Chapter 10: Split Decisions

“Agent Drake was right…” Bruce said at the helm of the computer, the bat-computer as Carrie had come to call it.  He refused to call it that and told her as much. “…the message is a map.  Geo scanning matches it to the historical district.”  Carrie looked on “But that’s three square miles of terrain, how are we going to know where it means to go.  I mean there’s no x-marking the spot.”

“Yes there is.  The only way to complete the map is to misassemble the body itself.  In 1978 Preston Payne, a sculptor with hyperpituitarism, which caused him physical deformities, created a piece called “Life Out of Order”, which features a human form with the limbs out of order.”

“I’m guessing ‘Life Out of Order’ matches the way we have to assemble the doctor’s body to get the map.”

“Correct.  And that gives us two locations where to look.  The sculpture itself is housed in the Gotham Museum of Art, and the artist lives here…” he indicated on the map.”

“So do they mean the artist or the art?”

Bruce pushed a button on the console.  The computer dialed Barbara Gordon’s phone.  “Hello?” Gordon answered, not recognizing the number, likely confused by the bat emblem that appeared on her caller ID.  “Commissioner…” Batman said “I need to meet with you.  Sundown, GCPD HQ.”

“You know the FBI is watching that location?”

“I know.  Bring them.  We all need to talk.”

                Standing on the rooftop, Barbara pulled her coat in tighter, shielding herself against the harsh wind.  She watched the sunset, as red, orange, and purple ribbons of light slipped away under the heavy veil of darkness.  It was almost peaceful.  It would have actually been peaceful had it not been for the supermodel trio that stood behind her, geared in their new body armor.  “How long before he gets here.” Todd asked.

“I’m already here.” Batman said emerging from the shadows.  “He said sunset…” Barbara said.  “Dad always said that of your many personality faults, tardiness wasn’t one of them.”

Grayson stepped forward.  “Alright, what’s all this about.  You have to know that simply by standing here, we should arrest you and bring you in.”

Batman ignored him “The map leads to the historical district of Gotham, narrows down to two locations, the Museum of Art and the residence of Preston Payne.  I can’t search both locations by myself.”

“So you thought you’d just recruit the FBI like we’re hired help?” Todd grumbled, indignant.

“I thought I’d enlist the aid of law enforcement agents that I can help bring an end to this nightmare.” Batman said flatly.

“Fine.” Grayson said, shocking almost everyone “We go in two teams, but I don’t trust you.  Jason, you go with Batman, we’ll take the museum.”  He gave a hard look at Batman “Like this or not at all.”

“Fine.  Agent Todd, my car is down below.”

Batman bled back into the shadows.  Jason moved towards Richard “You want me to play side kick to a lunatic in a Halloween costume?”

“No, I want you to investigate the Payne residence.  It’s a house, less room to loose Batman in.  When you’re done, you bring him in.”

Todd gave him a long, hard, glare.  “Fine.”

Gordon nodded.  “I’ll secure perimeters of both locations with squad cars, in case you boys need assistance.”

Todd made it to the ground level and watched as Grayson and Drake drove off in the SUV.  A black shape tore around the corner.  What looked like a cross between a formula 1 racer and a dune buggy mixed with tank armor pulled up and skidded to a halt.  The passenger side had a panel that lifted up, out, and down the side of the vehicle.  “Get in.” Batman said from within the cockpit.

Sitting and buckling himself with a five point harness, he looked at the array of controls on the dashboard.  “Alright, this is kind of cool.  Nice tires.”

The hatch closed and the vehicle tore into the night.

Grayson and Drake entered the museum, noting that the upper level was designed as a medium sized restaurant, with a skylight dominating the ceiling.  “That’s gotta be dangerous in this kind of city…” Drake mused.

“Where’s this stupid statue?”

“Upper level, security has cleared out the building, Gordon called ahead.”

“Good.  Something doesn’t feel right.  Feels really cold in here.”

“In 1989 a lunatic murdered two dozen people in here.  Maybe ghosts?”

“What kind of mad man would…” but Grayson was cut off by a high pitched cackle screaming over the PA system.  Suddenly the skylight exploded as Joker’s Daughter crashed through, machine guns firing randomly, sending the agents running for cover.

“Well this was a well thought out plan…” Grayson chastised himself.  She ceased fire briefly “Here I was hoping batsy watsy would be the ones showing up here.  Guess he was smarter than we thought.”

“We?” Drake said quietly.  The doors to the museum burst open and in came the Mad Hatter, twin men dressed as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, a man in a tuxedo with a red executioner’s mask and cape, a woman dressed in a white corset with rabbit ears.  “You’re going to attack us with a playboy bunny?” Grayson quipped.

“Worse ways to go, I guess.” Drake shot back.  They shot up from their cover and returned fire at the assorted villains as they ran to the back of the museum.

                Batman and Todd entered from a second floor window.  “Don’t we need a warrant?” Todd pointed out.  “You’re following a wanted fugitive.” Batman answered continuing to creep along.  “Just not following too fast.”

“Good enough for me.” The house was two stories tall, basic design, sparsely furnished.  “Someone does live here, right?” Todd whispered.  They made their way down stairs where they could hear the television on.  A sickly sweet odor emanated from the living room.  “Maybe not anymore.” Todd answered himself.  “You’re a real chatter box, ya know.”

Batman didn’t respond, he just moved towards the living room, silent as a ghost.  When they reached it, they found Preston Payne sitting in an overstuffed chair eating something as he faced away from them.  Batman held up a hand, indicating Todd to wait.  “Preston.” He said.  Payne continued eating, not reacting to Batman at all.  He and Todd moved around opposite sides of the chair.  Preston Payne’s deformed body was seated with a bucked of stale, popcorn.  A wire connected his wrist to a motor next to his head, pulling and releasing the arm imitating the motion of eating.  A large envelope sat in his lap.  Payne had been dead for at least a week.  Todd groaned in disgust.  He reached for the envelope.

“No, wait.” Batman said, but Todd had already grabbed the envelope.  They heard a click and tanks discreetly hidden around the house started spraying methane gas.  Batman shoved Todd to the large window as a spark ignited the gas, turning the first floor the house into a fireball that launched Batman and Todd out.  Batman rose up and looked back.  “Who the hell would do all that?” Todd asked.  “Victor Zsasz and Firefly.” Batman growled.  The problem was much larger than he thought.  They both heard gunfire from the direction of the museum.  “Car, now!” Batman roared.

                Grayson and Drake did their best to avoid the weapons fire as they dodged through exhibits.  “We gotta get out of here.”

“Well, we’re on the second floor, there are roof exits, and gun fire coming up behind us.  I’m open to suggestions.”

Batman barreled the car towards the museum, vehicles in the road skidded to the sides to make way for the intimidating vehicle.  He pulled up a monitor that displayed thermal imaging.  “There.” Todd said, accurately guessing that the two figures running were in fact the agents.  “Second floor.”  Batman looked away from the screen and sped the vehicle forward.  “Hold on.”

Joker’s Daughter rounded the raised platform that held the best tables for the restaurant and looked to the sweeping bay windows that overlooked the rest of the historical district.  Bright lights bled in heavily from the window.  “You must be joking.”

The car tore through the windows, sending glass and the Tweedle twins flying.  The cockpit snapped open and Todd sprang from the vehicle tackling the robber known as the Red Hood.  Batman fired a grapple line into the ceiling and flew out of the cock pit catching White Rabbit in the face with the heel of his boot.  He spun midflight and sent two small balls sailing towards the recovering forms of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.  The flash bang grenades sent both men flying into the rubble that was the far wall.  Duela Dent smiled “Where does he get those wonderful toys.”

Mad Hatter tucked himself behind a display and aimed his machine gun.  He felt a tap on his back.  He turned and found Agent Drake there.  Before he knew it, a fist landed on his jaw and he was unconscious.

Jason Todd rounded on the Red Hood, grabbing the mask and delivering a hard head but, then bringing up his foot into the man’s chest and kicking him off the second floor railing to the ground below.  The action tore the hood away and left the man sprawled below.  He wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious and didn’t care much at that moment.  He glanced at the clump of crimson fabric in his hand.

“Is that all of them?” Jason said looking around.

“Where’s Dent?” Batman said.  Jason heard a noise down below “Gotta jet, handsome!  See you around!” she shouted from below firing a grenade at the agents.  They scattered as it exploded into a noxious green gas.  Grayson and Drake were far enough away, Jason shielded himself with the red hood, and Batman threw himself through the gas, his cape dispersing the cloud as he went.  When he landed on the first floor, Dent and the man who was the red hood were already gone.  The agents went down the stairwell expecting to find Batman, but the caped crusader had vanished.  The sound of grinding mortar and crunching glass alerted them to the car as it backed out of the museum.  Todd bolted up the stairwell “He’s got the envelope!” he shouted but the car had already sped off into the night.  Grayson stood there, not knowing how to feel.

                “Commissioner…” an officer yelled from the shadowy line of police cars. “Dispatch just got a call from city hall.  Killer Croc is going after another city council member.”  In the distance Batman’s car sped into the night.  No, she told herself, this was still her city and she will protect it.  She got into the officer’ patrol car “Let’s go.”  The officer nodded and sped towards city hall.  “Should we call for back up?”

“No, I can handle Croc.”

In the time she’d been with the department, she always felt like she was trying to catch up to her father’s ghost, be every bit the cop he was, and better.  Sometimes that came at great personal cost.  As they arrived at city hall, she exited the vehicle and ran through the double doors.  The officer called out to her, but she didn’t hear him.  She bolted up the stairwell to the fifth floor.  Across the hall from the Mayor’s office was the city council chamber.  It was dark empty.  She could hear her heart beat thudding in her ears, felt it slam against her chest.  A soft growl came from the dark hallway.  She reached for a light switch but nothing.  Then a roar and croc lunged out of the shadows, sending her through the Mayor’s office door.  She pulled herself out of the wreck of glass and wood and saw the silhouette of the officer approaching.  “Stay back!” she yelled “Its Killer Croc.”  The officer kept coming forward.  “Bravo…” he said, until he was standing under the lights.  He took off his policeman’s hat and revealed half of his face disfigured and contorted.  “Did I say council member?” Two-Face asked.  “I meant he was kidnapping you.”

Croc slung the unconscious woman over his shoulder, but as he turned he paused.  Something caught his attention.  He stepped into Mayor Wayne’s office and took a few deliberate breaths through his nose.  He then laughed.

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 4: Gotham Knight

They pushed forward like modern Spartans, shoulder to shoulder in a phalanx.  Their Plexiglas shields were pummeled by insane fists and crushing weight of orange clad lunatics.  Those who tried to clamber over the blockade were met with bean bag rounds from riot shot guns.  Officers shouted at officers, each looking to the other for strength.  Police Commissioner Barbra Gordon shouted orders over a megaphone, orders that were lost in the din of the living, breathing nightmare that threatened to explode into Gotham.  Then a roar in the distance, like a growling beast from the darkness, began to rise up.  Inmates backed away from officers, as the police in the back looked over their shoulders.  Commissioner Gordon lowered her microphone and looked at the flickering lights that grew larger.

Some kind of motorcycle, long, narrow and black burst onto the roadway and flames erupted from its undercarriage, launching it and it’s rider into the sky, sailing over the officers.  As it glided over the inmates, midnight black wings seemed to snap out from its sides.  Small metallic balls fell on the ground of the insane, exploding into flashes of blinding light and deafening sound.  The vehicle came down hard and skidded to the side to a halt.  The rider rose his head up, looking at the dozen or so inmates still standing.

“Oh my god.” Gordon said, seeing this ghost from the past.  Her hand trembled on the microphone.  The figure was stock still, as if giving everyone an opportunity to take it in, analyze and accept what they were seeing.  Finally one inmate uttered what no one else could, the word caught in their collective throats, locked in by terrifying legend that, given the evidence of their own eyes and ringing ears was very much a reality.

“BATMAN!” he roared into the night, and charged forward in pursuit.  The Batman banked the cycle towards the front gates of the asylum and roared into it’s dark halls with the remaining inmates in foot pursuit.  Gordon seemed to regain sense of her surroundings.  “Row one, secure them.  Row two, with me into the asylum!  She shouted as she drew her sidearm and ran after the crowd.

“Quite the groupies you have there, sir.” Carrie said over the intercom.  “Are you sure you can get back out?”

“I’ll be fine.  Can you see if anymore got away?”

“I’m connected to the traffic cams, I see about thirteen loose and running the streets.  Looks like at least four of them have somewhere specific they’re going.  The rest are either running rampant to going to ground, trying to shed their jumpsuits quickly.  Oh, I did not need to see his balls.”

“Keep an eye on the group.  Gotham’s enemies don’t like to work together so if they’re going to ground together, they’re probably linked to whoever engineered the escape.”

“On it.  And the others?”

“Let the police know where they were last seen.  Hopefully patrol officers can collect them.”

“Yes sir.  I’ve got the Asylum’s cameras back up and running.  The bat-cycle’s going to run out of room soon.”

“...Batcycle?”

“Room sir.  Focus on that.”

Carrie was accurate in her description, the hall was closing in fast and there was too much debris to effectively maneuver the vehicle.  Batman cranked it to the side and slid to a halt.  The massive black motorcycle blocked the hallway and he stepped back from it into a dead end hall.

The first, the most physically fit inmates arrived first.  Six of them clambered over the vehicle as Batman waited.  As they reached the top, he tapped the button of a remote control in his hand.  The jump jets gave a deafening boom as the vehicle and inmates were launched into the hard ceiling and came crashing back down to the tiled floor.  Bloodied and broken, the inmates fell to the severely damaged floor.

Gordon and her team rounded the corner.  They had lost track of where the group had went due to the echo nature of the hospital walls.  The bone rattle explosion shook her to the core.  Inmates fled into the police officer’s arms as the cycle roared through the halls.  Batman, on the cycle sped past her out the doors, through what remained of the police blockade, and off into the night.  No officer could be spared to give chase, and none of the patrol cars could keep pace with the seemingly alien machine.

                Hours later and the inmates were back in their cells, some secured to their beds with their injuries being tended by doctors.  The immense amount of paperwork had quickly become her worst nightmare, threatening to engulf her desk.  The governor and mayor both wanted answers.  Dr. Strange would be giving her a statement in the morning.  Lines furrowed her pale skin; she closed her emerald eyes and removed her wire rimmed glasses.  She leaned her head back against her chair, vaguely noting her trench coat, the same coat her father once wore, hanging on the door to her office.  Her eyes drifted open and closed briefly.  There must be a breeze in her office, the coat was moving.

Her eyes snapped open as she realized that was not her coat, but rather some kind of entity emerging from the shadows.  “Jesus!” she launched forward, reaching for the pistol in her desk drawer.  Batman remained motionless.  “I’d appreciate if you didn’t do that, commissioner.  I’m here as a friend.”  Gordon took her hand away from the drawer but remained standing, maintaining eye contact with the friendly intruder.  “Is it really you?  I mean...really you.  Not some half assed replacement.”

“I am him.” Batman said gravely.  “I came to tell you, four inmates escaped in the break out, they were working together, likely working with an outside source.”

“A few more than four escaped.” Gordon said steely.  “I know.  But these four are together.  They’re planning something.”

“Who?”

“Harvey Dent, Johnathan Crane, Waylon Jones, and Duela Dent.”

“Two-Face, Scarecrow, Killer Croc, and Joker’s Daughter.  Thats an interesting combiation.”

“They were seen in mid-town, at West and Ward.  They’ve been missing ever since.”

“Well that helps, she glanced down at the files on her desk.  Anything else you ha...” but Batman was gone.  She shook her head.  Now she understood how dad felt.  “I’m going to nail his feet to the floor.” She whispered reaching into the drawer with her sidearm.  She lifted a secret panel under the drawer and pulled out a thick file with the words in bold black sharpie marker.  It read “Batman”.

Never told you what I do for a living...

Harvey Dent was crouched on his bunk in his cell, the moon light the only illumination in his stone prison.  Absently he thumbed a double headed coin, his signature.  One side was as shiny as the day it was minted, the other charred black and scarred.  He adjusted the collar to his bright orange jump suit.  An enveloped slid under his door.  He gave it a side long glance, flipping the coin.

Beneath Arkham lay the flooded basement.  Once a boiler room it was repurposed into a containment cell for a prisoner so dangerous that not even Blackgate prison could hold him.  Something large and powerful stirred the black water, causing a few bubbles to surface.  From a grate above, a black envelope fell onto the concrete landing at the edge of the murky, man made swamp.  A vaguely man shaped head surfaced, two red eyes peered that the letter.

Deula Dent bounced a tennisball off the walls of her cell.  She’d been placed at the end of the hall to avoid disturbing the other “patients” but allowing her the tennisball often kept her calm and complacent with the guards.  Her short, spikey hair was cropped and pulled away from her thin, pale face.  She giggled quietly to herself as she bounced the ball, her pixie like frame pulled inward at odd angles.  A knock came to her door and she caught the ball.  “Who is it?” she asked.  It was too late at night for an orderly, certainly nowhere near feeding time.  Her feeding slot slid open and a black envelope was pushed through with a flat black box tied with a green ribbon.  She took the box and envelope quickly and the slot closed shut.  She opened the box and, upon seeing it’s contents gave a wide, wild eyed grin.

Dr. Johnathan Crane paced his cell.  Given his former stature as head of the asylum, he was afforded a few liberties.  His cell was not the same cold stone as the others.  His had a thin layer of carpet and tiled walls that he kept pristine.  Still, not even the cold comfort of his obcessive compulsive disorder could calm his nerves.  His wriy body was hunched over as he moved his hand furitively.  An envelope slid under his door.  Nervously he picked up the envelope and opened it.  It contained a carefully folded white paper.  As he unfolded it, numbers appeared.  “Three...” he said aloud.  “Two...one...” the lights all across the asylum flickered off replaced by red emergency lights.  Claxion alarms sounded as the heavy bolts that secured the cell doors released.  Guards began racing about as screams of rage and roars of pain emerged from the inmates.  Crane smiled.  “Its about time.”

                “Mr. Wayne!” Carrie called, skidding to a halt outside his study.  “You need to see this!” she snatched up the remote off the end table and flicked on the big screen television.  A blonde woman came onto the screen with a severe expression on her face “We bring you to the outside of Arkham Asylum where a massive riot has erupted within the walls.  Police and asylum security staff are struggling to push back the building’s dangerous inmate population.  The seige has been going on for approximately an hour now...”

Carrie ran out of the room.  “Carrie, where are you going?” Bruce called after her.  “Arming up, sir.  It takes an hour to get from Arkham to here.”

With that, the front doors of the manor burst open and ten men in inmate uniforms burst in wielding makeshift knives and clubs.  Five tore up the stairwell upon seeing Bruce.  Slashing outward with his shive, Bruce deftly caught his wrist and twisted him around, planting a foot square in his sternum, where he heard a satisfying crack.  For good measure, Bruce struck down on the inmate’s forarm with his elbow, snapping the bones within.

He kicked outward and sent the unconcious assailant sprawling into the one behind him.  He saw three advancing on Carrie, but now had two more to deal with, each of them calling out and cursing the name “Wayne.”

Carrie hadn’t made it to her firearm yet, but she didn’t need it.  She was a graduate of Charles MacPherson Academy for Butlers and Household Managers, but prior to that had served four years in the USMC.  “Lets get the maid!” one of the inmates shouted.  Carrie, to her credit, saw red and caught the speaker in the throat with an open palm.  Gagging, he staggerd back and fell unconcious, unable to breath.  The next one she tore into with a hard forward kick, catching him in the chest and sending him backwards down the stairwell.  One lashed out with a makeshift club, which she snatched away, spun, and plowed into the side of his skull, causing his nose to explode blood over the far wall.

Wayne moved with speed that belied his age, snatching away weapons and rendering foes unconcious without regard to how they would function when they woke.  If they woke.  One came up behind him bringing a kitchen knife to his throat.  Bruce rocked his head back, throwing the assailant off balance, allowing him to spin in place and crash his forehead into the thug’s nose.  Temporarily blinded, the thug stumbled back and down the stairs.  The comotion brought the others from the ground level up to fill the ranks of the fallen, but even then they were no match for the combined might.  When one was left semi alert, he looked blearily at Carrie.  “Thats a hell of a maid.” He muttered.  Carrie leaned into his face, anger twisting her face.  “I’m the goddamn butler.”

Straightening her shirt, Carrie turned to Bruce.  “Sir...there is a crisis in the city.  I’m afraid I’m going to have to disclose to you, I know you are the Batman.”

“Was...Carrie.  I was the Batman.”

She looked past him to the pile of half dead lunatics.  “I’d say, sir, that you are still very much the Batman.  Gotham needs you.”  She walked into the study and turned the grandfather clock hands to 10:47.  The clock gave a small click and a panel on the wall groaned to life, pulling to the right and exposing a dark tunnel leading down.  Bruce’s eyes darkened.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne.  I know I should not have pried, but I had my suspicions and after some investigation, well...”

“Why?”

Carrie didn’t bother asking for clarification.  The dark tone in his voice made the intent of the question very clear.  “You stopped the Joker, sir, but not before he killed my mother and crippled my father with the Smilex gas.  We lived off the parade route, my parents wanted nothing to do with the parade, but that didn’t stop the gas from spreading out before you destroyed the balloons.”

Bruce led her down the tunnel.  “There should be more cobwebs here.” He noted.

“About that.  I’ve been cleaning.  I was hired to ensure the whole house was clean.  The crew took care of the rest of the manor.  I handled the cave.”

“All by yourself?”

“What did you think I did while you were at Wayne Enterprises all day?”

“Honestly I thought you slept.”  She smiled at that, and the sound of their foot falls echoed off the thick rock walls.  The tunnel swelled out into a massive caveren.  A bank of computer monitors dominated the far wall.  A motorcycle rested in the center of the chamber, on a massive turntable that bridged the command center with a long narrow stretch of rock that led into another tunnel.  “We’ll need a new car.” Bruce mused.

“In the meantime, the cycle will suffice.  We don’t really have time to re-equip the heavier stuff, but your belt and your suit are cleaned and ready.  I can coordinate from here.”  She danced her fingers across the keyboard and a red light appeared on the control panel.  “The manor is secured.  No more unexpected visitors.”

The Batman spoke from the shadows in a cold voice that it sent chills up her spine.  “Then we need to go to work.”