A/N: Hello, and welcome to my second fanfic. If you haven't read the previous installment, I recommend that you do. It's awesome and will explain a whole lot.
For my faithful readers, the Joker is finally here, so "Put a smile on that face!" ;) However, I'm including another very famous Batman villain in my adaptation of the Nolan/SVU trilogy, so watch out Bruce and Liv.
Just a few notes. It's three years since the last story, which will be in 2004. It's 2007 right now, and Olivia is struggling with her feelings. Bruce is growing increasingly alone, walling himself off from most of the world, except for Olivia and Alfred. He still hopes that Alex can help him become the man that he was, but is fearful nonetheless. I plan to change the entire emotional dynamic of TDK since we have an unknowing Love Triangle. Don't worry, it will still be epic.
Disclaimer: Do you see the Joker on SVU? If not, I don't own either.
Read, review, and don't be shy to send me advice. I welcome it.
"Why so serious?" Enjoy!
LAW & ORDER: THE DARK KNIGHTS
Chapter 1: Brave New World
A lot had changed since our two heroes had foiled Ra's al Ghul and the League of Shadows. The citizens of Gotham, shaken out of their fear and apathy, turned on the incumbent power structure. In the 2005 municipal elections, they cast out the incumbent mayor, electing Matthew D Garcia of the fusion ticket (A/N: New York City allows candidates to run on multiple party lines) and a City Council filled with his allies. Pledging to clean house in the GPD, he allied with Commissioner John Munch to create the new Major Crimes Unit to take over the responsibilities of Organized Crime and Special Victims. As its head, Munch appointed the Hero Cop, Captain Elliot Stabler, with Lieutenant Olivia Benson as his second in command. Together, the famous and indefatigable Benson and Stabler selected the cream of the crop, cops they knew and could trust. Over the year and a half of its existence, MCU became like a family, free of the constant paranoia and backstabbing that characterized the rest of the GPD.
In 2006, the voters elected Harvey Dent as their new District Attorney in a tight race, and he proved a dogged advocate for justice upon taking office. Newspapers and networks across the country were hailing him as the "White Knight," hopeful he could save the city. If his first few months were any indication, he was on the right track.
Meanwhile, under the leadership of President Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises was making record profits. The massive scandal that ended with the indictment and conviction of former President William Earle on numerous Federal charges had been weathered, and Fox's massive expansion of both the domestic and military ventures raked in money, causing the Gotham economy to boom and providing the many charities of the city with much needed funds. Numerous foreign companies were beseeching Fox for joint ventures, including BAE Systems, Mitsubishi, and the Lau Investment Group.
In the underworld, things were going downhill for the criminals for the first time since before the Warren Court. Smashed by Batman and Batgirl and under the relentless pressure from Stabler and Benson in the MCU, they were forced to watch as their once proud empire was slowly dying. Out of city criminal syndicates, once flocking to invest in Gotham, were pulling out, citing fear of the Caped Crusaders. As Franco Tordemasi of La Cosa Nostra in New York told Sal Maroni, his Gotham City counterpart, "If you think I'm going to be bat chow, ya' can forget it!" Things were almost unraveling, and the once omnipotent bosses were reaching the point of desperation.
With all of this going on, one criminal was having success in this Brave New World. He was an enigma to all, the mob, the cops, even the Batman and Batgirl. Starting his crimes in the winter of 2005 (January), he started small and worked his way up, collecting a large body count but low profile as he went along. All he left in his tracks was his signature, a single playing card. It was the great Elliot Stabler that gave him his name, a name which would prove infamous in the coming months:
The Joker
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A lone figure in a cheap purple three-piece suit stood on the corner of Fifth and Linseed, gazing at the pedestrians. Clutched in this strange man's hands was a mask from a nameless costume shop, part of a matching set of dozens. It was of a clown, sort of an impulse buy on his part. He was the type of man who did things like that often. Some said he was crazy, but he knew differently.
His cold eyes, a shade so dark they could be considered black, kept most people at a distance. 'They don't know who I am,' he thought. 'That's good; the time has to be right. When the time comes though, no one will be able to forget.'
Hearing the squeal of a tire on asphalt, the man turned his head around. The van sped to where he waited. Smirking, he donned the mask quickly, running up to the sliding door with a large duffel slung on his back.
"Well, at least one of us is on time," the driver said snidely, glaring at the man in the passenger seat through his mask.
"Just go already!" the other man shouted, eager to get this job over and done with.
About a block away, two other men, also with clown masks covering their faces readied a grapple gun from the window of an unfinished skyscraper. Taking careful aim, Chuckles (A/N: I'm giving the clown henchmen names based on their masks to differentiate them) shot the grapple at the adjacent building across the street right through the glass. Tugging on the rope to make sure it was nice and taut, both slung a zip line and careened toward the other building. Chuckles landed on his feet while Bozo skidded on the gravel, landing on his ass.
Back in the car, the trio was loading their weapons. Grumpy pulled out a Uzi submachine gun, Dopey in the back loaded his Glock machine pistol, while Happy patted his Berretta 9mm. "Three of a kind, let's do this!" growled Happy.
"That's it?" asked Grumpy. "Just three guys?"
"No you dumbass! Were you asleep during the entire prep session? You have us three, and then two guys on the roof!" he shouted, pronouncing roof like 'ruff.' "We divide the share equally, that's five shares. Plenty to go around."
Grumpy shook his head. "You mean six; don't forget the guy who planned the whole shebang."
Snorting with disgust, Happy snarled back, "Coward thinks he can sit back all safe and sound and still take a slice. That's not gonna' fucking happen!"
"Did you ever see the guy?"
"Nah, but I heard about him from around. I know why they call him the Joker."
"So why do they call him the Joker?" asked Chuckles to Bozo on the roof.
"I heard it's cause he wears makeup," replied the other clown, grabbing his laptop and hacking set.
Chuckles, confused, swung a hammer at the lock for a control box, hearing it crack in two. "Makeup? Like one of those trannies?" He slid the broken lock off and opened the box.
"Nah, not like that! It's to scare people; you know, like war paint."
"That makes sense, considering what I heard about this guy. He's intense."
"Hey, that's one of the reasons I signed up for this job. I like intense."
Screeching to the curb, the three clowns piled out of the vehicle and sprinted to the two solid oak doors of Gotham National Bank, Dopey swiveling his head to make sure there weren't any cops. They'd come eventually, but for now, he wasn't keen on inviting them to the party. They weren't players in his little scheme. 'Not yet anyway,' he thought with an evil giggle. All inside the bank, they charged to the line of tellers, passing a row of offices. Grumpy fired a long burst with the Uzi in the air. "Alright, everyone on the ground!"
The customers and employees alike crowding the main floor did as ordered, several screaming and muttering prayers to God. Bank President Kenneth Cleary, looking quietly from his office window, overlooking the main hall, observed the situation. Grumpy was busy shouting threats, waving the Uzi above his head like a kid playing Cowboys and Indians. Dopey was grabbing gear from one of the duffels while Happy began to advance on the tellers.
"Hands up, and heads down everybody! Come here pal, I'm making a withdrawal!" he snarled angrily, pulling the teller over the counter and threw him on the floor roughly. The female teller right next to him quickly pushed the silent alarm button underneath her desk before Happy advanced on her. "What part of hands up do you not understand lady!"
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…" she mumbled.
"I said SHUT UP!" he screamed, pulling her out of the back too, not realizing he had sent for help.
Luckily for the clown gang, they came prepared for situations like this. "There's the silent alarm," said Bozo cheerfully, now delighted to showcase his skills. He pressed a button on his laptop. "And there it goes." Chuckles felt the burner cell in his pocket vibrate, the signal diverted to it. He gave Bozo a thumbs up.
"Don't hurt me! I have two kids, please…"
"I said shut up!" Happy was getting sick of these idiot civilians. Didn't they know how to fucking obey orders! Dopey grabbed several frag grenades out of the duffel and began putting them in the hostages' hands, pulling the pin on each and every one of them. "Obviously we don't want you to do anything with your hands except hold on for dear life," he said with amusement in his voice. The only hope of not getting turned into Swiss cheese by hundreds of sharp fragments for the hostages was to hold on to the cap tightly so as not to arm the grenade.
'They are so eager,' thought Dopey of his comrades. 'They relish the game but do not have the right motivation. Such people who do are rare in this world.' He knew they were out there, but in his many travels he hadn't yet met one of his peers, not a single one. That gave him the responsibility to make sure this city knew what their choice was, and at the right time, he would be the only one who could give it to them. He was looking forward to it.
"That's funny," remarked Bozo on the roof.
"What?"
"The alarm wasn't sent to 911. They rerouted the system to reach a private number."
"Is it a problem?" asked Chuckles, reaching into his jacket.
"Nah, I'm done here. Let's… urgh!" Chuckles shot him in the spine nonchalantly, watching Bozo crumple to the gravel. He grabbed the bags and ran inside, heading for the vault. Once there, he grabbed out his gear, setting it up. He was about to start drilling when several thousand volts surged through his system.
"Nobody make a move! Nobody!" Too concentrated on creating terror in the hearts of the hostages, Grumpy didn't notice Kenneth Cleary behind him, grabbing something out of his desk. Swiveling around, he aimed his SPAS-12 twelve gauge shotgun. "Stay down! I said stay…" Cleary fired off a round of buckshot right in his back, killing Grumpy instantly.
Cleary chambered another round in, working the pump action. Happy and Dopey both scrambled for cover, Cleary firing off round after round. "Do you have any idea who you're fucking stealing from? You and your asshole friends are dead!"
"Is he out?" asked Happy, to which Dopey nodded his head. Happy rose to get off a shot when Cleary fired his last round, grazing the clown. Dopey rose and fired off a three round burst, getting the banker in the shoulder and shin. "Where did you learn to count?" growled an irate Happy. Dopey just shrugged and glared at Cleary. 'Naive fool.'
Happy burst through the doors to the vault entrance. "They wired this thing up with at least five thousand volts," remarked Chuckles, making the finishing touches on the combination locks. "What kind of bank does this anyway?"
"A mob bank. Who else would keep a suspected rapist on the payroll, as the president no less?" He opened the tarp he was carrying, revealing several bunched up duffels for carrying the loot. "I guess the Joker is as crazy as everyone says, and getting bolder by the day. Where's the alarm guy?"
"Boss said once he was done I should take him out." Chuckles turned the lock, opening the vault. "One less share am I right?"
"Funny, in a sick sort of way, though I believe he told me something similar."
"What? NO WAIT!" Happy shot him in the face. He opened the vault and started shoving the stacks of twenties and fifties into the bags.
"That's a lot of money," said Happy as they dragged it to the main hall. "If he was smart, the Joker should have given us a bigger car." Dopey turned his head only to hear the cock of a hammer. "You think I'm stupid? I bet the Joker told you to kill me soon as we loaded the cash!"
Dopey tilted his head. "No," he whispered in an annoying voice that sounded somewhat like Heath Ledger with a head cold (A/N: wink), looking at his watch. "I kill the bus driver."
"Bus driver? What bus driver!" Out of nowhere the rear of a school bus smashed through the wall and ran right over Happy, his body crushed under the wheels.
"Ouch!" quipped the bus driver, stepping out the rear door. "That guy's not getting up is he?" Dopey shook his head and started passing him the moneybags. "What happened to the rest of the guys?" Dopey responded by cutting him down with a hail of bullets.
"You think you're so smart," gasped Cleary, making the last clown turn and saunter to him. "The guy that hired youse, he'll just do the same to you. I remembered the day when criminals used to believe in things. Honor; respect; protecting the vulnerable; what do you believe in huh? WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN?!" The clown cut him off with a grenade shoved in his mouth.
"I believe, that whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you…" He pulled off his mask, revealing a face painted white, with dark shades around his eyes and red lipstick smeared on his mouth, angling upward on two massive scars to form a smile. "Stranger," finished the Joker after a long pause, tongue quickly licking the side of his mouth like a snake. "And one day, all of you will know it." He giggled mischievously and left, hopping into the bus. He drove out just in time to catch the daily after school procession, just moments before the GPD arrived on scene.
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Leaning on an air-conditioning unit on the roof of the 1-6 precinct, a cup of black coffee in his hands to ward off the tendrils of sleep, Captain Elliot Stabler, Gotham City MCU, stared at the night sky, his gaze fixed on the twin-bat symbol the searchlight was projecting. It was unofficial and hush-hush, but everyone knew it existed. Luckily for Elliot, Commissioner Munch had a soft spot for him, so as long as the Batman and Batgirl kept their focus on the criminals, unofficial policy was to work with them as needed.
"Hey there Cap." Elliot shifted his gaze from the sky to see Detective Danielle "Dani" Beck, his newest rookie. Selected by him and Olivia personally, MCU was like a family, close knit and very protective. Ed Tucker, probably the only honest shark in IAB, did the background screenings on each and every one of the applicants for formality's sake, but Elliot knew he could trust every man and woman under his command with his life (Olivia, with her dark past, still could only trust him that way, though it hadn't cause a problem yet). "Cap? You ok?"
Elliot snapped out of his daze and smiled at Dani. "Yeh, I'm fine Dani. It's just even after three years, I still haven't gotten used to being called Cap. Too much time as a plain Detective I guess."
The butter-blonde detective smiled at him. "With luck, one day I'll be able to think the same thing."
"You're a good cop, just like the rest of the unit. We wouldn't have picked you if that wasn't the case." Elliot made it a prerogative to make sure his command knew he respected and trusted them; he had that very relationship with Munch back in the bad old days; he also experienced what it was like to have Captains who didn't give a damn about anyone but themselves, and hated those people. A leader must have the admiration of his subordinates to be a good one. "So why aren't you home? Shouldn't you be taking care of Jack?"
Her face fell, looking out at the Gotham skyline. "Had to check him back in the hospital."
"Sorry to hear that," Elliot said, putting a comforting hand on Dani's shoulder. Jack Beck was a cop too, until getting stricken with chronic cancer. He had been in and out of hospitals for the past two years, and Dani was always worrying about him.
Composing herself, Dani reformed her smile. "What about you Cap? Don't you have four kids at home?"
"Three, now that Maureen's in college." 'Jesus,' he thought, 'Where has the time gone?' Maureen was out of the house, Kathleen was shopping for the prom, and the twins were thirteen; it felt like yesterday when they were all babies in his arms. "I called Kathy, said I'd be there in the morning. She understands; might not be happy but she understands."
"You sent the Lieutenant home, so why not yourself?" she queried with a slight edge in her voice. She and Olivia hadn't been getting along quite well for some reason.
"Liv deserved a night off after solving the Riddler case. Now that Merritt Rook is going to jail for twenty-five years, she can relax for twenty-four hours." He chuckled at his little pun.
"I guess," mumbled Dani, as if that was a hard enough admission in and of itself. Trying to change the subject, she pointed at the searchlight. "You think they'll come?"
Elliot shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes I leave it on just to sweat the scum a little, let them and the City know they're out there."
"Yeh, and I pity the poor bastards they'll be visiting tonight." At that moment, both of their cell phones went off. Dani answered her's first, "Beck? Alright Fin, I'm coming." She hung up. "That was Fin. He wants me at Gotham National Bank."
"Well I just got a call from the Commissioner. He wants me there too, which means you're driving." At least he wouldn't be bored tonight; he liked keeping himself busy to remind others he wasn't some pencil pusher. He also hoped that the Batman and Batgirl would be busy tonight. An evil grin crossed his lips at the thought.
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Pacing back and forth, glancing at his watch every ten seconds as if it helped, Marko Arkadyavich "The Chechen" Aleksayev (A/N: Russians have a three part name: First name; Father's name followed by a 'avich'; and last name) was getting annoyed. "Where is Sal?" he yelled at his accountant. "He said he'd be here ten minutes ago!" The accountant stammered for a moment before Aleksayev threw up his hands in disgust. "Oyobok – Fucking Retard!" What was the use of controlling the entire Russian underground in Gotham if all his people were idiots?
Two elegant, black Lincoln Town Cars pulled onto the fourth floor of the parking garage, the shine of the metal reflecting the glare of the fluorescent lights. "Finally! He's here." The grim Mafioso guards stepped out of the first Town Car, walking toward the second and holding open the door. "Govno – shit!" muttered Aleksayev upon seeing the man who exited the vehicle. "Penguin! Where is Moroni?"
Grinning, a lit cigarette poking out of his signature long holder, Oswald Chesterfield "Penguin" Cobblepot waddled his portly frame over to Aleksayev. "Nice to see you too Marko Arkadyavich, waugh, waugh, waugh." Aleksayev took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly. Though the tuxedo clad, big-nosed homunculus irritated the hell out of him with his infernal squawking, the Underboss of the Falcone Crime Family was not a man to take lightly.
"So where's Moroni?"
Penguin adjusted his monocle, tapping the ground with his umbrella. "Ol' Sal is indisposed at the moment. You see, he has a little misunderstanding with the DA tomorrow, though I've made sure it'll be wrapped up, waugh, waugh, waugh."
"That is good excuse," conceded Aleksayev, running a hand through his slick hair.
"So has Darius arrived yet?" asked Penguin, puffing on his cigarette.
"No, he said he couldn't make it."
"Whaaat!" screeched Penguin, sounding like an irate eagle. "He has all the heavy weapons with him! What if the supplier or other parties," all knew who he meant by that, "Decide to crash the party?"
"That is why we bring dogs," boomed Aleksayev, walking to the back of his Cadillac Escalade, rubbing the muzzles of three impressive looking Rottweilers. "My little princes," he coos in thickly accented English. Penguin rolls his eyes and whistles. Out of the car flew his personal falcon, Cornelius, who perched itself on his arm.
Just then, a white van whooshed passed them and stopped about five yards ahead. "They're here. Marko Arkadyavich, do you mind producing the nut?"
"Gladly," said Aleksayev, detaching himself from his dogs and motioning to his men. They pulled a shaking man out of a second Escalade.
"Please no!" he screamed in terror. "They're in my mouth! Get them off." A burly Russian threw him on the ground, giving him a kick in the ribs to shut him up.
The two organizations stared at the van, armed guards toting submachine guns piling out, a shadowy figure remaining in the back. "Huang!" shouted Aleksayev. "Look what your drugs did to my customers!"
"Buyer beware," droned Dr. George "Scarecrow" Huang, MD turned drug manufacturer and supplier. "I told you my compound would take you places," he quipped, stepping out of the back of the van, clad in his trademark mask. "I never said they'd be places you wanted to go."
"Our business depends on repeat customers Scarecrow," clucked Penguin acidly, tired of self-righteous swine trying to roll him over. He might look like a penguin, but he was smarter than all of them. It had been his cunning that kept the organizations in business since Batman, Batgirl, and MCU began their inquisition against them. 'I deserve some fucking respect!' "They can't buy our supply if they go looney toons after the first snort!"
"If you don't like what I have to offer, you are welcome to buy from someone else," replied Huang dryly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Assuming Batman and Batgirl left anyone to buy from."
The dogs chose that moment to start barking loudly, causing the assembled criminals to start looking for the cause. "Speak of the devil!" yelled one of the Mafioso. In the corner stood the shadowy figure that looked an awful lot like the Batgirl. Penguin wasn't about to jump the gun though. There were a lot of copycats out there. He would lie back until the situation revealed itself.
Aleksayev was far bolder however. "Pity there's only one of you!"
A grunt came from one of Scarecrow's goons, knocked out by a Batman, arms ready to spar. Soon after, another Batman and two Batgirls arrived out of nowhere. "Which ones are them?" asked a goon to Scarecrow. The first Batgirl aimed a shotgun and fired at the Russians.
"That's not them," said Huang, calm and emotionless as ever. The copycats all drew guns, a mixture of automatics, semiautomatics, and shotguns. The cackle of submachine gun fire echoed through the entire parking garage.
"Release the dogs!" yelled Aleksayev, a 9mm Grach pistol in his hand. The Rottweilers charged, barking at the Batman wielding an Uzi, leaping on top of him and tearing at his clothing.
"Show everyone what you can do Cornelius," said Penguin to his falcon, releasing him. The bird of prey spotted one of the Batgirls charging at his master. Diving, he let out a shriek that alerted Penguin, who pressed a button on his umbrella. The Batgirl struggled to fight off the falcon, busy trying to claw her eyes out, when she noticed Penguin. "Graw!" he yelled, stabbing at her with the umbrella's tip. Five thousand volts coursing through her body, the taser built into the tip did its job, and she toppled to the pavement, convulsing. "Let's get out of here gentlemen," he shouted, rearranging his top hat as he climbed in his vehicle, Cornelius following him. The Town Cars sped out of the building, the Russians and Scarecrow's goons still fighting the copycats.
Though two were knocked out, the three remaining copycats had enough firepower to give back as good as they got. On top of this, the innate distrust between the Russians and Scarecrow's goons caused them to fire at each other as well, creating a three-way OK Corral. Buckshot and bullets flew all over the place, hitting cars, walls, asphalt, and human bodies indiscriminately. One Batgirl approached Huang, a Colt M1911 in her hands, but the masked doctor sprayed her with his fear gas, ending that threat.
CRASH! THUMP! Rolling onto the track was the Tumbler, majestic in the beauty of raw power and aesthetic fearsomeness. "That's more like it," Huang said dispassionately.
Russians and Scarecrow goons alike opened fire on the Tumbler, pouring automatic weapons fire at the dreaded vehicle. The Tumbler's steel/depleted Uranium composite armor laughed off the puny assault, but its vaunted automated control system was not programed to respond in kind.
"I think it's time to go Tovarishi – Comrades," said Aleksayev, his two top bodyguards getting in the Escalade. He would miss his dogs, but he had nearly a dozen back at his affluent South Hills home. About his men, well, men grew on trees. They'd be easy to replace; there were plenty of ex-Red Arm Spetznaz looking for a steady paying gig.
Just lying there for nearly thirty seconds, the goons and Russians began to gawk and laugh at the Tumbler, convinced this was all some joke. The fire control computer, set to loiter, instantly switched to intimidate, lobbing a pair of Mark 19 Grenades straight at one of the parked cars. The explosive grenades set off the gas tank, which went up in a great cloud of red-orange flame. Russians, goons, and copycats alike toppled over by the blast force, disorientated and confused. Huddled in their Escalade, Aleksayev and his guards decided to get the hell out of Dodge, and sped away toward the exit.
The third Batman copycat, figuring now was as good a time as any, approached the Russians, M-14 assault rifle at the ready. He was about to fire when a strong hand reached out and grabbed the muzzle, bending it in a right angle. With a well-placed chop, Batman knocked out the copycat. A Russian charged him with a set of brass knuckles, but Batgirl dropped from the upper level, taking him out with a swinging kick. A pair of goons pointed their AK-74 folding-stock carbines at the two but both jinked and weaved with honed agility. Batman smashed one with a right hook to the jaw, the AK-74 chattering to the left, while Batgirl brought her stun knuckles on the goon's shoulder, paralyzing it. While he howled in pain, she kneed him in the groin, watching the goon topple to the floor in agony.
A screech caused Batgirl to swivel her head around, hard to do in with the thick padding of her cowl. Huang was speeding away, the white van charging toward the spiral exit ramp. 'Oh hell no!' she thought. Penguin and Aleksayev had already eluded their grasp, but Scarecrow wouldn't. Breaking out into a run, leaving Batman to deal with the remaining thugs and copycats, she booked for the side of the van, activating her metal gripping hooks on her wristcuffs.
Tilting the steering wheel as far to the right as possible, Scarecrow put the van into a tight turn in order to line up with the exit ramp. The side slammed into Batgirl, who gripped the top, the rough texture of her gloves providing the adhesion necessary. Holding herself with one arm, she plunged the gripping hooks into the aluminum siding, trying to slice her way through. The metal gave like it was paper, but it took all her strength, and the motions of the van didn't help matters much. Noticing her struggles in the side mirror, Scarecrow rocked the van back and forth, slamming it against the concrete and steel railings. Just in time, Batgirl raised her legs before the van could pin them between it and the rail.
Back on the upper level, Batman was in the zone. Having dispatched the last of Scarecrow's goons, he hurled a Batarang at one of the Batgirl copycats (the one firing the shotgun). She toppled with a shriek, the shotgun flying through the air. Batman caught it and smashed the butt into a Russian's face, knocking him out. A second Russian lunged with a knife, but he swerved out of the way and wheeled around, hitting him in the stomach before smacking his head against the iron rail. Finding the last of the Batman copycats being subdued by two of Aleksayev's men, he chucked two more Batarangs, incapacitating the Russians before they killed the copycat.
To the right, the three Rottweilers were busy trying to rip the first Batman copycat limb from limb. Aiming his grapple gun, Batman fired, hooking the lookalike on his cape, pulling him away from the dogs and cuffing him. The dogs, snarling that their new toy was taken away, leapt at Batman, jaws wide and dripping with slobber. Batman knocked one to the side, but the second clamped both jaws firmly on his upper arm, biting straight through the supposedly firm armor. He gritted his teeth and, though it hurt like a bitch, pulled the dog off and threw it to the side. The third, obviously sensing it couldn't win, lowered its head and scampered away.
'One loose end left,' thought Batman. Walking to the edge, he noticed his partner struggling to take down Scarecrow. With the last lookalike watching him with awe (these were the ultra-fans), Batman raised himself up on the rail, plotting the right time to strike. When that moment presented itself, he jumped and landed right as the van drove under him. The roof was smashed, knocking out Huang.
Olivia, panting, stared angrily at her partner. "I didn't need your help!" she spat.
"I disagree," replied Bruce calmly, a smirk on his face.
"Cocky bastard," muttered Olivia, rolling her eyes. 'I love him to death but God, that man can get under my skin!'
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Not ten minutes later, Bruce and Olivia had cuffed and tied up seventeen assorted criminals: Scarecrow, six of his goons, four Russians, and six copycats (all but two unconscious, with one of the two convulsing from Penguin's umbrella/taser). Bruce pulled off the burlap mask, revealing Huang's smug smirk, as if he's amused at the whole situation. "The police have been after you for a while Huang," he growled. They might have failed to get Penguin or Aleksayev, but they got him.
"I'm so sorry to have inconvenienced the 'incorruptible' folks of the GPD," said Huang sarcastically (as if you could hear the quotes around incorruptible), the smirk not leaving his face. "But if they were competent, they may have caught me earlier." Olivia tightened the restraints on his wrists, causing him to wince slightly.
"Shut up," she hissed. Not hearing a response from the former doctor, she turned to the last Batman copycat left conscious. "Don't let us find you out here again." She and Bruce turned and walked toward the open hatched Tumbler.
"But we're trying to help you!" he yelled, incredulous.
"We don't need help!" Olivia yelled back over her shoulder.
"Not my diagnosis," quipped Huang.
The copycat wasn't giving up. "What gives you the right? What's so different between you and me?"
Getting into the Tumbler, Olivia beside him in the weapon's officer's seat, Bruce hit the close hatch button. "We're not wearing hockey pads."
A/N: And TDK begins. Yay!
Who honestly expected me to bring in Penguin? Don't worry though, it'll still be Joker-centric, but ol' Cobblepot will be playing a key role in the Joker's scheme (think of him as another faction adding to: Bruce/Liv, Dent, Elliot, and the Mob). Trust me, I promise it'll be awesome, and to quote the man we all hate to love: "I'm a man of my word." [Insert Joker laugh]
I'm sorry I couldn't change the Bank Scene much, but it was so well done in the movies that I couldn't disrupt it. I hope I captured the depth of the Joker's madness. Who wants to see how Bruce, Liv, and El deal with him?
Read; Review; Share; and Enjoy! Waugh, Waugh, Waugh!