Batman Arkham Asylum

A Symbol

Gotham was often a loud city especially at night, if someone took it upon themselves to stand atop one of it's more ambitious towers during the city's twilight hours the sound of screams and squealing tires would be some of the more prevalent noises punctuated by brief bouts of gunfire. This was the true face of Gotham city, not the smiling advertisements or the sparkling skyscrapers that held the politicians and an assortment of the rich and the well-informed; it isn't the business men the aristocrats or the friendly face of the police force that promise safety and security through constant vigilance. No, this is the mask that Gotham wears during the day in a vain attempt to cover the mass of protuberances and sores that plague its surface in the form gangs, street violence, cheap drugs, cheaper guns, a largely corrupt and over tasked law enforcement paid off by anybody with the right amount of cash to look the other way and even the occasional super villain rises above the ranks of the endless sea of small time thieves and serial killers to make his mark on the city with his or her own dramatic flair. But you see, all things come to light in the dark.

Gotham was often a loud city, but it would be in one of its quieter districts that its greatest revelation would begin. Gotham bank like many of the older buildings, relayed a sense of grandeur and magnificence from its tall marble columns and broad steel doors that was reminiscent of a time long ago when Gotham was in of itself a power, a force to be reckoned with. Often enough the very sight of its immense size was enough to deter any thoughts of pilfering the considerable wealth locked within, as was the purpose. However like most of Gotham, Gotham banks grand image was marred by a seedy underbelly just beneath the mask. This one was a grimy back alley filled with a few thrash bins and heaps of garbage that hadn't been bothered to be swept away in months. The back of the bank itself was bare stone except for a few scrawls of graffiti and a single fire escape door that was illuminated by an overhanging light in desperate need of a changed bulb.

The rusted over hinges of the door slowly and with a great screeching protest swung forward, strangely enough without the accompanying klaxon that was usually associated with said action. A man stepped out from inside the building carrying a large duffel bag casually over his shoulder, he wore a brown security guard uniform and a gaunt face framed by shoulder length hair that was so blonde it was almost white. It might have been a handsome face had it not been for the eyes, ice blue eyes that looked at you not as a person but as an object to further his own game. The man stood on the threshold of the door way and leaned out slightly to look down either way of the alley, satisfied that it was clear the man stepped out and shut the door as silently as possible before strolling towards the nearest garbage heap. Using his sleeve the man swept away layers of what he had made to look like day's of accumulated filth to reveal the small black car underneath.

He continued to remove the waste until the vehicle had been completely unveiled and rummaged in his uniforms breast pocket until he produced a ring of keys and with a press of a button the cars tail lights and headlights flashed once followed by a barely audible click as the doors unlocked. The man opened the car door and bent over to pull the lever under the driver's seat which caused the trunk to pop open. He moved to the back of the vehicle and hefted the bag off his shoulder to place it into the trunk, he pushed down on the trunk lid just until he heard the catch click into place before entering the vehicle and as inconspicuously as time would allow drove out of the alley to join with traffic.

All the while the mans face remained impassive, betrayed no emotion despite the excitement he could feel rising in his chest, he had every right to be excited he had just made the perfect heist. All the careful planning, the days spent staking out Gotham bank, the countless nights making nice to the pretty security guard to obtain the night shift schedule, picking the day when the fire alarm system was under repair and most importantly making sure that any out of town visiting superheroes were elsewhere at the time. The escape route was the only variable, a wandering cop car or a random traffic accident could throw off all of his plans but at the moment nobody was any the wiser.

He adjusted the rearview mirror so that he was given a sufficient view of the cars behind in case he was being pursued, if somehow he had made a mistake. His heart was gripped in fear when a cop car pulled in behind him at a stoplight with it's siren blaring and it's lights flashing blue and red, there was no way that they knew what he did, the banks alarm hadn't even gone off yet. He placed his hand on the uniforms gun holster in an attempt to calm his nerves and got ready to bolt. But his fears of being caught proved false when the car next to him tore through the intersection and veered sharply to the right deeper into the city. The false security guard politely pulled his car over to allow the cop car to chase after the jumpy driver.

The man breathed a sigh of relief and carefully removed his hand from the gun and placed it shakily back onto the wheel. His sudden nervousness shocked him; his hands never shook, not when he'd made his first robbery at fourteen, not when he'd been sent to jail at twenty-one and not when he'd killed that security guard tonight. There was no reason for him to be nervous The Bat had been absent from Gotham city for nearly ten years, the police had there hands tied and due to an enormous stroke of luck for Gotham city's criminal element Bruce Wayne the local do-gooder was missing presumed dead for almost as long as The Bat had disappeared resulting in the largest crime spike the city had ever seen.

The man had finally reached his destination, a small outcropping of rock on the outside of the city next to a long abandoned road that over looked a small portion of Gotham and its bay. The man had discarded the uniform in favor of a grey hoodie and jeans, everything incriminating including the car had gone over the outcropping to sink into the black depths of the bay to join the countless guns, body bags and various amounts of other potentially illegal substances that had been drowned by the wretched souls who sought to be rid of them. The only things he had kept was the duffel bag filled with hundreds of bills, a gun and a pair of binoculars that he was using as he lay prone on the cliff edge, sweeping the city to see if he had made a clean escape.

The city was in turmoil, more so than usual, gangs roamed the streets pulling people from their homes and ransacking stores and building, the power had failed in several sections, plumes of smoke rose into the night sky shading the moon and blotting out the stars, even the bank alarm had finally gone off adding to the chaos. The man allowed himself a small smile, this was the death of Gotham and he had to say, he was proud to have contributed.

…

Deep inside of a police station, under siege and under fire, no longer filled with the sounds of phones ringing off the hook due to the fact that the citizens of Gotham had given up calling for help instead filled with scraping furniture and barked orders as the entrance was barricaded and the remaining police officers armed themselves to deal with the mob that had gathered outside of their doors.

The commissioner had watched the city go to hell ever since Gordon had retired five years prior and now he found himself loading his revolver one bullet at a time as he watched the mob tear apart the front of the station, his station, barely kept at bay by the rubber bullets teargas, and warnings to disperse fired from inside of the building in equal measure. It wouldn't be long until the police would be forced to use live rounds if worst comes to worst, which if things kept going the way they were it very well may and by that time the proverbial shit will have hit the fan. The over proud commissioner had promised himself and the city that he would not have to stoop to relying on superstitions to keep the city safe but it would seem he had no choice.

The Commissioner loaded the final bullet into the gun and with flick of the wrist snapped it into place and spun the chamber, he ducked when gunfire sprayed the building and dove for the floor moments before the window exploded inward showering his office with glass shards. Once the gunfire had stopped replaced instead by cheers from the mob the commissioner slowly sat up against the wall under the window, gun at the ready and wincing when each movement caused glass that had embedded itself in his arms and legs to grind deeper into his flesh.

With a snarl the Commissioner inclined his head towards the radio on his vest and pressed the switch on its side.

"Sergeant O-Brian? Sergeant O-Brian come in!" There was a moment of static and then a voice with a slight Irish brough that had flared up under stress came in over the radio.

"Aye Commissioner I hear you loud and- Oy! Get yer arse back!" He could hear both over the radio and from downstairs a crowd dispersing shotgun go off several times before the voice continued. "I hear you loud and clear. It's gone to hell in a handbag down here, whaddya need?" Usually the Commissioner would have berated the Sergeant for his lack of formality but this hardly seemed the appropriate time for formalities. The reluctance of his decision was clear in his voice when the Commissioner next spoke.

"I want you to get to the roof and turn it on!" There was a small pause before the Sergeant replied

"…But Commissioner you said tha…"

"I know what I said goddamit! Just turn it on before I change my mind" Another pause.

"…Roger that Commissioner" and added after turning off the radio "About fecking time!"

…

The man on the cliff chuckled darkly as he saw the ravenous crowd tear down the final defenses that sheltered the police station and watched as they streamed inwards like a wave of rats, ruby eyes glistening in the dark, no longer satisfied with feasting on scraps now looking to dine on live meat. The man eagerly awaited the triumphant cry of the looters as the defenders were slaughtered or worse but none came, the station was eerily quiet. In fact the man came to realize that Gotham in its entirety was completely silent.

"Hm…" The man felt a chill through his clothes even though it was a hot and sticky summer night and he focused on the peoples faces in an attempt to ascertain the origins of the sudden disturbance. The looks on the crowd's faces ranged from animal terror, the owners of whom were the looters and the criminals and expressions of relief on the victims and scattered police, but all of the faces had one thing in common, they were upturned.

The man traced their gaze and when he found the source of both fear and hope he gasped and scrambled backwards until he found his footing and like so many he found himself staring upwards, mouth agape, horror keeping him still. For projected against the smoke that choked the sky, tinted a light red from the fires spreading throughout Gotham and yet still clearly visible lay a single symbol, a bat.

The criminals slowly retreated back to their holes, from which they were vomited so forcefully, checking thoroughly or avoiding completely each dark corner that they crossed paths with, having found a very real reason to fear the dark. Eventually the streets were barren and the man found himself very alone with only a bag of stolen money and a pregnant silence to keep him company. He remained transfixed until a solitary breeze laid cold fingers on his spine and that was all it took for panic to set in and the seeds of madness to be planted.

He took off at a dead sprint, trying to get as far away from Gotham as possible. He dropped the bag of money almost immediately, the money held no value to him the robbery was a matter of whether or not he would be able to pull it off, he was the worse kind of insane, intelligently so. But right now his cool composure was far from the forefront of his mind as he ran blindly through a dark forest where every bush is a crouching figure, where every tree is a billowing cape and every branch a clawed glove grasping at your skin and clothes. With his gun clutched in his sweating hand he kept running, a snapping branch caught his attention causing him to whirl around and lose his footing.

He tumbled down a slope and hitting what felt like every rock on the way down, a particularly large one struck him across the head knocking him temporarily senseless and when he finally came to rest he barely had enough wits about him to register the droplets of water falling from the sky. He struggled to stand on the ground now slick with mud from the rain that coupled with the blow to the head caused him to stagger and fall once more. However when he flailed his arms in a meek attempt to catch himself he slapped his hands onto something cold and wet and when he looked up at his savior he beheld a large metal gate and behind an abandoned compound of some sort. Not bothering to check the exact location he smashed the rusted lock with the butt of his gun and pushed onward into the compound. Had he have been in his right mind he might have looked above the gate and noticed the words wrought in iron that were briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning that read 'Arkham Asylum'.

As it were he simply barged in the double doors of the compound and using the chain he took from the gate he bound the doors together, preventing any entrance but as he would realize preventing any exit as well. He spun and found himself inside what looked like a hospital, long in disrepair with gurneys, IV stands and medical equipment scattered all over the ground.

Rain pattered against a broken and cracked glass ceiling which proved to be the only light source as he carefully made his way through the building, his heart racing, broken glass crunched under his shoes; he peered over a railing and saw that there was another floor to the hospital only a few feet below the one he was on also filled with medical equipment, strewn about the floor. A metallic crunch from one of his steps gave him pause and he reached down and grasped what looked to be a heavily rusted spent bullet and when he brushed aside some debris he saw the floor was carpeted with hundreds of the shells.

He straightened up a little shaken and confused, who had been shooting? But more importantly, at what? It was at this time that the storm decided to make it's presence known with a flash of lighting and a clap of thunder that shook the building, causing suspended surgical instruments still splattered with blood from years ago to clink together and a section of the ceiling to come crashing down onto the lower floor with a crash. The sudden noise made his heart jump into his throat and when he took a step back the floor proved as structurally sound as it looked and he fell backwards into the void with a cry. The impact with the tiles of the second floor caused his gun to be thrown from his grip and clatter off to one side, this was the second time today he had fallen and now he just lay on his back in a daze waiting for the world to stop spinning.

When his vision came back into focus he noticed that the ceiling was ringed with several snarling gargoyles all with their own gruesome visage, glaring down on any occupant of the hospital. 'As if this place needed to get any creepier' the man thought miserably as he propped himself up on his elbows and made to stand up. He was about to look around for his gun when something made him freeze, there was something irregular about the gargoyles, upon closer scrutiny there could be seen a thin length of wire dangling from their necks, a thin barely noticeable wire, that ended in an empty noose, swaying in the storm wind.

He needed to get out of there.

He slowly felt behind him for his gun but instead laid his hand on something slimy and spherical. He brought the unknown object up to his face and in his hand was a human skull grinning madly back at him, coated in a rather left unknown substance. With a bellow he cast it aside where it shattered into dust as it collided with the wall. Hyperventilating he scrabbled on all fours searching through the dust and debris for his gun, ignoring the broken syringes and the shards of glass that stabbed into his hands and feet, so far gone was his mind.

Finally he saw the black steel of the gun and he laid his hand upon the grip raising it above his head and loosing a triumphant yell

"Ha!" The triumph however was short lived as a feeling of dread like a lump of lead dropped into his stomach. He turned slowly and found himself staring at an immense pair of black boots standing atop a stone pedestal. His eyes climbed to the face of the owner of above mentioned boots and kept on climbing, for the figure stood a godly fifteen feet tall. When he finally saw the face of the giant his breath hitched in his throat only to be let out all at once as a blood curdling scream. The hooded and cloaked dark knight did nothing; he merely loomed above the criminal in a menacing crouch, his face enshrouded in darkness.

The man kept screaming and crawled backwards firing as he went. Eventually his back hit a wall and he used it to stand and he ran towards the nearest ladder to the above floor and the way out. The bullets had no effect on the caped crusader, most of the bullets went wide but the ones that found their mark ricocheted in a rain of sparks and noise and still The Batman did nothing. The man scrambled up the ladder, fully expecting a hand to grab his ankle and wrench him down, but none came.

He made it to the top floor and raced to the double doors grasping desperately at the door handles only to find them tied together by a length of chain, put there by him if memory served. He fumbled with the chain in an attempt to untie his unfortunately expertly tied knot but it was taking too long, he couldn't help but look over his shoulder at his pursuer. The Dark Knight had still not moved. For some reason this terrified him more than if he would have been hot on his heels and with a yelp he simply shot off the chain and cast aside the broken links, shoving the doors open and running back out into the storm.

He couldn't believe his luck when a blue car pulled up in front of the Asylum and a man with a grey streaked mustache stepped out. He just needed to jack the car and he'd be free from this madhouse.

…

Jim Gordon was running on coffee and the last reserves of his burnt out adrenaline halfway through the worst night that Gotham had ever seen since The Joker riots, and Batman, even after ten years of absence, had pulled them through once again. The gangs had been on his homes very doorstep when he had swooped in and saved them like so many times before. It was the phone call from his son, now a grown man.

"Dad, he did it again" that drove him to get into his car and drive to Arkham one last time. His resolve never faltered even as rain slashed his car windows and made the roads nearly impassable and the visibility almost zero. Batman deserved this much after all these years.

He got ready to slow down at the gate but to his surprise he found that the gates were wide open. His hands gripped the wheel slightly tighter, reassuring himself that the old rusty gates had finally given out in the harsh weather. He drove past the gates and into the compound, his tires crunching the wet gravel, until he stopped in front of the medical center. He pulled up the collar of his brown trench coat and stepped out of the car into the freezing rain.

The sound of a gunshot made him stop mid-step and he saw a man in bloody and torn clothes burst through the doors screaming like madman. Bedraggled grey hair was plastered over one side of his face but it only took one manic ice blue eye and the insane grin that spread across his face as he raised the gun to tell that he would not hesitate to kill him.

…..

Disclaimer: I do not own batman or any of his accomplices nor did I make any money writing this, just don't copy from my story and we'll be okay, savvy?