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Built Over Hell

What did I ever do to deserve this? Oh yeah. I stole medicine for my dying grandmother with asthma. Despite what the people with money thought, I couldn't just let her die. I stole it, and I'd do it again if I had to. She's still alive, and proud of me for what I did, but now she's all alone. Why? Because I was put into Arkham City for my crime. Name's Chris Palmore by the way.

I've always thought money was a pointless invention. You have to pay to eat, to drink, to have clothes, to have TV, internet, books, and medicine. Hell, they even charge you to exist with those damn taxes. When you think about it the way the money system works seems like something out of Monty Python. Funny because it's so over the top, but horrific when you realize it's real.

I've been in here for the past thirteen days, enough to drive a human insane, maybe I already am. I take refuge in a small crawlspace in the subway terminal in Penguin's territory, it's nice enough, plus Penguin's thugs don't come down here a whole lot so I'm left alone, but when they do I gotta hide. No way in hell am I working for that fucking midget, at times he makes Two-Face seem normal.

When I first came in here I was with a group of eleven others, we decided to stick together to survive. Two-Face found us first, he asked if we wanted to join him, and we said no. He let us go, after the flip of his coin of course. Then Penguin found us. He didn't take no for an answer.

He used us as Guinea Pigs for a maze the Riddler built. He said whoever survives can go free. I survived. The others weren't so lucky. I don't know what happened to them, but I saw blood, body parts, and I heard screams. After that I was thrown out into the cold, and I crawled my way to here, my new humble abode.

I've been planning to make my way over to neutral territory, shit even that's dangerous. So let's go over my options: in one area a homicidal clown rules over with the aid of his psycho fan girl, an emo serial killer, a shape shifting actor, a guy out of Stephen King's wet dream, Willard the Rat Man, a tragic snowman, and a guy who's read 'Alice in Wonderland' way too many fucking times. In the other: A bipolar DA, a human alligator, a guy obsessed with the calendar, a smoking hot kleptomaniac, a pyromaniac, and a guy who was raised by crooks. In No. 3: An evil fake brit dwarf, a giant swamp zombie, an annoying green prick who thinks he's smatter than the whole planet, and a man with a pig mask who likes to mutilate any one he sees.

What's so bad about the Neutral area again? Crazy guy who thinks he's the Greek god of lightning, a black masked guy with a hell of a bad attitude, and a hot lady who murders anyone who accidently steps on a blade of grass. So yeah, fucked from all sides.

Some say that Batman is to blame for all the freaks, but no. The evil and the madness were always here. Batman just let it out. My grandmother told me about the horrific stuff that went on in this city long, long before Batman was even thought of: the serial killer Mad Dog, the murder of the Waynes, the various gang wars, corrupt city officials, and poor economy. She said that there was an old legend about Gotham being built over hell. The legend goes that there was a gate to hell, and when Gotham was founded it was closed up. But not completely locked. There were cracks. And through those cracks the smoke of the fires of hell seethed in. The fumes made anyone who smelled them evil.

Guess she wasn't wrong looking at the situation I'm in.

I squat down and look what I have; a lead pipe for protection, a copy of my favorite book, Watership Down which I found in an old book shop in the streets, and a flashlight. I look at the grate that covers the entrance to the crawlspace I live. I'm in hide mode right now because a half an hour ago I heard some of Penguin's thugs come down here with something big. A communications jammer from what they said. How the hell did they get that?

I hear something, gunshots. Lot's of 'em. "It's him! The freaking Bat!" I hear a goon shout before the sound of a punch echoes in the halls. I open the grate ever so slightly to see The Batman taking on two other mooks. He throws a batterang into one with a gun, and then jumps the unarmed guy, and takes him out, The guy with the gun throws a grenade at The Bat, causing Bats to go flying into the wall, and the unconscious thug to join the dearly departed. They don't notice me coming out with the pipe.

The thug with the gun looks at the downed Batman. "You have no idea how long I've waited to do this, or how much I've fantasized about it." He says as he takes aim. "I'll be a legend! I'll be the man who killed Batman!" he boasts. I then bash him on the head with the pipe, twice. He falls to the ground, out of it. I look at the blood stain on the pipe and silently pray he isn't dead. The Bat gets up and stares me down. "Hey! I just saved you're life! I don't want to fight you!" I say, dropping the pipe, to show my good intentions. The Bat looks at me. He nods. "He's not dead." The Bat says, seeing the worry on my face as I glance at the body. His voice is the kinda voice that immediately caught your attention and earned your respect. "Thanks." He says.

"Are you Bruce Wayne?" I ask. Why the hell did I ask that? He looks at me. I can feel a little anger and shock in his stare. "What?" he asks calmly, but behind the calmness in his voice there's a threatening tone. I spill the beans. "My grandmother always thought you were Bruce Wayne. She said it made sense, you're parents were murdered right in front of you when you were a kid, you took down mobs and gangsters before freaks like Joker turned up, and you were rich enough to afford all the gadgets." I answer quickly.

He looks at me. "Why are you in here?" he asks, the threatening tone now gone. I tell him about my grandmother and the medicine. "What's you're name?" he asks. I tell him. "Well Chris, are you going stay here?" "Yeah, hidden in that crawlspace" I say, pointing to it. He nods again. "Stay here." He orders. I obey and get back into my new home.

Hours go by. I hear roars, gunshots, explosions, screams, and the sounds of dead bodies dropping. Through it all I huddle in the shelter of the crawlspace. Praying that I will see the next day. I see something. A very small hole. I peek down it, it seems to go on forever, but I see something at the bottom. A glowing red eye. I hear a deep voice speak to me. "The gates of hell are to be closed. And from that an even worse fate will befall this city of damned fools and damned souls. Flee while you can."

I put an old piece of wood over the small hole. And I close my eyes, and try to convince myself that what I just saw and heard wasn't real. But I can't.

Hours later I hear footsteps. And a voice. "Palmore, come out." Batman's back. I crawled out and saw him; he was not in the Batman costume. It was Bruce Wayne. He grabs me and holds me to the wall. "Listen Palmore! If you tell anyone and I will know if you tell, I will hunt you down and mount you on a wall. Got it?" he asks. "Yes." I say nervously. "Good." He says as he drops me. "Come on." He orders. I get up and follow him. I look at him, tears and scars, and blood all over his body. His eyes looked exhausted. "No offense but you look like shit. What happened to you all night?" I ask. He just looks at me, and let's his eyes do the rest. I don't tell him about the eye or the voice.

When we approach the main gates the police quickly surround us both and Commissioner Gordon approaches Wayne. "Mr. Wayne, are you alright?" he asks. "Yes Commissioner, I'm quite fine, save for a few injuries I sustained in the night." Wayne says, his voice now perfectly normal. "Who's this?" Gordon asks, nodding to me. "This is Chris Palmore, he saved me and gave me shelter all night. I owe my life to him." He says. Gordon looks at me, unsure.

"Why were you in there in the first place son?" he asks me. I tell him. He nods again. "Come with me." He says and we both follow him. Out of Arkham City.

It's been two years since that night. I was given a pardon for my crime and was released by the City Council, grateful for saving the life of the last of the Wayne family. I found out all that happened that night. Joker's death, Protocol 10, well I think a few details were hidden from the public, but we all got the idea of what the late Hugo Strange was planning to do. Me and my grandmother moved away from Gotham and never looked back. Mt grandmother died seven months after we left.

I live in Indiana now, got a job, a girlfriend, and a great home. But I keep thinking about Batman, Wayne, and that night. How much longer can he keep it up? How much longer can he pay the price of being Batman? Those questions will never be answered. I come home one night, sit on the couch, and turn on the TV, but instead of my usual show emergency news bulletin was on. Gotham City was in flames.

THE END

No there won't be a sequel because we'll probably never know what Azreal talking about. Unless they make a fourth Arkham game that follows up Arkham City. The original story was much more action packed and focused on a group of prisoners trying to survive in Arkham until I eventually came up with this. Hope you liked it.