Park Row:
Jim Gordon is lying on a hospital bed somewhere, life being pumped into him by machines. He should be there. In the shadows. Like always.
But no, there’s a war on the streets, someone behind this all, he can feel it. It didn’t take much for him to get into Park Row, Crime Alley, whatever you want to call it. He snuck through the sewers and just entered this building through the cellar access. What surprises him was the amount of gang members already here, already hiding in this place. Hiding? Waiting.
This is part of some conspiracy, he thinks. Someone shot Gordon and organized this crime wave.
But who? Batman hasn’t got time to think about the puppet master, only the puppets, as he fights his way through the hordes of gang members between him and the one he wants. Someone with some semblance of power. He holds back to start with. He doesn’t use all his strength, all his power, but these people… He kicks hard, aiming to wind, but the man he had just struck looks at him, his eyes dilated, bloodshot, and he realises something.
These aren’t your normal gang bangers. They’re on something. Something that’s making them aggressive, without the ability to feel pain. He kicks with all his strength, aiming to break something, crack ribs, puncture lungs with the shards of bone, but the man only stumbles back, his eyes wider and his pupils smaller.
“Not afraid. Not afraid.” The man dives for him, his hands like vices, tight around his neck and crushing his windpipe. “NOT AFRAID OF YOU. JUST A MAN.”
He gasps for air, the black creeping into his line of vision, and then suddenly sticks his fingers into the man’s exposed eyes, causing the criminal to scream in agony as he recoils from the agony, gripping at his eye sockets.
“You should be.” Batman grimaces, squats and kicks the man hard in the face, a wet snap as the man’s nose cracks open and blood pours from the wound.
The dozens of men around him circle the fallen junkie and the vigilante, and then roar in collective outrage, and pounce on Batman, their hands clawing, their feet kicking, and as the Dark Knight is lost in the attack, as he feels the punches, the broken bones, he grimaces. This is going to be harder than he thought.
He presses a button on his belt and his cape expands outwards, pushing the men away from him, gaining him some breathing room, and then he flicks two batarangs into his hands.
“Come on then!” He cuts and slashes, the burning in his chest keeping him aware. He isolates it. Contains it. Stuff’s it into the back of his head and presses on. They aren’t all amped up on steroids, he can tell. But it’s not steroids. No, it’s something more powerful. Super steroids, maybe. Or it’s street name: Meta Buzz. Maybe even some derivative of Miraclo, some cheap version available through the higher up dealers. Same difference.
He ignores it, and fights on, punch after punch, kick after kick. His costume is torn, gunshots rattle his skull as he kicks weapons out of hands and dodges bullets. He’s fast, sure, but as the fight wears on he’s loosing speed, he’s weakening. He needs to end this. In one swift movement he stuffs nose plugs in his nostrils and throws down knockout gas, the pellets exploding on impact with the floor. Some choke and fall, some press on, tears falling from their eyes as they strain themselves to hold their breath. They all fall in the end, the gas absorbed through the skin, getting into their bloodstream. He looks around as the gas clears and there are bodies piled around the room.
Batman leans against the wall and falls back, catching his breath whilst he can. He cracks his neck and then stands, minutes passed, then grabs the man he had came for, one of the many caught in the fight he had just won. He pulls a syringe from his belt and jabs the man in the neck, bringing him screaming back to consciousness.
“Talk to me.”
“AHHHHH!” He jerks around in Batman’s grip, the vigilante holding him off the floor, his fingers digging into the criminal’s shoulders. “AHHHHHHH!”
“I know seven ways to really hurt you like this. Nine if I get inventive. I can break nineteen bones in your upper body with one movement, and I can keep you awake throughout. I'm getting
impatient tonight, but I am asking you
nicely. Talk to me." He pulls the man close, and then hisses loudly as he speaks again.
Who ordered the hit on Gordon? TALK!”
“I dunno man I dunno
please god don’t kill me I don’t know anything oh god oh god we were just here to take down some guys who were supposed to be meeting here but before they got here you arrived and oh god don’t kill me I don’t
deserve to die I’ll be good I’ll be good I have
kids a
wife and I don’t deserve to
die…”
“Others?” Batman pulls another syringe from his belt and jabs the man again, knocking him out and dropping him to the floor. Before Batman can think about what he had just heard the doors to the bar are kicked open, and bullets fly everywhere.
Others. Batman shoots a grapnel into the rafters and flies up, vanishing into the shadows. He had fought one gang lying in wait for another. The men leap into the room, stepping over and onto bodies as they point their weapons at the ceiling.
“It’s the Bat!”
“He cleared out the other side!”
“Is he one of us?”
“Sure looks that way…”
“Maybe we should give him a pass…”
“Hell, Batman’s an
equal opportunities ass kicker, he’ll take any of us down if he gets the chance… So we might as well return the favour…” A man picks up one of the unconscious gang bangers, and puts a gun to his head. “But let’s clear up his mess 'fore we do."
He pulls the trigger and blood sprays everywhere before Batman can think to react.
“No!” Batman dives down from the rafters and catches a slug in the shoulder, the bullet glancing off his shoulder and into the night sky above. His cape catches most of the barrage, the material giving an illusion of size that isn’t actually there. Batman hits the ground running; first disarming the shooter with a kick so hard it fractures his arm. He has no time to nice. He needs to be effective. Powerful. He exhausts his arsenal of batarangs within the first couple of seconds, throwing wave after wave of the tiny shurikens at the weapons the men hold, causing them to cry out in pain as the projectiles dig into flesh and scrape against bone.
It’s when they are disarmed he can get creative. Almost relish it. Almost, but not quite. He brings himself back from the brink, and throws his cape behind him, the tattered cloth half the size it was before.
“I’ll give you five seconds to hit the floor. Or I can hurt you.” He grimaces. “And I WILL hurt.”
A few of the men look around and then fall to their knees, but others shake their head, laughing. One steps forward, piercings in his eyebrow and lip.
“What, you’re just one man, you ain’t got a chance…” The man looks at the men on the ground, and rolls his eyes. “Get the hell up guys…”
A man on the floor looks up at Batman. “I’m sorry, he’s new in town Bats…”
“The hell?” The man pulls a weapon from his belt and shoots the man in the leg, causing him to cry out in pain, and Batman motions forward, his teeth tightly clenched together, his hand outstretched. “£$%^ing cowards! ONE MAN! GET THE £$%^ up! COME ON!”
A batarang flies through the air and pierces the awkward silence created, and as it knocks the weapon out of the gangbanger’s hand and falls to the floor, Batman looks up to the night sky, a smile almost on Batman’s lips.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”
“Yeah.” Nightwing leaps from the rooftops and lands beside his mentor. “But I’m
not.”
He turns to the other men assembled, and then points his finger at them. “Do as the man says.”
“Wait.” Batman walks slowly towards the heavily pierced gang banger and grabs his face. “You’re going to
help me. Or you’re going to
scream for me.”
