#38: Breaking the Bat, Pt 1 (HoM / Villalobos)

Now:

...Loomis sighed. "Guh. They saw it happen. They saw who did it. But they can't remember what he looked like. He's a literal black hole in their memories. They were already off their heads-- s'why they were copping feels in alleyways-- but what if this guy was somehow able to selectively remove their memories of him..?"

"So they don't have a description. What good does that do us?"

"They saw the alley behind him. This guy... this copy-cat... he's small, freak. He's of the diminutive variety."

"Oh, no," whispered the darkness. "I know who this is."

Before:

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Jason Todd sweat feverishly looking into an empty brown bottle on his lap. He didn't know what to do. What would Bruce do? He wasn't a detective. He wasn't trained for that kind of work. He was a blunt instrument. The satellite Cave was cool, air-conditioned even after all this time, and he enjoyed the break from the throbbing heat of the outside, but even in this relative comfort, he still didn't feel comfortable. His back stuck to the leather bat shaped chair Bruce had at some point must have thought was going to make someone take him seriously.

He needed to solve this crime. He needed to know who was killing these women in such a tacky fashion. Jack the Ripper. Jack the Rip-off the papers were calling him. Connections flittered through the computer he had taken as his own, Hugo Strange, 'Lustmord', all kinds of crazy stuff*, and yet none of them rang true for this case. Jason wrote on page in a black book he found in a locker, trying to focus his leads, writing names before scribbling them out viciously and tossing the leather bound journal to the corner of the room. Jason Todd grunted, and clenched his fist as he realized he wasn't made for this. "I'm not Bruce. I never was. I never will be," he whispered to himself. He looked at his old Redwing costume hanging like a trophy behind him, he remembered Bruce sounding like Clint Eastwood "Just lost down the rabbit hole, that's what... that's what..."

Something tickled at his brain. An idea. He pulled up information. Jack the Ripper. He was no conspiracy theorist. He didn't like the paranoia, the worry, the constant looking over one's shoulder. He preferred the straight forward approach. The fast, angry, bloody approach. That doesn't solve a case, though. Not if you don't know who to hit. It took thinking. Deduction. The girl, in the corner, with her fang mangled face, was whispering something, and the white furred dog, her blood dribbling thickly from it's lips, was padding just in the corner of his sight, and the whispers and the gentle growling was starting to grow when-- "Stop it," he snapped, "stop over-thinking, and focus on this..."

The Girl. She whispered softly and Jason wiped the blood off of his nose.

Now:

"Batman?! What do you mean, Bat--?!" Loomis was about to continue shouting at the darkness, but his cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out and put it to his ear within moments. "Yes?"

"Detective? We've got... we've got... Jesus, Darren, we've got two more bodies, they're all... it's ugly man, it's ugly..."

"Two more? What does... £$%^! The perp is escalating, that means--"

"I know what it means, Loomis," hissed the shadows, "I know who this is!"

The Narrows:

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Someone was throwing a party. All night, every night, never ending, never faltering. The music raged overhead, you couldn't stop to think or flirt, all you had was the base connection of that sound, of that movement, and that was what they wanted. The Narrows was not a sophisticated place. It was downright dirty, simple, and those who journeyed into it's alleys did so with a dose of adrenaline running through their veins and the wanting to get hurt lingering at the back of their heads. The Chain, as it was known, was a fetish club. A young boy, twelve, squeals in delight as his face, wrapped in black leather, is pushed against the steel bars of his enclosure. Chains and whips and screams were lost in the back rooms, throbbing industrial sounds drowning out the wanton hurt inflicted upon the men, women, children, and assorted wildlife whom sought a thrill in the darkness. The music swelled, and people screamed for more-- and they were given it.

Gotham City PD steered clear of this joint. The Narrows precinct was a proud bastion of the dirt and corruption of Old Gotham, thriving where Gordon sought to kill it-- the Commissioner would go mad if he knew that the deals still went on here. There is a saying, “If you can find it in the straights, you probably shouldn't want it,” and this place had it. But these cops were clever, they kept deals in their jurisdiction, they kept things clean on the outside and rotten on the in, and so far, so good, no one had caught on. Pay offs found the right hands, and so they were safe in their cycle.

There was one room, the highest in the converted warehouse, that very few people journeyed inside. The floors and walls were soundproofed and the lights all a deep red perfect for developing photos but there was no equipment available for such a task. The sound of hurt didn't travel upwards, it just reverberated off the walls and back to the source but seemingly amplified in the otherwise deafening silence. The small blonde girl, old enough to be mistaken for a woman, but in truth, not that old at all, was on her computer, typing away at one thing or another. Her blue eyes were illuminated by the information crossing the screen, and she smiled as she continued her work, until...

"Mary?"

Mary Kelly turned, and smiled, as her friend arrived upstairs by freight elevator. "Hello, Mr Dodgson, how are you? Good night?"

The man nodded. "Yes, indeed it was. I'm on my last now."

"Well, I'm sure you'll do what you have to do. And you've been so kind, letting me stay here... I hope everything goes well for you." Her smiled turned into a Cheshire grin, and she turned away from him, and continued typing. "I've nearly finished here, and dinner will be ready soon. I'm glad you're nocturnal like me, Charlie, else we'd never see each other."

"Yes, yes, never. And your night?"

"I..." she looked over to her room, where her torn shot lay, where the memories of the night so far resided. She had been attacked. And The Batman had saved her. "Fine. Good night. Empty, plain, uneventful night."

"Good. Let's hope it stays that way," said the man, as he placed his medical bag beneath his bed, and headed to the bathroom.

Now:

"What do you mean, you know who this is? Tell me!" Detective Loomis surged forward, and the Dark Knight erupted out from the shadows, grabbing the Detective by the hand that held his service weapon, and lurched it up in the air. "Ghhk!"

"The MO is all wrong, but the evidence... the psychic black hole in people's minds, the diminutive nature of the man... the pieces all fall together, the clues are all there and I didn't see it!"

He threw Darren Loomis against the wall, and took a grapnel from his belt, "Where the £$%^ are you going?!"

The Dark Knight hesitated for one scant moment on the roof up above, before sprinting over the rooftops. "Mary... the last victim's name is Mary Jane Kelly. I met her."

"You... what?"

Running:

It seemed to Jason Todd that it was always night time in the Narrows. The same black and purple skies arching out overhead, the same disgusting sky-line, the same polluted city. Mary Kelly. He'd saved her. From a would be murderer? He hadn't thought. They were rapists, but they had a good lawyer, one of the shifty television £$%holes who could get you off any rap with the right amount of prep time and the right amount of money, but were they capable of the murders that had hounded the city for the last few nights? Escalation, Loomis had called it. No, no, the creep was building to something, something terrible, and he knew he had to put a stop to it. Tonight. Forever. He saw his target, and prepared himself-- St. Luke's Memorial Hospital, even though you could barely call it a hospital, one leap away--

Jason thought of it as a way-station for the dying. If you came in sick, you'd leave in a body bag, unless you could afford transfer to Gotham Mercy up-town. The men he'd traumatized were in Ward Seven, and that's where he landed-- and landed hard. The window shattered as he threw himself through it, and his boots creaked against the floor as he stormed toward the beds the men were lying in, suddenly awake, suddenly alert. "You will tell me Everything."

They didn't last long. They knew nothing. If they had known something-- they would have spilled their guts. Jason offered to do it from them if they didn't tell him the things he needed to hear. He wiped the blood from his gloves on their bed sheets, and flew out the window, just before the cops and the doctors swarmed inside. The creeps would survive, and another law suit would be added to the cornucopia already placed against Batman by the criminal element. The cold air hit like a shotgun blast to his face-- the heat wave seemed to go on forever but when it stops, the icy winds that burned his lungs and made it hard for him to sleep did not feel like a very nice alternative .That didn't stop the things he saw. He was being chased, he thought, by something that howled against the moon-- that damn wolf, that damn animal, following him wherever he went, and whenever he tried to stop it, to snap it's neck, it vanished, back into his mind.

"You're not going insane," he said to himself, "you can't afford to go insane. You don't deserve it. Where was the girl?" Where was the girl? “Where is she?” he asked himself again. Marked for death, and he'd saved her... only to lose her again? He refused to allow that. He swung through the sky, and landed against the tallest construct in all the Narrows, and clung to the side like it was his last stand. "Think... think... think harder..." He pressed a button on his cowl, and there was a ringing noise.

"Loomis," answered the voice on the other side.

"It's me," growled Jason Todd. "You need to look at your case files. People with convenient holes in their memories, the stuff your men dismiss as drunks and the drugged up. I need a pattern, I need a lead."

"What do you think I've had my boys doing all night, you..." Jason heard the man sigh. "We're doing it, Batma-.” He stopped himself short, “We're doing it, alright? Down near the harbor, people reporting holes in their memories, down there... down there is where The Chain is, you know of that place?"

"It's on my list,"

"Yeah, well it's a $#!%hole. Drunks, drug addicts, all that £$%^, we dismissed it, people go there to have a bad time, and we think that place has got something to do with all the stuff going down."

"Next time open with that,” said Todd, before cutting the line and swinging to the water front. "...The Chain."

Now:

The ground shook as the speakers caused the walls to shake. People jumped up and down, the music throbbed, reached a crescendo and then-- got louder. The warehouse was full, the DJ was screaming along to the music he played, and no one seemed to care about anything else but this secret little world they shared. They laughed and screamed until--

The Dark Knight exploded downwards, through the glass ceiling up above, and landed hard on a balcony, his cape billowing around him.

The music fizzled to a halt, and everyone looked at this man. He was no different from them, was he? Tight costume, mask, big voice and lots of threats?

“I'm looking for a killer.” He finally spoke.

A large man, steroids and testosterone flowing through thick veins, stepped forward, unzipping his mask so people could hear his voice. "Who the £$%^ are--"

"I'm asking the questions!" The Dark Knight grabbed him by the face, and threw him to the ground, leather shrieking against metal. "You get one free pass. One. There's a man here, and he's going to hurt someone. Small. You'd ignore him, if you thought you saw him, but you haven't, have you? You wouldn't see him. Because he wipes himself from your heads like toilet paper. You know who I'm talking about. Where. Is. He?"

"The... the boss?" A girl stepped forward, quivering, shimmying her skirt down to try and save some sense of modesty. The Batman terrified these girls and boys playing adults. Just alone, the Batman they'd heard legends of, sticking up Upper Gotham, but this Batman-- this terror-- people were horrified. He was not a man they read about in the news, he was a man they heard about in mental hospitals. He was a panting. The blood red symbol across his chest, the cape swaying in the wind, the way he was looking at their souls-- "the boss... he lives... upstairs... Mr Dodgson? He lives up there with Mary? Is she... ok?"

"Leave," hissed the Dark Knight. "LEAVE!" The doors swung open, and people streamed out onto the street, leaving only the drug addled and unconscious behind. Maggots, thought Jason, as he rushed toward the freight elevator, Vermin.

The elevator rattled and shuddered as it moved upwards, into the heights of the warehouse. Jason could hear a noise behind him-- oh-so familiar to him over these past nights-- the sound of paw padding on metal, the lick of tongue on teeth and lips... the wolf was at his back... "Not... now..." he hissed. "Not... ever..." He clenched his fist, and punched himself in the leg, "concentrate!" The lift puttered to a stop on the top floor, and Jason stepped into the studio apartment, surveying the area. There were rooms, divided clearly by curtains-- a kitchen was in the corner, but in front of him, disguised by row after row of sheets, was another section of the apartment, and inside-- he could hear voices.

"Stop... struggling... you're making this worse for yourself..." The voice was familiar to him. He'd studied the files since his return, he learnt all he could of Bruce's rogues gallery, and the voice-- soft, bouncing as if dancing to his own songs-- was plain to recognize. The Dark Knight stormed forward, pulled the sheets back, tearing through with an animal's ferocity, until he grabbed the man who had killed all these young girls, dressed them with killing strokes, knife marks and surgical precision-- until he grabbed The Mad Hatter, Jervis Tetch, and wrenched him away from Mary, whom he had tied to the bed before him. "Nnnnaaahhh!"

Jason threw him across the room, and into the wall behind him. He turned his attention quickly to Mary, and cut the bonds across her wrists and ankle, "Run," hissed Jason, "the police will be outside. Run!"

"Th-thank you!" she gasped, before hurtling across the floor and heading straight for the freight elevator. She held herself tightly, shaking, and the Dark Knight nodded at her, and she afforded herself a brief smile-- before Jason turned his attention to the Mad Hatter himself.

"B-Batman! W-w-wh-what a pleasant s-s-surprise!" Tetch didn't stutter. What was this man's game? "Could I o-offer you a c-cup of t-t-tea?"

"I don't drink tea!" roared Jason, "Dodgson. Charles Dodgson, I assume? Real name of Lewis Carroll. Jervis Tetch. Mad Hatter-- how $%^&ing crazy are you!?!"

"I th-think you h-have m-me--"

"Stop stuttering!" Jason slapped Tetch across the face, causing the Hatter to fall to his knees. "Is this you trying to be dark and gritty? You murdered! You killed! Why?! Why would you do this?!"

"Ma-- I'm not the Mad Hatter, no, no," said Jarvis as he climbed to his feet, "No, no, see, I'm something else entirely now. A seed grew in my mind and it took root! An idea seed! Something that made me think in a different way," he smiled, "and the thoughts I thought were utterly beautiful! When I kill, the clouds part and I... I can see god! I can hear angels singing, welcoming another soul to heaven... down here, down here from hell, I can hear angels!"

The Dark Knight loomed over Jarvis Tetch, and punched him to the floor once more, breaking the man's nose. "Then who are you?" he asked flatly.

"Why, isn't it obvious? Saucy Jack! Jack the Ripper! Scourge of old London town!" He laughed, skipping around on the spot. "But you ruined it." He stopped suddenly. "One last lady of the night, one last step to my completion.” His angry face melted into a pathetic frown, “I'm sad now."

"You're crazy is what you are," hissed the Dark Knight.

"Pssh! He said, my friend said, become something different, something better, less reliant on the will of one man, and he was right--! Learning about the book, about the man, it helped me... I felt... I felt less need to conform to that image, the image of that damn Mad Hatter, but even then, I can't escape it, Batman! I can't escape his clutches-- he's got his hooks in me, and the thing is," The Mad Hatter's face warped into a sinister smile, his small tongue licking at the blood dribbling from his broken nose, "I don't care. I like it. I like being who I am, I like my hats and my madness and I liked it when I copied blade stroke for blade stroke ol' Saucy Jack. Lewis Carroll may have been a latecomer to the investigation, but he was a suspect none the less... I'm close to him in spirit, don't you see?"

"No."

The Mad Hatter laughed awkwardly. "...Pardon?"

"That theory was torn apart. Carroll wasn't even in London during the time of the murderers. He had an alibi for every night. You just wanted an excuse to try something different, but your psychosis wouldn't allow it! You're pathetic, that excuse is pathetic, and Jesus Christ, you thought you were going to get away with it?! What are you retarded? You did it in the middle of a crowded room!"

"They didn't see, I made sure they didn't,"

"You left a mental blind spot in their heads, removed yourself from their memories. But what's left... is the impression-- the psychic silhouette-- of a diminutive, small, inconsequential, stunted little man. You, Jarvis Tetch. Your hats amplify your psychic ability, you'd be quite formidable if you weren't such a $%^&ing joke."

"That's... that's mean," whispered Tetch, "you're not the Batman. You're a mean old bully."

"You're right, lucky for you" snapped the Dark Knight, as he took a step forward, "I don't give a @#!^. You need to be bullied into seeing things like the rest of the world does. Or maybe you need to go home, back to the Asylum, back to the shock treatments, the needles, the helping hands."

"No... no..."

Another step forward was taken by Jason. "Maybe you need to be locked away for the rest of your life in a padded cell, with no hope of ever escaping... maybe that's what we'll do with you..."

"Stop it! Stop being mean! You've ruined my fun, and now I don't have anything! You're a mean mean old bully!" Tetch took a step back, and The Dark Knight grinned. "Stop smiling! Stop laughing at me!"

Jason Todd put up his hands. "I'm not doing anything." He took a step forward, and Jarvis continued to back away, until-- Jason reached to his hip and pulled out a flare gun-- shooting it straight into Jarvis' chest.

"NAAAAAAAAHHH!" Jervis took a leap backwards, and fell through the window behind him, skittering to a stop floors below on the hard metal of the fire escape.

The Dark Knight loomed out of the window, and saw that Tetch was still alive, twitching and unconscious with a bright red spark slowly fading away on his chest. By now, Loomis had arrived, paramedics in tow, police presence in full force. Jason activated the comm-link in his cowl. "Tetch is on the south-side fire escape. I have a taped confession, but his murder kit is all here," said Jason, as he examined the bedroom where he intended to murder Mary Kelly. "You've got a win, Loomis. I'll leave a cookie behind for you."

"I hate you," mumbled Loomis, quietly, "but thanks..."

"I'll be watching," and with that, the Dark Knight cut the line, and fired a grapnel out of the warehouse, and into the darkness of the Narrows.

Now:

"Tetch mentioned a friend. I should remember that. A friend prompted him into delving deeper into his insanity. This does not bode well for the city. For my city."

Jason Todd slumped down in the seat in the satellite Cave, and breathed in deeply, the circulated air filling his lungs. He felt good, but knew the feeling would pass. He'd saved a girl from certain, horrific death, but yet, he'd failed four others... four that may not be dead if he had been ten steps ahead of that little worm the way he should have been. Would their deaths linger in his conscience, like they would have Bruce's? He was already mixing their names up. He retrieved the black book from the corner of the room, ripped out the page with names scrawled out and carefully wrote the four names of the girls he lost and drew a line beneath the last.

The cowl was lying on the floor, the symbol of fear that Gotham City needed lay flat and lifeless on the cold metal. It needed his lifeblood flowing through it, it needed a body to possess, a shmuck to ride about the town. It was using him-- or was he using it? He stood up, and pulled it up from the floor. Mad Hatter was one of Bruce's. He wore a *%@^ing costume and left cute little traces to be found. And he took him down, using his brains, following the clues, following the arrows that pointed to Tetch. He used his fists, he'd broken down doors and through faces to get to said clues, but still... was he becoming a better person?

"I just don't know..."

"I can tell you what I know," Jason spun around, batarang raised high, a vicious snarl on his lips, his hand lowered as soon as he saw who was speaking, that distinct, British accent he'd known all too well. "Dick Grayson is missing in action. His identity has been compromised. Gotham City needs you, Jason. We all need you." Alfred Pennyworth stood inside the cave, his hands behind his back, his eyes staring directly at the Dark Knight.

"What are you doing here? I didn't call in a maid today." He turned his back on Pennyworth, and resumed his ruminations in front of the computer.

"You always were a rude little boy, Jason."

"You always were an annoying old manservant, Pennyworth."

Alfred's lip curled. "I've not come here to exchange banter with you, Jason.”

“Good.”

“Master Richard has been kidnapped. I need your help."

"Well, I don't know what you want me to do, Alfred. I'm all out of milk cartons to print that kid's face on and if you can't tell, I'm a little busy not caring."

"How dare you, boy? Who do you think opened this cave up for you? Allowed you access to all the resources on offer here? Who do you think turned a blind eye to your little crusade in the Narrows?"

"Dick--"

"Certainly not. Master Richard does not even remember this satellite is still in operation, it has managed to somehow slip through the cracks of our security grid.”

“I'm touched.”

“Jason... Perhaps it is my tragic flaw that I think the best of people when I simply shouldn't--" snapped Alfred, "you want to continue here, with the equipment that you have no right to use? Then you do this for me. You help me. For once in your life, you will think of someone else other than yourself!"

"You wouldn't--"

"You want to test me, Jason?" The old man walked up the stairs and before exiting the cave took a small black remote from his coat pocket and pressed a button on it. Bars appeared from the tops of lockers and doorways and the lights shut off leaving Jason sitting alone in his chair.

“I--”

“Before you speak, let it be known only one answer will prompt me to place my finger back on this button.”

"Fine," grunted Jason.

“Close enough.” The lights returned.

"You're too kind” Jason made his way to the crumpled suit lying on the floor.

“I can't believe I'm to say this, Jason but not that cowl, the city doesn't need it's new Dark Knight--" Alfred pressed a button on the side of the wall, and a small compartment opened up, and another costume was revealed, all black with a red bat at the center of the chest. "--It needs the Batman."

“You're alright, Alfred.”

“Very well, Master Todd.”

When?:

Dick Grayson was in a padded cell. He was wearing a straightjacket, his hair was greasy and a beard covered his lower jaw. He rocked backwards and forwards, muttering to himself, as the door to his cell opened slowly, and two men stepped inside, taser-sticks at hand. "Time for your treatment, Mr Grayson."

"Nuh... nuh... nuh..." Dick climbed to his feet, scrambling back against the wall. "Not... not right... not happening... no..."

The doctor shook his head as he entered the room. "This is happening, Richard. This is right. Time for some electro-shock treatment, time to make you all better!" The doctor leaned in close to Dick Grayson's face. "Doesn't that sound nice?"