as it landed and coming up to a standing position.  Joe stumbled back into a easy chair, shaking horribly.  “Joseph Chill” the Batman growled.

“Sweet Lord of Mercy, don’t kill me...” Joe whispered through his fear.  Batman loomed over the quivering figure “Tell me a story, Joe Chill.” Batman said his voice on the edge of rage.  “Tell me why Bruce Wayne’s parents had to die.”

Joe looked up, tears streaming down his face.  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.  We were just supposed to scare them.  Boss Grissom was running for city council against Wayne.  Wayne knew who Grissom was, and the boss tried to scare him off.  We were just supposed to rough them up, ya know.  Put a little fear into them.  But Jack...Jack was...well you know what Jack was.  He was a lunatic back then.  God almighty if I could take it back I would.”

Batman seethed with anger.  After all these years, the wound of his parent’s death was still a raw nerve. 

“You want repentance, Joe.  Here is what you WILL do.”

                Bruce had his work cut out for him.  Lucius graciously took over the day to day affairs of Wayne Enterprises, but now he was left with running a city and his nocturnal adventures.  “I have no idea how Queen did it for so long...” he muttered as he read report after report.  A soft knock came to his door.  It was Joseph Bleak, looking tired and old, pale and fragile.  Bruce almost felt sorry for the old man.

Almost.

“Mayor Wayne, your honor.  May I have a moment of your time.”

“Go ahead.  Have a seat.”  The frail figure before him folded up into the seat.  “I...don’t know how to say this...”

“You were with Jack Napier the night he murdered my parents.” Bruce said bluntly.  The truth seemed to hit Joe so hard it caused physical pain.

“Because of you, Jack Napier was free to run the streets, become Boss Grissom’s second in command, become the Joker, and kill hundreds of innocent people.  You could have prevented all that by just coming forward.  They would have buried him in either Arkham or Blackgate.  You know that.”

He nodded in admission.  “Yeah.  There’s nothing I can do to take all that back.  I can’t bring back your parents.  Can’t give you the time you lost with them.  But...I still have a few things I can give you.  I understand the city is in crisis.  I have...influence with some of the remaining organized crime families.  We’ve been talking.  They know the lunatics are bad for business.  They don’t care who they hurt.  So the families are working together.  While the police hunt them above, they’ll hunt them below.  Bruce...I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

Bruce nodded.  He knew this was going to happen.  He told Joe what needed to happen as Batman, but still, the fact that he accomplished it, the sincerity of his apology for all the pain he caused.  Joe rose to his feet weakly.  “I’ll stay in office until the crisis is over, then I’ll step down from the council.  I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He walked out of the office and disappeared down the hallway.

                Carrie paced the cave thinking about all that had transpired.  The bats above softly moved about in their sleep.  The silence of it all was almost deafening.  The computer pinged.  The picture of Ed Nash was shown next to another with the words “match found” across the bottom.  Carrie walked carefully to the computer.  She highlighted the image with the mouse and clicked on it.  Her hand hovered over the “delete” key.