Famine in Gotham
by Rob Morris
Prologue - No Need For Clowns
THE PAST
The former Horseman known as Caspian was noted for his insane rages. Not his enraptured rages, like Kronos. Not the choreographed rages of Methos, either. Silas was more of a bulldozer than a rage artist.
Caspian, though, whatever name he went by, was noted for the sheer edge he brought to events. Privately, even Kronos told himself to keep an eye on his Brother. Even a master killer must have some small fear of one so unpredictable.
In the nightmares of the woman called Cassandra, she would be re-captured. When Methos did it, she would be forced to listen to his infuriatingly confused apologies/abuse. When Kronos did it, he didn't take her head till he had corrupted her, making her as evil as he. Silas would play with her like a toy, eventually breaking her. But when her dreams were of Caspian, she woke up screaming upon simply seeing him. The greatest terror, as always, lies in the unknown.
"Alright, Mr. Caspian Bosporus, welcome to your latest home. This Asylum For The Criminally Insane is escape proof, and lies in the middle of a city even you don't want to get lost in. Now, since I'm your counselor, why don't you tell me why you're here."
Caspian was damned scary in his insane rages. But when he was coherent, lucid, and calm---he was absolutely terrifying. As he was then.
"You have a disfigurement, Counselor. Your face is twisted, and your pigment is gone on your face, warped elsewhere. How did this happen?"
"I resisted arrest. Now can we get on with this? As a trustee, I'm expected to help others like you, so I can get out and resume my life."
"What sort of life is that, Disfigured Counselor?"
"Mine. Like my business. Now, why do you kill?"
"Head-kill or real-kill?"
"There's a difference?"
"Yes. But you meant Real-Kill. Because I can."
"That's---not going to help you much, here, Caspian. Don't you realize that you've done wrong?"
"Of course. Only a dolt would fail to realize that. I've done all the flesh-rending, butchering, and that way, same as the others in here. But I did it very, very well."
"Can't you just say those simple words, 'I Did Wrong'? Saying it to the board will help both of us. It'll shorten your stay, and just about cancel mine. A deal?"
"Sigh. Yes, Counselor. We Have A Deal. Let me tell you of my life, and how it arrived at this juncture."
To the willing and anxious trustee, Caspian told a tale of poverty and woe, of abusive parents and siblings, and of lovers who betrayed. Hearing this made the Counselor feel not so bad about his disfigurement or his own wreck of a life, prior to his career in crime.
"All right, then. Great. Just tell that exact same story to The Board, and we just might both see the sun in the sky next month."
Caspian smiled, eager to please.
At the board, ignoring the looks his scarring brought, the trustee-Counselor argued his case.
"Mr. Bosporus was set up for the crime of murdering the Jawolski Family since he was born. He had no choice but to become the "Beast Of The City", brought down by the same...individual... who effected my own capture. Said capture has cleared my mind of it all. I'm not the psychotic petty thug that was brought in. The reason is the chance I was given. Now, hear his words, and offer Caspian Bosporus the same chance."
Caspian smiled again, still strait-jacketed.
"Thank You, Counselor. I only killed the Jawolski children because they said I was mean to kill their parents. Children say such naughty things. Have you found all of their pieces, yet? I hid them quite well."
Laughing, Caspian literally burst out of his strait-jacket, and killed all the Board Members within 30 seconds. His Counselor, realizing how well he had been duped, shouted at him.
"You Moron! Now we'll probably never see the light of day! Just what kind of fool do I look like to you?"
As Caspian bolted the review-room door, he smiled again. Then, he opened the window, that overlooked the ocean 2000 feet below. He stood on the ledge.
"Disfigured Counselor, The Light Of Day is over-rated. As to what kind of fool you look like, why--You Look Like A Clown!"
Caspian jumped, and was seen no more in that city. The guards found the Counselor laughing out loud, driven completely insane by his encounter with Caspian. Ironically, Caspian would continue to be a thing of the shadows, while his unwilling student would become utterly notorious.
"I'm a clown. I'm A Clown! I'M A CLOWN! I'M A CLOOOWWWWWWNNNNNNNN!!!!!!! !"
Some Years Later.........
The hero saw his protégé' Richard enter, with the same question he always had about Caspian's Clown. The hero hoped to make this short, as his sometime-girlfriend, a noted thief, was once again in over her head, all in pursuit of yet one more unneeded scam.
"What in the hell do you suppose makes him that way? I mean, I heard his 1st stay at the Asylum was quiet, but then he went nuts, killed a Board of Review and the fellow patient he as counseling. Threw the guy out a window. What changed him? Something he saw? Something that didn't go his way? What?"
The hero shook his head, as the protégé knew he would.
"Dick, I've long since given up trying to figure out what dark force forged The Joker."
THE PRESENT
The man who had started to walk away from a life of junk food stepped off the scale. 330 lbs. would seem dismal to most, but to him it was a victory marked by the loss of 150 lbs. To his group, he was a role model and a hero.
"Yeah, I still got a ways to go. I'll never be slim. But I can live, and play with my kids--make love to my wife. My own heart won't be my own worst enemy. You all gotta start walking my path. No ifs ands or buts---except our behinds. Yeah, it was dumb to say that. But if they're gonna tease us, I say--beat em to it!"
They applauded, and honestly saw real hope for the first time in their miserable lives. They say that in Gotham City, a little hope is a dangerous thing.
In burst a man with a sword. The sword was poison-tipped. Nobody shouted out anything, being almost too stunned to acknowledge its reality. Their overworked systems used the excuse to finally give out.
The wild-faced man cut open wide the largest of the group, and pinned back her innards. Small incisions into the others took out almost all their organs. These he placed into the large woman's body, and sealed her up.
Draining the excess blood away, the killer took a paint brush and blood-painted a message on the gym's white brick wall. His job all finished, he dragged the viscera-filled body of the dead woman off, singing as he did.
"Oh, there'll be no more Meatless Tuesdays, No more Meatless Tuesdays, No More Meatless Tuesdays For Me...."
Hours later, a police detective who had quite a bit in common with the murder victims gained more in common as he finished his tenth donut.
"Commissioner, what you figure ol' Green Hair is up to, this go-round?"
The seasoned vet, a legend in law enforcement, shook his head.
"Harvey--it wasn't him. This was a message to, and not from, The Joker."
Bullock liked not a bit of this. Was anyone this side of Harley Quinn really crazy enough to go gunning for the Joker?
"Do I need to ask who it is we got on this?"
Gordon stood up, and tried to forget the sights around him.
"With the Joker involved, and this level of gore and meticulous attention to detail? This one's a no-brainer."
In his hidden lair he saw the message, written as it was in the blood of innocents.
"SEND ME THE CLOWN!!"
The Batman pulled up a long list of names, and mused that whoever declared serial killers a rare breed knew absolutely nothing at all. The names the dwindling list revealed were too similar to be dismissed, often the exact same name in different dead languages.
"Somebody wants you, Joker. And they don't care who they go through to get you. Evan Caspari. Casper Jehosophat Ians. Bosporus Constantinian. Carl Von Fleischer. Computer, check any and all common words in these files, normal usage allowed."
To his great shock, The Darknight Detective saw only one word, and knew that his quarry must be like an elemental monster, to be so very blatant with so important a clue.
"Batman to Oracle. Barbara, run an Urban Legends check for me on a figure named---Caspian."
------------------
Chapter One - On The Fifth Horse Rode A Dark Knight.....
The braces were the most painful thing possible, but she wore them until her legs, the only part of her that knew no pain, were bleeding and swollen. As she collapsed in a broken heap, one of the single bravest people on the face of the Earth was caught by someone who was perhaps just a little braver, not to mention possibly insane.
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
As she was lead into her wheelchair, Barbara Gordon had to fight off laughter.
"A man who shrugs off injuries the way you do has the nerve to ask me why I attempt to strengthen what's left of my lower body? Miracle cures, Bruce. They've happened before. One may happen to me. When it is does, BatWoman lives again. Because I'll be ready."
The Batman was rarely thrown off by the intensity of another, and he still didn't show it now. But he surely felt it, as the babushka'd beauty snapped to work on her keyboard. Oracle was now at work. He motioned to the younger woman in a full-face mask.
"The City needs you. Avoid my quarry. Understood?"
The new Batgirl, a harsh product of the Gotham of the mid-1990's, was silent as usual as she left. Barbara's approval of her was signaled by her own lack of comment on her activities.
"Alright, Caspian. We're talking ooollld urban legend here."
"How old?"
"Older than most urban centers as we know them. Want a starter?"
"Sounds like a good idea."
She pulled up a university file.
"Bourdeaux, 1476. A plague pit is dug, and each body drenched with alcohol. When the bottom of the pit is full, a torch is dropped, and the accumulated bodies set afire. This process was repeated until one man emerged, flaming, and ate the nearby village's cleric, cooking him with the flames from his own body. When asked who he was, the killer merely said, 'I am the ruin of your crops, the halver of your calfs, and the one who et up all the elves and trolls. You know me by my blight.' He then destroyed all crops and supplies in the area."
The Batman nodded.
"Famine. The words are a quote from an apocryphal New Testament book. It was excised by the Council Of Nicaea because it said that the Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse were not creatures of the end-days, but of the remote beginning."
Barbara didn't look up.
"A lot of things got excised that way. Take the Gospel of St. Thomas. From the stories in it, you'd think Jesus arrived along with our friend from Krypton."
"How do you know that he didn't?"
She looked up, then, a little annoyed.
"Faith. That's how I know. You ought to find some, somewhere."
"When I was ten, I had faith. Then, my father asked me if I wanted to go to the movies."
Knowing well the ending of that story, Barbara accessed the next file.
"Until modern times, a lot of it just repeats what we heard before for the time and setting. But in 1943, in Scotland, some children were lost in the woods. A local, a British Medic on leave, found one of them. He was a Duncan Glenn. The others, it was later found, had been butchered. The only clue was a wild-eyed man who claimed to have found them, and then disappeared, but not before leaving clues to their bodies' whereabouts. The medic? He pulled out a sword, and went to find this other guy. Had to be sedated, and cut his leave short."
"Is it guessing too much to ask if both descriptions match our current killer?"
"No. Eeerily close, both times."
Punching a few of her buttons, Batman made the drawings and images almost coalesce.
"Oracle, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"
The one time she had ever used a 'Pinky And The Brain' joke on him, it had flown past Bruce Wayne's cowled alter-ego faster than a speeding bullet. So she refrained now.
"Is he one of them? Seems so. I have a contact in The Watchers. Codenamed PaleHorse. But he went away, some months back. You know how to stop him, then."
He made for the window.
"Yes. But first--I have to know. An act like that tends to draw witnesses, and I want to know it was all worth it."
"Yes, but how could you find out if he's....."
The Batman was gone. Barbara wheeled for the parallel bars. She began her regimen.
"Someday--I'm going to do that to HIM!"
At home, Alfred Pennyworth awaited his friend and employer. The news was not good.
"Sir---there has been an violation. This Caspian character was sighted. It's all quite horrid."
"Alfred, you know me. Just say it."
"Very well, sir. The interred body of Inspector Sarah Essen Gordon was stolen from its grave. The body was then mailed to Commissioner Gordon in pieces."
Batman refused to be disgusted by this development, even on behalf of his old friend.
"Makes a savage kind of sense. Sarah was Joker's most well known victim. The body being sent to her husband strikes at him, to be certain. But it really sends a message to The Joker. I'm sure in his so-called mind, the bodies of his victims are trophies."
Alfred notably did not regain his composure.
"Sir--there were several other violations at that same cemetery. Apparently every known victim of that ghoulish madman was dug up, most destroyed by acid. I'm afraid the list includes...."
The normally absent eyes of The Batman came into full and bloody view. He jumped back into the Batmobile, and raced toward the cemetery in question. Awaiting him outside a rear wall were Nightwing, aka Robin #1, and Robin #3, Timothy Drake. Dick Grayson pointed at his mentor.
"We'll take care of the rest of the City. You just find this bastard."
For once not telling his surrogate sons to go away, Wayne merely nodded and went over the wall. The police had been there and gone, as had the media. He breathed in.
And he saw.
He instantly regretted his public revenge on The Joker, naming this young man as one of his victims. It had only marked him as well as his yellow and green uniform had, when The Joker took open his head with a crowbar. Batman considered the irony that the explosion which finally killed this young man had left more of his body intact than one super-maniacal being had. The viscera was strewn about. The head was crushed. But all Batman's eyes focused on was a single name, which only told part of this boy's immense worth.
He had been Robin #2. His name had been Jason Todd. The night in Gotham City shook with echoes of one frenzied word, screamed out by the Dark Knight Avenger.
"CAAAAASSSPPPPIAAAANNNN!!!!!"
Chapter Two - The Knight That Failed
If there was one thing Batman knew, it was where the scum gathered to prey upon the innocent. The gangs and hoodlums liked to imagine they were great and mighty predators. But The Batman knew better. For quite often, they merely became prey to things with bigger and sharper teeth.
One such thing feasted upon the severed legs of a gang member who had been known as El Caiman--The Shark. The man-boy was still alive, though, and shrieking, as he would have once put it, like a little girl.
"My LEGS!! MAN, MY LEGSSSS!!!"
Caspian stopped, and looked over at him.
"Well, they were yours. Now they're on a rotisserie. Quite tender."
A shotgun cocked behind Caspian's head. Wielding it was the boy's own mother.
"You are sooo dead! After all the crap I've gotten him out of, and you make him a cripple?"
Caspian popped a toe down, and asked her a question.
"Do I get last words?"
"Yeah."
"Thank You. When your son's gang first attacked me, he said he would do me just as he did his little sister. That is all."
The angry woman aimed the gun at her boy.
"YOU SWORE YOU WOULDN'T TOUCH HER ANYMORE!!!"
A loud report of gunfire echoed for minutes thereafter. Caspian, now sated, left the mother to sob over her dead son's body.
"He really did say that, you know."
From a rooftop, Batman watched disgustedly as Caspian walked away. He had been forced to let the grim scene play itself out. If he was to confront Caspian, it would be away from any and all innocents. Batman would beard the devil in his own fetid lair.
Caspian did not hide, and in fact, would have no idea how to stay hid if he tried. That had always been Methos' bulwark, and Famine gave Death his due in all things.
No, Caspian just sought out the least desirable part of town, and the least desirable people within it. Those he dealt with as time, motive, and opportunity demanded. Caspian didn't hide. Rather, he became the person you didn't want to see in the place you didn't want to go. Ever.
A cellar apartment once used by junkies and their dealers was one such place. Caspian didn't eat any of them. He had his standards. There were no windows, and Caspian had sharp enough ears to detect most intruders. After almost 3000 years, certain things were honed very finely indeed.
But the one who waited for Caspian in his place had done all that in less than twenty years. The scent was so intense, so alive, so omnipresent, that the killer said a word he hadn't in over 1000 years, despite the lack of the presence of another of his kind.
"Kronos?"
From the speed and power with which the intruder delivered a two-fisted blow to Caspian's ribcage, he felt it just might be his lost brother. But it was not Pestilence. It was a man who had sworn he would be the cure to all crime. Both the intruder's feet smashed into Caspian's right arm, breaking and nearly shattering it. But like his ad hoc student, The Joker, Caspian merely smiled at this. He said two words.
"Some fun."
The Batman moved in yet again.
Through a series of hard maneuvers that even the grieving Jim Gordon would never approve of, Batman sought to end the battle quickly. A Karate chop exploded one of Caspian's kneecaps. Batman's own armored kneecap took care of the other. Both of Caspian's arms were overextended and summarily broken. Batman then brought down his elbow into the small of his enemy's back. There were a series of gooey-sounding pops.
"That was for you, Jason."
The Dark Knight knew victory was not yet his. But when Caspian's hands clasped around his throat, it began to slip well over the horizon. No blow to the crotch, no smashing of the temples would stop Caspian from ending the intruder's life by asphyxiation. The unmoving body of The Gotham Guardian fell down at the feet of Famine. Waiting long past revival points for mortal or Immortal, he shrugged and walked away. The body needed to ripen before mealtime. He turned back before walking out the door, and asked a question.
"Were you, you know, anyone of importance?"
Chapter Three - The Broth Boils Slowly
Around a surprisingly well-kept kitchen stood Doctor Harleen Quinzel, mixing up a batch of her famous tuna salad. She always made it very well, and very meticulously. It was her own specialized brand of therapy, which calmed her enough to think of how best to kill people. Doctor Quinn, you see, was protégé and henchman to none other than the Joker himself, as Harley Quinn, and like her lover, she was also quite mad.
"Oh, Puddin' is just gonna looovve this batch! Imagine the sheer NERVE of that grocery lady, sayin' I shouldn't add relish. Hmmph! I hope they hafta have a closed casket ceremony."
When they sat down to eat, the two were so remarkably like a normal couple, it was frightening---ok, more frightening. The Joker liked fresh tuna salad, and Harley enjoyed seeing him enjoy it. If he didn't enjoy it, she would attempt to castrate him, and he would try to toss her starkers into a local frat house initiation. Repression was not among the couple's problems.
At last it was finished, and she sealed it with green-tinted saran wrap---never blue. That was bad.
"Now lessee. I'll leave 25,000 volts hooked to the doorknob. I'll just tell Puddin' I left it out for The Bat. He'll get a good chuckle outta that---I hope."
On the other hand, he would likely be insulted if she didn't have some sort of trap set up, so the doorknob was wired appropriately, and she waited while reviewing her list.
"Ivy's birthday--no flowers. Candy. Penguin--flowers, no candy. Harvey Dent--flowers and candy, just to be sure. Riddler?---I dunno."
Then, there came a knock at the door. She stood up, smiling.
"Who's that knocking on my door?"
Four more knocks.
"Who's that knocking on my door?"
Three more knocks.
"Who's that knocking on my door?"
Two loud bangs.
"Could it be Mister J?"
The door burst apart as a man who didn't care about broken hands smashed it down. Harley stared.
"Nahhh---Puddin' usually busts the door with his foot."
Caspian looked about, and nodded.
"Is that tuna salad I smell?"
Harley knew this was likely the cannibal killer that had been grabbing all the headlines lately. She hated glory hounds.
"Yeahh. Ya want some?"
"Is it---fresh?"
In full costume, with a dozen used pranks right behind her, Harley grew indignant.
"Hey! Of course it's fresh! What do I look like?"
Whizzing around in her custom-built wheelchair, Barbara Gordon fired off a laser-sighted 44. Her assailant was struck, hard.
"Smile at this, you Psycho-Babbling....Dick?!"
Knocked back but not out, Nightwing smiled at one of his oldest friends.
"Good...to know..you're ready...Babs."
Seeing that his kevlar-plus uniform had taken the bullets, Barbara breathed a sigh of relief. Dick nursed injured ribs, and found breathing hard.
"I'm sorry...but if Caspian is hunting the Joker's dead targets---he might come after survivors like me next."
"That's why I'm here."
"That's why I'm letting you stay--well, not the only reason...."
Their kiss made him forget everything but the killers who might be stalking them all.
Back at Harley's, Caspian finished eating the crusts from his tuna sandwich.
"Harleen...that was a lovely meal. A nice change of pace. But now I'm afraid that it's time for you to die."
Harley nodded and gulped.
"Oh, Crumbs!"
Gordon held the container that held the ashes of Sarah Essen, his late wife. She had been killed by The Joker just as Gotham was born again. She had died saving children, but that was no comfort.
Nothing was, nowadays. He remembered a time when justice truly prevailed, however wild it seemed then. The Commissioner regained his resolve and made a choice. He kissed the container of his wife's ashes, vowing no one would ever violate her again.
"Bullock. Montoya. We're hitting him, and we're hitting him hard. Put anyone you think is on some kind of second payroll--and put them on point. If they don't like it, fire them. By sundown tomorrow, I want every operation the Joker has shut down. Forget about the Clown himself. Because if this Caspian wants him so badly--we're gonna give him what he came for. No need for evidence. If it looks valuable, smash it. I'm leaving him broken and vulnerable--like he did to Barbara."
The raids began, and surprised thugs found the getaways unblocked. But they would later find almost all their money, drugs and other goods burnt or gone. The criminals might slip through, Gordon thought, but this time crime itself would pay.
In Harley Quinn's hidden apartment, she tried to find a way to keep herself alive.
"Waddayou got against my Puddin', anyhow? Did he kill somebody you loved? He's just like that, ya know?"
Caspian was in one of his eerie calm moods. Gotham seemed to do that for him.
"Oh, Harleen. It's nothing like that. No, you see, your paramour stole my thunder. I used to be something of an urban legend. Did you ever hear of Hungry Jack?"
Harley lit up.
"Did I ever! My Ma, she used to threaten to feed me to you! It was part of why I went into psychiatry. That's---mmmmm--how I met Mister J."
"Yes. Well, you see, I've inspired a thousand such legends. They were campfire stories, then silent movies and radio programs. Tabloid fodder. But some years ago, I gave some random advice to your---puddin'---and now he is the star of doom and chaos. I won't have that. I can't. I have to be what I was. It's all I've known since I lost my family."
"Oh, geez. So how'd you lose them?"
"We did some busywork for a King in Israel. Something about killing a child. It all became a muddle, I'm afraid. I haven't seen any of them since. But of course, in Silas' case, I must consider that a plus."
Harley nodded.
"Yeah, I got a sister like that. Fat and dumb--but EVERYbody's gotta be real nice to her."
Caspian smiled.
"So you do understand? That's wonderful."
Harley pulled herself up.
"Yeah, I understand-----"
She swatted Caspian across the head with a chair, then grabbed her favorite bat--baseball bat, that is. She continued pummeling him, growing crazier as she went.
"I UNDERSTAND that I invited you in, gave you a nice meal--I cut the crusts off, and everything-- I talked with you, we got to know each other--and you STILL wanna kill me? YOU MUST BE NUTS!!!!"
But as she came around for the eighty-seventh time, Caspian surprised her by simply grabbing the bat. He didn't look angry.
"Well, that has been suggested."
Grabbing her by the buttocks, he carried Harley over as she swatted him with her fists.
"Hey! No grabbin' the merchandise unless you mean business. Sheesh! Even Robin has better manners, and he's a horny teenager."
By now seeking merely to shut her up, Caspian slammed Harley onto a protruding coat rack. It impaled her as she looked on, almost impressed as her heart gave out.
"Mister----J?"
He left her there, and proceeded to cut his own finger. He felt he owed Harley for the sandwich, and so didn't use her blood.
THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE
"I wonder if he is one of us? Pity I've let my ability to sense others go to dust. Oh well. Goodbye, Harleen. It was a good sandwich."
When the Joker arrived home, he saw Harley's dead body, and shrugged. He took coded messages from his men, regarding the raids, and sighed. He saw the blood message, and almost chuckled. Then, he opened the refrigerator, and screamed as he shook the large appliance like a cardboard box.
"He ate ALL the $%$#***^$# (Obscene Gerund) TUNA salad! Caspian---THIS MEANS WAR!!!!"
Dejected, The Joker sat down. Gordon's surgical raids hit him where he lived. The Bat was out there, somewhere. Caspian had returned, after all these years, demanding back the status that was now rightfully The Joker's.
But he was honestly surprised at how much losing her meant. That she meant anything at all to him was bad enough.
"You know, Harley--you were a whiner, and a pest, and a tagalong, and a loon, and a hair-trigger freak who was as likely to castrate as pleasure me. Despite all that---I never really liked you. Why do you suppose that is?"
He continued his lonely monologue.
"Oh, baby--you and I walked over this city, before Baldie Lexie brought it back. We walked as minor gods, squashing those bugs right and left. Sometimes, we even killed people, too."
"But now---now I realize what you really and ta-ruly meant to me. So, my bumpkin pumpkin who liked sumpin in her rumpkin, we will be together, through the magic of necrophilia. Oh, some say that's sick. But I've killed most of them. Some twice. So with that, I reverently lower your mortal remains."
Joker kicked the closet door, and Harley fell off her impaling coat hook. With an odd tenderness, he began to stroke her hair.
"We-hell, Harley! It seems I finally do get the last word."
But this was not to be, as she shuddered and then awoke. Harley Quinn was alive--and better than ever.
"Pu-Pu-Pu--Puddin? What happened?"
Startled, the Joker did what he always did-he laughed, hours into the night. Because Harley was back. And now she would never ever leave.
Chapter Four - That Lean And Hungry Look
Alfred heard the Batmobile drive up, as he had on countless occasions. If Master Bruce was standing, he would always be graced with a sometimes savage quip about the sanity and stability of a man who would undertake the uncertain life of The Batman.
But the great car was on automatic, and The Batman was unmoving. Instantly, Alfred felt his worst fear since Bruce was a child well up once again. Grabbing the neck, he felt that it was bruised, but unbroken. Wayne had learned a kata that strengthened the neck muscles inordinately without making it seem bulky or beefy. He had also learned another, more dangerous kata.
Alfred pulled back his fist, slamming Wayne's ribcage as hard as he could. When he heard a pop, he knew that it was over, one way or the other.
"Al-----fred?"
The insane gamble had worked, mused Pennyworth. By very slowly hyperoxygenating almost his every cell prior to the encounter with Caspian, The Batman had air on demand for emergencies. Provided an artery or major organ didn't decide to simply explode from the pressure. Since this Caspian was known to at first just strangle his victims, this was actually as close to a wise precaution as Alfred had seen his friend and employer take.
"Still, you are in the worst shape I've seen you since The Deacon or Bane, sir. Is even a short period of recovery out of the question?"
Bruce Wayne said words that were almost shocking by his standards.
"Twenty-Four Hours. Hook me up to an IV. Bind my legs and hands lightly for no sudden movements. I'm not stupid, Alfred. My sensei taught me that method -- 'Become As Air' -- only very reluctantly. He made it supremely clear what was to follow its use, unless I wished to disgrace his spirit."
"Very---wise, sir. But what of Caspian's feud with the Joker?"
"Tell the troops to keep an eye on Joker and Harley. If they see them, blow up whatever they're working on, avoid them as always. Neither Dick nor Tim are ready to face The Joker, and Dick is bound to underestimate Harley."
"Is he, sir? One must remember, he has dated and fought with women whose fighting style and physical strength was well above his own, whilst in The Titans."
"Of course---you're riiight-- And Caspian is an Immmmmmm---"
"That is sadly obvious. Pleasant dreams, sir. And I will hold you to that twenty-four hours."
Alfred then walked over to the case that held the Robin costume of the late Jason Todd.
"Watch over him, lad. Help him to grant your spirit peace."
At the Joker's lair, a bullet tore through a young woman's heart. She collapsed, coughing blood, and died. Two minutes later, she got up again.
"Wow, wadda kick! Do me again, Mister J!"
The Joker shrugged.
"I'd love to, Harley---but we're aw outa buwwets!"
Harley Quinn walked up, confused. She looked in the barrel, then stood upright again.
"Aw outa buwwets?"
She felt her heart explode, once again, and smiled.
"Wadda ya know--One Buwwett weft."
The Joker smiled broadly.
"To think--she only used to be good for sex, food, and laying down a ring of suppressive fire. Harley Quinn--you've become the ideal gal--I can kill you almost whenever I want. And then--I can do it again. It's better than Viagra!"
He looked around.
"Not that I ever needed--you know, that stuff---really."
As Harley lay reviving, the body of one of Joker's prime lieutenants burst through the skylight above. A note was attached.
"FACE ME, CLOWN!!!!!!"
The Joker looked up as Harley read the note.
"That man is just soooo rude!"
Harley nodded in agreement.
"Yaeh---doesn't he know that's Batman's skylight? Shheessh! The nerve of some people. Puddin-- whatcha gonna do about this loser?"
Joker shook his head.
"Nothing. Harley, any attention I give him raises him up in the minds of the mindless Gothamites who trust me to bring them fresh terror every so often. I'm the one who's ahead in the polls. My steamed opponent does not deserve a debate. He'll get bored and leave, eventually. I mean, I'm so bored, sometimes, I actually travel to Metropolis to harangue the big Boy Scout."
Harley puzzled.
"Harangue? Ain't that a kind of pie?"
Ignoring her, The Joker switched on the TV.
"And Gotham continues to suffer from infected food. Canned, fresh, what have you—it's all bad. No more supplies are being brought in until this matter is cleared up. The only clue, a possible terrorist's note. 'Give me the Greasepaint--Or I Will Give You Famine!'"
The Joker stood up, fuming.
"OK. The Tuna Fish, I was almost willing to forgive, and he did improve Harley. But the people of Gotham are MY VICTIMS! They shall have no other UberPsychotic before me. So if he wants a conference call----then that's what I'll give him. Along with a smile that will never leave even his face!"
From his rooftop vantage point, the man known as Caspian smiled. Borrowing a page from Methos, he'd used a little planning. From Kronos, he'd thought of using that minor water-based virus on the food supply. It seemed big and bad for all of twenty-four hours, yet really couldn't cause death. He wanted to depopulate Gotham slowly, not en masse, after all. Ironically, even fat-bag Silas had provided inspiration. The crashing body thing was just soooo War-like. But for now, Caspian sensed prey.
"Aiming to face me, boy?"
Robin--Tim Drake--just placed the TV/VCR in position, shook his head, and darted off.
"Not hardly, pal. Impulse might be stupid enough to face you down, maybe even Superboy. But not yours truly. Just watch and learn."
Caspian tried to move for the fresh meat, anyway, only to be warned back by a shot from the hidden Nightwing. When they were both gone, the machine began to play its taunting message. Batman was actually smiling.
"You know--The Joker, he knows how to strangle people. Maybe you deserve obscurity, if you've become such an amateur hunter. Or maybe the other three Horsemen just tolerated you all those centuries. Yes, that has to be it. Why else put up with you?"
The TV was smashed, and Caspian thrown back by a small explosive. While not harmed, his rage began to increase in ways even he thought impossible.
"Perhaps---it is not only Joker who has stolen my legend."
At Police HQ, Bullock questioned one of Gordon's tactics.
"Commish--those camcorder freaks make life really and truly difficult for an honest cop. So why is it you're askin them to keep us on film?"
The frustrated Commissioner was almost past dealing with Bullock or Montoya's questions.
"If you're an honest cop, you have nothing to worry about. But I want them watching Joker's remaining people. My gut tells me he's going to give Caspian his confrontation. Then--we take them all. Remember--these are cop-killers. Act accordingly."
"And----wada bout the Bat?"
Gordon cleaned his gun--again. He thought of his wife, violated in life by Joker, in death by Caspian.
"Let's just hope we're all on the same side."
Chapter Five - Chaos Ascendant
The Police scoured the city, shutting down the Joker's seemingly endless lairs. Their aim was destruction, and not arrest. James Gordon was aiming to take the Clown Prince of crime and make him a pauper.
"Break every knick-knack! If you think it might explode, break it from a distance!"
Floorboards were coming up, courtesy of some war surplus mine-suppression gear. But perhaps owing to wanting quick getaways, the Joker had less intricate traps in his own lairs.
"I can't keep you off the streets, maniac. Except for Easy Street. Free Ride's over!"
If the building was condemned, charges were set in the basement pipes, and it was quickly destroyed. Pipes themselves were shredded for copper and smelted. Weapons were compacted, and Gordon made sure some corrupt cops were forced to watch them go.
"Laugh this off."
Bullock and Montoya were not known to agree on anything. But both agreed to watch The Commissioner very, very closely.
Meanwhile, the forces of The Batman made sure that any and all bystanders were well away from the scene of the upcoming confrontation between Caspian and The Joker. They also checked Arkham Asylum from head to toe. They needed no more escapees in this chaotic period.
When the hour came round, the two emerged, each equally uncaring of the massive police and vigilante presence. Caspian spoke first.
"Your kind---are my bastard children. Nothing more. My poorly-talented seed. You wallow in little fears and toy tricks. I will now uproot you."
The Joker sneered, and gave forth with his best and wittiest rejoinder.
"Oh, Yeah?!"
Bombs were going off all over Gotham. Deadly, blinding, scarring snow was descending from the very highest buildings as shatterproof glass exceeded its warranties. Some were Harley's. Some were Joker's. Most belonged to Caspian, who often used such devices to herd his prey, much the way fishermen used dynamite.
To the dead and the wounded, the maker of their bombs mattered not at all. But to The Batman, it was all that mattered, besides stopping them.
"Robin--how close are we to finding all the bombs?"
The Teen Wonder frowned.
"Not close enough."
"Then it's time to violate my own policy. Call him."
The battle of psychotics began with crowbars raised. If truth be known, Caspian preferred a bludgeon with no cutting edge. Even Immortal opponents eventually begged for mercy, and The Joker was not Immortal.
The metal on metal sound rang in both their ears, and both smiled their very worst grins. This was life, they thought. Hunter against hunter. Artist against artist. But they were both still crazy men, and so these notions faded quickly. The Joker slammed Caspian's ribcage seven times for every one blow to the upper arm that he himself would receive. There was a small problem, though, as Joker soon came to realize.
"You should at least be bleeding! Even your kind bleeds!"
The millennia-old monster smiled at the relative baby.
"Imagine your own crazed strength and stamina, which has enabled you to deal with that rodent-suited moron, magnified by endless battles. Imagine it magnified by endless years. Imagine everything you have learned to endure---and then imagine that every wound heals perfectly, and almost instantly. Now ask yourself, Little Clown. Do you have any idea of what you're truly up against?"
The Joker swung wildly, now, tired and screaming.
"Bad enough to have you gloat about your little trick! But to actually use so clichéd a line as 'You have no idea what you're up against'? You really ARE a fiend! But this Card keeps an Ace up his sleeve."
Harley emerged, bazooka drawn.
"Just tell me where to fire this beauty, Mister J!"
Joker then fired his patented boxing glove into the bazooka.
"Sorry, my dear. But tho' I love ya so---for me to win, you have to go!"
Harley's last view was of the bazooka, strapped to her, expanding in size.
"P-Pu-Pud-Pudd-----Puddin?"
Caspian was thrown by the explosion, but was basically unharmed. The Joker had already sought cover. The former Doctor Harleen Quinzel, however, was pulverized immediately. Caspian picked up the Joker, and held him fast by his throat.
"What did you hope to accomplish by that?"
Despite lack of air, the Joker looked nonchalant.
"Oh, welllll---poor dear Harley was one of you. And you know what that means..."
Sure enough, Caspian saw the lightning emerging from Harley's viscera. For whatever it was worth, her Quickening would soon be his. Joker chuckled.
"Now, my studies seemed to indicate that, while taking all that in, you'll be quite helpless--not to mention vulnerable."
But Caspian maintained his grip on Joker's throat, and laughed out loud. The Joker's grin vanished.
"What--what are you doing?"
"Give us a hug, Mister Clown."
Bear hugging the Clown Prince Of Crime, Caspian made certain that Harley's energetic remains gave her Puddin one last, deadly kiss. When the storm was done, Caspian raised The Joker's charred corpse over his head, and split it in two, like kindling, before tossing the pieces to the ground below. He bellowed in obscene triumph.
"SEND MEEEEEEE THE BAT!!!!!!!!!"
A voice came from behind him.
"Don't bother----I'm here."
Batman wasted not another word on idle banter. The Joker was dead, and this spoke well of his killer's fighting prowess. A flying kick hit Caspian's jaw full force, shattering part of it. Batman pulled back one of his attacker's arms, breaking it, then the other. As Caspian's jaw healed, he chortled at Batman's efforts.
"You of all people must know that I heal like a house afire. Even a clean break heals up before you've had a chance to catch your second wind."
Batman responded with breaking blows to his opponent's back and legs. Again, Caspian laughed.
"What did I just tell you? Have you learned nothing from almost dying?"
Batman now smiled.
"Well, who said they were clean breaks? I of all people know how to break bones in a manner that makes healing difficult, if the bones aren't set properly within minutes. Of course, you heal within seconds."
Caspian ignored him, the pain of the improperly set bones helping to clear his head. But his movements were no longer fluid frenzy. They were jerky, like those of Silas. But Silas had always had meat on his bones, to back him up. Caspian was now a man in a skinny frame with palsied movement--and he faced The Batman. In five punches, it was over, and he was cuffed, jacketed, and latched in. Without the ability to re-break his own bones--mighty and crazed Famine found that he had taken the Joker's place---in being defeated by The Gotham Guardian. As the Arkham guard came to take Caspian away, the violent man said nothing at all, unable to comprehend his loss.
As Batman breathed in, dealing with the blows Caspian had landed, Commissioner Gordon arrived.
"Good news. Your people and mine found every last bomb. Where's the Joker?"
Batman sat down, feeling safe in the company of his friend and ally.
"Dead. Him and Harley. For real and for good."
Gordon seemed to grimace. Batman wondered if the Commissioner suspected him.
"Jim, I didn't kill..."
"Where's Caspian?"
There was an edge to his voice, harsh and dangerous.
"Ummm...Your man from Arkham took him."
Gordon glared, and walked down the stairs to inside.
"You're exhausted, so I'll let it go."
"Let what go? Jim?"
"I---didn't send anyone from ARKHAM!!!"
The Dark Knight sagged. He was no amateur, yet he had allowed the oldest trick in the book to sucker-punch him.
"nooooooo......"
By the Gotham Docks was a warrant officer for The Romanian Republic. He took Caspian, now bound beyond imagining, into custody.
"You have my thanks, friend. Your government is to be commended for turning Evan Caspari over so quickly. The animal will be kept an eye on, this time."
"See to it that he is."
The Arkham Guard then drove out of Gotham City, reminding himself never to return.
"Be thankful I needed you alive, Caspian. Be thankful I need a hedge-bet in case Kronos ever finds me. Because you just aren't worth it--Brother."
Batman had indeed fallen for the oldest trick in the book. But he was to be forgiven, this once. For the one who beat him, using the oldest trick---was The Oldest Immortal.
ONE MONTH LATER......
Gordon nodded.
"So you've still no clue as to who this new Joker might be?"
The shadowed figure departed as he spoke.
"But I will, Jim. Bet on it."
When Batman had gone, Gordon thought about vengeance. Vengeance on the Joker, Harley, and Caspian, that he would never get. It could drive a man mad.
"!!!"
In his office, Jim Gordon howled with furious laughter at how clueless Batman really was. How the destruction of his family by The Joker had really eaten away at a cop's fragile sanity. How Caspian had provided the final push over. It could all drive a man mad, and that is exactly what it had done in creating the new Joker.
A GREAT CITY NEAR GOTHAM
Having returned from helping Batman locate all the bombs, the god-like man looked into the offices of his greatest enemy.
"Funny. Usually he comes out and smiles or glares at me. Oh,well."
The god-like man who had once returned from the dead now flew off to be with a very patient woman. Inside, his nemesis stood shaking in a lead-lined office.
"Of-of course a deal's a deal! You did me a very big favor, back then. I just wasn't aware you were still alive."
A man sat in Lex Luthor's chair. No one sat in Lex Luthor's chair. Except him.
"Lex--Lex! I merely intend to test the local talent, and then move on. You needn't fear me--as long as you play it smart. Now, the favor?"
"Any-Any----Anything!"
"Yes. Any-thing. You have resources I don't, Lex. I want you to find a friend of mine."
"An--old--friend?"
"The Oldest."
Lex Luthor immediately set out to do what he was asked. With Kronos, one simply had no choice.
"Good man, that Lex. Pity I have to undo the civilization he made. But not a great pity."
The Famine In Gotham was over. But there now existed A Pestilence In Metropolis. The Greatest Hero Of Them All Would Soon Be Made Aware Of This---And Wish That He Had Not.
THE END?