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 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”.

His Nightmares, His Monster

The shadowy figure crossed the rooftops, leaping from one to the next with impossible speed and accuracy on the backdrop of a starless night, the Gotham smog having rob the city of any natural nocturnal illumination.  A quiet chuckle edge over the noises of the night, the murmuring pedestrians and traffic going to and fro on their errands, little more than a whisper of a sound that beckoned the being cloaked in black.  Ahead of the figure ran a man dressed in a divided suit.  One half was an off brown color, the other charcoal gray.  The man in the suit panted as he ran at full tilt, but the shade that pursued him closed in.  Heavy boots landed in the man’s back, sending him sprawling across the rooftop, handgun skittering away from his hand.  He rolled over, half of his face covered in shadow as the black clad pursuer clutched the front of his shirt, dragging him up.

Face to face, the Batman glared at his prey.  In a voice that edge just shy of a roar he demanded “Why!?!”  The two toned man’s head hung low.  He lifted his face and the Batman saw him, the face of his parents’ killer.  But it couldn’t be.  This was Harvey Dent, barely a year older than himself.  There was no possible way Harvey could have been in the alley that night.  Lighting flashed across the sky, illuminating the other half of Harvey’s face.  With the crack of thunder came a cackling laugh as they face was shown to be pale, with emerald hair and ruby red lips, twisted into a grotesque grin.  Batman dropped Harvey and spun as laughter erupted all around him.  They stood around him, Penguin, Two-Face, Scarecrow, Killer Croc, Calendar Man, Victor Zsasz, Mr. Freeze, all with cackling laughter, and with each lighting flash their faces morphed into Jack Napier, standing in the alleyway, gunning down Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Emerging from the shadows at his feet were them, his mother and father, and they together cradled a third figure, Alfred Pennyworth, aged and frail, lying limp, beaten and bloodied.  Alfred’s weathered features looked up at him “Why did you fail us, Bruce?  Why did you let us die?”

The cackling rose to deafening levels, threatening to split his eardrums, to rupture his brain.

                Bruce almost launched himself out of his bed, dripping in sweat, the echo of the name “Alfred!” on still in his mouth.  Thudding footsteps came down the hall and whisked open the doors to the master bedroom.  “Mr. Wayne?” she called out.  It was Carrie, a woman in her late twenties with strawberry blonde hair wearing an “Ozzy Osbourne” t-shirt and sweat pants.  She adjusted her black frame glasses as she turned on the bedside lamp.  “Mr. Wayne, are you alright?”  The old house was cold.  The dark mahogany walls seemed deep, black veils that drew in light rather than reflected it.  His only light was the full moon spilling in from the open window.  Distantly a cloud of leathery wings escaped some dark confines and flurried into the night.

Bruce nodded vaguely.  Despite her being in his employ for the last four years, he was still adjusting to her presence in his usually quiet home.  She went to his prescription medication by his bedside, but he waved her off.  “I’m not in pain…” Bruce lied.  He stood and went to his mirror.  At 64 he maintained his formidable build and agility, but his joints were slowly betraying him.  As far as Carrie was to know it was from extreme sports in his misspent youth.  She was unaware of his double life, a life that he left buried beneath Wayne Manor a decade ago.

“More nightmares, sir?” Carrie asked cautiously.  Bruce braced his hands on his dresser and nodded.  “Its…its fine, Carrie.  What time is it?”

She looked at the clock on the nightstand “Three thirty three sir.  Would you like anything?  Water, or tea?”

He shook his head, determining that sleep would not be returning that night.  “I might as well start the day.” He muttered.  “Very good sir.” She said, the edge in her voice indicating that she could have slept a few more hours at least.  “If you want to go back to bed…I’m just going down to the gym.”  She shook her head.  “I’ll sleep later.  You have to go to work sometime.  I’ll prepare your clothes for the day, ready the shower and start breakfast.”

“Carrie…” he said, briefly thinking what else this young woman, less than half his age could be doing as opposed to caring for an aging lunatic “…thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Bruce pummeled the punching bag as though it said something personal about him.  Strike after strike threatened to tear it open.  “You’re dropping your guard, sir.” Carrie offered, bringing in a towel and cold bottle of water.  “Really…” he muttered delivering another one-two combination.  The chain attaching the bag to the ceiling threatened to break away with every new blow.  “Well, beating on a bag that can’t fight back really doesn’t improve your skill, sir.”  She took off her glasses and picked up a pair of boxing gloves.  “You think you can handle me?” He said with a slight smile.  She chuckled “Well, I’m half your age, and you’ve been doing this for about an hour and a half so I’m fresher than you.  Plus…” she swung hard and Bruce barely had time to bring his arm up to block.  He countered but she had already dodged and came at him with a second blow, this time aimed at his ribs.  He dropped his arm just barely in time and backed away from her.

He came at her again with a right and she deflected, catching him in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. “Beating up on an old man…” he choked out a chuckle “How could you?”

“That’s what you get for attacking a helpless young woman.” She danced back and the balls of her feet, arms poised for another strike.  He rose up too in the ready position.  “I think both of those are a bit of an exaggeration.”

Her eyes narrowed and she came in hard.  He sidestepped this time, catching her foot with his ankle and sending her sprawling to the mat.  “Sorry.  That was mean.” He admitted.  “You think?  I mean, you think…sir?” she said getting back up.  Their sparing match was interrupted by the chiming of the telephone.  Bruce glanced to the digital clock.  It was almost five in the morning now, Lucius Fox was probably answering his message.

“Where did you learn to fight, by the way?” he asked, peeling off the gloves and moving to the telephone.  “I spent two years training under a local guy.” She shrugged.  “I need to learn how to defend myself.  I grew up in a rough neighborhood.”

Bruce glanced at her, and his heart sank.  “All the neighborhoods are rough in Gotham.”

He picked up the phone turning on the speaker.  “Good morning, Lucius.”

“Good morning Bruce, though at 3am I hesitate to call it “morning.””

“It was three thirty five, Fox.  Don’t be a baby.  We’re you able to set up what I need?”

“Yes, sir.” He said with an edge in his voice.  “Though I feel incumbent to ask why you feel you need this particular meeting.  Arkham Asylum isn’t the easiest facility to get visitation in, and with his history with you…”

Bruce cut him off. “I just need to speak to him for a few minutes.  I have questions that, honestly only he can answer.”

“I…understand, Mr. Wayne.”  Fox took a few moments.  “They will expect you at 9:30, though we do have a board meeting at 10.”

“I will be there for the board meeting.  I haven’t missed one in ten years.”

“Just reminding you.  Do you need a driver?”

“No, Al…Carrie will drive me.”

“I see.  Well, we’ll see you there.”

Bruce hung up the line.  “I’m sorry Carrie.” He whispered.  “Mr. Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth raised you.  I’m just the Household Manager.  It’s okay.  Your clothes are laid out as are your items for your shower, and your pain pills.  Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

“Thank you.”

                He let the steaming water cascade over him.  He could feel it wash away the sweat but not the guilt.  The pills could take away the ache, but not the pain.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, a mad man laughed at him.

Dressed in his dark suit, white button down and yellow tie, Bruce Wayne eyed Arkham Asylum suspiciously.  From its wrought iron gates to towering black visage, he could not imagine how such a place was beneficial to anyone’s mental health rehabilitation.  Positioned on a cliff against Gotham’s almost permanently gray sky, the asylum loomed more like a castle than a hospital.  The thick, wild tree line that flanked the driving path and surrounded the other two thirds of the building added to the allusion that perhaps Dracula or Dr. Victor Frankenstein might be more at home here.

Carrie pulled the vehicle to the front steps, and exited.  In her black dress suit, she cut an intimidating figure.  She was poised, her movements were precise, and her eyes scanned the catwalks and towers, the shadows and doors for any potential threats.  Though he hated it, he knew she concealed a glock under her coat, with spare magazines behind her back.  Opening the door she ushered him out and walked him to the large doors of the building. “I’ll be fine from here.  I’ll text you when I’m done.”

“Yes sir.” She said with an edge of military training in her voice.  She returned to the vehicle and pulled off into the parking lot.

                Bruce entered the long, dark halls of Arkahm.  While this wasn’t his first visit to this institution, it was one of the few times he came as Bruce Wayne.  The Batman, on the other hand, didn’t go through the formalities of making appointments or using the front doors.  A guard met him at the door and checked his identification.  He appreciated that while he was the most powerful business man in Gotham, they still insisted on check his identification.  “Sorry about this, Mistah Wayne…” the powerfully built guard ushered him through a full body scanner “But ever since Basil Karlo impersonated you that one time trying to get out, we have to scan you.”

“That’s fine, officer.” Bruce said with a charming smile “I completely understand.”

Having his identity confirmed, Bruce checked in at the front desk and was escorted to one of the maximum security visitation room.  The halls of Arkham were wide with high ceilings and covered florescent lights that shone of the dingy hospital sea foam green walls.  The visitation booth itself was little more than a thick panel of transparent plastic and a single chair.  Visitation wasn’t a priority at Arkham.  Already seated was Harvey Dent.  The “clean side” of his face was light by the overhead lamp, showing a dark skinned, roguishly handsome man, the man Bruce had supported as the new District Attorney.  Bruce sat down and picked up the phone.  Harvey’s eyebrow arched and he smiled broadly.  Picking up the phone he said with a smooth voice “Bruuuuce! How are you doing?  You look well, keeping in shape I see.”

“Hello Harvey.” He replied with far less joy in his tone.

“So…what brings you by?”

“I want to know why you did it.” Bruce leaned on the table, talking in a low voice.  Harvey leaned back, switching his phone to his left hand and placing his right hand on his chin thoughtfully.  “Are…are you sure you want to know?  I mean, that doesn’t seem mentally healthy, right?  You caught us…that’s the important part.  Do you really want to know the “why”?  Oh, wait, this has to do with your parents, doesn’t it?”

“You know what I’m talking about Harvey.  Why Alfred?”

Dent shrugged and when he spoke a new voice came over the phone, a darker voice, almost gravelly.  “You know why, Bruce.  You damn well KNOW why.”

“But why didn’t you tell the world what you knew about me?”

Harvey Dent’s smooth voice came back “Just luck of the coin toss, I guess.”

“Then why kill Alfred?”

Dent leaned forward and his scarred face came into view.  Horrific burns marred the left side of his face from the edge of his nose to past his ear, burning away his hair into thick gray ash.  In comparison to his mocha brown skin, Two-Face was light pink, pockmarked and pulled tight with deep, coursing wrinkles.  “Just luck of the coin toss, I guess.” He growled.  Two-Face slammed down the phone and began punching the window and roaring in rage even as blood seeped from his knuckles and speared the plastic, dripping onto the small shelf. “I should’ve killed you Wayne, I should have torn you apart!  It’s your fault…all your fault!”

Two guards burst into the room and dragged Harvey Dent away.  Bruce stood in silence.  He tried to act shocked, but wasn’t sure how convincing he was.  “He’s far from well, I’m afraid, Mr. Wayne.” A bald man with glasses and a beard that stretched from ear to ear said from behind him.  “Do you think he ever will be?” Bruce asked.

Dr. Hugo Strange gave a hard sigh.  “I frankly don’t know.  He’s harboring some deep secrets, some deep hurt.  There’s no telling what is at the pit of his soul.  We will try, of course, we will try everything.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Bruce said turning away.  “I do have to ask, Mr. Wayne, why does the Wayne Foundation pay for his medical bills?  He did after all brutally murder your…” Strange seemed to search for the word.  “Friend.  Alfred Pennyworth was my friend.  I’m paying for his treatment because Harvey Dent was once my friend.”

“But…if our treatment works and he can be declared sane, he will stand trial for that, and many more murders.  He will likely receive the death penalty.”  Bruce looked to the floor “Perhaps its better he die a man than live as a monster.”