Batman: Gotham Harvest
Chapter 1
Gotham City. Even in uptown, the plumes of smoke snake through the streets, climb the buildings and hover outside windows like prowlers casing their next target. But this isn't uptown, this is The Narrows, where the buildings are so close, you can reach out your window and touch your neighbor's sill. There are no good days here.
Due to Jonathan Crane, over half the population of this neighborhood suffers some form of schizophrenia, and most are drug addicts. The people of The Narrows are transient; they prefer it that way. It keeps them from drawing too much attention, which around here, is a death sentence. Most of Gotham's citizens consider this side of the river a lost cause, and are letting it rot away on its own terms. Gotham P.D. gave The Narrows consideration long enough to institute a curfew, raising the bridges nightly at 11 o'clock to bring piece of mind to their more valued citizenry in upper Gotham. The rules are simple, between 11pm and 6am, whichever side of the river you're on is where you stay.
But there are some who don't follow the rules.
There are 2 visitors to The Narrows tonight who don't belong. One is on the streets below, while the other travels a higher path along the rooftops.
The streets are eerily quiet tonight. Even the wicked know when to be afraid. The sounds of boots click with each step on the concrete. Then the sound stops, leaving only the unnatural quiet as if a heart just ceased beating.
A gloved hand reaches down to inspect an object left behind by one of the neighbor-hood's less than upstanding inhabitants, a used syringe emblazoned with the name 'blis/z'.
Rachel Dawes, assistant District Attorney for Gotham, seals the syringe and her latex surgical glove in a plastic bag, pulling out a notebook with scribbled notes and addresses.
"I didn't realize Gotham had an overnight cleaning crew," echoes a voice from nowhere.
"I didn't hear you come down from the rooftops," quips the sassy lawyer.
Melting from the shadows of a pitch-black alley, the figure of Batman comes into the light only enough to silhouette the cape and cowl of the masked avenger. His cape cocoons his body armor, hiding the menacing array of technology and brute savagery that lurks beneath it. "That's why you shouldn't be in The Narrows, Rachel," he says with an unnerving lack of emotion.
"The Police won't come here to collect the evidence that can put this guy away for a lifetime. He's a dealer, and if he isn't peddling this new stuff, he can lead us to the person who is." Rachel stands her ground against the Batman; she isn't intimidated by the symbol, but isn't sure what to make of the man behind it anymore.
"I'll get to the drug's designer; but I can't do that while watching over you down here night after night." This isn't going as well as he thought it would. He'd forgotten how stubborn she could be.
"You get to them your way; I'll get to them my way. I don't tell you how to go about your vigilante crusade, so don't tell me how to do my job." The determination in her eyes is a façade to cover the sadness of crossing paths with her childhood friend this way. They are on the same side, though just barely. Rachel has faith in the laws of Gotham, that with a few preserving their sanctity, the city can be cleaned up for a new generation. The Batman has little of that faith left. The man behind the mask wavers on the edge of a psychotic nightmare, trained with the stealth and agility of a ninja, and the warrior code of a samurai, the beast he unleashes upon the criminal underground of Gotham comes dangerously close to becoming the menace.
"You're job is in the courtrooms of Upper Gotham. Can't you see the difference between what you are during the day and what you become at night?"
"Can you, Bru…?" before she can finish, the Batman has pulled his harpoon pistol from his utility belt and fired the cable into the air, pulling Rachel into him, he snaps the gun to his belt and hits the retract button as he grabs tightly to Rachel just as he becomes airborne. Ascending between the buildings, the lights from windows blur as the speed increases.
As quickly as they left the ground, they come to a stop; Rachel is lowered onto a fire escape with Batman right behind, as they climb to the rooftop. The silence is filled with frustration, as neither can seem to reach the other.
"Damn it, Rachel. How many times are we going to do this? It isn't safe for you to come here." She flops into a corner of the rooftop while he paces trying to find a way to reach her with reason.
"I didn't ask you to follow me."
"It's what I do. But you're looking for a fight. If not from them, then with me." Batman calms enough to perch in the corner of the rooftop next to Rachel. He wants to end this fight and get her to safety.
"That's ridiculous."
"Then why the boots that echo for blocks when you walk? You don't know what you're walking into here."
"I know the streets are deserted and any sound will stand out. You have them scared, why not use that to my advantage to get what I need to clean this place up?" Instinct tells him they've spent too much time with this confrontation, allowed their guards to drop enough to have lost observation of their surroundings. They must move, and Rachel isn't ready for this fight to end. He knows he will have to forcibly move her.
"You're wrong. It isn't me they're afraid of tonight. Come on, I'm taking you across the river." At the moment Batman grabs her arm an explosion on the street below rocks the foundation of the building. "Are you alright?" Batman doesn't wait for a response as he peers over the ledge to the street below. "Don't move from this spot." And then he leaps.
Diving through the smoke, he flares his cape and the scalloped wings take shape gliding him safely to the ground, steps from where the evening began. He disappears into the smoke, expecting a battalion of thugs laying in wait. All he finds is a ruptured gas line. But then the smell makes its way to him, something burnt, like chicken burning in the oven with the stench of sulfur. Batman follows the smell to the remnants of a garbage dumpster. Inside the dumpster is the charred body of a transient, burned beyond recognition, a homemade crack pipe in his hand. On the ground lay a Zippo lighter, most of the purple paint singed off. Nothing left to investigate here.
The Batman fades into the darkness to return to get Rachel. Climbing over the fire escape to the roof, he explains the disturbance, "It was just a crack addict choosing a very bad place to light up. I'll notify public works about the broken…" but then he realizes he is alone. "Rachel?" The roof isn't that big, where could she be? He looks over the ledge into the fire escape. "Rachel." Then he sees her pen, in the spot where he left her. She and the rest of her belongings are gone. "RACHEL!"