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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:19:13 GMT -5
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:22:44 GMT -5
Batman Issue #22: “Trauma” Part Two (of five) Written by Grant LaFleche Cover by Sylvain Swimer Edited by John Elbe
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:23:29 GMT -5
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It’s constant. Like a beat kept by a drummer pounding a soggy snare drum.
Drip.
Drip.
The leaky pipe has dripped 87 times in the last hour. Vicki Vale knows this because it’s hit her forehead exactly 87 times. All in the last hour. She knows, because she’s keeping count.
It’s the only thing that keeping her from going into catatonic shock brought on by fear. Fear of the dark. Fear of pain. Fear of death.
Fear of the Wrath.
Drip. 88 times.
She’s been tied up like this for a few hours now. Arms bound over her head, tied to something somewhere above her. Surely she’s be able to see what it was if there was any light. Surely.
Drip. 89 times.
She already knows what’s coming. She knows what the Wrath does to his victims. At least she thinks she does. Mickey told her enough. God, what she wouldn’t give to see that chain-smoking bastard right about now.
Drip. 90 times. Damn, that’s annoying.
He cuts the hands off of his victims and lays them out on the floor surrounded by esoteric religious symbols. He strangles them to death first though. That is if he deems you ‘chosen.’ If you’re ‘forgotten’ he doesn’t care how he kills you.
Either way, Vale knows she dead. The aching feeling in her hips lets her know she is bound to a chair. A small grace. At least she isn’t suspended by her shoulders.
Drip. 91.
Then she thinks of Bruce. He’s good. Damn good. The best. But the Wrath is that good too. She coolly notes the odds of Bruce charging to her rescue aren’t good. She’s dead. Yeah, she’s dead and Bruce will blame himself. She knows he will. If only she could tell him. Just that one thing. That one little thing. “It isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped this.” Just this one thing.
If only.
Drip. 92. The water is starting to slip down her face, mixing with her sweat.
“Hssssss”
There’s that hiss. His hiss. Vicki’s back goes ridged and then spasms. She’s been stuck in this position for too long. Another hiss. Damn it. Damn it, it’s him.
She hears nothing but her own panicked breathing now. Calm down, damn it. Calm down. Face this. Face it like a woman. Be brave.
Drip. 93.
Be brave.
“Hsssss”
Be brave.
Drip. 94.
Please…
“Hsssss”
Drip. 95.
…please be brave.
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:24:05 GMT -5
It was something about a Mad Hatter playing with a deck of cards. All Jokers. And the man with two faces got stuck in the ivy while chasing a flightless bird. And everything was covered in a shadow. A shadow and leathery wings. Wings… “BATMAN!” Dick Grayson bolted awake in his bed, his arms flailing at the air like the limbs of a palsy patient. “Wassa? Who’s is what?”
“Easy, lad. Sit back. Easy now,” said Alfred, gently pushing Dick back toward his pillow. “I’m afraid you’ve got a bit of concussion. Now I know it’s hard, Richard, but you must not fall asleep? Do you understand me young man?”
“Yeah. Right. Concussion,” he said, slurring the S in concussion to the point where he almost sounded like a snake. “No sleep for a bit. I know…Wassa happen to …Bruce…?”
“Richard, you just relax now…”
Grayson managed to guide his hand to Alfred’s wrist and squeezed hard. A bit too hard. Alfred winced and pulled away.
“Something’s…not...it’s not right there, Al. Something gone wrong with Bruce-bat.”
“Yes, indeed, Master Grayson. Something has gone wrong,” Alfred said standing up. “Now, Richard you must not speak of this for now….”
“Hey? Is that him? I mean, really him?” The young boy standing in the doorway was bouncing lightly on his toes, looking rather like a kid at Christmas.
“Master Drake…”
“I have so many questions! Like, what’s it like working with Batman. Oh, and and how long did it take him to learn those flips and stuff! Oh! Oh and how old was he when…”
“Master Drake! If you cannot keep your enthusiasm at bay I shall summon a car and have you sent home at once!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry…”
Alfred cleared his throat. It was bad enough that the boy had managed to slip into the cave and knows who Batman is. But now he had to actually rely on the boy. Someone has to watch Richard while Alfred confronts his boss.
“Now you remember what I told you. Watch him. Don’t pester him with any questions. If he asks for me, use the intercom on the wall. If he falls asleep gently wake him. In his current state he probably won’t realize you are here,” Alfred said. “Do not leave this room for any reason. I do not want to catch you meddling about the grounds for a third time!”
“You won’t have caught me tonight if I hadn’t of tripped…”
“Mister Drake…”
“Ok, ok. Sit quietly and watch him. No questions.”
“Good boy. I will be back shortly. If Master Grayson is doing better, I will take you home…again.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:24:36 GMT -5
Gregor Dosynski is not a man for self-introspection. Life is what it is. Reflecting upon things one cannot change is a waste of time. Especially tonight.
Tonight was Gregor’s night. Tonight he proves he is more than a sidekick. Tonight he proves he is worthy of the mantle of his master.
For years, the KGBeast trained him. Taught him the way of the assassin. The path of socialism. The glory of mother Russia. After years of training in the harshest conditions, his master dubbed him NKVDemon. But before Gregor could prove himself worthy of the title, the Beast vanished. No one has seen him in years.
But Gregor understood. The Beast is clever. This was another test. A test to see if the Demon can do the work of the Beast. Gregor knows his master is watching. Watching to see if he chose wisely, or poorly.
Tonight he will prove the Beast choose wisely. Across from this downtown Gotham rooftop is the Gotham Suites. An expensive house of luxury for the wealthy dogs of this city. Tonight the mayor stays in the penthouse suite, waiting for his mistress. But she will find only a corpse.
“Tonight master, we finally reveal ourselves. Tonight we have our revenge,” he said, pulling a horned demon’s mask over his face. “Tonight the power of the Soviet Union will be felt….”
“Oh, blah blah blah…” A voice from the shadows.
“What? Who dares?”
“I mean, seriously. What IS it with you guys anyway? You super villain types are so damn predictable. You’ve always got to monologue before you do anything….”
“Boy, you don’t know who you are dealing with.”
The man in the shadows shifted his feet, leaning ever so slightly into the light of the moon. The Demon could make out an ash grey combat uniform with an ammunition belt lashed to one leg. He could also see the man pulling a glove from his right hand.
“Yakity, yak, yak, Gregor. Of course I know who I am dealing with. Like you, I was trained by the best.”
“Who are you?” the Demon said, taking a step toward this unknown annoyance and resting his left hand on his holster. “Answer me, boy!”
“Seriously, do you think the KGBeast was all “yak yak yak” to no one in particular before he iced someone? No. The Beast was a pro. Saw his mark and killed it. Period. But you? Man, you really are a ham, huh?”
The Demon tried to answer but couldn’t. Not with that knife in his throat. The blade had slipped through the only seam in the armor around his neck and plunged deeply into his flesh.
“Gah…ack…”
The man from the shadows walked slowly and calmly up to the Demon and yanked the blade out. He didn’t bother to step away from the fountain of blood that followed the knife blade into the night air. The Demon dropped to the ground with a thud.
“Didn’t even see me throw that, huh? Man, am I good or I am good?” he said. “See, I didn’t blah blah yak yak about how I was going to kill you. I just killed you. And I only talked to you at all because I need you to step a little closer to me so I could get this sweet shot off. Man I just nailed it primo!”
“Uck…” The Demon tried to cover his wound with his hand, but his attacker drove the knife into his palm, nailing it to the roof.
“I mean, you have to be impressed with that shot. The only place on your whole suit where that would have worked. Zing! Gregor… oh Gregor…well, how rude,” the man said, leaving the dead assassin on the roof with the knife still stuck in his hand.
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:25:07 GMT -5
Alfred found him slumped in a chair in the cave’s forensic lab. Beneath Batman’s cowl was a day’s worth of beard growth. Although he could not see Bruce’s face, Alfred could tell by his body posture the man was exhausted.
Still, he wasn’t going to let pity stop him.
“Sir, I told you when you began this fool’s crusade that I would stand by you so long as your actions and motives remained reasonable and I could understand them,” he began. “Even when you tried to force everyone from you life when Miss Julie was murdered…”
“That’s ENOUGH Alfred….”
“…I still understood what you were doing,” Alfred said ignoring Bruce. “But I do not understand how you could harm a young man who has spent most of his life trying to please you!”
“Alfred…” Batman said, not moving, not looking at his long time friend. “There isn’t time…”
“Make it. Master Grayson is upstairs with a concussion. Perhaps a serious one,” Alfred said. “You did that to him. You. His partner and father. And unless you...”
Batman bolted from his chair. He did not take a step toward Alfred, but the menace of his gesture sent a chill down Alfred’s spine.
The pair stood motionless. Statues. Surely he won’t harm me, Alfred thought, a bead of sweat dancing slowly down the back of his neck. Surely he wouldn’t.
After a long moment, Batman’s body relaxed and he pulled his cowl back. His eyes were blood shot from lack of sleep.
“Alfred, we can talk about what happened with Dick later. We have a…I don’t know what we have,” he said, pointing to the screen on his computer.
On it was a DNA comparison of blood Dick collected from the Firefly murder to another was a sample labeled only “R.W.” Under the bottom of the screen in flashing red letters was one word.
MATCH.
“My word,” Alfred said. “There must be…that cannot be right, Sir.”
“It’s right. I ran the test twice,” Bruce said, pulling his mask back over his face. “There’s no mistake.”
“How would Master…” Alfred caught himself. Neither he, nor Bruce had even uttered the name in years. “How did his blood end up on this new Firefly fellow?”
Batman slumped back into his chair with a lifeless thud.
“It means the Wrath has decided to start killing petty Gotham criminals. He must have preserved the blood and it using it to taunt me….”
Alfred leaned over the computer screen, staring at the results and stroking his mustache.
“That hardly seems like the Wrath’s style, does it sir? His murders always have a purpose. This killing seems so random…”
“It fits. It’s the only explanation…”
“Sir…”
“It’s the ONLY explanation!” Batman said, bounding from his chair toward the parked batmobile nearby. “I’m going to check on Vicki.”
Alfred said nothing. He quietly sat in the chair Batman had just vacated and stared blankly into the darkness of the cave. He didn’t know what shocked him more. A drop of Jason Todd’s blood on an executed criminal or the fact that during that entire exchange Bruce couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:25:32 GMT -5
Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock both knew what had happened in the apartment. It only took a few minutes. All the pieces fit. Of course the forensic boys would tell them for sure, but they knew.
The Wrath had taken Vicki Vale.
“She’s dead commish,” Bullock said, rubbing his mammoth hands over his bald head. “This freak plays for keeps.”
Gordon walked out onto the balcony, hoping to find some evidence. But there was nothing. As always Wrath only left behind the evidence he wanted the police to have. In this case, a note found on the floor near Vale’s television.
And nothing else.
“What are you doing here, Jim? ” said a voice from above Gordon that was as course as sandpaper and cold as ice water. Gordon couldn’t help but chuckle. Of course Batman was here.
“Same thing you are, Batman,” Gordon said. “We’re still not sure how he got in. We think he went out the front door. The landlady called when she found the door ajar but no one was home.”
Batman dropped from the shadows onto the balcony and slowly rose to his full height. Sometimes Gordon felt like he knew less about Batman than a flat earther knows about geology. But he knew a man suffering from stress when he saw one.
“Jim, why are you here?”
“Pardon?” Gordon said, heading back inside. “This is a hell of a time to grow a sense of humor Batman. The Wrath has kidnapped Vicki Vale. Why the hell would you be…”
Gordon turned around and Batman was gone. He was really starting to get sick of that.
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:26:00 GMT -5
Most nights he can relax standing atop the spire at Wayne Tower. The highest point of the city. Holding onto the spire with one hand, Batman would lean out and look down at his city. From up there, Gotham’s burning soul couldn’t be seen. If he wasn’t who he was he might be even say it was beautiful.
If he wasn't what he is, that view would almost make him jealous of Clark's ability to fly. But he is what he is. Most nights.
Tonight he felt like someone else. Like something else. His breath was labored and short. His chest tight. His vision blurry.
Batman leaned out from the spire, hoping to clear his head and find comfort in an old habit. This should work, he says to himself. It should. Always does. But he doesn’t see Gotham’s bright lights. Only an image of Vicki, discarded by the Wrath as an empty husk sacrificed to his goddess, dances in his head.
“I don’t even know where to begin looking,” he says to the night air.
His breath quickens. He gets dizzy. He closes his eyes for a moment and tries to breath deep. But there are other images now. Old ones. His parents going into shock in a filthy alley. The cackle of a clown standing over Julie’s broken body.
A charred corpse wrapped in a red cloak and hood.
His body goes numb. Batman’s fingers slip away from the spire and his body starts to tumble toward the city below.
“Bruce you damn fool. You weakling,” he thinks before passing out. “You’re having a panic attack. How utterly mundane of you…”
Unconscious, Batman doesn’t feel the zip line snake out and wrap out around his chest. He doesn’t feel the violent jerk that stops his plummet to the street. Nor does he feel his body slam against the rooftop of Wayne Tower, or the air blast out of his chest.
Nor does he hear the words of man who saved his life.
“Not yet old man. No. Not yet.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Sept 8, 2007 4:26:40 GMT -5
TO BE CONTINUED…
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Post by mockingbird on Jul 28, 2011 11:11:24 GMT -5
To let us know what you think of this issue, please visit the letters page here!
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