The following is a non-profit, fan work based off the respective works of Rei Hiroe and Christopher Nolan
All rights belong to the original creators, Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc., and Madhouse Inc.
The Bluefire Phoenix presents...
An Operation Dusk Hour Tale...
Nightfall
Chapter I: Identity Crisis
My name…
My name is Rock. Once upon a time I was just your run-of-the-mill salaryman living in Tokyo. Now I'm a modern day pirate of the South China Sea.
I sail out of the city of Roanapur in Thailand. It was a city of sin and depravity. A city ruled by the whims of the corrupt and the mad. The story of my rebirth in this city of darkness is long. And bloody. In that time I've made some friends, gained a few enemies, and some I'm not sure about.
Chief among those in-betweeners is the leader of the local Russian Mafia, Balalaika. Not ideal by any stretch of the imagination.
Hence my apprehension over a simple invitation to her private office. At nine o'clock at night. Alone. But disregarding her call would have been far worse.
I sat in her office. It was choked in a permanent haze of cigar smoke. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows over everything.
This was the throne room where Balalaika ruthlessly past judgment on any and all fools who dared to cross her or her organization.
The room itself was rather unremarkable, just a few trappings of home for its primary occupant. I had seen similar décor before, having dealt with many foreigner officials operating in Japan. Actually at a quick glance the office was pretty normal.
But there was something wrong with this room. It was a gnawing feeling that nagged at your subconscious to be put into words. Such a feeling had merit as a closer inspection of the office revealed various bullet holes and other awkward chips in the furniture. Some sections of the green carpet seemed unnaturally faded in places.
Indeed this place was just the last stop on many people's long path to hell.
Yet all these echoes of death didn't faze me in the slightest.
Ever since I arrived in the city, everything that you would associate with a functional member of society slowly slipped away. I would never say I was crazy. But the city gets you after a while. I just stopped caring on some level. My friends and crewmates were all I had left.
I heard the door open. The ominous echo of heels clicking against the floor erupted behind me. A cold hand gently grabbed the back of my head. I could feel nails dig into my scalp.
"Glad you could make it, Rock," a familiar, cold-as-death voice said behind me. I felt a chilling breeze as I saw a familiar trench coat in the corner of my eyes.
"Of course, Ms. Balalaika. I'm not sure what Hotel Moscow could want from me, but I am happy to help," I calmly said. My heart started to pound into overdrive as she sat down. The blonde elegantly brushed her thick hair out of the way. She smiled. Probably amused at my answer.
Balalaika held up an English language newspaper. "Do you keep up with American news?" She asked. I nervously shook my head.
"Well I wasn't expecting you to," she said as she tossed the paper to me. My eyes locked on to the headline.
"Clown's Night of Terror Ends," I accidentally read aloud. I started to read the article. None of it made any sense. The tale of the "Batman," the tragedy of some Harvey Dent, the horrors of the so-called "Joker," those were the front page stories of the Gotham Gazette. By all accounts it was a reputable newspaper. But this seemed the heights of childish fantasy after reading The Anarchist's Cookbook and the collected works of Nietzsche.
Then again, I've been in a battle with Neo-Nazis, barely escaped a Terminator maid, mentally scarred by killer twin children, chased across town by a ragtag group of assassins, and live with a psychotic woman who wears hardly anything into battle. Still, the idea of a vigilante dressed as a bat fighting a terrorist clown gave me pause. I can't say whether that's funny or sad.
I set the paper down. "I am afraid that I'm confused at what this has to do with me," I said with all the politeness I could muster.
"Our operation in the city of Gotham has been compromised. The bosses back home are getting worried that the local police are getting too bold. We've been dispatched to clean up and rebuild."
"But what does this have to do with me? You hardly need a translator in America."
Balalaika smiled. The presence of death that hung in background rushed forward. I felt the hair on the back of my neck raise up in terror. The woman leaned in over her desk.
"No I want you to figure out who this 'Batman' is, and I want you to bring me his head," she menacingly purred.
If I hadn't used the restroom before coming, I think any respect the woman had for me would have been dripping down my legs. I straightened up in my seat.
A cruel smile formed on Balalaika's face. "Metaphorically speaking of course. But I do want you to set a trap to catch him," she added.
"What?" I asked, praying she didn't interpret that as an insult.
"My sources say that this 'Batman' has vanished from the public eye as of late. I have no doubt that he will return once news of our activities breaks, so you will devise a plan to catch him in an effort to keep him contained," the woman clarified. I think I blinked.
Did she just ask me to catch an arguably insane vigilante? Just when I thought I had seen it all.
"I'd be glad to assist you in anyway. But I really don't know how much I'll be able to help," I said.
"Don't worry, I'll provide you with everything you'll need and you will be well compensated for your time. You have two weeks before we set sail."
Those words followed me all the way back to the office. Even the next day they echoed in my head as Balalaika's troops brought box after box of reports, testimony, and articles related to my newest job.
My walls still had the faint outlines of the work I did for the Lovelace family a few months ago. Hopefully they wouldn't interfere. I had replaced my map of Roanapur with that of Gotham.
With that up, it was time to start. From the very beginning.
Locations, routes, and people: everything had to be accounted for. Something felt wrong as I tracked the career of the Batman. My mind began to close off most of the world. My hands began to once again mark my walls with pen. Webs of connections, notes, and hypothesizes began to fill up the space.
The tale was starting to form from the papers. A questioned emerged as each layer was placed, a single, irritating question. Balalaika would bring more files as I asked for them all in the hope of the next batch having what I need. Still I couldn't find the link. Who was the Batman?
Then it hit me!
I pulled out the paper that detailed the gas attack that the Batman stopped. Earlier that night, Wayne Manor had been burned down. I was familiar enough with Wayne Enterprises. My old company did some business with them on occasion. The paper said that Mr. Wayne was drunk and burned down the house. Wayne had a reputation for being a party boy sure, but for someone who seemed to pride himself on public appearance, that seemed odd.
Then I found an article from a couple of years later that detailed how the Batman quickly appeared at Bruce Wayne's apartment when the Joker showed up to ruin a party. The Batman risked his life to save assistant DA Rachel Dawes. This originally led some people to believe that Batman might be Harvey Dent, Dawes' boyfriend at the time, describing the hero's attempt to save her as fueled beyond the motivation he had displayed in the past.
This was later disproven after Dent claimed to be the Batman and was saved from assassination by the real Batman. Sighted in attendance at Dent's historic press conference was a silent Bruce Wayne, barely noticeable in the picture.
After Dent and Dawes were kidnapped by the Joker, the Batman specifically went after Dawes over Dent. I thought that it was a dead end. After all, the Joker had played reverse psychology and it was plausible that the Batman knew ahead of time.
But, the reports and interviews with those present when he made the call claimed that Batman reacted emotionally and specifically used Dawes' first name. Quick, emotional decisions went against the Batman's entire MO, especially when he was going on the word of a madman.
So assuming that the Batman believed he was going after Dawes, the next question was: why would he risk the city's future over an arguably expendable civil servant? Who would do that? Perhaps a friend from childhood and possible former lover named Bruce Wayne?
Yes, everything was starting to come together. The only hang up was the murder spree attributed to the Batman. After two years with a no killing policy, why change? It was wrong unless—
—He didn't want to be Batman anymore! He effectively quit by taking the fall for the three murders. The death of Rachel Dawes was enough to send Batman into seclusion and the only person other than Dent with strong enough emotional connections to be affected was Bruce Wayne.
His name appeared at or could be traced back to every defining moment in the history of the Batman. Was Wayne connected to the caped crusader? I shifted focus and started looking into his life in detail.
His parents killed in front of him as a child. Motive.
He inherits a vast fortune and a company that used to be in the arms trade. Equipment.
Drops out of Oxford and disappears from public view. Training?
Returns a few years later followed a few weeks later by the first sighting of the Batman. Coincidence?
Stops man from revealing Batman's true identity. Accident?
Wayne.
Wayne.
Bruce Wayne.
Who are you, really? Where did you go? What did you learn?
Are these all just coincidences? No, there had to be something more to it than that. It connected too well.
A knock on my door snapped me out of my work. Oh god how long had I been doing this? My walls were covered in hundreds of scribbles and diagrams. The map of Gotham looked like a battle strategy layout that the generals always have in the movies. Empty Styrofoam cups littered my floor.
Revy entered with her usual blasé swagger. She looked around my room and let out a sharp whistle.
"The hell have you been doing Rock? You've locked yourself in here for four goddamn days," she growled.
My lips twitched into a smile. "I have him Revy. I have the mother fucking Batman!" I shouted. I started to chuckle.
My right fist slammed into my left palm. This was it! I had him!
But would Balalaika believe me? Would anyone believe me?
To Be Continued...
A/N: Hello and look at that! For anyone new to me or my work, let's say this story has been a long time coming. To anyone who has been anticipating this, well today is your day.
Sorry if that noir vibe is bothering you. It just sort of turned out that way. I'm not used to writing characters like these in the first person. So there may be a few chapters of adjusting to go through. We'll see.
I do think that Rock could figure out Batman's identity. Especially in the heavily grounded Nolanverse. While I would not refute a comment about the speed of Rock's discovery, I need to get the plot moving too.
The goal of Operation Dusk Hour can be best described with a horribly mangled Shakespeare quote, "I come to bury Batman, not to praise him." Don't get me wrong, I love The Dark Knight. But let's be honest. Batman has become so overplayed in recent years. I even question Deathbattles' recent episode and I usually agree with those guys (Yes Superman would beat Goku, it is sad but true my friends). So I'm going to use this project to examine Batman, particularly Nolan's interpretation, and see if there is anything left of the man.
And yes, Two Hands vs. the Caped Crusader will happen. Just because I want to look at something seriously, doesn't mean we can't have fun. I'm sure it will be more so than the upcoming movie that I refuse to name.
So what did you think? Anything you'd like to see or believe should happen? Leave a review or send me a message.
Until next time, try the Spirit Bomb {it always works!}