Busy
Batman is crouching on the roof of a warehouse looking through night vision binoculars at the empty streets below. Headlights approach and park in front of one of the abandoned buildings across the street. The binoculars zoom in on the building number above the entrance. 47.
Batman puts the binoculars into his belt and presses a button on his wrist gauntlet, activating a blue computer screen. He types in:
Gordon
47 Blueridge Ave. Send cars in 5
Batman stands up on the building's edge. He presses a button on his belt, turning on his bright green Bat-Vision lenses. He dives off the building and plummets until he is about twenty feet from the ground. His cape goes rigid and he glides back up into the air, carried by the memory cloth towards building 47.
Caption:
47. A number I think about from time to time. Usually when the sun has just begun to peak, when I'm lying in bed after a week of too many close calls. Too many bullets passing inches from my face. Too many explosions gone off milliseconds before I was able to cloak. Too many riddles I almost couldn't decipher in time. Too many jokes I almost missed the punchline to. When I wonder if I really am fit for the task of being what I need to be in order to protect my city, that number pops up and buzzes around my thoughts like an insect. 47 is the number of times I've been saved. Moments I would have fallen had it not been for others. Most of them are attributed to Dick, a lot to Gordon. The rest are divided between several members of the Justice League. Not including Clark, though. I don't count his. That would be like giving the weather credit for the fact that it doesn't rain every single day. Robin, Gordon, Hawkgirl…,rescuing me shouldn't be their responsibility. Though for him, everyone is his responsibility. We've worked together for years. Over time we have come to a mutual understanding, sometimes even a mutual respect. But I still see it in his eyes. How he truly feels about me and how I work. I see how uncomfortable I can make him on occasion. He doesn't get it. I don't have the power he does. I can't walk straight into a line of fire, stick my finger in a gun barrel and tell a criminal, "That's enough." I can't bear hug villains then fly them off to the nearest police station. No. I cause pain. Debilitating, serious, traumatizing, pain. That is how I work. How I survive. How I protect. He thinks I enjoy this. Sometimes he's right.
Batman lands on the roof of building 47. He watches below as a man steps out of the car and violently pulls a screaming young lady out of the passenger seat.
Caption:
Especially when it's someone like this. William Bolinger deserves pain. He's not damaged like Freeze. He's not helpless like Grundy. He's just garbage. Entitled, perverted, garbage, who got it in his head a few weeks ago that he could get away with violating women.
Batman's wrist gauntlet buzzes. He turns on the computer screen:
Meeting at Watchtower. ALL MEMBERS. MANDATORY!
-S.M.
Bolinger drags the woman into the warehouse. She tries in vain to fight him off.
"Nooo! Please! No-*sob* Help!"
"You like biting huh, you little bitch?! Keep it up! What else did they teach you in your self-defense class?"
Batman kicks in the rooftop exit door and heads down a dark staircase corridor. He looks down from a walkway and watches as Bolinger drags the woman across the main floor, barely lit by the car's headlights.
Caption:
But it's moments like this that make me wonder about Superman and his responsibilities. Are there no rapists in Metropolis? No gangbangers, sex traffickers, drug dealers? Why are the Daily Planet's headlines always about him stopping an alien invasion, or defeating a ten-story tall robot? Is he so big that low-lifes like this prowl the streets unnoticed?
Bolinger takes out a rope and ties the woman's hands to the handle of a door that says "MANAGER" on it.
"I'm actually a manager myself. Not an easy job. Requires strong interpersonal skills. Hehe."
Bolinger reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bag of cocaine. He looks at the woman with a smug smirk across his face.
"Hey, babe. You party?"
"Why are you doing this…?"
"Just trying to have some fun. Life is short, you know?"
Bolinger sticks his finger in the bag of cocaine and licks it.
"Now I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told the last two. This will be a whole helluva lot easier if you just lemme do my thing. They didn't listen and things got kind of messy."
Bolinger pulls out a knife.
"So be a good girl, you hear?"
Suddenly a large, black shadow appears behind a glass pane next to the office door.
"….the fuck? HUAAHH!"
Two arms shoot through the glass, grabs Bolinger and sucks him into the office. The knife and bag of coke land in front of the bewildered woman.
Batman holds Bolinger up by his shirt, their faces inches apart. Bolinger feels his warm, rage-filled breath panting on his forehead.
"Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck! No no no no! Wait. I haven't done anything!"
"You've done more than you'll ever know."
Caption:
Tonight… Clark is right. I will enjoy this.
The young woman listens on as her kidnapper squeals like a pig. Against the door her back feels the vibration of each punch, elbow, hammer-fist, stomp and head-butt. She hears a rib crack. She is no longer afraid. Bolinger is thrown out of another glass pane and lands on the concrete with an echoing thud. Batman steps over the broken window and stands above the girl. He rips the rope off the door handle and kneels down in front of her. She looks up at him in awe for a moment, then breaks down in tears. Batman sits down alongside her and wraps his arm around her back.
Police sirens blare in the distance.
"You're okay. You're gonna be okay."
His gauntlet buzzes again:
BATMAN-PLEASE RESPOND.
-S.M.
He quickly types back:
BUSY.
The warehouse lights up with red and blue lights.
The girl rests her head against Batman's kevlar.
The End