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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:37:58 GMT -5
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:41:25 GMT -5
Batman
Issue #26: "Agoge"
Written by Grant LaFleche
Cover by Ramon Villalobos
Edited by John Elbe |
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:42:15 GMT -5
From the diary of Alfred Pennyworth
I am often struck by the great irony of my current station in life. Many years ago, when the top of my scalp was not so bare, I left a life as an army medic and intelligence agent for the British government for a more peaceful existence. I was tired of the violence - the effects of which I either repaired or meted out – and longed for a simple routine. A sense of normalcy.
For a time, I found it in the employ of Dr. Thomas and Martha Wayne. But that was before. Before the dark times. Before a man with trembling hand stolen their life before their child. Before that child’s demons become an unwavering obsession. Before I was drawn back into a world I once longed to escape.
Of course, it is Bruce who metts out the violence these days, and I am often called to mend the wounds to his body. I left this world once because I could see plainly where it would end up and I had no intention of being food for worms before I was good and ready. But Bruce…he cannot make that choice. He can’t stop. I know he believes he could, if he so desired it. But the truth, the truth the great detective cannot see despite the mound of evidence before him, is that Bruce cannot stop. He will be Batman until the day he dies.
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:43:07 GMT -5
“Really, B, if you keep that up I will be force to call up a dentist to replace your fillings,” Alfred said, leaning back in the leather chair in the cave. “In any case, that has becoming rather annoying.”
The grinding of Batman’s teeth over Alfred’s headset stopped.
“Sorry, A,” Batman said. “This just doesn’t make any sense. The pattern’s been broken and I cannot figure out why.”
“Well turning your teeth into millet won’t help, B,” Alfred.said. “And to be honest, when it comes to him, is there really such a thing as a pattern?”
“Yes. Hard to see sometimes, but it’s there. You just have to squint. The Joker’s no different than any other homicidal dirt bag in this respect,” Batman said. “He cannot fight his compulsions. He couldn’t stop them if he wanted.”
“Hmmm,” Alfred said, punching up a view from Batman’s cowl-cam on the cave’s main computer. “I would not presume to debate you.”
On the screen, a gang of about a dozen men unload a truck filled with wooden crates. It took three men just to move one. The screen zoomed in one crate and Alfred could make out the logo on the side: Kord Enterprises.
“Dammit,” Batman said. “Kord. Probably telecommunications equipment from the looks of it. What the hell would the Joker want with that?”
Alfred had to admit he understood little about the Joker. Batman seemed to be the only one who did. To Alfred, the Joker was little more than murderous impulse given flesh and blood. His motivations seemed as impenetrable as the fogs of London.
“Perhaps he is going to sell it on the black market?”
“No,” Batman said. “Too high profile.Too easy to track. He wants this for a reason beyond immediate gratification.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:43:31 GMT -5
Earlier that night Bruce had explained what was troubling about the apparent change that has overcome the Joker.
First was the Joker’s recent takeover of several of Gotham’s minor gangs.
“Would-bes, wanna-bes and could-never-bes” is how Batman described them.
The Red Warriors biker gang was the first. The Joker murdered half of them in a single night. The grim scene in the biker clubhouse was so barbaric, Batman said even Gordon had gone white in the face.
“Typically, that would be it,” Batman had said. “He uses what muscle he had collected to plot out a series of killings and in the process murder his new posse. Remember the Neville-Street Bank Gang?”
“Oh dear, yes,” Alfred said, fitting Bruce’s utility belt with extra batarangs. “Nine men committed a daring heist of Gotham First National. Each one killed during the robbery.”
“Exactly,” Bruce said. “The Joker doesn’t build gangs. He assembles teams of expendable mooks to do his dirty work and kills them when he pleases.”
But this was different. After the Red Warriors, the Joker murdered the leaders of the North Town Hammers and the West End Bloods, forcing the rest of the gang members to join him. Armed now with more muscle, the Joker gathered up elements of Intergang before going after the grand prize – members of the False Face gang. To make the matter clear, this emerging criminal enterprise had even taken a name.
Jokerz.
“I cannot imagine Black Mask is going to be thrilled about that,” Alfred said, as Bruce slipped into his batmobile.
“No, he won’t, wherever the hell he disappeared too. So far his losses have been more than dozen men, and he hasn’t retaliated.”
“Giving the Joker what? 40?”
“53 and counting. Still not enough to be a major threat, but with Two-Face and Maroni in jail, Cobblepot out of action and now Falcone dead…” Batman said, his voice drifting off. “Something wicked with this way comes, A.”
“Poetry, sir?”
“No. The ground is shifting. I can feel it,” he said. “A, start a full coms search. I want to know where Black Mask is. If he’s hiding, on the run, dead. Whatever. I need to know and I need to know yesterday.
“Yes sir.”
“He’s broken the pattern, A. Something has changed. The Joker doesn’t build gangs.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:44:07 GMT -5
From the diary of Alfred Pennyworth
In fact, sometimes I think Bruce has been the Batman – in spirit if not in body – since the moment he witnessed his parents’ murder. Something broke in the dear boy that day, and it’s never healed. It never will heal. Any rational person would look upon Bruce’s life as Batman and would, correctly, surmise his actions are those of a madman. Bruce’s attachment to his parents’ murder is not just tragic, but seems to me irrational. Many people lose their parents. Too many in Gotham City. But most learn to live with the loss. Bruce does not. His loss remains an open wound, but one he refuses to even attempt to heal.
I’ve come to believe that it is not just that my charge cannot get past the death of Thomas and Martha, but he refuses to. Should he even let go and move past their killing, Batman would die and Bruce would lose the core of what he is.
Despite the absurd and tragic irrationality of Bruce’s life, there is something else to be said. The crime that spawned the Batman and keeps Bruce trapped in the crushing grip of a 10-year-old’s grief has been a boon for Gotham City. The short sighted often comment that Gotham didn’t become the mad house it often is until Batman arrived. I’ve even heard Commissioner Gordon make a similar claim, warning Bruce that the presence of Batman will cause an escalating arms race between the forces of justice and crime. Perhaps there is a truth to that. But the fact is also that this city was well on its way before Bruce found his totem. His arrival came just in time to prevent the city of ripping itself apart.
Bruce’s childhood loss is Gotham’s gain. It is impossible to say Batman has not saved lives and made Gotham more livable. And I am ashamed to say it has occurred to me more than once that the murder of my old friends might have been a necessary tragedy. I always push such thoughts from my mind, but one does wonder…
Nevertheless, there have been a few bright moments in Bruce’s life. And perhaps none more so than when he first met Jason Todd…
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:44:57 GMT -5
“I’ve tracked the serial number on that crate to something called Project Ares that Kord Enterprise developed on contract to the state department, B,” Alfred said over the head set. “Hmm…ah, yes it was created in co-operation with Wayne Enterprises.”
“Project Ares is a military grade com-system, A. Hard encrypted. Very difficult to hack or crack,” Batman said.
“How difficult?”
“So difficult that we’re using it right now,” Batman said. “Still, initiate scramble protocols.”
“Already have,” Alfred said. “And the Joker wants it why?”
“I don’t know,” Batman said, grinding his teeth again.
“Should I alter Commission Gordon?”
“No,” Batman said. “We need more intelligence first. I’m going to follow…wait, what was that?”
Alfred scanned the feed from Batman’s cowl cam but saw nothing. The image moved slowly from right to left as Batman scanned the area. The Jokerz were scrambling, ducking behind anything nearby. The truck. Garbage cans. Boxes. Then Alfred saw why. Two bodies were laying under the truck they were unloading.
“There. Behind the vent shaft. Top right.”
Alfred tapped the key board causing the image to zoom in and saw it. The figure of a man in shadow. Moonlight glinting faintly from the muzzle of a rifle. Then a muted flash and another thug fell dead.
“My word,” said Alfred. The video feed became chaotic as Batman moved quickly across the rooftop.. “Perhaps Black Mask is finally striking back?”
“No,” Batman’s voice was low and harsh. “It’s him. Dammit to hell. It’s J…..”
The video and audio died without warning.
“B? B? Batman???”
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:45:49 GMT -5
From the diary of Alfred Pennyworth
It is difficult to conceive of someone less prepared to raise a child than Bruce. He has little idea what it means to be a child. Most of his childhood was spend twisting his grief in his belly until it became the beast that would later be unleashed upon the underworld.
But there is one thing he does understand. Loss.
I believe this was the bond between them. A man driven by a raging thirst for revenge, and a violent street urchin willing to do anything to survive. Their lives could not have been more different. Loss became the glue that held them together.
I will never know exactly why Jason stepped away from the Chaos Monks gang. Why, when the gang had Batman at their mercy, Jason leap to defend a man he did not know from the people who had kept him fed and warm beneath Gotham’s streets. But I can guess. Jason, I came to learn, always dreamed of making a difference. He too had lost his parents to criminals. But unlike Bruce who sought to punish the guilty, Jason wanted to protect the innocent. A trifling difference, you might say. But in application they have vastly different results.
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:46:08 GMT -5
The monitor was nothing but crackling snow. Alfred drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair and waited. His instinct was to call for help. Contact Nightwing or even Superman. But Batman had his protocols.
Ten minutes. Alfred had to wait ten minutes before taking any action in the event communications were disrupted.
It might as well be an eternity
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:46:44 GMT -5
From the diary of Alfred Pennyworth
Batman is, in the end, a creation of sheer will. When the demons in Bruce’s belly finally had their way and the young man was driven to learn what he needed to learn, he had no guide. My own military background was of little help. As difficult as my own training was, Bruce needed something more intense. Something more extreme.
So he looked into the past for a model. An ethic that was unwavering and without pity. Something that looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. Something that would turn a man into a weapon.
And he found it in the stories of Sparta. He was drawn in particular to the relentless and unforgiving training of the Agoge – the military school that all Spartan warriors were trained in from childhood. It was training that either made you into the model Spartan, or killed you.
Of course, there are no Spartans left. So Bruce took it upon himself to become one. He would create his own Agoge.
He sealed himself in the cave for weeks, subsisting on rodents and moss. Later he sought out the most dangerous and lethal of trainers. His body would suffer as his soul had suffered and become tempered. Sharp. Powerful.
For Bruce there was only one path to becoming what he was. And perhaps, looking back, that is where the problems with Jason began.
Bruce had initially kept me distant from Jason’s training. I had believed it was so he could bond with the boy. Certainly his mood had changed. Bruce would laugh. Really, genuinely laugh when Jason was around. And boy who arrived at the manor as a rail thin alley-cat worshiped the ground Bruce walked on.
In my joy in seeing Bruce reclaim something of himself I had thought lost forever, I forgot what Batman was and what lay beneath his heroism. In light of the recent encounter with the Wrath and Jason’s return I cannot hide from a deep feeling of guilt of that misstep.
I should have known better.
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:47:08 GMT -5
Alfred checked the com line again. He was not to attempt to make contact, just ensure the equipment was working. The check list is detailed, with each step designed to either allow Batman to do his job with a ruthless efficiently, or to allow Alfred to extract him from danger in moment’s notice.
The car’s security system and weapons? Check. No tampering indicated.
Nightwing located but not put on alert? Check.
The cave’s medical bay ready? Check. Twice.
Six and half minutes left. Nothing to do but hurry up and wait.
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:48:06 GMT -5
From the diary of Alfred Pennyworth
It was during Jason’s fifth month at the manor when I finally realized what was going on. A problem had arisen at Wayne Enterprises and while Bruce asked me to leave the cave for that day’s training I had to interrupt to relay a message from Mr. Fox.
I heard the sickening sound of bone striking flesh before I saw it. The blow to his face had lifted Jason right off the floor and sent him sprawling backward, blood streaming from his nose staining Bruce’s bare fist.
I screamed and rushed down the stairs. Bruce can punch hard enough to shatter oaken planks. Striking a child was not only immoral, but potentially lethal.
What came next I will not forget. Bruce leaped straight at the boy, both heels driving down at Jason’s chest. But the child rolled away at the last moment. He spun 180 degrees, catching Bruce’s knees with his feet, knocking him to the ground. Then Jason took flight and I saw it. Blood still running from his nose had covered his lips and painted his teeth red. Those lips were curled up in a vicious sneer. A pitiless smile. The mark of a hunter savoring the kill he is about to make.
A Spartan’s smile.
Agoge.
Bruce rolled from Jason’s attack too late. The boy had expected it and drove a knee into his master’s shoulder. Twisting like a cobra on Bruce’s torso, he seized a massive, muscular arm between his legs and pulled. The lad had put Bruce into a powerful arm-bar.
“Ok, ok!” Bruce said, laughing.
Jason got up, rubbing his jaw. The smirk had not left his face.
“Not bad, eh old man?”
“Getting better, son,” Bruce said, now laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder gently. For that moment, he looked like his father. “But keep your left up. I shouldn’t have been able to tag you like that.”
“Yes sir.”
“Now get cleaned up and finish your homework,” Bruce shouted and Jason bolted up into the manner, giggling the whole way. “And don’t forget to wash behind your ears!”
I’m certain my face told Bruce everything going on in my mind.
“Save it Alfred,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you, sir? Well, perhaps you would be so kind as to educate me with your vast experience on child rearing!”
Bruce stretched out his shoulder and pulled a towel over the back of his neck.
“What do you think will happen on the streets Alfred? I can’t give Jason a magic ring or show him how to run at the speed of sound. He needs to be able to fight better than any scum bag on the streets of Gotham. And better he learn those lessons here, with me, than out there with them.”
“Have you ever considered sir, that taking a teenager as your crime fighting partner is just about the most foolish thing you have done since you started your crusade?”
Bruce said nothing at first. He just grinned the grin of a proud father.
“No,” he said after a long moment. “Jason is going to be the best.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:48:26 GMT -5
Four minutes, 45 seconds. Alfred checks his medical gear for the 10th time.
“I’m getting to old for this,” he said to the darkness of the cave and crunching chalky antacid in his teeth. “I hate this part.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:49:14 GMT -5
From the diary of Alfred Pennyworth
Redwing was Batman’s right hand. “My little monkey wrench,” Bruce said once. “You should see it Alfred. These losers all think he is too small to be a threat. The never expect what’s coming!”
It was easy, for both of us, to see Jason as another Bruce Wayne. A boy who turned a life marked with tragedy into something of meaning and even (although Bruce would never admit it) of hope.
But he wasn’t. His life on the street at such a young age had taught Jason ruthlessness that even exceeded Batman’s. Bruce is ruthless out of necessity. His plans are cold and calculated in much the same way his father planned a surgery. But Jason was ruthless out of anger. The security of living with us had finally given the boy time to reflect on the death of his own family. And so the more his skills grew, the more his anger had an outlet.
Like that day he was sent home from school. I still cannot believe the boy acted the way he did or why he thought he would get away from it. I was in the midst of scolding him when Bruce came home.
“What’s going on, Alfred?”
“Well, sir, it seems Master Todd was sent home from school and suspended for two weeks for attacking another student.”
“That’s not true Alfie,” Jason said.
“Jason,” Bruce said, allowing his Batman voice rumble from his throat.
Jason looked at the floor. He would argue with me until I was blue in the face. But he could not stand disapproval from his adoptive father.
“Apparently, sir, Master Todd thought it wise to tie up the Powell boy….”
“The school bully?”
“Yes, sir. He tied him up and hung him from the gymnasium rafters….”
“Are you kidding?”
“….by this feet.”
Jason glared at the two of us. “Look, he was really hurting Gloria. He had her arm twisted behind her back. I cannot just stand back and let that happen. So I got her out there, but Gerry said he’d get her later. So I made sure he wouldn’t,” he said.
Bruce could barely suppress the grin.
“Jason, you know a dozen ways to stop a kid like that without using the kind of tactics we use on the street,” he said. “I don’t use batarangs in the board room and you don’t use zip lines at school. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“You’re grounded for two weeks. Including crime fighting.”
“Aw Bruce….”
“Don’t ‘Aw Bruce’ me,” Bruce said. “Now get to your room. You’ll help Alfred around the manor for the next two weeks.”
“What on earth are you grinning about, sir?” I said, as the boy stalked upstairs to his room. “Honestly, the two of you are going to drive me to drink.”
“Sorry, Alfred. You’re right. You are,” he said. “But was I really much different at his age?”
“In many ways, no sir,” I said. “But in one major way you were.”
“And that was?”
“You weren’t being trained by the Batman.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:49:55 GMT -5
“A! Code green! Repeat, code green!”
“I’m pleased to hear your voice, sir” Alfred said. “Your status?”
“I’m fine,” Batman said, his voice cold as ice. “The surviving Jokerz have fled, leaving most of the stolen equipment behind. Looks like they were stripping it for parts, though. Contact Gordon, tell him to send forensics and the fire department.”
“Right away, B,” Alfred said. “And the roof top? Was it the Joker, sir?”
“No, A,” Batman said. “It was Ja...Red X. He killed five of them. He’d been tracking the Jokerz as well. He knocked out my electronics with an EM pulse. We’ll need to find better ways to harden the suit's systems….”
Alfred leaned back in his chair. Jason. Again.
“Were you able to capture him?”
“No,” Batman said. “He set off an explosion that torched the foundry next door. He got away in the chaos.”
“I see,” Alfred said. “Are you returning to HQ?”
“Yes.”
“Very good sir. Breakfast shall be waiting.”
“A?”
“Sir?”
“…”
“Sir?”
There was another long silence before Batman spoke in a hushed tone.
“In the early days, there were some….happy times, weren’t there? I mean…with the three of us…”
Alfred took his glasses off and set them on the keyboard and rubbed his eyes. Good times? There was laughter. There were smiles. Jokes. Christmas mornings and meals with friends. But how much of that was a cover, a thin mask for what lurked underneath?
How much did they both ignore, how much did they get wrong, and how many mistakes did they make? How much responsibility for what has happened and what will happen can be placed at the feet of Alfred Pennyworth and Bruce Wayne?
How much does the son suffer for the sins of his fathers? And the fathers from their son's?
“Yes sir,” Alfred said in dead pan tones. “There were some good times.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Jan 30, 2008 11:50:25 GMT -5
END.
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Post by mockingbird on Jul 28, 2011 11:12:59 GMT -5
To let us know what you think of this issue, please visit the letters page here!
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