#35: The Big Heat (HoM / Biermann)

Overlooking Gotham City:

“This was the costume Bruce wore when I ran with him as Robin,” said Batman slowly, tapping the yellow oval-ed bat insignia upon his chest. “This is the costume that I remember with a fond smile and hints of laughter. Back when crime wasn’t all about a body count and how much blood you could spill.” He smiled serenely. “The good old days, if you consider chasing down sociopathic madmen dressed in brightly colored spandex good, I mean.”

“I don’t think we are, Dick,” said Batwoman as they watched the sunrise. “I think we’re supposed to miss the days that things were easier, but to call them good?”

“What, you didn’t like the green short shorts and the pixie boots?”

Barbara nearly blushed as she took the line from the back of her utility belt. “We headed to the apartment then?”

“Yeah,” said Dick, as he threw his line out. “Race you?”

Batwoman didn’t even reply, she leapt from the building and soared away from the watching Caped Crusader. Dick smiled, and followed, heading toward the secondary Cave location in the city, located inside Bruce Wayne’s Gotham City penthouse apartment building.

An Unknown Location In Gotham City:

“Don’t I know you?” she said, lustful tones leaving lustful lips and leaving a lustful impression on the man they were directed at.

“Can I call you Polly?” he replied, his stubby fingers gliding down her thigh.

“You can call me whatever you want, darling, you’re the one paying,” she giggled, and the man moved uncomfortably at the sound. “Sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you… wait… what… NO!”

The knife moved delicately, deep and fast, memorised incisions at precisely the right place, and he knew, this man, wearing his hat and a smile, that everything had to be just right.

“Polly… Polly… Polly…”

Gotham Central:

“You alright, Commish?” Harvey Bullock had popped his head into James Gordon’s office. “After your little home invasion escapade, I was just wondering if you were holding up alright…?”

James Gordon looked up from his desk. He’d finished some paperwork, and was nearly ready to leave. “I’m off, Harvey. My daughter’s back in town and I just had some work to do before taking the day. Sarah’ll be doing her job as Deputy Commissioner if you need a big gun.”

Bullock watched Gordon as he put on his coat. Harvey was a detective, and a damn good one, and the Commish was almost… happy. Sure, Barbara was back in Gotham, and Harvey always knew that she was good for him, but it was something else too. Like a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“Cheers, Commish. Appreciate it.”

“Harvey, come on,” said Gordon. “We were partners for too long for you to keep calling me Commish. It’s Jim to my friends.”

“We’re friends?”

“Why do you think I put up with you, Harvey?” Gordon nudged Bullock in the arm as he left his office and locked the door. “You just coming on for the Day Shift?”

“Yeah, thought I’d stay in the light for a month, sick to my stomach of traipsing about the sewers at night and what not.”

“All that effort to bring in Sionis, to bring down the Black Mask, and he escapes due to a mix-up with his medication, kills three on his way out, and we lose track of him. Drives me insane, this city does.”

“You ain’t the only one, Commish. You ain’t the only one.”

The Narrows:

The apartment was suffocating him, the walls were closing in and he couldn't breath. The costume was bad enough, strips of leather tied together in a fevered rush to be out on the streets, in the night, but this was just maddening. Inefficient. Not very Batman. He cracked open the window, and the warm air that stung him made him realize that Gotham was on fire. The sweltering heat floated up with the flies and into Jason's sweaty apartment. Not very Batman at all.

Jason Todd looked over to the air-con unit, and swore as he realised it was still broken after one of his turns. He peeled off the costume and padded around the apartment naked, feeling the air, albeit stifling, on his skin. Gotham was embracing him, he knew that.

Jason thought back to the last time he was in Gotham City during the Big Heat, and memories stirred in him that he hadn’t pondered on for a long time. Bruce was showing him the city. He was showing the young Jason the foxholes he’d built across the city, with spare costumes, spare equipment, rations, computer terminals, everything Bruce would ever need. The caped crusader had told him that day if he ever needed to lay low, these were the places to head for.

“Wait,” he whispered to no-one but himself, “wait one stinking £$%^ing minute…”

The memory was like a bee sting direct to his brain. The Narrows had a foxhole. Full to the brim with old uniforms and old equipment… he pulled on a shirt and jeans, grabbed his leather jacket, and pulled on his hat. And he remembered right where it was.

Gotham Underground:

Roman Sionis threw the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He was becoming reliant, and it had only been a few days. He’d paid off an old friend to reacquire his old mask, and he had it placed on the head of his desk, staring back at him like a skull. The skin left on his face was hardening, and that was a good thing, he thought. He intended to make some calls, bring in a specialist, an old friend, but until then he’d have to self medicate, and by that, he meant downing as many of these painkillers it took till he couldn’t feel the fact that half his face had been gouged off his skull. He kept touching his face. He knew he shouldn’t.

“This isn’t fair,” he mumbled to himself.

“What isn’t, Roman?” Henderson, his second-in-command from the good old days looked up from where he was sat, newspaper on his lap. He himself was wearing a mask, and it was probably a good thing too, to hide the disgust that was apparent on everyone else’s faces. He was the only one he had let call him by his first name.

“We had Gotham, Henderson. We had an entire empire, and it got pulled down because we made certain… concessions for the Batman. Joined forces and got scattered. Now look at me, Henderson,” he pointed at what was left of his face, “I’m a freak. At least before there was the illusion that it was just a guise, but I’m Black Mask, now and forever, and because of that… well… it means things are going to change on the street too.”

“You want me to call in the boys? I mean, to be honest Roman, a lot of the False Facers fell in with other crowds. The Jokerz that are running around, causing mayhem? That’s a few of our boys hopped up on dilute Smilex. You trained ‘em too well.”

“Henderson, don’t ever call me Roman again. It’s Black Mask. I’m only being truthful with my appearance now. Not that I mind you guys hiding behind metal and plastic, that’s all well and good, but let’s not make any mistakes. Send the boys out. If the old guard don’t want back in put two in their heads. One to kill and one for the old times. We’re back. Black Mask and his ever reliable False Face society. Let’s make them scared, Henderson. Let’s make them cry themselves to sleep!”

The Cave:

“How was… patrol… without me… then,” asked Tim Drake, as he tried his best to follow Dick’s lead on the gymnasium, the two of them once again training.

“Don’t worry, we didn’t take down any super-villains. I know how much you want a crack at them and woe-betide me if I got in the way of that.” Dick wasn’t even struggling. He was in his element. He threw himself into the air, spun around 360, and landed perfectly atop the metal frame, perched like a cat waiting for his partner to catch up. “Barbara was back in town. Thought it’d be nice to catch up.”

“You always catch up with her, Dick,” replied Tim, as he held tight to the frame. “All you do is catch up when she’s around. Come on…”

“Tread careful, kid,” Dick launched himself higher than the frame, and his hands found the specially installed swing that he’d screwed into the ceiling himself. He somersaulted to the next swing, and then landed on a perch against the cave wall. “Please.”

“I guess. Fine.” Tim slid down the frame work and landed on the soft, padded floor. “So, Gotham is undergoing one of it’s fabled heat waves… fun times.”

“Use the pool upstairs if you’re warm. The air conditioning in the cave is perfect though, f you want to work out.” Dick shrugged. “Every few years, things get hot. Now, the question is… who should we be on the look out in this weather?”

“Firefly? Wouldn’t he enjoy the opportunity to create a blaze that wouldn’t go out? But no, we put him away, and the New Arkham Asylum is near impregnable…”

“…By design,” replied Dick. “Good answer though. Mr Freeze maybe, but you know he’s on the straight and narrow at the moment. We could get a bit of Rogue trouble if they deem us worthy of their criminal presence, but they barely leave the Twin Cities. Heatwave and Captain Cold would be interesting to take down.”

“Aren’t they just Firefly and Freeze copies?”

“No, spend a day with Kid Flash and you’ll learn that the Rogues aren’t cheap imitations of anyone. But again, good thinking. You’d use the same tactics to take them down, but with creeps like Captain Cold? You know better than to take them on yourself. You’ll be ready one day, but right now…”

“No, I understand,” said Tim. “So, are you going out on patrol with her again tonight?”

“No. Not patrol. Something bigger for tonight. Something more important. We’re going down to Gotham Harbour. But first,” said Dick, a sinister smile on his lips, “you need your shots…”

The Narrows:

The planks came loose with little effort on Jason’s part. This was one of the foxholes he’d memorised, and he just needed to get inside for a cornucopia of equipment to be at his finger tips. The pet shop it was located beneath had been closed for years before Bruce Wayne had acquired it. He kept it locked up, doors bolted and chained. The only way to get inside was through the roof, to journey from the top floor to the bottom, and even then… this place had fallen into disarray. Damage from Ra’s Al Ghul and the Joker’s rampage was apparent, walls had crumbled over, and so Jason had spent the last two hours, in the sweltering heat of Gotham’s big summer meltdown, clearing plasterboard and brick off of the access to the basement. He wiped the sweat from his face and breathed in the dusty air, and finally came to a stop when he found what he was looking for. He pushed a small panel on the floor and it hissed open, revealing a hand print recognition lock, and as he pondered the mechanism, he began to wonder… with his apparent death at the hands of The Wrath, would Batman have changed the settings? Would Jason Todd be locked out of even more of his legacy? A man rendered into being a boy being pushed out into the dark.

“$%^& it.”

He pressed his hand against the cold surface and prayed. <‘Redwing’ biometric imprint recognised. Access. Granted.>

“Hhh. Redwing. Not gone by that in years…”

A hatch seemed to rise up from the ground, and then slide out across the floor. Jason climbed down the ladder inside, and was amazed at what he saw. Old costumes, the versions of the uniform that Bruce used to wear when Jason was a boy, were hanging in pods, and beside the pod… a Robin costume where a Redwing used to hang.

Jason’s stomach clenched like a fist. He looked around the small, dank chamber and realised that he had everything he needed to continue his crusade. The Lucius Fox constructed costume hanging there was more armoured than the leather costume Jason had built himself, and as Jason pressed a small button in front of a computer terminal, he began to grin.

Batarangs. Hundreds. Of batarangs.

“Hell yes.”

The Cave:

Dick Grayson and Tim Drake were not long gone from the Cave when Alfred Pennyworth began to clean. It was best to keep himself preoccupied when the boys were out on the field. He’d be near if Dick contacted him, poised with sage advice and a sarcastic remark, but right now, he cleaned. He hoped that the boys would return from their mission soon, as the loyal manservant of the Wayne family had plans for the evening, but until then… he dusted. He was a few minutes into this when an alarm sounded and a large alert appeared on the screen.

<Satellite Cave//Location: Narrows//Activated by: Redwing>

“Hmm.” Alfred Pennyworth was alone in the cave. He arched an eyebrow and then shook his head slowly, as he closed the warning message and then resumed his work.

Upper Gotham:

“Doctor March, I’m not sure about this--” Kirk Langstrom wiped his brow. “I’m really not sure.”

“The hypothesis is sound, and preliminary animal tests are positive. The serum would allow deaf people to attune their senses to a certain type of… echo location. It sounds on the far side of the mad scientist spectrum, but you yourself have experimented with… bat gland extract, wasn’t it? That’s why I’ve called you here, I believe that you may have certain expertise that would allow us to push this project forward.”

“My wife, she left me because of my research and other, eh, complications. This project will hit a dead-end sooner rather than later. Or end terribly--”

Doctor March stabbed Langstrom in the neck with a syringe full of sedatives, and watched him drop to the floor. “Only if you don’t give me what I want.”

“Ghhhh?” slurred Langstrom, as he was pulled hard into the darkness.

Doctor March crouched down beside Langstrom, and smiled. “Don’t you understand, Kirk? I want your blood.”

The Harbour:

The Grey Ghost was on patrol. Hopping from one roof to another, looking for trouble. This was his patrol route, he knew what he was looking for and if the information he had gained off the punks and the scum was correct… then he was right on mission. He landed hard on the concrete, the stone beneath him giving somewhat, and then he looked up, the wind suddenly whistling to a stop. He trudged, heavy footed, toward the warehouse, and with a solid, lingering kick, broke down the doors that lead inside.

A small man, clad in a black, his face obscured by shadow and the darkness of the warehouse, cleared his throat as the Grey Ghost took another step inside. “Who’re you supposed to be?”

“Vengeance. Vengeance for those that have been hurt by your misdeeds. Your murderous intent. Your villainous agenda. I am that vengeance. Incarnate.”

The figure in the darkness grinned. “Whoa dude. One, you could not be more wrong. Two, totally too pretentious.”

Without any warning, Batman plummeted from the rafters above, slamming his boots into the Ghost’s shoulders, and toppling him over. Following through with his momentum, he sprang over to the person in the shadows. “Clear the area, Robin. This is something I have to do by myself.”

Stepping out from the shadows he had goaded the Ghost from, Robin pulled off the black coat and fired a grapnel up high, just as the mysterious and dangerous vigilante climbed back to his feet. “You… dare…? After I broke you into tiny little pieces the last time we faced?”

“You aren’t the Grey Ghost,” Batman parried a blow unleashed by the ‘Ghost’, dodging and analysing the style as it was used against him. “The Grey Ghost was a hero from the 1950s. He was a good man. Forgotten by the world because he didn’t care for fame or recognition. All he wanted… was to do… the right thing… by the right people…” Dick broke the frenetic close quarters combat and jumped back. “The Grey Ghost never killed. He never murdered. He grinned from ear to ear as he fought against all the bad things in the world. Gotham City forgets that it used to be something better than the corrupt establishment it is today.”

“I am the Ghost! The Ghost in Grey!” The Grey Ghost finally connected his fist with Dick’s chest, and the Caped Crusader flew backwards, through rotten wooden boxes and into the far wall. “You are not Batman! You are a pretender! A fraud! You try to deceive and confuse me with words that mirror your own ongoing deception! I fought Batman! I defeated Batman! You. Are. Not. HIM!”

Batman pulled himself up, and smiled. “Gotham Mercy was hit hard by the Joker’s bombing campaign. Whole wards were destroyed, Gotham suffered hundreds of causalities. They recovered all the bodies. All. Except. One.”

The Grey Ghost leapt at Batman, slamming his elbow in the Caped Crusader’s face and then punching him in the chest, again and again. Batman grunted in pain, blow after blow raining down upon his being. “You don’t know me!”

“I do, and I’m sorry.” Blood bubbled up from Batman’s mouth, but the smile was still there. “This is my fault.” Dick kicked the Ghost hard in-between his legs, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and then following through with a head butt that sent the Ghost stumbling back. “Your muscles have atrophied, yet you still punch harder than a freight train. The muscle memory is there but you’re slower, yet you still punch faster than the eye can follow.”

“Hhhrr…” the Ghost fell to his knees, staring at his opponent through weary eyes, and then pulled himself back up, a frenzy creeping into his mindset. “You… you…”

“Your name isn’t the Grey Ghost. You’ve been in a drug-induced coma for over ten years. Your name is Constantine Drakon. You woke up and the world was a ruin and your mind was fractured. I don’t know how or why you claimed the mantle of the Grey Ghost, but it’s not your mantle to take.”

“Constantine…” the Grey Ghost’s eyes widened. “…Drakon…”

Batman nodded slowly. “And I’m going to take you down.”

Drakon pulled the hat and the mask off, and then looked at his hands. “You… did… this… to… me. Stole my life! Stole ten years of my existence! I… remember… everything…” He charged toward Batman again, and Dick sidestepped, and slammed his elbow into the back of the villain’s neck. “--hrrrgh”

“You’re not going back to that hospital bed, Drakon.”

“You won’t take me alive!” replied the villain with a hiss as he slowly turned around, his movements groggy, “I’ll murder everyone you ever cared for!”

“You’re going to prison.” Drakon punched Batman again, but the blow glanced off the Caped Crusader’s chin, and the assassin fell to the floor. “For all the murders you have committed. And you will never get out.”

“Wha…” Drakon looked up from the floor, “what… have you done…”

“This entire warehouse is being pumped full of a sedative aerosol powerful enough to knock out an elephant. This was a trap, Drakon. I don’t need to keep you stuck in a coma for a decade to defeat you. All I had to do was use my head. You’ll wake up in Blackgate Penitentiary, the Slab, or wherever they want to ship you to, and you’ll be safe in the knowledge that the ultimate assassin… was beaten by the Batman. Again.”

“Twice… you did this… twice…” Drakon stumbled back up, only for Batman to punch him in the face. “I was… wrong… you aren’t… a fake… you’re more than… he… ever… hhhnn…”

Robin dropped to the floor from the roof, and landed nearby. “That was mad, Batman!”

Batman stumbled back against the wall, clutching his chest. “Crap, I think he broke a rib… or five…” He wiped his mouth of the blood and then looked at his gauntlet, “Bullock is on his way with a Wagon for Drakon. Good. Another loose end tied up.”

“Batman, come on,” said Robin, “you took ever punch he gave! You just stood there and took it! That was major badassery!”

“Please, Robin,” replied Dick, “he needed to exert himself. I need to get the truth out. It was all part of the plan. And so was the internal bleeding…”

The Iceberg Lounge:

Oswald Cobblepot wheeled himself onto the revamped ballroom floor of his renowned Iceberg Lounge, his men flanking him. He’d gotten use to the chair now. He clenched his toes and smiled as he saw Black Mask flanked by the False Face Society, knowing something that they didn’t…

“Black Mask. Or is it Black Face? Is that un-PC? Who knows anymore. This world we live in…” The Penguin squawked with glee. “It’s been a while, Roman. Your surrounded, by the way, by the finest bodyguards money could buy. And when I say that, I’m not talking about your False Facers. I’m talking about all the men in their suits, on the balcony, training their weapons on you.”

“I’m aware, Oswald,” said Black Mask, slowly. “I’m aware of our present situation, as well. I’m aware that my empire crumbled. And I’m aware that you’re currently the… lapdog… of Boss Maroni, Carmine Falcone and Rupert Thorne.”

The Penguin thought he saw Black Mask smile, if you could call him that. “Did you come here just to reiterate our places in the world? You, the bottom of the pile? Me… somewhere above you?”

Black Mask slowly walked toward Penguin, and all the men in their suits around the ballroom floor trained their weapons on him. He put up his hands. “I was sorry to hear about your accident… such a shame for a man in his prime to be cut down so. I too had a certain… incident. I’m currently dealing with it… probably just as well as you are.” The Black Mask gently tapped the wheel on Penguin’s chair and again, smiled. “Nice model. Sturdy.”

Cobblepot’s foot itched. What did Roman know? “Do you have a point, Mask?”

“A truce. The families right now… I don’t feel like dealing with them. But you, Oswald, are a broker of information. And I want it all. We’ll keep our arrangement a secret, and you’ll give me the Intel I require, when I require it.”

“What… what makes you think I’ll betray my comrades in the other three Families?”

“You aren’t part of their personal clique, Oswald. They don’t respect you, do they? They’re old blood, old style, and you’re a whole different thing in this fancy world we live in. You’re a novelty until you piss them off, and I know that time will come soon. You join up with me, there won’t be four families. Falcone, Maroni, Thorne, they’ll be off the board. Leaving you and me and the world for the taking. Doesn’t that just excite you?”

“How do I know you won’t put a bullet in the back of my head when this is all said and done?”

Black Mask nodded slowly. “A fair question to be asked.” He stepped back from the penguin, and then clicked his fingers. All the men in their suits, all of Penguin’s bodyguards, lowered their weapons. “These aren’t your men, Oswald. They’re mine. Have been for some time. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dog-food by now. Step up,” said Roman, slowly, “and be counted.”

Penguin looked around frantically. “Waaagh,” he whispered, “you make a valid point, Black Mask.”

“I know I do,” said Black Mask, before he put out his hand for the Penguin to take. “To the future of Gotham City.”

Gotham Central:

Deputy-Commissioner Sarah Essen sat in her office, and looked through the files on her desk. Jim was off spending time with his daughter. That was all well and good with her, Jim deserved to be happy, to have some time away from the office. With the ‘Hush’ fiasco in his home, it wasn’t him driving himself down further and further in the name of the job. Everyone needed their release, didn’t they?

“Boss,” Renee Montoya rapped her knuckles against the office door, and then popped her head in, “you won’t believe this. Bullock is heading back to Central with Constantine Drakon. One of the most dangerous assassins in the world, and Bullock got an anonymous tip from you-know-who to pick him up. Drakon’s been off the grid for over a decade! Another win for GCPD, right?”

“Hurm,” exhaled Essen quietly, “call the Feds. They’ll want first crack at him. I don’t want Drakon in the city longer than he has to be, and if it takes having the Suits down then that’s the price I’m willing to pay.”

“Alright, ma’am,” replied Montoya. “I thought… you’d be happy.”

“I am happy. Do you know what Drakon did last time he was active in Gotham? His killing spree was in the double-digits, influential men and women keeling over left and right because of some kind of unknown contract on their heads. Then he just… vanished… and the case was never truly closed. I don’t want a blight like that in this city. Not anymore.”

[/b]

Murder. He could taste it in the air. That twang of sin that shivers up your spine and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention at the expectation of it. Murder. Jason Todd leapt from the rooftops and soared down, the costume just right now, no self flagellating pain, just the sleek memory of times gone past, and the warm air in his face. He landed hard. That was his choice. Recoil sent hard shock through his legs, but he didn’t mind. Murder. Buck’s Row was where the call came from. The Narrows were once Gotham’s last vestibule of class. It didn’t last long. Crime poured into the area, the Old Money stuck to their high rises in Central Gotham, or their mansions overlooking the city. peered over the ledge, and looked down upon the citizens he vowed to protect. Or avenge.

“…Jus’ some whore.”

“Find any ID when you were rummaging through her handbag for cash?”

“Nah, sorry.”

“Billy…”

“Hhf. Fine. Rachel Ellis. She’s probably got a sheet as long as my--”

“Shut up. Ellis. Thinking… thinking… yeah, we’ve picked her up for solicitation on the odd occasion she wanders… wandered… out of the Narrows. If she kept her business inside this fair island, s’all well and good, but you never know nowadays.”

Cops. Dirty GCPD cops, festering inside the Narrows like rot in a crippled man’s bones. Maggots and worms feeding on the dead flesh and the exploitation of humanity. Jason Todd didn’t like the way they looked down on the woman, her throat slashed, meat and blood gawping for the world to see. Her abdomen was a slashed to shreds, her entire lower torso was a lattice of knife wounds.

“Familiar,” whispered Jason, his cape whipping about him, “tastes of… history.”

A prostitute. “No.” Jason’s fingers tightened on the side of the building. The knife wounds. The arrangement of each slash and tear. His memory flickering with information memorised from his youth. “No. This is ridiculous.”

Concrete crumbled under his grip, old stone coming lose as the pressure he exerted grew more and more. The cops looked up, flashlights shone up and the Dark Knight pulled his cape to his face. “It’s d’Bat!”

Jason grunted. “The wounds. Do your homework. Polly Nichols… Jack the £$%^ing Ripper. You’ve… we’ve… got a copycat.”

Detective Darren Loomis watched as the silhouette vanished into the shadows once more. “Sonofabitch… it’s too hot for this £$%.^”

[/b]

The doorbell rang. Alfred Pennyworth was in Gotham City proper with Leslie Thompkins, ordered out of the Manor by Dick Grayson as to prevent the sarcastic repartee from reaching toxic levels. Master Grayson stumbled from the lounge from where he was lying and watching television to the front door, and opened the door.

“Hey, Dick,” said Barbara Gordon. “You look like crap.”

“You want to come in or insult me?” Dick laughed and moved to the side of the door.

The man-of-the-house was wearing a purple dressing gown and sweat pants, and his chest was thoroughly bandaged up, covering the damage inflicted by Constantine Drakon. Barbara’s fingers slowly moved down the bandages, drifted down his chest, and then she looked him straight in the eye.

“I want to come in.”

Dick closed the door after her.