Title : Under the Cape

Summary : A Narrative Primer

This story follows Batman, still an urban myth at the story's beginning, and his founding of the Justice League in the wake of tragedy. His realization that no hero can do everything alone spurs him to action after an undefined period of depression. While vigilantes are somewhat commonplace many of them remain just legends, at least in the eyes of the general populace, and function locally. Metahumans are known to exist, but few are identified and the world isn't yet sure how to judge these beings. At this point in time the Flash, aka Barry Allen, Superman, aka Clark Kent, and Green Lantern, aka Hal Jordan, are generally well recieved and probably the only heroes known, across the globe, well.

It takes place in the mid-to-late 90s at the dawning of a new century, but, like some of it's comic written predecessors, has no specific time(s) identified. If I'm successful it should feel somewhat like the TAS versions, of DC, with hints of noir and a dose of reality. In essence I want to experiment with translating the comic industry model to a modern structure, of writing, while keeping some old school charm. I've left the past open on purpose so that either A) You can plugin the blanks with what you know about the characters from other publications, or B) I can slowly fill in the blanks as the story progresses, or C) Because a bit of ambiguity can sometimes add more depth than actually knowing.

Will there be character death? Maybe, but rarely if (beyond the first), as it is unrealistic for such things to never happen and it voids any suspense that might be built up, or already be present, from the plot. At the same time, killing off dozens of characters is just depressing, even less realistic (to the contrary of what the Internet might tell you), and, if you watch anime and/or read lots of sci-fi (especially the older stuff), you know main-character genocide is just as predictable as the comic book industry ressurecting their dead characters around every turn. In fact my story starts off with the death of a character. This death is the initiating plot point of the story and the driving motivation for further actions within the story. Note that non-characters, or bystanders, are likely to be harmed, or killed, ocassionally (more so than the cartoon(s) at least).

I suppose it would also behoove me to make a couple more notices. There will be emotional, and possibly angsty/dramatic, moments, but nothing too mindscrew-ish. As this is an action/drama story there won't be any copulation on display here, though the possibility of suggestive themes and some minor romance later in the comic isn't entirely out of the question. I'm trying to keep it 'teen' for the widest audience (and, besides, I'm pretty bad at writing that kind of stuff anyway), while still netting the more 'mature' audiences.

Important

As a side note, you'll notice that I have trouble keeping PoV, since my writing styling is somewhat poetic. I haven't written in a little while so please keep an eye out for those kind(s) of errors. Thanks and, well. . , enjoy!

For those of you who like music, for immersion, here's the opening append, on the Youtube address, for JLA : watch?v=ZAsDL7f3veM&html5

Speaking of WB, I don't own, nor do I gain any monetary value from, DC, Batman, Superman, or related copyrights or trademarks. Most proprietary content is owned by Detective Comics. Any OCs, although I probably won't intruduce any in this story, my plot ideas, and my writing, do, of course, belong to me where applicable without conflict to their ownership or rights (or as prohibited by FanFiction).

Chapter 1 : Roses are Red & I'm Singin' the Blues

Not a creature stirs in the night, no, not a single sound, except that, in these gloaming hours late into the eve, no one can sleep. The air is still, but a storm brews, or perhaps it's eye has already arrived and the worst has yet to come.

Most every flag, at half-mast, flutters within the breeze. For this day hope has died. Yet, in a small cemetery, a few miles aside, a lone shadow stands in the bittersweet twilight rueing the day, that had just passed, yet still lingered into the black of this darkest night. His tapered cowl, and fluttering mantle, illumined, by flashes of lightning, a man that many would consider emotionless, perhaps even stoic, can be seen weeping, his tears indistinguishable through the deluge of rain, over an empty casket. But, not even the rumbling of thunder can conceal the sobs that wrack his shuddering frame.

Already buried, beneath his feet, the silt, and the mud, this coffin has but one wooden post adorned with a florid, tattered, ensign. Emblazoned across it, already at disparity with the dull tone of the cemetery, is the symbol of a most ancient and noble house. A sanguine rose, once clutched in his bleeding and thorn-ridden grasp, falls upon the soil below. Hours seem to pass before it's descent. A scene outside a theater plays in the caped figures mind, again, and again. A tragedy which never should have been allowed to happened. Yet Again! Why?

Had his crusade been for naught?

An almost inhuman scream rattles from betwixt his jowls. They were night and day, the sun and the moon, but they understood one another like no other could, or ever would. Despite their dissimilarities they were the same. They both aspired to ideals purer than any other. Justification no longer needed for their hopes or dreams.

No. How could he give up now? His friend, and maybe perhaps the only person he ever looked up to, had given his very lifeblood. No! His fist clenches, and his figure straightens. His narrowed eyes gleam in the flickering lightning, as the storm picks up tempo, with his resolve once more stolid. Unbreakable! He must steel his heart against the coming tide. There mightn't be any justice for man, but he is more than just a man! For, he is vengeance. He is the night. He is Batman!

Perhaps hope hadn't yet died. Yes, it was still there. And he knew what must be done, so that no other should live through such tragedy again. He would organize others like himself, dedicated to preserving mankind, and strike evil at it's heart. Yes. . ., he would egress from shadow, no longer the scalpel, but the hammer.

Slipping out of the cemetery Batman begins contemplating his plan. A billionaire he could fund a headquarters, a gathering place, anywhere. The stars, yes, he would reach for the stars his ally had once come from. A station in satellite every hero, and every citizen, worldwide could depend on to answer in time of need.

He had been far too focused on Gotham City to see the larger picture. And Dick was ready to move out and fight the good fight on his own. Had he been too stubborn with the boy? No, his controlling nature was necessary to mentor him, but that didn't mean he shouldn't let go now. He also still had Barbara to rely on for the defense of Gotham. She had already almost fully recovered from the Joker's attack due to the Lazerous Pits. And with Rhas, and his daughter Talia, no longer a threat the prince of crime will be the only real trouble for her.

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Already requisitioning the necessary parts, for the multi-billion dollar station, Batman types away at the console in a cavern below Wayne Mansion. Despite the abundance of bats, and earthen walls, it is nearly spotless and, due to the electronics everywhere, obviously state of the art. Just behind the front of this grotto, where he sits in front of a holographic screen, a museum of sorts, filled with various objects from his exploits, fills the area. Deeper into the cave a large disconnected platform, suspended over a chasm, has a sleek black car with what looks like a jet engine, at it's back, and, perhaps most strangely, no discernable windows or doors.

Only the occasional chittering of the bats can be heard between his keystrokes, the near silence broken shortly by the echoing of heavy footsteps. A shadow is cast upon the glow of Batman's computer by this new figure. It is his most loyal ally, friend, and guardian; his butler Alfred Pennyworth. Alfred, descending from the walkway down from Wayne Manor, notices his ward passionate, and perhaps feverish, about his night job. For the longest time he had worried about his ward's dour mood and that it might take a more serious turn. If he weren't old, and so very very grey, he might have gained a spring to his step at the sight. Instead his steps become ever so more sprightly.

While not his normal self, the improvement was sufficient to make the butler grin and, of course, deliver his, always ever present, snark in style. "Busy night again, Bruce? I don't suppose you will have the time eat a proper meal?"

After a moment of silence, and a pause at the keyboard, the beginnings of a rare smirk can be seen on Batman's face, gone almost as soon as it came, before he cracks his knuckles and resumes. "Hardly Alfred, I've only just begun."

A twinkle in his eye, and as deadpan and dry as ever, Alfred can only respond, "Yes, well, you can hardly do any good if you are not properly rested Mr. Wayne. In spite of that, it is quite good to see you back to your old brooding self."

A grunt, followed by a grumbled "Yes, Mr. Pennyworth," is his only response, as Alfred turns around to ascend, the stairways, to the manor. The first rays of dawn can be seen, shining aside a wooden panel, for a moment as he leaves the cavern. Batman would have to speak to his protégés first, but who should he attempt to bring into the fold first? He had records for dozens, upon dozens, of vigilantes, in addition to metahumans; many of them with up-to-date locations and real identities. The Flash or the Green Lantern already had good press. . .

Or perhaps, first, he should find a way to condemn Clark's murderer, Lex Luthor, to prison. And, preferably, indefinitely if he had any say on the matter. He was even tempted to falsify evidence if it would send that bastard to jail, but that would become a slippery slope quickly. Even if Luthor bought his way out of prosecution, and multiple times at that, two wrongs wouldn't make a right, or could they? It was rumored, no confirmed, that the man was now gearing up to run for the presidential office. Should he make an exception for the murderous, killer of Clark, and corrupt businessman.

Luthor's instatement, as the most powerful man within the United States, could herald a new age of corporate abuse and, worse yet, it would most likely prevent him from assembling a team to oppose extraordinary threats. It wouldn't be surprising if the man set up a taskforce to expose, and exterminate, metahumans. And, without Superman, the world was in grave danager. The invasion of Darkseid was perhaps the worst incident in human history. Tens of thousands had died in that attack, despite the kryptonian's intervention. It didn't help that the military was attacking both of them, instead of just Darkseid, at the time. Superman. . . Batman, a sneer upon his face (from the mere thought of Luthor), slams his fist down upon the console, in front of him, muttering, "Clark. . , what would you have done?"

to be continued . . .

How will Batman solve this moral conundrum? Should he break his principles? Find out in the next chapter, Opening a Can of Cats, featuring Batgirl, Catwoman, and Robin. Holy Exclamations, Batman! What suspense!

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