KNIGHT OF GOTHAM: DEAD HEARTS
The hum of the Batmobile's engine mixed with the constant stream of my surroundings rushing by made for a hypnotic environment, making my eyelids feel heavy and the dull, throbbing ache in my stomach become more distant. The world was melting away. Thoughts of when Bane severed my spinal cord flooded in with a phantom pain in my back. I was familiar with unconsciousness, and willing to embrace it. I slumped a little in my seat and my head began nodding. Feelings that could only be described as resigned caressed my mind and seemed to assure it that falling asleep couldn't do any harm.
Robin must've noticed.
He had to do something. It wasn't like he could waste much time shaking me, driving a high-speed vehicle. Instead, he turned on the radio, found the first station with music instead of talking, and blared it. It was non-stop hits from the '70s. It would have been hilarious had I not been dying from a gunshot wound. I felt several light slaps to the side of my face and heard Robin's agitated voice saying, "Hey, I stayed with you after a knife to the gut, so you'd better not check out now!" Seeing as how my diaphragm squished the wound around and made the pain flare up, just breathing was painful, and I didn't want to see how speaking went. So I simply grunted in reply, trying to focus on the funk rock flooding into my ears instead of the engine or the rushing buildings and lights outside.
Robin continued, "I've already talked to Barb and Alfred. They've got some stuff set up at the Batcave. You'll be fine, Bruce. We'll get that bullet out of you, sew up that wound, and…you'll be fine. You'll be fine." It was heartbreakingly easy to tell that Robin was attempting to convince the both of us. He'd already seen me endure one horrific injury, and it was almost too much. I began wondering when we'd reach his breaking point. It was one of the times I had to truly confront the nature of my life as Batman. When I went out and fought criminals, it was never a pleasure outing, it was never rubber knives and dart guns and play costumes. It was cruel blades and piercing bullets and battle gear and war paint. I became Batman to protect people, but it almost never occurred to me that I ought to protect myself or my friends. Alfred, Dick, and Barbara are the people I love most in the world, and back then, in the formative years of the Bat Family, I came face to face with the realization of how I could hurt them. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do, and yet I made it easier just by being Batman. During that trip to the Manor, returning from the Scarecrow's hideout, watching Robin tensely drive the Batmobile and hearing him breathe heavily and nervously, I knew the easiest way I could hurt them.
I could die. It's the only time I can remember being scared by death.
My thoughts came close to lulling me to sleep, but just before I was going to slip away, I slowly directed my eyes forward. There was the mouth of the Batcave. There was safety. There was my family, ready to save me. The slightest of smiles graced my face, but only for a fleeting moment. It was a feat of strength to keep my eyes open. I wanted the mercy of rest.
The Batmobile stopped suddenly, a jolt that sent pain through my abdomen and kept me alert for a few more precious moments. In the next few seconds, there was a flurry of noise: shifting into park, the key being quickly removed from the ignition, the driver's side door being thrown open and shut again, rushed orders, pounding feet, the passenger's side door being opened, and beloved voices. Three pairs of hands dragged me out of the Batmobile and picked me up. I heard Barbara groan with effort, "Oh, there's so much blood. Come on, Bruce."
I was placed on a table, and heard Alfred say, "Stand back, Dick." I felt a gentle, feminine hand in my left hand, and a larger, more forceful one in my right.
After a minute or two of preparation, I heard Alfred say grimly, "This is going to hurt, Bruce. Quite a bit." I quickly nodded in acknowledgement, beginning to take sharp breaths. Then the pain began. I groaned and shouted, nearly crushing Barbara and Dick's hands. I felt something get pulled out of me, and the searing pain turned into a dull but pervasive soreness. I breathed heavily, loosening my grip on Dick and Barbara's hands.
I looked at them in turn. They were both giving me reassuring smiles. Alfred quickly bandaged me up and said, "You need to rest, Bruce. Come, we'll help you to bed."
"Yeah," I groaned, slowly getting up from the table with their help. They all supported me on the way to my room, trying not to cause me any more pain.
When I reached my bed, I thankfully flopped into it, slowly rolling over onto my back. I sighed in relief, "Thanks. I'll try to sleep."
Alfred gave a quick nod, and Barbara and Dick both gave me hugs. "Get some rest," Barbara said on their way out. I smiled slightly, closing my eyes as I heard her shut the door.
...
Dr. Kirk Langstrom was standing across a room from a man in a suit and tie who had salt-and-pepper hair, a crooked nose, a minor snaggletooth, and a short, groomed black beard. Langstrom was holding a briefcase, but the man wasn't holding another. That wasn't according to the arrangement. They had arranged this meeting some time ago, and Langstrom was anxious to see it done.
Langstrom, you see, specialized in medicine. However, it was, to put it mildly, fringe medicine. It wasn't medicine you could sell to the public very easily, and in many cases it was actually quite dangerous. But when they did work, Langstrom's formulas worked what seemed to be magic. The man now before him had requested a specific medicine from Langstrom, one that was rather expensive. This delighted Langstrom, the income being a way to continue his underground, illegal research.
But surely, the amount of money the man would need to purchase the medicine would need a briefcase, and the man didn't have one.
This made Langstrom slightly nervous. "Mr. Kase…" he asked the man by the name he'd given him, "Mr. Kase, I'm noticing a conspicuous lack of money. These goods do need to be purchased, after all."
The man chuckled, "Oh, please, Doctor, no need to be formal." He withdrew a pistol from the back of his belt, finishing, "Call me Terry Gene." He suddenly shot the briefcase twice, near its bottom. Some liquids seeped from the holes. Terry said, "You know, you really should check your clients for weapons."
Langstrom was furious, his work having been destroyed. He tossed the briefcase aside and growled, "What are you really here for, Kase?"
Terry raised the gun and pointed it towards Langstrom's face. "Grundy," Terry growled, "Where is he?"
Langstrom nearly shuddered. Grundy. His life's most important, and most grim, work.
Langstrom gulped and answered, "I can't tell you exactly where he is, but you can try to find him. Look for…for areas around Gotham – he won't have gone far – with missing children and…perhaps small dogs. He seems to take Frankenstein's monster as a role model."
Terry smiled and lowered the gun, putting on the safety. "Thanks, Langstrom," Terry said, turning and beginning to walk out.
Langstrom, still angry, shouted at him before he exited, "I know your name, Kase! I can have people find you! I've built connections in the Underground!"
Terry began laughing lightly, opening the door to the remote shack in which the two had met.
Langstrom asked, "What's so funny, Kase?"
Terry turned to reveal a grin, saying, "You don't know my name."
"Wh-what?" Langstrom stammered, "I-I looked you up! I found records on you and everything! You're Terry Gene Kase!"
"I was," Terry replied, "But most of my associates call me Cerberus now."
Langstrom was terrified now. What kind of man was Kase, really?
Kase exited, leaving Langstrom in the shack. Not ten seconds after the door had clicked shut, Langstrom looked again at the ruined briefcase. His anger burned again. He went to a loose floorboard in the shack, pulling it up to reveal a group of vials containing clear liquid. He picked one up and took off the cap. He reminded himself of how it always hurt. But then, of course, there was how he felt when it was all over. And so, he steeled his nerves and drank the contents of the vial. He had time to put the cap back on and safely place the vial back underneath the floorboard. And then it began.
He felt violent muscle spasms, electric nerve pain, and heard a disgusting cracking. His vision blurred and his hearing and smelling became acute, the front of his face extended and he lost his human voice. The waves of pain and disorientation passed, and Langstrom found himself as he had many times before: as a beast, a man-sized bat.
Now, he thought, to take care of this Cerberus for ripping me off. Before he could enact his plan, however, he heard an ominous beeping from the far corner of the tiny shack. Langstrom screeched and burst from the shack, right through the wall, using his large, clawed hands. But too late. An explosion occurred right behind him, sending him careening through the air.
Langstrom landed hard on his chest, gasping and wheezing and trying to endure the pain from his burnt back. His vision was hazy and unfocused. His now large, bat-like ears picked up crunching from nearby. Someone was approaching. It was Cerberus.
Cerberus stood over Langstrom, saying, "That ought to fix you. Believe me, I'd already heard of your little transforming act before I came here. Unfortunately for you, I'm also aware that your wannabe Jekyll shtick has two steps. Oh yes. I dug deep, and I found all the places where you keep the second step. It's all gone now, Langstrom. And now…" Cerberus knelt for a moment and growled in Langstrom's face, "I'm going to leave you here to die from your injuries as an unclaimed, filthy…Man-Bat." Cerberus stood, walking to a further spot and shooting a flare. A helicopter swooped down and dropped a ladder for him. Cerberus took hold of it and was lifted away by the helicopter. He didn't even glance at Langstrom.
Despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite the loss of the precious antidote to the serum he'd taken, Langstrom found it in himself to grin, a wide, wolfish grin full of bristling white fangs. This was because he knew that it would take more than a singed back to kill him. Well, most of the skin on the back of his body was horribly burnt, but it felt only singed to Langstrom.
He knew he had to leave before any authorities arrived. Gotham already had Batman, and he was weird enough. Langstrom didn't want to try and fathom the city's reaction to a Man-Bat. Langstrom slowly lifted himself to his feet, walking away from the scene, including the still-burning shack. He had to hide. He was just shy of seven feet tall now, after all. He'd have to settle for shadows at the time. So he went to the Gotham Central Park. Plenty of trees, plenty of shadows.
And then he began planning. If all his antidotes really had been destroyed, he could just make more. It would be harder, yes, but he'd memorized the formula. But then again, Langstrom was still angry. Combined with his animal-like instincts as Man-Bat, he wanted to kill. Maybe he could stay that way for a while. He cracked his hellish grin once more.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: WOW. I HAVE BEEN GONE A LONG FRICKIN' TIME. I'M VERY SORRY FOR MY ABSENCE, AND I'M HAPPY TO RETURN. MY UPLOADING SCHEDULE WON'T BE NEARLY AS POLISHED AS IT WAS WHEN I STARTED THIS WHOLE THING (THINGS HAVE COME UP WHICH MADE MY INSPIRATION FIZZLE OUT IN THE FIRST PLACE), BUT I'LL TRY TO BE FAIRLY CONSISTENT. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FUTURE OF KOG.