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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:42:59 GMT -5
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:43:17 GMT -5
Batman
Issue #28: "A Mirror, Darkly" Part Two
Written by Grant LaFleche
Cover by Grant LaFleche and Mischief
Edited by John Elbe |
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:44:14 GMT -5
Present day, Gotham City…
“Have another drink, laddie. Have another drink.”
Jacko-boy Basilone slammed the drink back like it was the last wisp of booze on earth and he was about to be executed. Only it wasn't. And he wasn't. But it was the only thing to calm his nerves. The familiar setting of the foggy air and stained floors of the Gargoyle wasn't enough. He needed to drown tonight.
“I dunno what the Mask was thinkin', man. I dunno. Going down there like that. Like maybe he wanted to die. I dunno,” he said. “Croc got Tony. Just…just ripped him up. Like that frackin' movie, what's it called? Jurassic Island or something.”
“Easy, boy. That's a good laddie. Easy.” The man lit a cigarette for Jacko-boy who sucked on it like it was mother's milk. “What was Roman doing down in those old sewers anyway?”
Jacko-boy took another long drag of his smoke. Then slammed back another drink. “Dunno. He's been spending most of his time in the Palace, you know Maroni family's hotel type establishment from back in the thirty's? But then, you know, Mask he kind of loses it…talks to himself. Like someone else is there or somethin'. I dunno. Then gets all paranoid like and drags us down there to be safe. Safe he says. My ass.”
The man sitting across from Jacko-boy snapped a match to life, dropped it and crushed it under his over polished shoes. “What the hell happened, Jack?”
“I dunno. The city's gone all nuts like, you know?” Jacko-boy says, taking drag. “It started with the East-end crew. They was responsible for guns and cars and other hardware type items we use on a daily type basis, you know? Runs six large every week. No kiddin'. Well, one day they just tell Black Mask they ain't working for him no more. Just like that.”
“I bet Roman didn't like that.”
“Aw hell no. So he gets a few of the boys together to go down there and take care of it all messy-like, you know? Only they don't come back. Me and Tony we found them down at the Gotham dump, all chopped up like.”
“Chopped up?”
“Yah.Like someone used them as a demo in a Ginsu commercial. So the boss, the goes nuts. He wants to go mid-evil on their asses…
“Medieval.”
“What?”
“Never mind, lad,” said the man, handing Jacko-boy another smoke and lighting it with a match. “Go on.”
“Right, Ok. So the boss pulls six crews out of their territories. Six, man. I mean, Jesus. One, two crews maybe. But six? For this? Black Mask was pissed,” Jacko-boy says blowing streams of smoke from his nose. “So the crews go down there…”
“They don't come back either?”
“Yah. Yah. Only they ain't all Ginsued-like. They join up with the East End crew.”
The man frowned and a lit a match. “Why? Here have another vodka.”
“Thanks,” Jacko-Boy said. “So like two days later I gotta call from my cousin's brother-in-law. You know, Johnny? You met him at my grandfather's funeral two years ago. The guy that looks like a broad?”
“Right. Sure.”
“So he calls me up and says all the top muscle boys and movers they go off with this creep guy with a tattoo on the side of his face. Johnny says he payin' five times what Black Mask pays, and you know as well as I do, that the boss treats his boys all good like. The rest of them, losers mostly, they end working for the Joker. Some who are totally off their rocker, call themselves the False Face Gang,” Jacko-boy said. “The others? The real meat clever crowd? They paint their faces up and call themselves Jokerz. Frackin' idiots. Got no respect.”
The man listened to the story closely. Committed every detail to memory. How the Joker was stealing high-tech, scientific gear along with heavy duty weapons. How Black Mask lost the heart of his organization in a matter of weeks and then, when he was weak, the False Face Gang tried to have him murdered.
“Is there anyone left loyal to Roman?”
“I dunno. Maybe. A few maybe. A couple of crews that have been laying low. Anyone who don't get with the programs gets Ginsued, you know?” Jacko-boy, starting to fade from his brain cells swimming in booze. “I wish you'd talk to him. I know you two go back a ways or something, right?”
“Sure. Sure Jack. Sure.”
“Well I wish you would talk to him. Maybe you's can cheer him up like….” And with that, Jacko-boy toppled over like a collapsing building, smacking his forehead on the stained floor.
“Oh, don't worry laddie,” Matches Malone said, tucking into his vest pocket the capsule case that contained the sedative his slipped Jacko-boy. “I'll be talkin' with Roman soon.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:45:16 GMT -5
From the notes of Dr. Jules V. Ern, attending psychiatrist, Arkham Asylum, Gotham City.
Patient file DCLXVI. “John Doe”
Legal Name: Unknown.
Place of birth: Unknown.
Age: Unknown
Cell: 13
Date: March 5, 1999
Patient John Doe recently admitted to Arkham after protracted struggle with local law enforcement. Police indicate a local vigilante known as the Bat-man may have been involved. However, a note by one Detective Maddox indicates, said vigilante does not exist and may be a fabrication of the patient's mind. Nevertheless, he is unable to explain the odd bruising to the patient's body in the precise location of vital pressure points.
Aside from injuries consistent with a physical fight, patient appears to be in reasonably good physical health. At first glance I believed the patient to be an albino, but close examination (done only with the aid of armed guards, a powerful sedative and restraints) that his ghost like pallor appears to the result of a chemical stain rather than a defect in skin pigmentation. To achieve such a complete stain, the entire body would have to be submersed into a chemical bath. The stain appears irreversible. Without knowledge of the precise chemicals involved, I cannot determine what kind of long term effect this will have on the patient's physical health, although I recommend regular screenings for cancerous growths. I am also forwarding a skin sample to my colleague Dr. Thomas Elliott.
The patient's mental status is a mystery. When asked how his skin was so stained, the patient recalls at least three distinct instances in which it happen. None of the details of these incidents are remotely the same, yet he insists they are all true. Dr. Arkham believes there is some deep symbolism in the smiling fish story, but I have no idea what it would be. Standard tests suggest a base line IQ at the near genius level. However, the inability to stay focused and an obvious psychosis retards his mental ability to that of a sociopathic teenager of limited education. However, this is impossible to determine conclusively because of the patient's apparent refusal to answer questions directly. Consider this section from interview tape #4:
Ern: “Ok, so can you tell me tell what six plus six equals?”
Patient: “Oh Doc, that is such a personal question! We are only on our second date! I haven't even tasted you yet!”
Ern: “No need to be upset. It's a simple question. What does six plus six equal?”
Patient: “Booring!. Ask Malory how many sat round the round table in December with the angry men!”
Ern: “If you can just answer this, we can move on. What does six plus six equal?”
Patient: “sixty-six.”
Patient has no capacity for long term planning which may be the result of a heretofore unseen version of attention deficit disorder.
Patient exhibits a frightening disregard for human suffering. He laughs often and loudly, but only at things he considers worthy of “lulz” and those things for which he says “got the joke.” He never elaborates on what these things are, but testing shows this response is generated when the patient is shown images of extreme human suffering and death. His constant cackling over photos from Soviet death camps frightened nurse Ratchet out of her mind. On the other hand, when the patient is shown images of traditionally soothing stimuli such babies, puppies, flowers and landscapes, he either falls into a near catatonic state or a rage that can only be curbed with additional sedatives.
One final note for this initial assessment. The patient keeps his cell in good condition save for one item. The mirror. He continually smashes it to pieces, not matter how many times its replaced. He also scuffed up all reflective surfaces in his cell. The patient refuses to look at his own face…..
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:46:22 GMT -5
Then: China, Songshan Mountains…
Blood was everywhere. The stone slab floor was drenched in it. A sea of it. The only noise, a faint moan from those left alive. Barely.
Chan Shin Moh was pleased. The moans were soothing. He was the best fighter the temple had ever produced. No one in the history of the Triad of the Golden Fang had ever been as skilled, as strong or as ruthless in combat. The League of Asassins assassins that lay dead or wounded on the stone were of no consequence to him.
“If that is the best your master can do, I have little to worry about,” he said, roaring with deep, throaty laugh that echoed out into the mountain valley bellow. “This pitiful band is the mighty League of Assassins?! This is what the King Snake fears? HAHAHA….”
A faint crunch, almost too faint to notice - like a tiny swallow landing upon broken glass - caught his attention. He spun and saw the man in the black. His face was covered by a black silk scarf. He was stripped to the waist and around his neck he wore a golden pendant: a blazing sun over a scimitar. The mark of the league.
“So, the Demon's Head sends me one more? Very well boy, come forward. Hell can always use more company!”
Moh charged like a raging bull at the smaller man. He was not called the Iron Ox of Songshan for nothing. He could crush a man's skull in his bare hands. Snap bones like twigs. This thin man in black would be no different from the others.
The man in black did not move. Not even as the two hundred and forty-five pound giant descended upon him, snarling and shouting. He could feel the stone shake at the Ox's approach. He could see the bodies of his allies strewn about him. And still he did not move.
The Ox dipped his shoulder and ground his teeth and hit…nothing. He stumbled to a stop, flinging his head from side to side, looking for his prey.
He felt the air on his back, but tried to turn too late. The blow sent a rattle and hum through his body. Moh's bones felt like they were tuning forks and in an eye blink, the giant was on his knees, begging his lungs to breathe.
“Im…impossible….” He said, looking up into the masked face of his foe.. “Vibrating palm strike?? You are a student of ….Master Kirgi….”
The man in black pulled the scarf from his face. Moh's eyes bulged from their sockets.
“WAYNE! You betray your own!” Moh said, forcing his legs to allow him to stand. “I will roast your liver and feed it to the hounds for this!”
“It is you who betrayed the order when you joined King Snake, murdered Kirgi and terrorized the town that looked to your for protection! The league is here to put an end to this… and to you,” Bruce Wayne said, a sneer curling his lips. Every since he was told Moh had killed Kirgi - a Wushu master who had treated Wayne with a rare kindness - he had pictured this moment. Kirgi was the first great master he had studied under. He was perhaps the greatest martial artist on earth. He was told Moh killed him with poisoned tea like a common hit man.
“I'm going to enjoy this Moh,” he said, lashing out with his fingers. The blow struck the Ox's throat, pushing into his larynx. The bigger man gurgled, and lashed out with a massive paw. Bruce ducked it, seized the forearm, spun and twisted it hard over his shoulder. Moh's elbow cracked like dried timber. He would have screamed had Bruce not kicked back with heel that drove deep into the bigger man's diaphragm.
“Not so tough without poison are you Moh? Get up punk. This isn't over yet,” Bruce said. “Not when I know so many lovely ways to make you pay!”
Moh lurched to his feet, staggered forward and tried to punch with his good arm. Bruce slipped it easily and drove his foot into Moh's knee. Another gut churning snap. Bruce cocked a fist and fired it into Moh's nose. Again.
And again.
And again.
A jaw bone gave way blood sprays over Bruce's arm. And still he did not stop. He didn't hear the whispered plea for mercy. Not over the rush of his own blood in his ears. Even if he could hear, wouldn't care. This man would pay for what he did.
Raging, Bruce aimed an elbow for Moh's temple. But Moh was gone. The man on the ground was laughing. A sick grin on his face. His dusty leather jacket splattered with blood not his. No, not his. Theirs.
Aww. What's a matter kid? You a momma's boy or somethin'? It's her fault you know, Brucie. She had it commin'!
“Shut your damn mouth!” Bruce only saw red and pounded away with both hands. Fists that can shatter solid oak planks now pummel flesh and bone. And still the man in the leather coat kept laughing. Kept talking.
And really, why the hell are you weeping over your old man? If he was any sorta man at all, he'd stopped me. Come to think of it, you little snot, if you were any kind of man, you'd have stopped me too. But you couldn't, could ya? Too scared Brucie? To weak to help! Look at you! Weak!
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Bruce drove his forearms and elbows into the man's head and throat, but nothing worked. He kept talking.
Face it, Brucie. You're nothing. Weak! Pathetic! You got nothin'. Just a scared little boy wanting to hide behind his mother's skirt!
“BRUCE!”
He didn't feel the arms wrapping around his arms and shoulders and neck. He didn't feel them pull back. He didn't feel his own muscles straining, bucking wildly. All Bruce knew, all he saw and felt was that face.
Aw, now what did I tell ya, lil' Brucie. Too weak. Poor little Bruce. You had your chance, sonny boy and you blew it. Ya couldn't even kill me. But don't worry. I'll be seeing you soon. I'll always be here for you Bruce. Always.
“Bruce!” The voice was clear. Sonorous. It cut through the war drum pounding in Bruce's skull.
“Talia? What…oh god….”
There upon the ground lay Moh, the greatest warrior in King Snake's army, like a discarded and broken twig. His skull appeared like a crushed melon, its contents leaked onto the stone. Moh's mouth moved slowly, in a sickening in and out motion like a fish stuck on a beach. His leg twitched for a moment and then fell limp.
“Oh god, Talia. It happened again,” Bruce said, his body still shaking from the adrenaline. Talia ordered her men to let him go with a wave. “It happened again.”
“I know, beloved…”
“Have that man brought to my physician at once! He must live!,” said the tall man who stood behind Talia. “And bring Mr. Wayne indoors and calm him down. I will see to him shortly.”
Barely able to walk straight, Bruce leaned heavily on the men who led him away, his mind still relying.
“That's the third time, father,” Talia said. “The blood storm comes over him and he drifts into madness. What type of madness drives him so?”
“A demon of his mind. His own reflection in a dark mirror perhaps? I cannot be sure,” said Ra's Al Ghul. “But this much is certain. Bruce will never have the future I am planning for him if I cannot teach him to see beyond his pain and rage.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:47:06 GMT -5
From the notes of Dr. Jules V. Ern, attending psychiatrist, Arkham Asylum, Gotham City.
Patient file DCLXVI. “John Doe”
Legal Name: Unknown.
Place of birth: Unknown.
Age: Unknown
Cell: 13
Date: March 23, 1999
Addendum to assessment:
Despite low scores on general knowledge, patient appears to be an expert with chemicals. He killed three guards today using a crude chemical grenade made from stolen cleaning supplies.
Patient is clearly obsessed with this Bat-man and for the last three days has spoken of little else. He carved a six inch deep bat-shaped symbol into the chest of one of the dead guards using a tooth he pulled from his own mouth. I cannot tell the source of this obsession yet, but I suspect it to be an image created by his own admittedly malfunctioning brain.
After the killing of guards, however, the patient was remarkably calm, claiming the guards “got the joke”. He said he was planning to only watch television this afternoon, but when he saw the chance for “lulz” forgot all about it. Murder appears to be a kind of tonic for him…but to keep him calm it seems he needs a steady supply of victims.
Patient is also complaining of headaches that “aren't quite right in a wrong sort of way.” I have scheduled a CAT scan.
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:47:51 GMT -5
Present Day, Gotham City:
The Batmobile…
“Dick this is important.”
“I know. But so is this.”
“Dick. I'm telling you Gotham has never faced anything like this before. I need you,” Batman said, leaning toward to the video monitor on the dash board.
“So you said. And I'm telling you I cannot drop everything in New York. My own case load…”
“Can wait.”
“No. It can't,” Dick said, peeling his mask from his face. “You can keep on saying that, but it won't make it true.”
Batman leaned back in his chair and a took a deep breath. This was too much like arguing with himself.
“Fine. Fine,” he said. “But if I have to break the glass in case of emergency…
“I'll be there as always.”
“Very well, but you need to know what's happening here. I think it's unlikely he'll try to strike at you in New York. He's too busy here. Nevertheless just in case…”
“Bruce? Who are we talking about exactly?
Batman took a deep breath. I hate these kinds of conversations.
“Dick, there is something about my past I've never told you about before….”
“Oh great,” Dick said, rolling his eyes. “What is it this time? You had another side kick before me called Bluewing?”
“Hilarious.”
“Hey, one of us has to have a sense of humor.”
“This isn't a joke,” Bruce said. “Many years ago, when I was young I met a man who seemed to hold the key to all my questions. I had been traveling for years, training with any master I could find. However I still had no idea how I was going to avenge my parents and fight this city's cancer. I started to drift. Until I wandered into the far reaches of China.”
“You learned from Kirgi there right? You've told me this before Bruce.”
“No Dick. I never told you all of it. Kirgi wanted me to stay at the Shaolin Temple and take the vows of a monk. I had no interest and left to seek out a man who was only known in whispers and legends as the Head of the Demon.”
“The Head of the Demon?”
“Ra's Al Ghul. He ran a secret society called the League of Assassins and he changed my life forever.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:49:16 GMT -5
Then: China, Songshan Mountains…
Sitting on the cold floor, he hadn't moved for hours. He was still. Quiet. A great stone that felt not even the wind upon its surface. But Bruce Wayne was not at peace. The visions were coming more regularly now. Always in the heat of battle. And always unleashing a fury he now found impossible to control. He nearly killed a man while seeing the face of the man who murdered his parents.
But that wasn't what disturbed Bruce's meditation in the small room in the temple the most. It wasn't even the blood his fellow Shadow brothers were cleaning from the stones.
What frightened Bruce, what make his stomach grow cold and his heart clench was the simple realization - when came over him, when he was blood drunk with a murderous fury, he liked it.
“You expected that to happen again didn't you, master,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Not even my daughter could hear me enter a room when I move with such stealth, son,” Ra's Al Ghul said, stepping out from the shadows near the doorway. “Your skills are growing by leaps and bounds. But tell me, why you do think I knew you would have another…episode?”
“Simple deduction, master,” Bruce said without turning around to face his teacher. “In every conflict we've had with King Snake's organization you have always joined in the battles. But today you held back. You wanted to see how I would react when facing Moh.”
“Very clever. Talia is right about you, Bruce. You are something of a detective,” Ra's said. “Detective. The terms suits you well, I think.”
“Will Moh live?”
“He won't ever walk or talk properly again, but he will live.”
Bruce did not move. He was too ashamed. Ashamed of his own weakness. Ra's walked up slowly behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder before sitting down on the floor beside him.
“You saw his face again didn't you, son?”
“Yes.”
“And you wanted to kill him?”
“I've wanted to kill him since I was a boy.”
“Bruce, human beings are plagued by demons. Vile spirits. Guilt. Shame. Hubris. Fear. These are the chains on the human heart, my son,” Ra's said. “When they take hold of us, as they have you, they can choke our all virtue until all you are left with a dark pit instead of a heart.”
“Master…”
“You fly into these rages because you seek revenge, not justice. Just blind, petty revenge. Perhaps you did not always, but you do now and this is Kirgi's failure as your teacher. It is my failure as your master. You can destroy a man in a single blow if you wished. You can kill without effort now. But you must ask yourself why. The destruction, even death, of an enemy might be constructive if it serves a greater purpose. A purpose greater than yourself. But violence for the sake of revenge alone is meaningless and will only destroy you in the end.”
“Then what am I to do?”
“Young man, I have lived to see the rise and fall of many great men. Titans. I know greatness when I see it, Bruce, and there is greatness in you. You just need to refocus your purpose. And above all, you must master your demons.”
“How?” Bruce said in a hushed voice. “I have tired for so long…”
“There is a cave near here, Bruce. According to myth it is where the great monk Bodhidharma is said to have meditated until he reached enlightenment. We will go there together and I will teach you how to control the demons that drive you. They will become a great source of power for you, Bruce.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:49:49 GMT -5
Present Day: Somewhere in Gotham City…
For hours he stared at the mirror. He hadn't moved since sundown. He just stared. Whatever was staring back no long frightened him. No longer haunted him. Whatever was starting back in the mirror was a face he had never seen before.
It should bother him. At least he thinks it should. Didn't he hate mirrors? Sure he did. Didn't he? Maybe. Or maybe not. But that wasn't his face. It was something wearing his face.
“A Joker mask,” he said, staring long and hard at the stranger in the mirror. “That's not funny.”
He looked around the room. Warehouse. Boxes. Crates. Why does he have all this stuff?
The Joker pushed back the lid of one of the crates. Communications gear. Components. High-tech. No street value. No use. No lulz.
“What do I want this for?” The Joker said, turning back to the mirror, pointing an angry finger at the mirror. “Did you steal this junk? What am I am supposed to do with this? Where's the joke?”
He rubbed the back of head. It hurt. Not a good hurt either. Not like the kind of hurt he gets when wrasslin' with the Bat. Oh no.
The Joker licked his lips slowly, savoring the image in his mind.
Black leather gloves biting into his flesh. Oh yeah. Yes, baby. That's the good hurt.
“Yeeees.”
The Joker ran his hand slowly over the back of his neck. This breath quickened.
Mmm. The jackboot to the back of the spine. Oh that hurts sooo good when it comes from the Bat…
The Bat….
Bat?
Batman.
The Joker screamed, pulling at his hair.
“The Bat lives!”
Didn't he just have the Bat at his mercy? Yes. Maybe. No, yes. Freeze. Freeze had him down. Ready to kill. One shot and the Bat was gone. Now that would be funny. Sure, it would be better if the Joker was pulling the trigger but….why was Freeze pulling the trigger? Freeze isn't funny. Hell no. Wasn't Freeze dead?
“You went and hired Freeze, didn't you?,” the Joker said to the reflection it he mirror. “He so doesn't get the joke. Way too serious. Never does anything for the lulz. Too serious. Why did you hire him? What? Who? What the hell kind of reason is that?”
Freeze had him. Dead to rights. Dead. The joke. But…but didn't the Joker tell him not to kill the Bat? Didn't he say so?
The Joker balled up a first and aimed it for the mirror. Held above his head, it hovered, ready to strike. But he couldn't do it. He wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. He could just taste it. But he couldn't. His hand wouldn't move.
“Boss?”
A the young street tough kid named Bobbie walked in. “It's 8 PM, boss. You said for me to come get you at 8 p.m. Uh, so its 8 p.m. and here I am.”
“Yes, Bob. Yes. Thank you. Good lad. Good lad,” the Joker said.
He struck quickly, crashing into to the top of Bob's skull with his fist. The man dropped to his back, moaning. The Joker pounced, sinking his teeth into Bob's neck. Digging. Tearing. Until they reached the jugular. Blood showered the Joker's face in spurts, but the teeth didn't stop digging.
When it was done, the Joker felt nothing. He licked the blood from his lips and took the mirror down from the wall and stared at the man inside. He traced outline of the reflection with a bloody finger. He held the mirror close, and looked at the man inside with a burning hatred.
“See? See what you did? I told you,” he said, not looking away from the mirror. “That should have been funny. Should have been. But it's not. No joke. No lulz. See what you did?”
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:50:28 GMT -5
Present Day, Gotham City:
The Batmobile…
Dick Grayson leaned closer to he monitor so his head filled the screen Batman was looking at.
“How much does this guy know about you?
“Everything.”
Dick whistled. “What's his game then? Why not attack you at the manor or something?”
“He might if pushed far enough. But he still believes I will be at his side again,” Batman said. “Besides, Ra's also knows that I will be prepared for an assault on the manor. He's too clever to strike at me on my home ground.”
“I guess that make sense. But why seize control of the mob?”
“Because Gotham's underworld is the seat of power, Nightwing,” he said. “If you can control crime in Gotham, you also control important parts of the legal system, the police, elected officials, you name it. If Ra's solidifies his control, he'll effectively run one of most powerful cities on Earth. Exactly what he needs for his agenda.”
“Which is?”
Batman pushed down on the gas peddle hard as he hit the Kane Parkway. He still didn't know enough about what his former master was up to. Why the high-tech gear? What end game was Ra's headed for?
“Ra's believes the human race is fundamentally corrupt and will push itself into extinction if not brought under control - his control. For centuries he's been trying…”
“Centuries? Come on, Batman…”
“It's true enough. Although I couldn't tell you exactly how old he really is. Ra's uses rare, naturally occurring chemical springs, which he calls Lazarus Pits, to extend his life. They have properties that can reverse aging, heal wounds…even restore dead tissue..”
“B, I've seen a lot strange crap working with you, but restoring the dead?”
Batman frowned. He' probably dismiss the Lazarus Pits as an insane myth too - if he hadn't seen the results of it with his own eyes.
“I've never learned how it works, but it works. Trouble is most people who go into the pit come out suffering some kind of brain damage and are completely insane. Only the very few can use the pit and not go mad.”
Dick rubbed his chin. “Well both Firefly and Mr. Freeze were supposed to be dead…”
“And Firefly is clearly insane,” Batman said. “Given what we've seen, it's possible Ra's used the pits to restore them as foot soldiers.”
“Nice. Look, B, isn't going to be a little much for you to handle alone?,” Dick said, fiddling with something off screen. “Maybe you should call in the Justice League….”
“No. That will just make it worse,” Batman said. “But you're right. To fight a war against Ra's, I need soldiers of my own.”
Batman told his former partner the plan. It took five minutes for Grayson to speak after he heard it. It was insane, even for Batman.
“This is never going to work. What does Gordon say about this?”
“He doesn't know yet.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:51:52 GMT -5
From the notes of Dr. Jules V. Ern, attending psychiatrist, Arkham Asylum, Gotham City.
Patient file DCLXVI. “John Doe”
Legal Name: Unknown.
Place of birth: Unknown.
Age: Unknown
Cell: 13
Date: April 24, 1999
Addendum to assessment:
Patient's headache growing worse. Scan results indicate possible tumorous mass in his brain. Dr. Elliott flying in for a consult.
Addendum to assessment: April 26, Dr. Arkham attending:
Patient DCLXVI, aka John Doe, aka, “The Joker” murdered Dr. Ern yesterday afternoon. Patient drove his fingers into Dr. Ern's eyes during a consult with Dr. Elliott. GCPD investigating. Patient is being transferred to Blackgate for surgery to be conducted by Dr. Elliott. If you ask me, the patient isn't worth the tax dollars.
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:52:43 GMT -5
Present Day, Gotham City:
The abandoned Maroni Hotel building…
Black Mask stood alone and stared at the sewer grate in the basement of the old building. He could smell the rot beyond. It should've made him sick. But it didn't. It smelled like safety. Once a maintenance access point for the hotel sewer system, it was now Black Mask's escape route. Once every few days he came down here and under the yellow glow of the single, flickering light bulb hanging from a ceiling pipe, unscrewed the bolts from the grate and vanished into the tunnels.
“Oh shut up, father!” Black Mask said. “It's perfectly safe. Croc and I have an agreement. What? No! I will not leave. They're still out there.”
There was a loud thump. From above. Somewhere in the hotel. Damnit, he thought. No one else is here. Everyone left.
“Damnit! Quiet! I need to concentrate.” He said, quickly working the bolts on the grate. If they found the hotel, he had to escape into the sewers. One of the screws jammed. Threaded. Someone was coming down the stairs.
“Damnit, damnit, damnit!” He said, pulling his gun from his jacket pocket. In the heavy shadows hanging over the stairs, he could barely make out the shape of man.
“I wouldn't do that, Roman. Put it down. Now.”
“Drop dead, jerk,” Black Mask said, unloading several shots toward the source of the voice. The shots were followed by a sharp whistling sound in the air and something struck the gun, knocking it from Black Mask's hand.
“I suppose this is a fitting end for you. Hiding amongst the rats and vermin. You must feel at home here.”
“How dare you? How DARE you? Do you know who I am?? Do you know what I could do to you?”
The shadow pounced from the stairs with a cold cackling laugh. A vice like grip seized Black Mask by the throat and slammed him into the wall, knocking the air out of lungs.
“cough Batman?”
“That's right,” Batman said, shoving Black Mask to the ground and stepping into the pale light from the bulb over head. “Now sit down before you fall down. I'm about to make you an offer you can't refuse.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Apr 2, 2008 18:53:14 GMT -5
TO BE CONTINUED...
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Post by Admin on Apr 3, 2008 1:40:31 GMT -5
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