Darkest Knights
Chapter 1: Watchmen
Do not believe that you can possibly escape the reward of your action. –Ralph Waldo Emerson
Gotham City is a labyrinth, it twists and turns from one extreme destination to the next, from the salt drenched Docks to the glittering Heights where Stately Wayne Manor is nestled, to Crime Alley that first downward step into the Narrows –- where the notorious and now abandoned Arkham Asylum slinks by the Sprang river. Gotham City is a place of contrasts, where life and death dance and you never know whether it's a waltz or a tango but what ever the dance you need to keep on your toes.
At night the city is a glimmering jewel on the coast seen from the outside…seen from within…At night the city's a different place. At night the law of the concrete jungle comes into full force—this is the time of the predator, a time when cries in the night are ignored out of apathy or fear, this is the time of fear. This is the time of the bat.
The Batman surveyed the warehouse with grim satisfaction. After a month of surveillance he'd finally managed to track down 'the floating meth lab'. Vinnie Fellini was smart. Fellini, a up and coming drug kingpin had deduced that the best way to stay ahead of the law, out of the way of his competitors and out of the probably –doesn't- exist-but -don't-take- any- chances -Batman's radar was to move his place of operations from place to place every few days…after cleaning up all the evidence. So that left both police and vigilante frustrated and quickly running out of patience. Then finally one of Fellini's goons had slipped up…while being dangled from the top of a twenty story building. He'd spilled everything from the place to the time to the method of transportation.
The bat clad ninja swooped onto the warehouse and slid into the shadows. Entrances
required drama. The Batman knelt in front of one dirt entrenched window and started in surprise. Instead of crashing through in an explosion of shattering glass he opened the window and slipped inside.
The warehouse was in a shambles. The tables and equipment were smashed and most disturbingly the thugs, amateur chemists and other criminals were tied up and piled atop each other like so much cord wood. Vinnie Fellini himself, however; was attached to a pillar his arms tied above his head.
The Batman blinked. What in the hell?
This was the third time this had happened to him. He'd had a place all staked out and had gone into find someone had done his work for him.
He strode over to Fellini and slapped him awake. "Who did this?" He rasped.
Fellini groaned and opened his eyes. He blearily regarded the black, pointy eared figure in front of him and let out a start of fear on recognizing him. He had the look of man who had closed his eyes to one nightmare only to open them to another.
"She did." Fellini croaked out. "She just came out of nowhere and started laying into us like she was Buffy."
Buffy?
"Who did this?" The Batman growled again.
Fellini shrank back into himself as the vigilante glared at him. "The Black Canary…she called herself The Black Canary!"
"The Black Canary?" Dinah Lance smiled doubtfully at Slam Bradley Jr. as she stood on the steps of Gotham County High School. The autumn wind played with her golden hair and the morning light caused her deep blue eyes to sparkle.
"No really." Bradley insisted pushing back his dirty blond hair back from his forehead. "According to my Pop the Canary's real."
Dinah grinned, "Your pop thinks the Batman is real too."
Bradley regarded the girl with narrow brown eyes. They weren't exactly friends. He was the muckraker for the school newspaper; she was a member of the chess team, he was a paranoid conspiracy theorist and she was Pollyanna with a 'Tude, he was getting by on C's and she was the school's golden prodigy—a senior at 15. They weren't exactly friends. But he respected her. It was hard not to respect the girl who once tried to stuff the football team's star quarterback into a locker…she'd probably have succeeded if Principal Loab hadn't come out of his office.
It didn't hurt that she was really hot.
Her main problem to Bradley's way of thinking was the way she'd distanced herself from the world. That is not to say that she was apathetic or that she wasn't involved…she just always seemed preoccupied with something more important. Most kids vaguely knew that high school wasn't the whole world; Dinah not only knew high school wasn't the whole world; she acted like it wasn't the whole world.
Also, she tended not to take him seriously.
"I'm sorry Bradley; I just don't see it, some chick running around in black leather fighting crime in the most dangerous city in America." Dinah chuckled as the bell rang, "The days of the costumed vigilante are far behind us."
Lieutenant Jim Gordon stared in something like awe at his new partner Detective Harvey Bullock inhaled his foot long meatball sub much in the same way a sword swallower inhales a blade.
Bullock wiped his mouth with a napkin before throwing and nearly missing into the waste bin. "So what do we got?" Bullock was a big guy who dressed like an extra from 'The Maltese Falcon'.
"Blond in the Pond," Gordon said referring to a prostitute who had been unceremoniously left for dead. Cops had grim sense of humor. It went with the job.
Bullock grunted, "The one with the snapped neck right?"
His partner nodded. "Yeah. Another one."
"What else," Bullock rumbled. Due to shake ups in the force's hierarchy everyone was doing double duty. Vice and Homicide were slowly become one department. Which actually, made some sort sense as vice so often led to homicide.
"Clean up on the Fellini case, someone torched Schumacher Inc. I hear that there's some kind of eco-terrorism involved. Then we're supposed to sit in on the Arkham Taskforce." Gordon grimaced. Recapturing all the criminals that Crane had let loose would not be the easy. Hey, the Fellini case…hmmm. So a new vigilante was making her presence known. Wonder what Batman thought of a new costume on his turf?
Harvey stood up, "Let's roll."
"The Black Canary? Really sir?" Alfred Pennyworth looked for lack of a better word… intrigued.
Bruce shot him a glace that said 'Give.' His extensive research hadn't turned up much. Just police reports for the last few weeks saying that some mysterious blond in black who seemed determined to do his job was doing a number on the criminal element.
Not finding anything of note was getting old in a hurry. Seeing the glint of recognition in his old friend's eye was welcome if surprising.
"Master Bruce, perhaps your undoubtedly exhaustive research didn't go far enough back?" Alfred suggested.
"Far enough back?" Wayne raised an eyebrow.
"The JSA," Alfred said smiling.
"The what?"
Alfred sighed, "The Justice Society of America."
Bruce stood up excitedly, "Hey! Those superhero guys from World War II that Grandpa used to tell stories about!" He frowned, "I thought they were an urban myth."
"Yes sir, an urban myth. Like Batman," Alfred said not allowing even a touch of irony to taint his reply.
Wayne's lips quirked upward into a smile. "Ya don't say?"
Alfred smiled back at him, "The JSA was quite real. And as a point of interest they included a Black Canary on their roster."
"Did they now?" That was interesting.
Mr. Rucka was a man who resembled a jolly bomb about to go off. He wore a pirate hat.
Angela Roth looked around the classroom. Apparently, Mr. Rucka wearing a pirate hat was perfectly normal.
"Class, we have a new student," the class shifted to what, if you squinted, might be called order.
"This is Angela Roth. She just moved here from Star City. If she is not made welcome I will hunt each and everyone one down and make you yearn for math finals," The homeroom teacher said grinning widely.
Angela blinked behind her glasses. Apparently, this was normal too. Angela was thin under her baggy clothes and her faded violet eyes were large as magnified by her black framed glasses. Ebony locks curtained her face depending on which direction she moved.
"Miss. Lance will show you around," Mr. Rucka said after a moment's consideration.
Angela nodded. Great— a cheerleader type. Her tour guide was a blond fashion zombie. Just great. I can feel myself fading into the wallpaper.
Dinah smiled as the new girl slid into the seat next to hers. "I'm Dinah and I'd like to welcome you to Purgatory High!"
"Angela." She found herself blinking again. I hope I don't look like an owl.
"I see you made it past the metal detector and Fluffy."
"Fluffy?"
"The drug sniffing, crime hound."
Angela considered the large mastiff that patrolled the halls with the one of the one of the school's security force. Gee. I now attend a school with a security force. I feel so safe. "His name's Fluffy?"
"Cerberus, actually. We call him Fluffy to make him more accessible." Dinah explained.
"I see," Angela said her forehead wrinkled in doubt.
"So Angela how're ya finding Gotham so far," Dinah asked.
"Don't know. We've only moved here a few days ago." She shrugged, "It's different from Star City. What's with your architecture?"
Dinah nodded, "Yeah, the architecture. It does kinda loom. I wonder what we have more of—soulless post-industrial glass towers or gloomy cathedral-esk, gargoyle encrusted edifices. What's your schedule like?"
Angela pulled out the already wrinkled schedule out, "Well, here obviously for homeroom."
"Rucka's alright. A little odd. Whatever you do don't mention the Gotham Knight's losing to the Metropolis Meteorites. Let's just say there's a fifteen minute rant involved."
"Rosencrantz for algebra," Angela was beginning to suspect that her guide wasn't a ditz. Her humor was too dry and her vocabulary too good.
"I'm so sorry. The woman is like a third world dictator without the charm! Can you try not to be noticed?"
Angela lips quirked up, "I think I can manage that."
Dinah gave the newbie a pat on the back, "Stick with me kid and I'll get you out alive."
Lucius Fox handed out the reports and sat comfortably in the chair at the head of the conference table. "Let's start with Schumacher Inc." Schumacher was a subsidiary of Wayne Industries that had been repeatedly vandalized in the last few months.
Paul Parker, the head of Wayne Security rubbed his eyes before peering down at the report glumly. "Same as before." The place looked like a wrecking ball had gone through. "We think that it was one of those radical environmental groups."
Earle's reign had ended though it was had the half-life of plutonium. Even fired his sticky fingers seemed to have gotten into every pie. Schumacher Inc. was what happened when profit margins were put before anything else. Specifically, they had created an insecticide. It worked great. It killed the bugs, the animals that ate the bugs, and the people that ate the animals…It also had a detrimental effect on the wheat itself and all other plants for a three mile radius, reducing it to so much soggy sludge.
Bruce Wayne, Lucius's flighty boss had shown none of his notorious foppishness when he had descended on the company heads like a really pissed of angel of vengeance. The people responsible had been fired and in some cases jailed for their involvement. Reparations and a public apology had been made.
So who was vandalizing Schumacher?
"Which one," as always Fox's voice was low and mellow.
Parker shrugged, "We can't be conclusive but we suspect Gaea."
So…Gaea was to eco-terrorism what Kobra was to all other kinds of terrorism. It was headed up by Dr. Pamela Isley. Isley was a brilliant scientists who had pioneered several advances in botany and bio-genetic engineering in plants, she was also a stunningly beautiful woman who was as effortlessly charming as only a southern bell could be. She was also a militant. Dr. Isley was dedicated to saving the planet.
So she created Gaea. A non profit organization that claimed to 'Protect the Green Earth—our Mother." They were often linked to crimes but never convicted.
Vandalism was usually the precursor to harsher measures. In Isley's last press release she had said, "It is not enough just to stop. The scars these industrial butchers leave will never really heal. They fester. Sometime the only way to mend a festering wound is to cauterize it."
"I expect our full cooperation to be given to the authorities," Lucius wagged a finger at Parker.
"Sure. For all the good it will do us."
ADA Rachel Dawes watched with a sick feeling of déjà vu as Judge Robert 'Run Free' McGinnis let the defendant walk. He called himself Bane. Rachel knew two things about him. One that he was murdering scum; two that he was from Santa Prisca, a tiny South American country known for its mango and drug exports. The judge's sharply rapped gavel reverberated in her ears.
Bruce Wayne was waiting in her office. At her desk. In her chair. She glared at him, "Get up Bruce. I'm not in the mood."
"Easy there tiger," He dangled a bag of Chinese delivery in front of her enticingly. "I brought lunch." He looked over her plum suit covered form critically. "You've been missing meals again."
Rachel looked blankly from the bag of take out to Bruce's concerned expression and came to the conclusion that he didn't deserve to be verbally eviscerated.
"Bad day?" Her oldest friend inquired."
"You have no idea." ADA Dawes leaned against her desk. "We had him. And McGinnis just let him walk.Circumstantial evidence my foot!"
Bruce knew, from long years of friendship, that the best way to handle Rachel in a temper was to wait out the storm. He couldn't blame her for ranting. Bane was muscle for hire. He was also a sadistic thug who enjoyed brutalizing women. GCPD had picked him up after he had put a prostitute in a coma. He had resisted arrest, putting at least one of Gotham's finest in the hospital. Bruce foresaw a nocturnal visit for the murdering scum.
He felt a rush of irritation as Rachel ignored the little paper carton of won ton that he held out to her. Bruce wondered if this was what Alfred felt whenever he skipped meals…
A quick knock made Rachel look up and make for the door, "Yes?"
A young reedy looking man dressed in jeans and jacket with a backwards newsboys cab shoved over his straggly locks peered in. "Jam Pony Delivery Service. I got a package for Miss. Dawes."
He wordlessly held out a clipboard which she signed. He then handed her a large manila envelope.
"Thank you," the Assistant District Attorney said with a smile.
The delivery boy who bore the nickname of Sketchy smiled back, "You're welcome and I hope you have a suck-free day." He left humming to himself.
Bruce sighed and helped himself to an egg roll.
Rachel opened the envelope and pulled out a file folder, "Holy crap!"
This surprising exclamation made Bruce look up sharply, "What is it?"
Her childhood sweetheart wandered over and looked over her shoulder.
"It's incredible! It's actual proof that Bane was at the club that Jane Benski was last seen at. But who's B.C.?" Rachel asked in excitement. Attached to the file with a paperclip was a note that read, 'Miss. Dawes, I hope this will help.—B.C.
"Black Canary. It stands for Black Canary," Bruce said with certainty. Now his curiosity was more than peaked.
Rachel raised a brow, "The new costume?"
She laughed when Bruce winced. Ever since the advent of Bruce's alter ego and other rumored costumed vigilantes such as the Green Arrow the public had great fun in concocting nicknames such as 'costume' or 'cape' for said vigilantes.
Bruce disliked both pseudonyms for his chosen life's work. "Yeah, the new…costume. The original was a member of the JSA during WW II."
Rachel nodded, "I remember your grandfather's stories…isn't she the one who'd infiltrate enemy lines and rescue captured troops in fishnets and high heels?"
Bruce nodded, "That's the one."
"Maybe she's an ally," Rachel said visibly perking up at the notion of her insane friend having backup.
The billionaire shook his head, "When's my luck ever that good."
Dinah Lance with Angela Roth trailing half-heartedly behind her found an empty table in the school cafeteria. Neither girl being the type to gossip incessantly during the lunch period had turned to their own separate amusements thus ignoring each other amicably.
Angela was listening to her ipod and Dinah was reading a novel called Rock Hollow by Thom E. Gemcity when a seventeen year old Latina girl with melting dark eyes and long black hair plopped across from Dinah.
"No," Dinah said without looking up from her book.
"I didn't even ask you anything," The girl said in exasperation.
Dinah turned a page, "I don't want anything to do with school politics or policies. Not the student government and not any dance committee. I've learned my lesson. Never again."
"Angela Roth meet Renee Montoya."
"Hello," Angela said weakly.
Renee nodded, "Hi." She slumped down and glowered at Dinah. "Come on, Dinah it's just a committee."
"I'd rather go to spring fling with the Scarecrow." Dinah said flatly.
Renee shuddered at the thought, "Come on Di, it's the Founding of Gotham—where's your school spirit?"
"In my other pants and while we're at it you can tell Principal Loab to do his own dirty work," Dinah said firmly. And then with annoyance, "And don't call me Di. My name has two syllables…it's not that hard."
"Thank God. There's only so much politics I can take," Renee said.
Dinah raised a brow, "And yet you're student body president."
"You were my campaign manager!" Renee returned. She gave Angela a wry look, "If you ever go into public office don't ask her for help. She's a lunatic."
Angela raised a brow, "You're the third person I've heard that from."
Renee laughed aloud at that.
Dinah wrinkled her nose, "Who said that?"
Angela tapped her upper lip thoughtfully, "Slam Bradley Jr."
Dinah shrugged. "That's a given. Who else?"
"Principal Loab," Angela continued.
"He can't prove it was me who filled his car with solid lime jello," Dinah protested.
Renee gasped, "That was you?"
"No." Dinah's eyes twinkled. "And if it was me…then I have mad pranking skills."
Renee snorted.
Angela's eyes widened, "And the captain of the football team."
"Oh him," Dinah said dismissively.
"She tried to stuff him into his locker," Renee explained.
"Ah," was all Angela could say to this.
"Hey," Renee began, "Are you coming to Julie's party tonight?"
Dinah shook her head, "I've got stuff. Besides, you can totally handle the Julies of the world by your lonesome."
Renee pouted. "That's not fair."
"Yeah, well if life were to suddenly get fair, I doubt it would happen in high school," Dinah replied.
Doctor Jason Woodrue stared in fascination at the wildly bobbing head of the carnivorous plant and was very glad it was under glass. It sounded like it was growling.
"It looks like something out of that musical…Little Shop of Horrors," Woodrue muttered.
"Darling, isn't it?" came the voice of his protégée and lover. Pamela Isley tapped at the glass and cooed.
Woodrue regarded the younger women with trepidation. She stood there, hair in a neat bun wearing a tidy olive business suit and you couldn't tell that a fanatic lurked in her cool green eyes. The Gaea sells pitch was a creed Isley adhered to with incredible ardor.
Pamela was pushing for more aggressive action and while Woodrue was hardly opposed to criminal activity the measures she wanted were…extreme. Also, bringing down the wrath of the fabled Batman was possibly a very bad idea.
She'd been one of his students, a shy violet whose outrageous beauty had nonetheless drawn him in. So, he'd seduced her. Her boyfriend at the time, Alec Holland had actually hit him. The cretin.
"It's from deepest Africa. The natives call it Ukufa Amakha, the perfume of death. Its scientific name is Mortifer Corruptio which means deadly seduction. Do you know why this little beauty is called that?" Isley asked impishly.
"I bet your going to tell me?" Woodrue said with a sardonic twist of his mouth.
Pamela tapped him on the nose with one perfectly manicured finger, "Because, it lures its prey with a kind of pheromone that lures its prey. On humans as the scent effects the pleasure centers of the brain the effect is somewhat more …pronounced. African witchdoctors have used the plant's scent for centuries to persuade others to do their bidding."
Woodrue was intrigued, "Mind control?"
Isley smiled at him, "Oh, yes. All we need are the services of someone who's a genus at creating psychotropic drugs and the world is ours for the saving." Her eyes gleamed.
James Woodrue turned the possibilities over in his mind. Oh, this had potential. As his thoughts turned to potential profit he forgot all about the name of the plant involving the word death.
"Do you think Jonathan Crane has any previous engagements?" Isley wondered aloud.
Woodrue's head come with a jerk, "Who?!"
Bruce leaned against the kitchen wall watching Alfred mix his famous double chocolate chip cookies.
"Can I help?" the multi-billionaire asked wistfully.
The butler paused, "Master Bruce, may I remind you that there is a reason you're not allowed to try you hand at food preparation."
"I'm not that bad," Bruce protested.
Alfred paused, "Might I remind you that the last time you tried your hand at the culinary arts you made the stove explode which consequently took out the entire wall."
Bruce pouted. "The kitchen needed remodeling anyway."
"Young man, the answer is still no."
Bruce sighed in defeat. Whenever Alfred used that voice Bruce knew he'd lost not just the battle but, the entire war.
"Rachel thinks that the Black Canary might be an ally," Bruce said nonchalantly.
Alfred paused to consider, "If this Canary is anything like her predecessor then it's a good change she might well be."
"I doubt it," returned Bruce morosely.
"If I may sir, it is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts." Alfred meticulously placed little mounds of cookie dough onto a lightly buttered cookie tray. "So perhaps, sir, it may be a good idea to actually meet the young lady in question. Preferably, before you start to attribute malicious intentions to her actions."
Bruce shrugged. Alfred as always, was right. He should look at the evidence before coming to a conclusion.
"Besides," the ultimate gentlemen's gentlemen said thoughtfully. "I for one would welcome the idea that, just on occasion, you would have backup."
Bruce had to concede that it would be nice to have someone to guard his back. Just once in a while.
"Alfred?" Bruce asked as he risked his life by sticking a finger into the bowl of cookie dough.
"Yes sir?" Alfred cursed Bruce's ninja training as he was unable to thwack the offending hand with his wooden mixing spoon.
"Ever think I might be crazy? What with my double life and everything," Bruce wondered.
Alfred Pennyworth snorted, "Such rot, sir. Why you're the very model of sanity. Oh by the way, I pressed your tights and put away your exploding gas balls."
Bruce Wayne smiled at his old friend. "Thank you, Alfred"
A lone figure swathed in black stood on the ledge of a gargoyle draped skyscraper and served the glittery streets of Gotham. From the top of it's black pointy ears to the bottom of it's black sweeping cape you could only imagine that this being stepped out of some nightmare sculpted by the Sandman in a fit of artistic madness. Only, the bipedal shape of the thing gave the impression that this might be a man.
"Ladies. Gentlemen," The Batman began in a gravely, terrifying voice. As he addressed the city at large. "You have eaten well. You've eaten Gotham's wealth. Its spirit. Your feast is nearly over. From this moment on -- none of you are safe." He brooded mysteriously before jumping off the ledge, his cloak snapping open into kite-like wings.
Somewhere below a small blond girl in a mask was out running a gang banger's car while perched atop a black motorcycle. "Whoowhooo!"
Thom E. Gemcity the author of such mystery novels Deep Six and Rock Hollow is the penname of Agent Timothy McGee of the NCIS.
Yeah, well if life were to suddenly get fair, I doubt it would happen in high school.
—Will; Sky High
"Ladies. Gentlemen. You have eaten well. You've eaten Gotham's wealth. Its spirit. Your feast is nearly over. From this moment on -- none of you are safe."— Batman: Year One
Alfred: Such rot, sir. Why you're the very model of sanity. Oh by the way, I pressed your tights and put away your exploding gas balls.
Bruce Wayne: Thank you, Alfred.—Mask of the Phantasm
It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle