Batman v The People
by
Rhonnel Ferry
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any DC comics characters (or MacGruber), and I make no money from this fan fiction.
#
Fear is the key. All the fancy gadgets, the Halloween costume, the cool car, the weapons featuring bat motifs,... None of it works without the fear. No one understands that better than my enemies. That's why it's a tactic they use so often themselves.
"So which is it?" Malik Bello asks, while ominously patting his palm with the head of a claw hammer. "The left hand...or the right hand?"
"Go fuck yourself!" Officer Connor Morris spits.
The policeman is on his knees in a dark, deserted alley, and he is badly beaten. One eye is swollen shut, and the side of his mouth is puffy. Can't see what other injuries he might have from this high up.
On either side of him are two of Bello's thugs. Big guys in baseball caps, oversized basketball jerseys, and those ridiculous sagging jeans. They're both armed. One with an Uzi Pistol. The other, a 12 gauge shotgun. He's the one that worries me. If I make my move, and he panics with that thing, not only will he blow away the cop, but he'll most likely kill his two buddies also.
"Wrong answer," Bello responds, and gives a yellowish, toothy smile that I can see even from here. "Guess now I'll have to choose for you."
I'm running out of time. Have to make my move now. Have to risk it. Didn't have enough time for that legendary preparation that I seem to be know for. I go with my gut, and fling a Batarang at the shotgun guy. I don't aim for his head, where even in a dazed state, he might squeeze the trigger. Instead, I knock the weapon out of his hand. It's a gamble. But it pays off, and the shotgun slides away harmlessly.
The other thug swings his Uzi Pistol in my direction. I planned this deliberately. A gun aimed at me is one less gun aimed at Morris. Besides, he can't aim accurately in all this darkness. At least I hope not. He could still get lucky.
I leap out of the way as he fires. Then I toss another Batarang at the nearby lamp post. Before we're completely bathed in darkness, I see Morris make his move. While I have Bello's attention, the police officer springs upward, and tags the crime boss with an uppercut! When the lights go out, I switch on the night goggles. Or bat...night...vision goggles. I don't remember what I call these things.
The thug still has his gun aimed at the rooftops. And in his eyes, I recognize my best sidekick. Fear. Better than all the Robins and Batgirls combined. Fear makes my enemies careless. It makes them stupid. Vulnerable.
I rush forward, and hit him with a flying kick to the chest. His body slams against the other thug, and they both get knocked out. I quickly turn to take on Bello next, but he's already out cold on the ground.
All in all, not too sloppy. But it could've easily gone either way.
"Are you alright?" I ask Morris.
"Yea. Yea, thanks, Batman," he answers breathlessly.
"You should call this in."
"I will. Soon as I get myself a little payback."
"You go through with that,...and I'll be coming after you next," I warn him.
He gives me a surprised look, but he later calms down, and nods his head.
"OK. I'll call it in."
I fire a Batline...or Batrope...or Batclaw... Whatever! I use a rope and grappling hook to reel myself out of there.
#
A few nights later, I spot the Bat-Signal in the sky, and I dutifully go to meet my friend, Commissioner Jim Gordon at the roof of the Gotham City Police Department. As fun as it used to be, I don't bother sneaking up on him this time. That joke has gotten a little old. When he sees me, he switches off the searchlight. His expression is grimmer than usual.
"This is the last time," he tells me.
I sigh. "This isn't the first time you told me 'This is the last time'. What is it? Is it gout? Is the wife giving you a hard time?"
"It's not my call."
"Whose call is it then? The mayor? I knew he was dirty! You can't listen to him, Jim-"
"It's not the mayor, Batman. It's the people!"
I momentarily look at him in silence.
"What people?"
"THE people! All people! They've taken to the net, pressuring congress, protesting your methods! They say it goes against human rights."
"Whose rights? The scum?! The criminals?!"
"Apparently. It's bad enough when the system protected these lowlifes. Now, the people we protect are protecting them, too."
"Jim. Do you see me wearing red panties over my pants?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm saying I'm not Superman! I don't give a shit about protecting people! My job is to beat up bad guys! Your job is to throw what's left of them in jail!"
"Not anymore. I'm the one that gets crucified by the press," he announces sadly. "Unlike you, I don't have a mask to hide behind."
Then he starts to walk away.
"Wait, Jim! Don't walk away! OK. You convinced me. I will suck your dick."
"WHAT?!" he screams, spinning around, his hand on the butt of his revolver.
"I will suck your dick. I will let you fuck me. It worked for MacGruber. Just don't walk away from this."
"What the fuck-? NO! This is not that kind of fan fiction! You are not sucking my dick! I am not fucking you!"
"Would you rather I fucked you?"
"NO ONE'S FUCKING ANYBODY! Go home, Batman! Retire, like your buddy, Superman. Maybe you can suck his dick, if you wanna suck a dick so badly."
Then he angrily shuts the door behind him, leaving me alone with a Bat-Signal searchlight that will never be switched on again.
#
"The PEOPLE he says. All people," I complain to Clark Kent at out usual table at a cheap, little place called SuperHero Cafe. He's drinking beer in a bottle. I'm having whiskey in a glass. Neither of us used to drink during our Superhero heydays. But things change. And most of the time, not for the better. "But you know what? He's wrong about that. It's not all the people. It's spoiled, self-righteous, rich kids who have never personally known a victim of crime! Keyboard warriors living in expensive condos and secure subdivisions! They think they're safe. Well what about the working class people of America, huh, Clark? The working man has no time to post his opinions on Facebook! No! He's too busy earning an honest living for his wife and kids! He lives in the same place as the scum, and the criminals! You think those lowlifes care about the honest working man's human rights?! I don't think so!"
I take a swig of my beer.
After a moment of silence, Clark says, "You offered to suck his dick?"
"I DON'T KNOW IF I WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO SUCK HIS GODDAMN DICK, CLARK!"
"But you offered-"
"He's an honest cop! It's not like I could bribe him or anything!"
"But suck his dick, Bruce?"
"I was desperate! What do you know about it, anyway?! The media fucking loves you."
"Are you kidding me? They're harder on me than they are on you. They think I'm Jesus Christ. The moment I lose my temper, they go crazy."
"Well, Clark, in all fairness, when you lose your temper, collateral damage happens-"
"THAT WAS ZOD'S WORLD ENGINE! DON'T TURN THIS AROUND, BRUCE! THIS IS ABOUT YOU! NOT ME!"
"OK, fine."
"My point is, the world's changed. And you and I weren't able to change with it. It's one of the reasons I retired. Let Kara, Connor, Dick, Jason, and Tim take care of things. This is their generation. They know how it works."
Just then, the news reporter on the TV above the counter gets my attention.
"Suspected crime lord, Malik Bello was released earlier today, amidst a corruption scandal that involves accusations of racism, and use of excessive force by both the police and the vigilante known as The Batman..."
"Son of a bitch," I mumble in utter shock.
"Oh, yeah. About that," Clark admits. "They came asking for my help earlier in bringing you in."
"They?" I ask him, turning away from the TV.
"The government."
"You tell them to stick it?"
"Well,...not in those words. I told them that I'm retired, and that I couldn't help them."
"Good. I appreciate it. We've fought way too many times already."
I tap my rocks glass with his beer bottle in a toast.
Then I add, "You know I would win if we did though, right?"
Clark sighs. "Of course you would, Bruce."
"And do you know why?"
"Because you're Batman?"
"BECAUSE I'M BATMAN!"
#
My next move is to pay Officer Morris a visit. But before that, I stop by the mansion to gather my gear at the Batcave. I decide to go with the classic Batsuit. The blue cowl, and the gray body suit with a bat design on a yellow ellipse. But on my way back out, my son Damian chases after me.
"I'm coming with you," the small boy with the short, spiky haircut announces. "Let me just suit up-"
"I'm going alone."
"How come you don't bring me with you anymore?"
"I don't need you out there. I need you here. Go to your mother. Learn how to run the family business."
"This IS the family business. How am I suppose to learn how to be Batman one day, if you wont let me go with you-"
"YOU WILL NEVER BE BATMAN!" I yell at him. And my words stun us both. Maybe the whiskey made me do it.
Behind him, on the foot of the stairs leading out of the Batcave, is his mother, my wife, Talia. She's leaning on the wall, her arms crossed, and she gives me a sad, knowing smile.
Damian turns without a word, and walks up the stairs. He doesn't stomp off like a petulant child. He just exits quietly. He is the bigger man of the two of us.
I try to call after him, but he had already left.
"I'll talk to him," Talia assures me. "Don't think about it. Focus on your mission."
Then she follows our son up the stairs.
A part of me wants to just break down and cry. I don't deserve her. Intelligent, beautiful, and incredibly supportive of me. And I'm not even faithful.
I should become a better husband to her. I should become a better father to Damian.
But not tonight. Tonight, I focus on the mission.
#
I find Officer Connor Morris in his small, cluttered apartment, sitting on the edge of his bed, drinking straight from a bottle of Scotch. He is divorced, and now lives alone. I enter through the kitchen window via the emergency exit. He doesn't even seem surprised when he looks up at me with eyes reddened from drink.
"Can I get you something?" he offers, looking over to the small, old refrigerator in the corner. "Think I got beer in the fridge-"
"Is it true?" I cut him off. "Are you dirty?"
"Am I dirty?" He laughs sadly then takes a swig. "Every cop is a little dirty. We wouldn't be able to make ends meet otherwise. Not with our salary. Sure, I've taken a bribe here. Got too rough with a perp there. At least I'm not a sadistic, drug dealing, murderer like Bello. But he walks, and I'm up on charges. Crazy fucking world." Another swig.
"Where can I find him?"
"Why don't you ask your buddy, the commissioner?"
I sigh angrily. "I can't go to him for help anymore."
"Did you offer to suck his dick?"
I scoff. "NO!"
"Good. Coz it wouldn't have worked. Tell you what, I give you Bello, but I come with. Just lemme get my shotgun-"
He tries to stand, wobbles, then falls right back on the bed.
"You're in enough trouble," I tell him. "I'll take care of Bello."
"How? They'll just turn things around with that human rights bullcrap when you bring him in."
"I'm not bringing him in."
#
Morris informs me that Malik Bello owns a couple of legal businesses as fronts for his illegal drug trade. Nothing fancy. He's got a bar and a laundromat. Bello is small-time. I stakeout the bar first from the rooftop of an apartment building across the street by using binoculars. Or Bat-binoculars, if you want. Hours pass with no results. I move halfway across town to the laundromat, and get lucky.
The laundromat is closed, but his SUV is parked up front. He's got only one heavy waiting by the door. I guess he didn't have enough money to get fancy lawyers for the other two goons that I took out before.
Through a window to the back room, I see him packing a duffel bag hurriedly. Someone's planning on skipping town. Maybe lie low for a few months. Maybe his lawyer's advice.
I can easily sneak past the heavy. But not taking him out now, might cause problems for me later on. I use the shadows to stealthily get behind him. He's a big man, and I have to jump to lock a rear naked choke on him!
I apply it perfectly! Yet somehow, he refuses to go down! I lock my legs around his waist to add more pressure, but he remarkably stays on his feet!
He gives me a pair of strong elbows to the side. I feel them, but I don't let go. Then he rushes backward, and slams my back against the wall! My grip loosens, and he flips me over his shoulder! I crash on the hood of the SUV, and roll to the ground.
As I get back up, he pulls out a Glock, and shoots me twice in the chest just as I turn! I go right back down.
The suit is bulletproof, but it's not heavily padded. So the bullets don't go through, but my chest is burning with pain. I decide to play dead. I can hear a dog barking from somewhere, but other than that, the entire street is quiet. This is a dangerous neighborhood, so the people here are more cautious than curious.
Through half closed eyes, I see the heavy cautiously approaching, his pistol trained on my head. Hope he isn't too cautious, and decides to shoot me in the face.
He doesn't. When he's within reach, I lunge forward and grab his wrist with one hand, the pistol with the other. He squeezes the trigger. I hear the bullet smack into the pavement about an inch away from my head! I twist the pistol, breaking his trigger finger.
He yelps, pulls away, dragging me up, then tosses me again. This time, to the other side. I slam into the wall of the laundromat, but I take the gun with me.
I can end it easily here. I have the gun. It's loaded. But I don't use it. The easy way isn't always the right way. I'm talking to you, Punisher. I remove the clip, toss the gun aside, then get ready to fight this behemoth some more.
Now, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Beating Superman is really no great feat. Not when you have Kryptonite. You know how Clark always holds back when he's fighting me? Well he doesn't know this, but I actually hold back, too. Why? Because when you have Kryptonite, ANYBODY can beat Superman. Come on, he becomes weaker than an average man when exposed to Kryptonite. You wanna know what it's like to fight a Kryptonite weakened Superman? Go to the nearest hospital. Look for someone suffering from radiation poisoning. Chances are, you're gonna find someone bedridden. Now, go pick a fight with him. If you don't hold back even a little in that fight, then you are one merciless son of a bitch.
You wanna know who a real threat to me is? It's this guy. Your average everyday henchman. Every once in a while, you come across one of these guys. The extreme sportsmen. The thrill seekers. The adrenaline junkies. He's no supervillain. He has no razor sharp playing cards, no fear gas, no hi-tech umbrellas. But you know what else he doesn't have? Fear. And like I mentioned earlier, it just doesn't work without it. When he looks at me, he doesn't see a myth or a monster. He sees me for what I really am. An old man in a bat costume. Hell, he must even think I look funny.
I throw a Batarang at him. He easily swats it away with his one good hand, but at least it gives me an opening. I charge in, and throw three quick, straight punches to his midsection. It feels like punching concrete! Probably feels like a light massage to him. Fighting fair isn't gonna cut it with this one. So I try to kick him in the nuts. But he catches my shin before it could make contact. He looks up, smiles at me, shakes his head in a show of mock disappointment. Then, in the heat of battle, he forgets that his finger's broken, and he punches me in the nose with his hurt fist! My vision blurs. I think I actually see stars.
"Mother fucker!" he howls in pain, clutching his injury with his good hand.
Unfortunately, I'm too dazed to take advantage of it. I just teeter there like a drunk. Which I kinda' sorta' am. I fumble in my utility belt for a Batarang, and accidentally pull out the Kryptonite instead. Which sadly has no effect on him.
He push kicks me with a size 15 boot, and I'm on my back on the sidewalk again.
He starts looking around for the pistol. Big mistake giving me time to recover. He should have just squashed my head in.
I reach into one of the many compartments of my utility belt, and take out my remote electric charge, a small collapsible gun that fires powerful bolts of high current electricity. I get into a sitting position, and fire! He gets hit right in the chest! After convulsing on his feet for a few seconds, he falls on his face. He's not out, and he tries to push himself back up, so I quickly take out my compact stun gun, rush towards him,...and I electrocute his asshole!
Yes, it has to be the asshole. Because... Well, it just has to be. I read somewhere that some animals would mount fellow males as a show of superiority! This is no different. It's totally not gay.
He squeals like a pig. That's how I know it's working. I shock his asshole repeatedly until he passes out. And then I shock him a couple of more times for good measure. And then one final shock, just because he pissed me off.
Well, if he wasn't afraid of me before, I guarantee he'll be having nightmares of me from now on.
#
I figure Bello would be long gone by now after all that ruckus up front. But I trudge into the laundromat anyway. Maybe I'll find a clue that will lead me to where he'll go next.
I open the door leading to the back room. And to my surprise, Bello is still there, seated behind his desk, his trembling hand pointing a revolver at me.
"Oh, shit," he whimpers. "He said he could beat you."
"He was wrong. And if you don't put that gun down right now, I'm going to do to you, what I did to him. And you don't want to know what I did to him."
He quickly, and wisely, puts the gun down.
I walk over to him and say, "So which is it? The left hand, or the right hand?"
"Oh, Jesus, man! No!" he whimpers some more, tears running down his cheeks.
"Wrong answer."
"The left! The leeeeeeeeeeefffft...!"
He quickly extends his left arm across the desk. I pick up the revolver, and smash it down hard on his hand! Then he just as quickly retracts the arm, crying loudly in pain.
"This is the new status quo!" I growl. "You step out of line again, it's the other hand! Then after that, I'll make you choose between your eyes! Do you understand?!"
"I'll-I'll be lookin' over my shoulder for the rest of my life?" he whines.
"You've been doing that since you chose a life of crime!"
He starts sobbing helplessly, going into a fetal position in his chair. I decide to show mercy.
"I'll give you another option," I tell him more gently. "You give yourself up to the police, confess to your crimes, do your time. I wont come after you in prison. No bat branding or any o' that. You have my word."
I think he nods his head. I'm not sure. I don't wait for an answer. I turn and leave.
#
Later, at the Wayne mansion, I find Damian at the library, furiously typing at a laptop.
"Playing games, son?" I ask, maybe a little too cheerfully. I still feel really bad at how I yelled at him earlier.
"I'm checking the company's returns from last quarter," he responds, not taking his eyes off the screen. "I think we should lay off some people."
I take a seat on a wooden bench near him.
"Come sit with me, Damian."
He takes a second to observe me cautiously, but obeys. I put an arm over his shoulder.
"I know I haven't been the kind of father you deserve," I begin. "I haven't taken you camping or fishing or hiking. I don't take you to ball games. I don't-"
"Stop talking like that. It's weird."
"Shut up, you little shit. I'm trying to tell you something."
"Fine."
"I think you will make a very good Batman," I continue haltingly. "But that's not the legacy I want to leave you. I want my legacy to be a Gotham City that doesn't need a Batman. If I can't give you that, I will consider my mission a failure."
"Do you really think that can happen?"
"No," I answer honestly. "Odds are I wont be able to change a goddamn thing, and you will have to take over as Batman one day. But while I am able, I am sure as hell going to try."
I take him in my arms, and from one of the glass book display cases, I see him turn his head away from me to hide a smile.
END