Chapter 7: Rabbits and Lies

Gotham First National Bank was a modest building, a mere six stories tall, dwarfed by the surrounding high rises.  It not only served as Gotham’s premier bank of choice, but as a historical landmark, a living photograph of the halcyon days before crime and corruption threatened to choke the city to death.  It’s alarm was historic as well, a class, ever ringing bell that announced to all within ear shot that the premises had suffered an immediate crime.  Of course the bank’s security system was far more advanced than that, announcing to law enforcement immediately of the crime, but the classic bell was still more than enough to disperse the crowd and confuse local traffic.  Witnesses of the crime, however, would be hard pressed to determine which was more confusing: the classic bell, or the six foot tall, not counting the ears, brown rabbit wearing a blower hat and waist coat bounding down the street at amazing speeds.  The criminal bunny carried tucked under one arm a bag of ill-gotten bills which trickled out behind it as it leapt from car roof to car roof, and under the other arm a young blonde woman as hostage.

“Oh the hatter’s going to go mad over you, love…” the March Hare raved at the screaming woman.  “Your name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Alice’ would it.  Oh birdy let me tell you he’d go positively jolly over that, if it were.  An’ don’t think that old black bat is gonna help you none, miss.  Its three o’clock in the afternoon, and everyone knows that bat only fly at night.  Asides, where they gonna shine that fancy light of theirs…?” The Hare glanced up at the Gotham Trade center, the tallest building in the city.  On its massive jumbotron television shone the emblem of the Batman.  Leaping into the air once more, time seemed to slow for him.  He could feel the partially caved in roof of the vehicle below him pull away from his feet, and for a moment he was weightless.  It was at that moment, something large, black and hard slammed into his chest, feet plowing straight into his sternum.  He saw ‘Alice’ lifted away from his arms, her own arm taken just below the bit by the black glove of the dark knight.

He was hurled into oncoming traffic and rolled to a halt, his bag of loot lost amongst the cars.  “Well well well, if it ain’t the bat ‘imself, lit by the light of day.”

“Martin O’Hare, former associate of Jervis Tetch.  Robotics expert and experienced martial artists.  I see we’ve gone back to old habits.”

“Hard for a rabbit to break a habit, especially one that feels so good.” Hare launched himself at Batman, twisting in mid-flight to bring his massive feet to bear.  Batman sidestepped and brought his elbow down on O’Hare’s throat.  Appearing in daylight wasn’t what he preferred, his image was far more effective at night.  In addition, the media coverage of his actions was far greater in the daylight hours, which meant he had to work that much harder to bring down his foes.  O’Hare rolled on the ground and came up on his knees.  “Y’know, ya ‘ad no business locking me up in Arkham.  I ain’t crazy.”

“You’re dressed like the Easter Bunny and you’re robbing banks, O’Hare.”

“Says the man in a bat costume that 1) Barely looks like a bat and 2) isn’ that thing hot?”  He launched himself at Batman with incredible speed.  Batman dropped down and fired an arm mounted stun gun into the robot legs the criminal used. “AHH!  He tazed me in the ass!” O’Hare yelled as he collapsed on the ground.

                “He tazed me in the ass…” Fox quoted the news footage as it played on the six o’clock airing.  Bruce was looking through files.  Carrie had started the fire for the evening and was preparing a meal for the two men.  “I tazed him in the hip.” Bruce murmured as he continued to sift through information.  “Well, Bruce, ‘Batman tazed him in the ass” is going to be the new go to phase on the internet.  I figure there’s probably a dozen memes about it already.”

“One hundred twenty seven as of…”he glanced at the clock “thirty minutes ago.”

Bruce’s phone buzzed once.  He glanced at it “One twenty eight.” He said quietly.

Carrie entered “Gentlemen, dinner is served.”  Bruce brought his stack of files and led Lucius into the ‘small’ dining room.  It was the same room he’d had his first date with Vicki Vale in, but rather a room closer to the kitchen with a six person hand crafted wooden table surrounded by high back chairs.  The walls were a forest green and held paintings of wildlife.  As he recalled this was his father’s favorite room.  Mother, he remembered, always preferred the formal dining room.  Carrie commented that to most families this would be the formal dining room, but here it was a ‘breakfast nook’.  Carrie’s cooking was, Bruce thought, adequate.  He mentally held her to the standards of Alfred, and even when he’d let his meals go cold, much to the elder butler’s annoyance, they were still fantastic.  Carrie wasn’t quite there yet, and he didn’t know if she ever would be.

“This steak is great…” Lucius said after the first bite.  Bruce held his tongue and focused on the Duela Dent file. 

“Carrie…” he said after he finished his meal and she had gathered the dishes onto a tray “Who is Edward Nashton?”

To her credit, while she nearly lost control of the tray, she recovered it quickly.  “W…who?”

He pulled the bottom file from the pile. “He’s got a juvenile record, nothing save a parking ticket as an adult, but he was quite the computer genius back in the day.  Only three known associates, his mother, his father, and…”

She stopped him.  “I was in the foster care system after my dad couldn’t take care of me anymore.  The Nashtons took me in.  Eddie…Edward was their older son.  They were really nice to me, but they were horrible to Edward.  He was so smart and his father always accused him of cheating on stuff, but he really just knew all the answers.”

“They were kind to you but abusive to their own son?” Lucius asked.  “They were getting a check for me.  Edward, his father said, was a burden but at least they got paid for having me around.”

“I see.  Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t that much else to say.  Edward’s dad got into a car accident, had to use a cane for a while, and would beat him pretty regularly with it just out of frustration.  The Department of Family Protection Services found out about the abuse and took me away.  I went back that night and his dad was roaring at him pretty bad about it, blaming Edward for calling the police on him.  Edward grabbed his dad’s cane and cracked him across the face with it.  Last I saw him he was running down 7^th street.”

“Do you know the rest of that story, Carrie?” Bruce asked carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Edward killed his dad that night.  That blow he struck was fatal.  They were going to charge him for murder but he disappeared, until the press conference.  He owns ‘Question the World News’ a conspiracy outlet where he asks viewers questions about how they think the world works.  How random events can’t possibly be random.  How a scandal can develop around a politician, then a gunman fires on a crowd or drives a truck into a vigil and the assailant is killed before they can testify, only to have media coverage leave the politician and focus on the tragedy.  He was shaking the branches of society.  He did it at the press conference that day, called attention as to how the police weren’t sharing all the information.  Then he vanished right before Duela opened fire.”

“No.”

“Why did you think I was investigating him?”

She hung her head and sat in the chair.  “I didn’t know.  I just saw him pop up on your computer and thought he’d been through too much already.”

“Well you should have come to me if you’d known something about him.  Thank you for not hiding it though.”

Bruce stood and left the room.

“That went better than I thought it would.” Lucius said quietly.

Carrie thought back to the cave, seeing his face on the screen, attempting to delete the image, only to discover the delete option was password protected.

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.

Chapter 5: A New Dawn

“What the hell!” Fox screamed as he stormed into Wayne’s office.  He threw a purchasing order down on the desk.  It was well after 10 o’clock but Wayne looked tired and disinterested in whatever was going on.  He quickly closed the door behind him and wheeled on Wayne.  “Would you mind...” he growled in a whisper “telling me why all of the sudden Incorporato Pipistrello, a company I personally thought was dead and gone, would suddenly place an order for five of our suits and a stripped down version of our pursuit vehicle?”

Wayne looked back at the computer “Neck piece on the new suit is better.  I can turn my head, and the car hasn’t operated since 1992.”

“Bruce!  You are pushing seventy.  Why...why would you do this?  Why restore the Batman now?”

The television on Bruce’s office wall was airing GNN’s coverage of the break out.  “Lucius, I wasn’t looking for an excuse, but that...” he said pointing at the break out “...gave me a reason.  People were going to die if I didn’t do something.  Those officers would have died.  Gotham has had a long time of peace, and in that time the police force has gotten complacent.”

“So give them better equipment.  Get them better training.  You’re on the goddamn city council, you can do that.”

“There was no time.  This break out was perpetrated completely out of the blue.  Someone is running this behind the scenes, and they’ve already corralled four of the most dangerous inmates in Arkham.  I owe it to this city, and to Jim Gordon, not to let it or his daughter get killed because I wouldn’t put on the suit again.”

Lucius was looking out the window.  His mind was reeling.  “You can’t go in it alone.  And you have to be smarter about your equipment.  The old ways aren’t going to work anymore.  When you busted that embezzlement scheme, you set up checks and balances.  They will catch this.  I can’t let this go any further.  I can get you the specifications of the equipment you need, but you can’t outright buy it from Wayne Tech.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m your friend, Bruce.  Your friend.  Not the Batman’s.  Let’s make that clear.  And tell me you aren’t dragging Carrie into this with you.”

Bruce let that sentence sink in for a moment.  “I’m not dragging her into anything.” He said grimly as if something resonated in the back of his mind.  “I have to go.  Commissioner Gordon is about to do a press conference and I need to be there.”

                The Gotham skies, even in the late morning, were still grey.  Thick clouds of smog threatened to choke the sun from the sky.  In front of City Hall, Barbra Gordon stood side by side with Mayor Deneli and the city council lined up behind her.  Mayor Margart Deneli was a trail blazer, elected in the era of peace, she stood for breaking new ground and reforming the grit and grime that was the city’s past into something shiny, brilliant, and hopeful.  Standing about a head shorter than Gordon, her gray hair was styled so that it hung just past her shoulders.  Her bright blue dress-suit was also in stark contrast to Gordon’s more conservative uniform.  Gordon moved to the microphone.  There was a thick crush of reporters from news outlets as far away as Los Angeles, each chomping at the bit to be the media outlet that announced Gotham’s return to the darkness.

“At 10:32pm last night...” Gordon spoke with authority “A significant power failure inside Arkham Asylum compromised it’s security system.  While the population of the asylum attempted to break out, the majority were taken into custody and returned to their cells through police effort.  Ten fled and are still at large.  Their photographs and vital statistics can be found on GCPD’s website.  If you have any information about the whereabouts of these inmates, contact the police department immediately.  Do not attempt to apprehend or detain them on your own, notify police immediate.  Our officers are working around the clock searching the city and ensuring the safety of the public.  Are there any questions?”

“Iris West, Central City Picture News; Is there anything truth to the rumor that the Batman was involved in securing the inmates?”

“The resurfacing of the vigilante known as Batman is an ongoing investigation at this time.  I cannot comment any further on that.”

Another reporter, one with bright red hair thrust a tape recorder at Gordon “Ed Nash, Question the World News: Is it possible that the power failure was intentional, that the attempted break out was orchestrated?”

“That is also under investigation and I will not comment on it.  Thank you.”

Bruce raised his cellphone, pretending to check text messages.  He was in fact taking pictures of the reporters, particularly Mr. Nash.

“Bored already, Bruce?” asked a council member standing behind him.  It was Joseph Bleak, a council member that Bruce suspected had ties to organized crime, along with the unshakable feeling that he knew the man’s face from somewhere.  Easily twenty years older than him, Bleak had the look of a man who had done had work, deep lines and creases marred his angular face.  “Just something from work...” Bruce said off handedly.

Gordon fielded a few more questions and then Mayor Denali wrapped up the event.  Bruce sent the picture to the computer in the cave, activating facial recognition software that would search every database he could hack for information on Mr. Ed Nash.  He looked to Carrie who waited by the car.

“OH!  I’m late!” a woman shouted from the other side of the street.  Many of the crowd stopped and stared as the group around her, thirty or so dressed in dark overcoats brandishing machine guns and clown make up parted.  “Don’t everyone go!  The fun is about to begin!”

She was dressed garishly in a red sleeveless long coat, purple patchwork gloves of various shades that reached up to her biceps, a blue tank top, red short skirt over dark purple leggings that sported various rips and tears in them, and purple pixie boots.  Her emerald hair was short cut and swept up, away from her face.  Her face, however was the most disquieting part of her appearance.  It was apparently swen onto her head, pale white with ruby lips.  The face was molded and modeled after the Joker.  She let out a high pitch cackle as she opened fire into the crowd.

Bruce launched himself forward, tackling Mayor Denali and Commissioner Gordon to the ground as high speed rounds ripped apart the back of his trench coat.  Carrie immediately returned fire along as she made her way to the car.  Half a dozen police me, half of whom were cut down by oncoming machine gun fire from her hench men returned fire as well. 

The crowd of reports scattered like a flock of startled birds.  Duela Dent and her men marched towards Bruce and the city officials.  Bruce stood, squaring off against Duela.  “Brave man, Mistah Wayne.  Gonna die on your feet?”

“Not today.” He said with half of a smirk.  Wayne’s personal car screamed around the corner at top speed, crashing into the hench men before they could avoid it.  Duela leapt back at the last second, keeping her wild eyes locked on Bruce until the car came between them.  Bruce popped open the door and hurriedly ushered Gordon and Denali into the car.  Slamming the door shut, Carrie sped off as the remaining henchmen fired on the vehicle.

Rounds ricocheted and rebounded off the armored vehicle, as police cruisers sped to the scene.  Duela was already gone, but later it would be found that almost all of the henchmen at the scene were apprehended.

Mayor Denali was bleeding heavily from a wound in her chest, Bruce had been half a second too slow.  She called an emergency meeting of the city council, where she videoed in from her hospital room.  The hall of council members was silent in this troubling time.  Commissioner Gordon stood at the back of the room, a silent witness to all that was going on.  “Ladies and gentlemen...of the city council.” Denali whispered between breaths.  “I fear I can no longer serve as this great city’s leader.  In my final act as mayor I appoint to the office of Vice Mayor...Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce sat in shock, staring straight ahead, blinking only a few times.  He suddenly felt very old.  The room turned to him and he suddenly realized he needed to say something.  He rose to his feet and adjusted his coat.

Clearing his throat he began to speak.

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.”

Everything is Not Fine

Bruce’s words hung in the air around him as Carrie ushered him back to the car.  Something about Arkham set off all her alarms and she was personally done with the place.  Leading the car out she glanced back at Bruce.  “Is everything alright, Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes, Carrie.” He said distantly “Everything is fine.  What time is it?”

“Barley 9:40.  You should make your meeting with time to spare.” Bruce nodded absently.

The board meeting was exactly what Bruce had expected, thankfully detailed enough to warrant his full and undivided attention.  The conference room was wide and large, with heavily reinforced windows, a byproduct of an attack.  Briefly Bruce thought about it.  Garfield Lynns, under the name of Firefly, had torched the original conference room during a board meeting.  The attack killed two board members, and he, with the aid of Killer Moth, carted off another.  As it turned out that particular board member, Rupert Thorn, had been heavily involved in organized crime and had run afoul of rival gang leader Carmine Falcone.  Falcone had sent the pair, but hadn’t counted on the fact that they were homicidally insane.  It took Batman the better part of three days to track down Thorn and stop the deadly duo.  But that was ancient history, after the Joker but before Penguin and Catwoman had their team up.

“Mr. Wayne, do you have anything you wish to add?” It was Fox.  Sometimes, Bruce convinced himself, Fox would call on him just to make sure he was paying attention.  During his days as the Batman, this challenge would have been met with a tired quip or an offhanded remark.  Now, if you asked Bruce, this was merely an attempt to keep him grounded so his mind didn’t wander off into darker pursuits.

“How is the reactive armor coming for our military contracts?”

Trevor Menner, the head of research and development looked up.  He had not expected that question today.  “Fffine, sir, just fine.”

“What is “fine”, exactly?” Bruce pressed on.  Something stirred in Bruce.  Ordinarily the Bruce Wayne the board saw was somewhat relaxed, present in his company’s affairs but not militant, not a micro manager.  The voice creeping out of Bruce now was not that Bruce Wayne.  This was something different, something more severe, something darker.

“W…well, sir, the reactive armor is performing to specs.  We have eight units already built, however the issue is keeping cost down.  Right now they sell for about one hundred thousand dollars apiece and the armed forces are questioning whether or not the product is worth the cost.”

“Maybe you could bundle the armor with that vehicle they won’t buy…” quipped Julia Prophen, board member in charge of accounting.  “We tried selling them at cost and they still came in shy of two million a pop.  Apparently the army doesn’t have a burning need for something crossed between a tank and a Lamborghini.”

Bruce tapped his fingers “We’ll table it for now.  I’m interested in keeping product costs down, but not at the sacrifice of quality.  Don’t feel too bad, Mr. Menner, Wayne Tech R&D has had notoriously bad luck with selling its higher quality pieces.”

Prophen pipped up “Well we did lose that one buyer.  What was it, about ten years ago, I’d get an email every so often asking about anything high grade that we couldn’t sell…then this company, Incorporato Pipistrello would come in and buy a lot of it up.”

Bruce thought to himself that perhaps he could “reach out” to that compnay once again.  He dismissed the thought, along with the meeting and excused himself.  As everyone filtered into the elevators, Bruce turned to the stairwell.  Given the conference room was on the 30th floor, nobody dared challenging the stairs, but Lucius caught him by the shoulder.  “Bruce...” he said softly “Tell me I did not see something very foolish in your eyes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.  I saw that familiar glint in your eye when they talked about the equipment.  Tell me you are not looking for an excuse to go back.”

Bruce gave him a steely stare.  “No.  I’m not looking for an excuse.”

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.”