#34: "Trial By Fire, Pt 1 (HoM)

"God." Dick Grayson had the police report and photos spread out all around him. The photos were horrendous, the crimes perpetrated beyond anything in his nightmares. Who could do something like this? He asked himself, as he read the reports from start to finish. The parents were slaughtered. Brutal. Quick. Efficient. But whoever did this... The children were barely recognizable as human beings. "Who would do something like this..." Dick stood up, and collected the pages together, before placing them in a drawer. "My God."

"Master Dick," Alfred's voice buzzed down from upstairs. Dick walked over to the wall, where the speaker was situated. "Lucius Fox has just arrived at the main gate. You have an appointment."

"I remember. I'll take the elevator to the upstairs ballroom, and come down from my bedroom. Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes."

"Understood, sir." The intercom cut off, and Dick headed to the south-east section of the Cave, and to the elevator that lead up into the mansion above.

Lucius Fox was one of the few men that Bruce Wayne trusted. Batman’s allies included Superman, Wonder Woman, and other members of the Justice League, but Bruce Wayne was a different matter all together. Now that Bruce was... gone... Dick had new responsibilities, and those included the business that the Wayne family had built from the ground up. He had to do his best to uphold the ideals that Bruce had stood for.



Norman Welker was the chief of medicine at Gotham Hope. He was a family man, a philanthropist, and a man who cared for his patients more than he needed to. He took his work home with him, he took his work to dinner with him, and one time, three years ago, he had taken his work to bed with him. His work had gone by the name of Thomas Flute, a patient under his exclusive care at Gotham Hope. The fact that Thomas Flute had been thirteen at the time didn’t mean anything to Norman Welker. He loved his job, he did his damnedest to uphold the standards hammered into him at Ivytown Medicine, and his work never reflected his life.

It was a sad day when Thomas Flute was found dead on Park Row, stabbed twenty-nine times in the neck and chest. Norman Welker cried all night, after he’d finished burning his clothes and using surgery-grade disinfectant to clean himself. The knife itself was melted down to slag in the Gotham Hope furnace, so what would he have to fear?

The dream was the same as it always was. The face of the boy that he loved staring out at him, asking him ‘Why?’ as the knife plunged through soft tissue and bone, blood spraying across the empty store front that he’d been lured to, that same scream that would split his eardrums like a crack through glass… The hand over his mouth, the sting in his neck, the fluttering of his eyes as he tried to open them but was pulled back into unconsciousness, and then that other face staring up at him, the large, blank eyes, the gas mask--

This wasn’t part of his dream.

“Ghhhuhhh!” He jerked away, clutching his neck. “Whuh, whuwh?” He looked around his bedroom, and then felt his face, as he gasped for breath. His body felt weak, he was starving yet his stomach felt like he had a boulder resting at the bottom of it, and he jerked abruptly to full consciousness. Dream. It had been a dream. Everything was okay. “Oh, God, God, that was, that was--” he felt his face again, “weird…” He had a beard. He shaved every morning, and he had a beard. Not overnight stubble, but a full-on beard. “What’s going on..?” He stood, wandered into his bathroom, and looked into the mirror. “God,” he rubbed his face, the haggard countenance in the mirror unfamiliar to him. He felt awful. “Oh, God.” His pyjamas weren’t buttoned up to the top, and he saw a hint of something over his sternum. “What is this?” He hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, and left out a whisper of terror. “Oh, my, my, my--” A surgical scar, partially stretched from between his pectorals to the bottom of his rib cage. He touched it, his fingers moving soft and slow over the bump beneath the scar about 4” in length. A weird flash hit him: the knowledge that if he’d done the surgery, the scar would have been nigh-on impossible to find, but then the truth smacked him across the face. A surgical scar. He rushed into his bedroom, and then saw the words scrawled across the wall in blood over his headrest. TELL NO ONE. He couldn’t breathe. He swore he couldn’t breathe. He fell to the floor, and clutched at his chest, his stomach fighting him tooth and claw. He staggered outside his front door, onto the landing, and the words followed him. New ones, all in blood, scrawled across his walls I KNOW ABOUT THE BOY. He stumbled down the stairs, and then saw the outside door, and the words dribbling down it: MINE NOW. There was something else on the door, and he moved toward it slowly, realising that it was an x-ray. He pulled it off where it was pinned, and held it up to the morning sunrise. It was an x-ray of a chest. Attached to the heart was a pacemaker, and a thin wire trailed down from there to the stomach, where another device was situated. In red, next to an arrow pointing at the device, was the words BOMB. He looked at the x-ray, and then ran his hand down his scar. “Oh, God.” He turned around, and saw the final words spread across the kitchen floor in the blood of his wife and son, who were seated at the table, their severed heads sitting in front of them. YOU NEVER LOVED THEM.. The words were right. Normal Welker wiped the tears from his eyes, and headed to the drinks cabinet, opened the scotch he had been saving for his son’s wedding, and began to drink.



"You want us to what?" Mark Shaw, Manhunter, current field leader of the Suicide Squad, was flanked by Mari Jiw McCabe, also known as Vixen, Mitch Shelley, (Resurrection Man) and June Moone, (Enchantress). Amanda Waller was sitting behind her desk, and looked up nonchalantly as Shaw spoke.

"You read the briefing." She stood. "And you understood fine, Shaw. If you've got a problem, you better speak up now."

Mark bristled with anger. "Batman. You want us to hunt down and arrest Batman. Ignoring the fact that you briefed the other members of the team without us, I want to know what the Hell is going on."

"This is a volunteer mission for you, Shaw. We don't need Manhunter, Enchantress, Vixen or Resurrection Man." She walked up to him, and jabbed her finger into his chest. She was a stocky woman, built like a brick house, with a look in her eye that could terrify small children. There was a reason she ran this team. "You're liable to freeze up. Let your skewed sense of right and wrong make the mission go south. I trust the others to do their job. You and yours? I don't have that trust."

Mitch Shelley shook his head. "We can all see what you're doing, Waller. Setting up a team most likely to murder Batman where he stands instead of taking him down. Well you're not going to win this time. We're in."

"Good," smiled Waller. "You think I want to send a team of homicidal maniacs into a heavily populated urban area? You're the leash. Do. Your. Jobs."



"How's he holding up, Alfred?" Lucius Fox removed his coat and handed it to Alfred, who smiled regretfully.

"As well as can be expected, Mr Fox. He's a strong man, like Bruce taught him to be."

"I still can't believe that Bruce is gone,” whispered Lucius slowly. “He shouldn’t have died the way he did. Alone.” He cleared his throat, and his voice returned to it’s normal tone. “He will be missed.”

"Yes, indeed," nodded Alfred.

"Lucius!" Dick hurried down the winding stairwell, wearing a pair of black trousers and a towel around his neck. and His hair was soaking wet. "I was having a shower, sorry about that." He put out his hand. "I'm glad you could meet me on such short notice."

"Anything for the son of Bruce Wayne," replied Lucius. "You had some business you wanted to discuss?"

"Yes, well, I’ve been thinking after our last talk in your offices," Dick patted his hair dry with a towel, and Alfred coughed as he handed him a white shirt. Dick smiled, handed Alfred the damp towel, drew on the shirt and began to button it up. "Thanks, Alfred." Dick led Lucius to the main living room, bigger than Fox's own home, and motioned for him to sit. "I don't want to tell you how to run the business. It's not my place, but I want to ask you some questions."

Lucius nodded slowly as Alfred reappeared and handed him a cup of tea. He took a sip, and nodded at Dick's words. "You are Bruce Wayne's son, Dick. I'm all ears."

"I want to know how we would go about acquiring Arkham Asylum."

Lucius nearly spat out his tea, but was able to contain himself. "Excuse me?"

"I am sick of that place, Lucius. Really, unbelievably sick. How many times have Scarecrow, Joker, Killer Croc, all of them, how many times have they escaped? I'm sick of the revolving door system they have, the corrupt sanity hearings they have. If you pay the people there they'll declare you sane and give you a slap on the back as you leave." Dick realized that he was now standing and gesticulating animatedly. He coughed, and sat back down. "Bruce and I spent night after night running after the criminals that escaped on a weekly basis, or running security detail on transfers. Batman shouldn’t have to get shot, stabbed, syringed, burned or frozen, just to have the villain he captures escape the next morning with the laundry.” He sighed. “Bruce was on the board, but I don't think that was enough. I want to see how we can acquire the controlling stake in the place. Improve the security. More thorough personnel checks. If we take complete control at Arkham, we can save so many more lives, can’t we? We can do this, right?"

Lucius rubbed his chin, and leaned back in his chair. There was a long silence before he spoke up. "This is a different kind of crime-fighting, isn’t it, Richard? It's doable. I'll get on it as soon as I get back to the office, draft up some papers, call the lawyers, do a bit of investigating. How long are you in Gotham for?"

"As long as I'm needed," said Dick, "Rachel understands my situation, my job at the law firm is waiting for me as long as I need it to be. I'm actually considering moving back to Gotham full time, but we'll just have to see what happens."

Lucius smiled. "I understand, Dick. Is that all? No more questions?"

"Not right now, but I have your number," laughed Dick. "Thanks for coming down, sorry I didn't have more for you, actually."

"Any time out of the office is time well spent," quipped Lucius. Alfred was waiting for them with Fox's coat when they walked to the foyer. "I'll give you a call tomorrow about what we can do."

"Thanks." Dick waved Lucius off, and Alfred was waiting for him when he turned back around.

"Arkham Asylum?"

"Yeah, you were listening?"

"You were shouting, Master Dick." Alfred shook his head. "That's a very proactive step you're taking, sir. Are you sure you should be bringing your public life and your private so close together?"

"As sure as I'll ever be." He pouted for a second, and then clicked his tongue. "I'm going to have to call the Titans. I have some business that’ll keep me in Gotham longer than expected."

"Oh? Are you awaiting Lucius' call? I'm sure I could forward it to you in New York."

"No, something else. A case."

"Shall I inform Master Timothy?"

"No." Dick shook his head. "Too soon. He handled himself well with Cornelius Stirk but I don't know... No. No, this isn't the time." He headed back to the grandfather clock and adjusted its hands. It wheezed open, letting a gust of cold air hit him square in the face.



“This is the third of these slaughters we’ve seen this month. We’ve been able to keep the press quiet, make sure there’s no public panic, but right now… we’ve got nothing.” James Gordon clicked a button, and a slide flickered onto the projector. “Eyes glued open. When that didn’t--excuse the bad pun--stick with one of the second scene victims, our killer removed their eyelids. Simply. Surgically. Whoever we are dealing with can work a knife. We’ve got a match on the glue that was used to do this to them, it’s industrial strength. And we’ve also got a link to family one and family two, and we’re running family three now. The first two both sent their children to the same day care agency. So, we have a lead. That day care is our next port of call. Sarge, Crowe, you’re on that.”

The two senior detectives nodded.

“Montoya, Allen, you’ll be checking out the background of all the employees at the place, as soon as Crowe works his smooth, English magic, and gets their records. I’ve spoken to Judge LaPlante, so it’ll be no problem. Do not kick up a fuss. Do not bring the media into this. There’s no need. We do this our way. Alright, adjourned, you’ll be reporting to Bullock with this.”

“Yessir,” replied Sarge, as he and Crowe headed for the door. “Sick sonofabitch that did this, Jesus, I need to take him down. I have to.”

“You looking for a promotion, Jackson?” asked Crowe.

“No, Nelson, I’m scared for my family, and goddamn do I hate that.” Jackson ‘Sarge’ Davies pressed the call button on the elevator, and turned to Nelson Crowe. “You don’t know how much.”

Crowe stepped inside the arriving lift, and lit his pipe. “I do, Jackson. I really do.”



He had been following Batman for a few weeks now. He kept his distance as best he could, and if his presence had been detected, however subtle Batman’s reaction, he dropped out of sight, and then retreated to an earlier position to continue his tracking. The vigilante kept to a very strict schedule, and a very strict route, but lately he'd been deviating slightly, and this concerned the man watching him. Not that he would show it. Or mention it. He cleaned his pistols, scrubbed the blood from his black coat, and looked at his mask. Tonight he would strike. He cocked his pistol. K-klak. "K-klak."



Nightfall. He could do more now, under cover of darkness, under the mask of the Batman. He would first have to head to the crime scenes in order to get a handle on what happened. And, as much as didn't want to, he would visit the morgue after that, probably in disguise. His mind filed back to the identities established by Bruce for these kinds of investigations. Danny Kline, caretaker, Randolf Fledermaus, medical consultant... He'd make his mind up later, but right now--

His earpiece picked up an ambient sound, twenty metres to his left. He ducked down, darted right, and took cover, as his microphone tuned into the sound. There was the noise of clashing metal, getting closer. He looked up, and ducked as a massive metal fist threw a punch. His cape flapped about as he somersaulted backwards, and then sprang back onto the ledge of the building. Three large robots trudged toward him.

Combat robots, presumably running on remote control. Familiar design, though he couldn't place his finger on it. Gotham City was not the place for this kind of creations. It was more akin to something that might be found in Metropolis. He took a C4 charge from a reinforced compartment in the back of his utility belt and leaped forward, swinging a bat-line in his other hand. He looped it around the arm of one robot and then tied it firmly to the head of another. Dick pulled back, and the robot lost its balance, and toppled toward the creation next to it. Dick laid the C4 and sprang forward, rolled, and dove for the building opposite, glancing down to check the alley below was empty. With a smile, he triggered the explosives. The two robots exploded in a maelstrom of shrapnel and smoke. The third robot trudged forward, heading for the ledge. Now let's see how far you can jump...

He took a grapnel from his belt, and attached another C4 charge to the end. He pulled the grapnel back, and took another device from his belt, half the size of the cell phone, and made of sleek silver, apart from a black button on its side. He'd wanted to try this ever since Bruce had mentioned it, ages ago. He pointed the jamming device at the robot, pressed the tiny trigger, and watched as the robot stopped moving, and toppled forward, toward the empty alley below. He flew down after it, and landed on its back, then proceeded to pry it open. He examined the wires, his ultrasonic radar on full alert, sending out undetectable sound waves that would alert him to any approaching hostiles. The operating systems looked familiar to the Dark Knight. US technology, Cadmus-level robotics. He found the main remote receiver inside the robot and yanked it out, clipping it into a node on his utility belt. He then upped the power discharge on his jamming device, and fused the systems completely with a direct burst to the inner workings. With the main remote receiver decoded by the tiny super computers in his belt make up, he would be able to track down whoever was controlling the robots and then take them down hard.

He spun around as his radar buzzed in his ear. Someone was behind him.

"Batman."

"Manhunter." Mark Shaw. He'd faced him in battle before. Received a very rude kick to the behind, when he was fighting side by side with the Teen Titans, against Shaw's... Suicide Squad. Damn. "What do you want?"

"For you to stand down. I apologize for my team-mate's foolhardiness. I did not wish for this to go the way it's going. But I need you to stand down and be taken into custody."

Batman did not reply. The buzzing in his ear was going crazy. There were bogies on his left and right, and the sensors in his boots could detect vibrations in the sewers below. Damn.

"Your actions brought about millions of dollars worth of property damage." Bruce, thought Dick. "Hundreds of wounded." Bruce. "Hundreds dead." Bruce. "Gotham is limping from a very deadly situation, one you put it in and you have been disavowed by the Justice League. We are aware of this. You no longer have membership in a UN sanctioned team." Bruce. "You must answer for your crimes. You have to understand that."

"If you had approached me calmly, I would have listened to your words. But you attacked me. You surrounded me with your goons." An icy chill filled the air. Killer Frost didn't like that comment. "It's not going to happen, Shaw."

"Shaw, stop pissing around and take him down," came a shout from above. Dick would have smiled if he weren't facing near-impossible odds. Killer Frost was there.

"No. We do this my way!" Mark pointed his finger up at the darkness.

So that's where Frost was... Dick calculated the distance.

Mark continued, "you're outnumbered. We will take you down."

"You can try." Dick was used the darkness offered by the cape to its best effect. His grapnel was back in his hand. "And you will fail."

"Then you offer me no choice." Manhunter stepped forward. "Take him down."

A wall of ice began to form in front of Batman, courtesy of Killer Frost. Batman whipped out his jury rigged-grapnel and fired it in front of Shaw. The C4 detonated on impact and sent a tremor into the sewers below. The alley began to collapse inward, and Batman leapt back, somersaulted off of the robot and onto the fire escape. The Suicide Squad descended upon him. He counted. Vixen was backed by Resurrection Man and Enchantress. Electrocutioner and a strange-looking man with a futuristic pistol clambered down the fire escapes on the opposite side of the alleyway. Shaw was dazed by the explosion, and Dick seized his advantage. He took another grapnel, fired it across the street, and flew high into the sky, away from his attackers.

Vixen was supporting Manhunter, who was struggling to stand. "Doesn't matter... Go... Go!" Vixen nodded, and her totem glowed for a split-second in the darkness. Then she was off, sprinting down the street. "Goddd..." He clutched his head, sparks flying before his eyes. He'd tried diplomacy. A bit strong-handed, maybe, but he'd tried. Now whatever came down on Batman was the Dark Knight's fault and his fault alone. "Mitch," he whispered into his ear piece, "Make sure... they don't... kill him..."

Mitch Shelley soared into the sky, powered by energies reminiscent of the missing Captain Atom. He could see Vixen sprinting down the street. Cavalier, Electrocutioner and Malthus were nowhere to be seen. Good, they could only strike from the shadows, their identities as villains too public to operate efficiently in such a public place. If Batman kept running, then they couldn’t catch up, couldn’t murder him… He spotted Batman sprinting across a rooftop and dove down. "Batman! Please, you know me! You know we wouldn't be doing this unless we had to."

Dick rolled toone side as the Resurrection Man landed in front of him, his hands blazing with quantum atomic energy. "Shelley." Batman looked at him for a second, and then stepped backwards off the edge of the building.

Mitch jerked forward as he attempted to catch him. He looked down into the alley below and suddenly was engulfed in a stream of super-fast hardening gel.

Batman quickly climbed back up, and let loose with an uppercut that knocked the apparent 'hero' toward unconsciousness. Mitch clutched at his face, trying but failing to scrape the stuff off.

"Radiation proof coolant. Permeable. You'll live." Batman jabbed him in the neck, knocking him out completely. He activated his link to the Cave, and spoke frantically. "A, I need an escape route, close as possible to my location."

An unfamiliar voice replied. “A, can't come to the phone right now, but Doctor Malthus will try his best to accommodate!” Damn! Batman glanced down at the remote receiver on his belt, and disconnected it from his belt as it began to spark. His communication systems were compromised! The Bat-Mite program on the computer would prevent any direct attack on his systems, and reroute any attempts to locate the Cave to Indonesia, but he now was cut off from any and all help. Thank God Tim wasn't here. “And to your left, you will see a robot about to break your face—“ Batman swung right, and thrust the jamming device into the robot’s chest, triggering a chain reaction that ignited its systems. “Not falling for that old trick then? Shame.”

"Batman!" Vixen landed atop the roof of the building and didn't stop sprinting. Batman braced himself to tackle her but then he noticed that she was slowing down, and that the entire building shaking with her every step. His eyes widened a split second before she hit--

Oh, no. She collided with him hard, and he felt his ribs shake as he was flung across the skyline. Rhino. Rookie mistake. He gritted his teeth in pain as he flew. Pressing a concealed button on his wrist, he sent a current through the cape. The material suddenly became rigid, allowing him to regain some control and direction. He soared over the river, and into the darkest part of Gotham City: The Narrows. He smashed through the window of an abandoned building, and landed hard against the far wall. He Batman clutched his chest and grunted in pain. "Yeah... That's a rib gone..." He leaned back, and breathed in deeply, trying to oxygenate his lungs as painlessly as possible. He let out a scream, but gathered himself, and took a second to recover. “Well that didn’t work…”

He might have lost them. Manhunter was their leader, and without him, for a while at least, they'd be directionless, inept. Vixen was headstrong, and Dick hadn't anticipated her sudden ruthlessness after Shaw was taken out. Shelley wouldn't go for the killing stroke, Bruce and he had run together once, and Bruce had held him in high regard. Malthus was a wild card. He had no experience with him, but he could make some major assumptions with his technological prowess. The jamming device was doing its job against the robots, but Batman didn't know what else to expect.

"I have awaited this moment, Batman!" A silhouette swung into the empty room, and Batman pulled himself up. "I have awaited this moment ever since I donned my costume and unsheathed my sword!"

Cavalier. Dick groaned inwardly. Was Waller scraping the bottom of the barrel with this line-up? Batman sprinted forward and dove through the window, using the suddenly squirming Cavalier as a shield against the glass.

"What are you doing?!" The villain sputtered.

"Improvising." He smashed his elbow into the villain’s face, took out a grapnel and fired it across the looming chasm. He kicked Cavalier into the empty warehouse opposite the hastily-exited apartment block, and then took off in another direction. He had to get underground. Head back to the Cave. Probably lose the belt as well-- there might be a tracking system in the circuits. They'd really done a number on him. He couldn't even call up the GCPD, but would they have listened to him anyway? He wasn't the most popular man alive right now, Bruce’s allying himself with Black Mask and Two Face’s men against Ra’s Al Ghul and the League of Assasins alienating him with the police department. He headed to the street below, pulled open a manhole, and, after attaching a breathing mask, slipped inside. When he was a kid, Bruce had made him memorise the layout of the entire sewer system, line by line, and when Dick himself had assumed the mantle of the Bat, he had re-memorised the post Apokolips invasion repairs. He was thankful for the meticulousness instilled into him by Bruce, as he headed east. All he had to do was avoid the c-line, and then... He paused, and looked to the right. The c-line held something very dangerous*. However, it was also the closest route to the junction needed to get him to safety. He connected another payload of C4 to his grapnel, his final batch, and headed down.