CHAPTER II
NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS, HERE'S THE BATMAN
For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
-Mark 8:36
When casting out your demon, be careful that you don't cast out what makes you you.
-Friedrich Nietzsche
What? We can't stop here! This is bat country!
- Raoul Duke, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Note: Koumori is Japanese for "bat". Also, if the grammar is intolerably inadequate, let me know and I'll fix it up.
"YOU'RE DIGGING YOUR OWN GRAVE, YAGAMI!" A furious voice roared through the channels of the sewers. "GIVE IT UP WHILE YOU CAN STILL WALK!"
Crap crap crap crap crap crap! Thought Light Yagami as he ran down those very same channels, kicking at whatever rancid rat got in his way in this underground industrial hell, slipping here and there on mucks of varicolored slime. Thank God he had decided to wear only black pants and a black, hooded sweater: he was almost certain to be pummeled, but at least it wouldn't be in his Armani. Oh god oh god oh god what if he catches me WHAT IF HE CATCHES ME?"
Before Kira, Light never thought that he would ever do anything remotely close to this: running through crap and filth for his dear life, chased relentlessly by a... Well, by a samurai, I suppose Light thought with impressive clarity, especially considering the visions of wheelchairs and painkillers dancing in his head. Hell, what wasn't the man pursuing him? A knight. A detective. A god! (Probably a cowboy too for all I know Light thought, hoping humor would help alleviate his crushing sense of dread. It didn't.) His pursuer was magnificent in that sheer number of complexities, one of the few on Earth to ever truly fulfill his potential. But whatever the man was, one thing was clear.
The man was pissed. Really pissed.
"YOU'RE ONLY EXACERBATING THINGS, YAGAMI!" The hoarse voice bellowed. "SURRENDER, AND MAYBE I WON'T SHATTER YOUR KNEECAPS!"
Need to calm down Light thought. I won't get out of this by panicking. If anything, it'll just end up making things worse.
To calm himself down, he latched on to the first thing that came to mind: how he winded up here, and how it had all led up to this point.
After Light and Teru had arrived in Gotham, Light contacted an associate named Shermin Fine, aka "The Broker.". Fine was a highly proficient realtor who provided secret lairs and hideouts, largely to Gotham's criminal underworld. Shermin had found properties and facilitated land acquisitions for the likes of Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Black Mask. Was currently working for Black Mask, as a matter of fact. That would have to be corrected. Broker is too valuable for me to waste right now Light told himself He's one of the few masterminds in Gotham that isn't a freak like Crane or Nigma.
Moreover, Light liked the way Fine operated. He was elusive enough to evade the G Men, but he was conspicuous enough to attract his clientele. A few phone calls was all it took for Teru to eventually reach the Broker and arrange for them to negotiate the terms inside the Broker's limo. With his black suit, slicked back brown hair, and sleek sunglasses, the two almost looked like twins.
Teru had told Broker about Kira's terms: that he pledge himself to Kira, that he forsake Black Mask, and that he procure His Lordship fitting lodgings. It took only a laptop, a pen, and a scrap of the Death Note to convince Broker that Teru wasn't bluffing.
"Kira is quite brilliant," Broker had told Mikami, betraying no emotion at the fact that the uptight attorney across from him had murdered someone else. "I can tell that just by noting the types of people he kills. Criminals mostly. More and more politicians, lawyers and corporate scum. Kira evidently likes to keep a balance. Balance is good for business, Mr. Mikami. And, to be honest, working with lunatics like Humpty Dumpty and Warren White often runs counter to the rather practical affair of making money."
"Kira guarantees your protection, Mr. Fine," Teru had told Broker in sufficient English. Fine sipped on a rum with rocks while Mikami spoke, skillfully hiding the fact that something about the pensive, uptight lawyer that unnerved him. Broker wasn't lying when he said how he valued practicality: it truly did pay the bills and sustain a privileged life. Still, practicality aside, he could still sense... an "energy" that Mikami gave off, something that said that maybe he could act in any given way at any given moment, that he had nothing to lose and had everything to gain. Like Kafka with a meat cleaver. "His lordship will allow you to continue your business but only for the legitimate crime fighters. I don't think you'll have too much trouble there: more and more young masks have been cropping up in these parts recently. That Red Hood and Abuse, for example. All that His Lordship requires in return is that you furnish him with sufficient lodgings. A very reasonable set of requests, I should think," Teru added in a tone that implied any difference in opinion would be neutralized with an iron pipe.
Broker got the message and quickly obtained them an abandoned rug store, an old, peeling, and dilapidated beast hidden within the heart of Old Gotham. He also referred them to Jenna Duffy, a carpenter whose super... uh, "person's" name was The Carpenter. Truthfully, having a superhero name that was the same as your profession didn't make much sense. However, all that mattered was that Duffy succeed in quickly building them a house. Thankfully, Duffy was nowhere weird as weird as Mad Hatter and his Storybook Crew, her former associates. And her past clients, hero and villain alike, had nothing but praise for her work. She didn't look bad either: with her lean body, girlish freckles, light amber hair and working class hero get-up, it was like she was gender bending a porno. The wry, smart-ass grins was something that Light found endearing under the circumstances but would have murdered in others.
"I want the place to look ennobled and virtuous," Light had told Jenna. "I'm aware that we need to keep a low profile if we're to operate in this city, but at the same time I'd like to be reminded of what it is I'm striving for. A bare base of operations won't do much for confidence, I'm afraid."
"And what are you striving for, boss?" Jenna had asked.
Light had studied her for a few seconds in response; Jenna had the uncomfortable seeing that this man could learn more about her than she would ever want him to.
"World domination," he had said at last. His eyes, sober and serene with only a hint of malice for pizazz, at once dared her to refute him and also threatened to snap her like a twig if she did so. "So in that case, I think victory and conquest should be the primary themes of the house. But we may not have this place for long, so the furnishings should be modest. Think you can handle it?"
Looks like I'm working for another crackpot again Jenna had thought. A gorgeous crackpot, but a crackpot nonetheless.
"You got it, boss," Duffy wisely chose to say. "I've worked with a lot of the more, ah, 'ambitious', members of the mask and cape community, if you know what I mean. The Question, Green Arrow, the Titans, even Magneto, and that guy hates humans more than I hate Glee."
"Superb," Light said, in a sort of restrained and dignified manner. Maybe that was why, lunatic or not, Jenna was a bit in awe of her new employer. After all, it was rare to see a man like Light Yagami in a city like Gotham. The city, like any other, was diseased, beset by an epidemic of clinical obesity, by hundreds of homeless folks, and a tangible sense of hopeless depression and apathy. This man then, with his great beauty, stood like an angel amidst a sea of dismal corruption and bad consciences. There was no other man in Gotham who had that same kind of presence except for one, but then Wayne was an obvious given. This man though, (More to the point, this sexy stud she thought) this man was new and she felt certain that whoever he was and whatever he had to do, he would make a splash. Maybe become a big fish in this big pond called Gotham.
"So, uh, does your friend here want anything in particular done to his portion of the joint?" Jenna asked, glancing at Teru. The big lunk had stood there the entire time, watching the scene with blank eyes, betraying no emotion. She too found this man to be ridiculously handsome (That hair! She nearly swooned), but this attraction was tempered with some apprehension: the guy had said and done nothing the entire time she was there, yet something still convinced her that he wasn't playing with a full deck.
Teru dug in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. This he handed to the Carpenter and said: "Here's the list."
Duffy took a look at the paper. "What the hell is German Expressionism?" she asked.
It took three hours, a handful of pills, and two thirds of a gallon of whisky to mitigate Mikami's violent tirade against what he considered, in his opinion, to be the "insular and godless agents of aesthetic decadence."
Light's portion of the building (Three quarters is far less than befitting of his lordship Teru had observed with awe, nearly stupefied by his master's magnanimity) was quiet but intelligent, and at parts even slyly threatening. A lot of reds were used: it was a good color, a color fit for a god, the color of passion and pain and power. A number of book cases were built, and each and every single one was packed to the brim with tomes Light considered to be sanctuaries needed for enduring the human filth: Machiavelli, Sartre, Kierkegaard, generally what Ryuk derided as "college boy crap". It was a pain shipping all his boxes of books from Japan to Gotham but well worth it in the end. There were a few paintings hanged, nothing flashy, less for decoration and more for insight. Ruben's "Fall of the Damned" right to the side of the entrance door. Bruegel's "Triumph of Death" placed over the desk. Bosch's "Last Judgment" over the bed. Impractical? Well, maybe. But Kira had to hold himself up to the same lofty standards that he demanded of the wretched anthropic monkeys. It was only fair.
Teru's part of the store was… unique (That's bullcrap and you know it he thought, passing the sight of a mob of rats devouring the corpse of a former compatriot Teru's portion of the base was nuttier than Mr. Peanut). Granted, it was difficult to brighten up the décor of a boiler room, but Duffy managed to do more than just get the job done. Some paint here, some polish there, a few more windows installed, and suddenly Perdition came closer to looking like a bearable Purgatory. It only started to look like the home of a deranged menace when Mikami started using a permanent black pen to start writing lines from Goethe's Faust, quabalic equations, and pictures of spirals all over the place. Moreover, it was difficult to work on his copy of the Death Note when he could hear "SAKUJO! SAKUJO! SAKUJO!" being screamed over and over again from below, and watching him work was like observing the schizophrenic savagery of a Vietnamese cage tiger. Nietzsche, you better have been right when you said it's fine for a ripe apple to have a few worms Light had thought then One of those worms could be a human centipede for all I know. Kira was superb at many things: tolerating lunatics who didn't contribute to his brave new world wasn't one of them.
After that, Light and Teru simply went to work, each writing in his own copy of the Death Note. There wasn't much else for them to do (nor should there have been, in Light's opinion: it was incredible how one could feel so utterly fulfilled with something that only appeared to be a few measly scraps of paper). Other than writing down the names of the wretched and the condemned, they regularly watched and read the news and even sparred with one another on a scheduled basis, mostly boxing. Light had dabbled in it back in high school, largely in the Chinese tradition (back when Light had first discovered the magic that was Jackie Chan) but now even he was surprised with just how skilled he had become only after a few sessions. When the two did watch movies, they were largely martial art films that they took notes on: "Oldboy", "Iron Monkey", "Lone Wolf and Cub", and the like. Teru was getting better too: no, he wasn't near the level of aptitude needed to really tangle with their enemy, but he was getting better all the same and (Light noticed with a twinge of displeasure) at a faster rate than Light. Still, so long as the dog didn't bite the hand that fed him, Light remained secure that he wouldn't have to shove him off a bridge with cement shoes.
Meanwhile, Light had kept Ryuk (The fifth wheel Light had noted with some distaste) out of his hair with regularly purchased DVD's, video games, and, of course, sacks of apples. "You can't stall for time much longer, Light," Ryuk had told him while laughing at the poor schmucks in Pasolini's Salò as Light wrote in the Death Note nearby (I must be getting pretty good at this, considering that I can do my work while hearing screams of utter agony Light thought proudly). "The movies and games that you buy are great, but they'll begin to bore me sooner or later. Considering that the only reason I'm letting you live is to amuse me, I hope to Christ you've got something up your sleeve. I can see myself getting really bored really quick."
"Your compassion continues to astound me, Ryuk," Light had said wryly, glancing at Ryuk while the reaper continued to giggle at the godless atrocities on the screen. "But I can assure you, you needn't worry about me. I would never have gotten into this if I didn't have something ready. Remember what Napoleon said, Ryuk: The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos: the winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies."
"Napoleon?" Ryuk asked then, glancing over, actually looking interested for once. "You mean the loser what danced in front of that school to get them to elect the Mexican kid?"
"... yeah, sure," Light had replied, miffed but not surprised. He turned back to his book and added, "One and the same," while Ryuk began to laugh at the sad sap getting his tongue cut off.
It was during his grand masterwork that Light intentionally left clues behind, knowing that his one true foe would pick them up. Still, he didn't make it easy for him. Months and months passed without Light being caught: if his one worthy adversary was to catch Light, then he would make him work for it. Anything worth doing had to be done well, after all.
A swastika. An ankh. A yin-yang. A sephirot. These were the various symbols that the victims of Kira had either carved into their skin, painted with their blood, or burned into their flesh right before their heart attacks. The swastika had been found on a prominent skinhead leader, carved on his skull with a steak knife; the ankh had been discovered on a corrupt Egyptian politician who scrawled the sigil into his wood desk until his fingernails broke off; the yin-yang had been branded on an influential Korean gangster; the Sephirot had been tattooed with a rudimentary inker made out of a sharpened toothbrush on the thigh of a particularly malevolent TV preacher.
"My lord," Teru had ventured while the two burned midnight oil, per usual, "I am well aware how foolish it is for one so unworthy as I to question your wisdom, but I do not fully comprehend your tactics. Why are you allowing the koumori to discern your modus operandi? Would it not be... of greater prudence to catch your nemesis off guard and then bend him to your divine will?"
"Ah, but one does not simply dominate this man, Teru," Light had replied while killing off several Russian slave drivers. "Others have tried that before and have failed utterly. His body has been broken, but he came back. His mind has been broken, but still he came back. If need be, we will destroy both his body and his mind, but this must be our last resort. For now, we rely on the one indubitable thing that we know about this man: that he is one of the world's two greatest detectives. Put a puzzle in his way, and he will inevitably solve it."
Light had then looked up from his Death Note at Teru with a glint in his eyes that his disciple didn't care much for. "And after he follows all the breadcrumbs," Light had said, "We'll release the wolves on him."
Light turned out to be correct. All the clues had led his opponent to the Kirby-Ditko Plaza, a ritzy and expensive hotel in Downtown Gotham. He had arrived there expecting to ambush Light and Teru, believing them to be occupants there.
It was in the parking garage that the first part of the battle arsenal was unleashed.
Zebediah Killgrave wasn't the most ethical of men. For over a decade he had been acting as the human mutate criminal, Purple Man, landing what jobs his mind control and healing skills could land him (which tended to be highly profitable). Still, wasn't there the potential for purity in everyone, even the wicked? Wasn't there the potential for redemption? And what could be possibly more redeeming than good works for God? Light had reasoned when considering hiring him. Besides, Teru already contacted Killgrave and proved the Death Note's powers. He's undoubtedly come to see the error of his past criminal ways, and just as I tested Job, Abraham, Jonah, and the rest of the stooges, so too will I test the mettle of this reformed delinquent. If he wants to keep his spleen, that is.
The Purple Man had been the first to attack the target: his orders were to take command of the enemy's mind via his pheromones and then command him to slit his wrists. Killgrave had doubts about his ability to insure suicide, having failed against the likes of Victor Von Doom and Matthew Murdock; and if those two were able to resist him, how could he get someone like this to obey him? Thus, Killgrave decided to just daze his foe for a bit and then move in for the kill with a knife he had hidden.
Unfortunately for Killgrave, the target was a Zen adept.
It didn't take too long didn't take too long before Killgrave was left semi-conscious, mumbling and rolling faintly across the floor, not even sure of where he was. Mentally, the effect was not unlike his head being smashed inside a piano over and over again.
That's what happens when you screw around with a superior mind, Light had thought, amused.
From there, the black shroud handcuffed and tied Killgrave and walked up the road to the next level of the parking lot. This was the decidedly physical portion of the plan: with L's funds still in his possession, Light had hired several mercenaries and armed them. The seven mercs came equipped with pistols, carbine machine guns, AK-420's, and grenades, both shrapnel and incendiary. One had been an expert in muay thai kickboxing; one had been trained by a squad of black belt KGB agents; one was even an ex-soldier of SHIELD, trained in every form of combat from amateur wrestling to kendo, nevertheless fired after pissing Nick Fury off one too many times.
The poor schmucks never stood a chance.
In two minutes, smoke pellets were thrown to the floor, erupting with a thick, hazy miasma. The first ronin was subdued with a knee to the back of his neck. The second was disposed of with a palm thrust to his solar plexus. The third, eliminated with a judo toss into a limousine. The fourth, arguably the most unfortunate of the mercenaries, taken down with a stomp on his stomach that somehow had the impact of a canon exploding, vision blurred with electric, burning agony until kind unconsciousness spared him.
The fifth, his arm dislocated. The sixth, his face slammed into the concrete floor one inch away. The seventh, kicked in his stomach so hard that he was sure the foot would come out the other side. Even by Light's standards, it wasn't a pretty sight.
From there, the knight piece had moved up another square of the chess board. To the next lot level, to be exact. He'll probably go for a stealth attack, knowing him Light had thought.
Fortunately (at least for Light), it was difficult to subdue a man like Victor Fries with stealth. Mr. Freeze, as he was commonly known to the criminal stock, was one of Gotham's most notorious masks; he was rightly notorious for his callousness, and even Light found himself slightly disturbed by Fries' lack of emotion. Still, the man had been a brilliant doctor, and his perception and shrewdness were superb. It was befitting of such an exemplary deity to grant mercy along with fairness: Fries got the same package as Killgate, nothing more, nothing less.
No playing favorites here Light had reasoned. He reforms, or I gut him like a carp.
On the next level of the parking garage, Mr. Freeze faced off against Light's mutual antagonist. For the first six minutes, everything occurred as Light had predicted it would: Fries blasting his "freeze gun" while his adversary evaded danger by running, leaping, and dodging behind pillars. Then the freeze gun had jammed, and Fries had glanced at his weapon in irritation.
Light had most of the evening planned out, most of its nuances, most of its subtler elements. What he knew but would tell no one was that even though he was God and even though he was the greatest mind on the planet, he could not know everything that would or will happen. The future consequences, negative and positive, of fortune eluded him as it eluded everybody else.
So he was pretty stunned, all things considered, when he saw a flamethrower devour Frieze.
At the time, Light had been watching the action from his laptop via the feed from the garage's security cameras. He did not know and could not know at the time that the flamethrower was nonlethal. Frieze could only survive in subzero temperatures frigid enough to kill everyone else, and so the flamethrower had been modified. The genius responsible for the adjusted weaponry had actually calibrated the temperature to simply knock Frieze into unconsciousness without inflicting serious damage or death. Light would read this all in the papers later, after his apprehension. But at that moment in time, Light waiting on the rooftop with Teru, Light believed that the one true threat to his rule may be still be neutralized without death, that there was still reason to be optimistic and to believe they could all survive this. He was thrilled and terrified all at once.
The last phase of the assault had taken place on the roof itself. The knight arrived at the top via the stairs, and once there calmly surveyed his surroundings. Light had anticipated that in a few moments, his opponent would switch on his infrared vision, making it that much easier for him to find them. No need to keep him waiting then.
If Teru had needed to, he would have switched on his reaper vision and seen the detective's true name and lifespan. Instead, Mikami stepped out from the shadows of a large vent; decked out in a black shirt, shirt and hoodie, he was able to take his opponent by surprise. However, that was about as far as Teru got. His efforts weren't bad: Teru moved with an impressive sense of speed eerily incongruent with his large size, and his display of roundhouse kicks, karate chops, and arm drags were decidedly impressive. Still, not bad wasn't good enough for their target, and Light, waiting behind a behind a concrete staircase, thought that the scene was similar to a match between Jason Statham and Jet Li (Sorry, Jason Light had thought. You may be one tough hombre, but Jet is a walking tank.).
After waiting few more moments, Light had emerged and flanked the whirling shadow from the left, throwing street boxing punches with less power than Teru but with more speed. Soon, the shade had found himself facing both Mikami's thunderous kicks and Light's rapid punches.
As Light had predicted earlier, they never stood a chance in a straight up fight.
The shade had been holding back the entire time: while defending himself, he had been studying his enemies, something that took him only a few minutes. Light was aware that his antagonist would react this way, and not even the sensation of a dropkick to his chest was enough to dampen his pride in knowing that he had been right. That feeling continued while Light sprawled into the coarse gravel of the roof. It continued while he tried to shake the cobwebs from his head. It continued even when he saw the knight nearly take off Teru's head with a brutal clothesline.
Truthfully, that feeling of pride, of knowing that he had been right about everything up to now, began to subside when he saw his foe lift up Teru. By the time the detective had taken a page out of professional wrestling and power bombed Teru off of the building, the feeling of pride had utterly been negated. Moreover, the feeling of pride had been supplanted with one of urgency while watching Teru fall twenty feet through the glass ceiling of the bank below.
It was after observing a large oak desk break Teru's fall that Light decided it would be wisest to start fleeing for his mortal life. Thank Kira I had enough foresight to take those parkour lessons Light had thought, running and leaping from one building to the next, intending to make his way to the street below. It was a cute joke at best, something cooked up quickly in order to appease Light's burgeoning sense of dread (and it failed to do even that). Still, if he was going to beat his enemy on his own turf, then he had to know the lay out of the land. Leaping from one end of the city allowed him to study Gotham with a thoroughness not even its most seasoned citizen could claim to possess. Moreover, the parkour was nothing fancy: he didn't do it for an audience, and he didn't practice it just to get laid. He studied it only for practical uses like running away from a certain hellhound, and so that's how it came out looking.
Light never looked back during his chase with the black ghost hot on his tail, not even when he landed on the street below. There was no need; if he had looked back, he would have just wasted time, precious time that he needed to make his masterpiece function. And I a might have seen something that... could've thrown me off he reluctantly admitted while he moved a sewer manhole aside. The greater the risk, the greater the victory. Never forget that, Yagami.
And so now here he was, running through the muck and the mire of this industrial hellhole, the scent of anatomical unmentionables burning his nose like gasoline poured into his nostrils. Not too much longer now Light thought Eventually I'll hit the end, and once I do then I can-
Light turned a corner, then skidded to an abrupt halt, arms pinwheeling for balance. Light had almost stepped off the end of the pipe, a fall somewhere in the range of forty to fifty feet into a swift current of filth below. The rest of the sewers stood exposed like the stomach of a granite leviathan, pipes installed here and there amidst the suffocating blackness like so many arteries. It was only because of the sparse lighting of several red light bulbs that Light was able to see a catwalk across the chasm, let alone see at all.
"I have you now, Yagami," something hissed behind him.
Light turned around, slowly and gradually, heart pounding within a rib cage that suddenly seemed far too frail. He could hear and feel his body act like unoiled machinery, scraping and grinding loudly as the gears turned. Sweat began to drip off of him like bullets from an uzi.
6'2". 220 pounds. A body as black as starless night. Eyes white with controlled rage. What stood before Light Yagami was something both monster and god, a majority of his body enveloped in the flesh of a fallen angel with only three small holes on his mask to reveal the dark beauty within.
Batman was even more perfect than Light could have wished for.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be beating your skull in right now, Yagami" Batman growled at Light. "Because right now, after everything you've put everyone through, knocking you into a coma has become very tempting."
Light held his hands up, a nervous smile on his face as if to say Hey, c'mon bud, let's not get carried away here. He chuckled weakly, hating himself a little for being unable to disguise all of his fear. "Alright, Koumori, alright. You've got me, OK? You've got me. Swear not to beat the crap out of me, and I promise not to screw you over. That reasonable enough?"
Batman stiffened, then loosened up a bit. Impressive Light thought The man was ambushed only a few hours ago yet he still has the discipline needed to calm himself down. Not many can do that. Batman was obviously angry but not yet irate. It was difficult to make a yogi that upset even if you were responsible for the deaths of millions (But mostly criminals Light reasoned). These types of sages could keep their cool even during the most egregious of genocides (Not that what I'm doing could be considered genocide Light noted).
Batman produced a pair of handcuffs. "Good call," he said, "If you really mean what you say, then put your hands behind your back. Because if I even suspect that you're planning to somehow escape, I'll bash your head in against the pipes. Do not test me, Yagami: you've made my life very difficult this past year, and I'm not disinclined to take my frustrations out on you. Breaking your thumbs wouldn't exactly grieve me."
"Oh, the things I do for love," Light responded sardonically, raising an eyebrow. Nonetheless, he obeyed and turned around with his hands behind his back. Batman approached him and snapped the cuffs into place. "But in all fairness, you should probably realize that you're doing me a favor."
"Is that so?" Batman asked. He didn't sound convinced.
"It is," Light replied, turning back around. "See, it doesn't matter what prison you send me to. I'll get out; I always find a way out. And putting Kira in a den of thieves, murderers, and rapists, a majority being high school drop outs that I could easily convince to hang themselves? That's like putting Yahweh in Sodom or Babylon. So, quite frankly, you could say that all your efforts have been for nothing."
"Wow, and Ryuzaki said that you didn't like to talk," Batman replied in perfect Japanese. He felt tempted to grin as Light's face temporarily whitened and his eyes widened oh so subtly. L was still a sore spot then. "You're finished, Yagami. Do us all a favor and face your loss with dignity."
Light sighed, then composed himself. "All business and no play, are we?" he asked. "Reasoning with you is like banging my head against the wall."
"Get moving," Batman said. His voice didn't change.
"But let me drop a word to the wise," Light said as if he hadn't heard the order. A grimace grew on his face and a malicious light incepted within his eyes. There was evil in Light Yagami, there was something brutal and acidic that he could control well and drink from like a wellspring. And as handsome as the mask was that Light fooled the world with, Kira was just as ugly. "You've begun something here that you can't possibly hope to survive. I've already set my sights on Gotham, and what I want, I get. And once Gotham is mine, the rest of the world will follow."
"Then I'll just have to bring you down again, won't I?" Batman responded. He turned Light around roughly and shoved him forward. "Get a move on and no more than ten meters between us. You try to run, and you get a batarang in the back. If you're lucky, that is."
"An intriguing proposition," Light said. A metallic clink reverberated across the sewers, and Light whirled around again, his hands free of the handcuffs, one hand brandishing a black revolver. Smirking, he used his other hand to tap his cheek with his forefinger. "Unfortunately, I think it's a wee bit inferior to mine. And since I was the one with enough foresight to hide a steel pick in my mouth this entire time, I do believe I'm in a position to assert my genius. So why don't you-"
With one quick swipe of his hand, Batman struck the revolver sideways. The cylinder leaped out of the revolver upon impact, landing in the sewer water with no more than a small kaplink.
Light stood staring at his now useless-weapon almost dumbly, as if he his mind was lagging at comprehending what just happened. "Oh, you son of a-" he began.
The sudden and forceful sensation of a combat boot colliding right under Light's chin interrupted his remark. If Light had believed in an interventionist god, he would have thanked it for preventing him from biting off his tongue when his teeth snapped together. His vision faded, became lighter, like DMT being released into his brain. Time slowed down, came to a still, and at that precise moment all he could focus on was the solid object smashing into his head. Thus, he was never quite sure if Batman actually screamed "WATAH!" while executing his jeet kune do kick.
Light Yagami lost consciousness and crashed into the sewer water without so much as a protest.
Batman gradually brought his leg down and stared at Yagami's prone body. Yagami was in good shape, but a kick like that could knock out a polar bear. Batman still had time to complete his investigation.
Batman pressed a small, thin button encased in leather and plastic on the side of his neck. It made a small boop sound, and then the hiss and the crackle of his own private airway filled his ears. "Oracle," he said. "The mission is complete. Stand by for details."
"Bruce?" Barbara Gordon exclaimed with both anger and relief, the sensation of a parent wanting to both hug and strangle her child once she found him. "Bruce, I've been trying to contact you for over an hour! What happened? Are you ok? Everyone lost track of you after the attack at the hotel!"
"Everything's fine, Barbara," Batman said. He intentionally referred to her this time by her first name, even though he usually called her by her operational title while on the job. He was well aware that the others saw him as an obstinately cold man who made others worry, and he knew that there was some truth to that. Guilt had bitten at him the entire evening like a pebble in his shoe. Hopefully, he could make it up to the others without them asking too many questions. The last thing that he wanted was another intervention like after Bruce Wayne was framed for murder.
No, the last thing you want is to apologize Batman told himself.
"Dad and his team are already on their way," Barbara said. Her voice became gentler, more earnest. "But Bruce... you are OK, aren't you? I know that Yagami isn't exactly on the B-list-"
"Everything''s fine, Oracle," Batman interrupted. It always irritated him when people worried about him. "I have only minor injuries. If anyone needs medical attention, its Yagami and Mikami."
"Yes, I saw the feed from the news helicopter," Barbara said. Batman could tell from the tone alone that she was rolling her eyes. "Mind you, the focus was unclear, but it looked like someone big and black picking up Mikami and then tossing him off the building. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Bruce?"
"Maybe," Batman said. He bit back a grin.
Barbara sighed. "Bruce, next time could you at least call me after you pull a dangerous stunt like that? Lord knows that just about nothing can kill you, but we all get worried from time to time- even Damian cares."
"Alright, Mom," Batman said, a little annoyed. Why was Oracle talking like the mission wasn't a success?
A pregnant pause filled the airwaves. "Did you... did you just make a joke?" Barbara asked. She sounded positively stupefied.
"It's been a long night," Batman said. If Light was conscious, he would have probably noticed a dangerous gleam flash across his foe's demon white eyes. "But it's not over yet. Not by a long shot. I'll talk with you later, Barbara."
"Don't assault-" Barbara began.
Batman cut off the com link. The night wasn't over yet; procedure still needed to be fulfilled. He walked over to Light's body and crouched down onto one knee.
Batman patted down Light's chest, looking for any hidden trump cards. It didn't take him long to find something large and flat in the spacious inner pocket of the suit.
Feels like a book he thought. He pulled it out.
It was a Death Note.
So L was right Batman thought. This is the secret to Kira's power.
Light groaned. Batman glanced at him, then looked back at the book. He opened it, skimmed the rules on the back of the first page, then skimmed through the rest of the pages. Nearly every single page was filled with names, the two predominant languages in the book being English and Japanese. The handwritings varied, meaning Teru or someone else had their hand in the murders too. Batman felt his stomach tighten in disgust.
Still, his name wasn't there. No "Bruce Wayne". According to L, all Kira needed to do to kill was to write down the name of the intended victim and then mentally visualize them. However, there was no evidence to support the idea that Kira knew who he really was. He couldn't assume that Yagami didn't know his true identity (I don't even want to consider what he does know he thought with a grimace somehow even more morbid than usual), but even if he did, no one would take him seriously if he claimed that Bruce Wayne was Batman. Only recently had Bruce, in his philanthropist persona, half-lied and half told the truth to the public by claiming to be a principal funder of Batman. Now no one could prove the true link between Wayne and Batman (At least for now, anyways... he thought, not thoroughly convinced.)
Still, something was off: the name "Batman" wasn't there. True, it wouldn't have killed him: Yagami would've needed to write down his first and last name if he wanted the Death Note to work, and even then he would've needed to visualize Bruce Wayne's face. However, if Yagami really was as scared of Batman as he seemed to be (Or pretended to be? Batman wondered), then panic could have circumvented his reasoning prowess, and then, in an act of desperation, he could have simply written down "Batman" and then visualized the mask.
But he didn't Batman thought. And why not? He had nothing to lose at that point. He must have known that I wasn't going to kill him. Everyone knows that Batman doesn't murder.
Batman thought for a few more moments: he was close to a new thought, and his intuition told him that it would be wise to pay attention to it. He stared at Yagami, unwittingly curling his nose. The stream of the sewer ebbed and flowed lightly. Rats squeaked to one another but kept their distance from the tall, dark predator.
Does he... does he want to keep me alive? Batman thought.
The thought of someone actually wanting you alive rather than dead tends to comfort most people. Batman wasn't most people. A small, dense pit began to throb in the center of his stomach.
I'll figure this out later he thought, tearing himself away from his reverie. He began to fold the Death Note with the intention of placing it in one of his utility belt's pockets. Untangling all of Kira's data is going to take some time, and dealing with this book isn't going to be easy. Maybe I can get Clark to-
He stopped abruptly and stared at the book. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Kira could be stopped right here and right now. The murders could end. Humanity could be saved. And all he had to do was-
The pearls.
The glinting silver of the gun.
His father's gasp.
His mother's scream.
His first death.
NO! he snapped at himself. That is NEVER an option, and you know it! Do not even CONSIDER it! The moment you use that thing is the moment you become just as bad as him!
You shot Darkseid he reminded himself. You shot him with a radion bullet, fully intending to kill him.
That was different Batman insisted. All of existence was at stake. It was the best choice that I could have made. Anything else would have allowed Darkseid to win.
So what makes Yagami any different from the other conqueror? Batman asked himself.
No answer was given to this.
If Batman didn't have his mask on, he would've run a hand through his hair in frustration. How was he going to solve all this? How was he going to both keep this horrible weapon out of the hands of man and subdue one of the greatest detectives on the planet?
A jug fills drop by drop he thought, trying to reassure himself (it worked a little). He placed the folded Death Note in a pocket and began to frisk Light again. For now, just focus on the present. We'll cross all the other bridges later when we have to. Right now, I need to find that second Death Note, and then-
Batman's hands stopped, then wavered tensely in the air. He frisked Light again, this time with more force and speed.
The second Death Note wasn't there.
Fear gripped Batman's throat like a steel vice. If the second book wasn't on Kira, then it could be anywhere. Knowing Yagami, it's absence was probably intentional: wherever it was, he surely had a plan for it. Even caught, Yagami still held power over the world.
How much longer do I have to put up with your kind? Batman thought, glaring at Light's body; he resisted the urge to stomp his face until he no longer had one. You and the rest of the scum will never let me be, will you? How much more of this damn tragedy do I have to endure before-
The sound of rapid footsteps far off interrupted his reverie. The police, undoubtedly. Batman turned to go: Gotham's finest could handle Yagami, at least for now. Meanwhile, he had research to conduct: he would check in on Yagami shortly.
It's over, isn't it? Batman asked himself, walking towards the end of the tunnel. He took out his grappling hook gun and shot it towards the ceiling where it hooked itself to the railing of a catwalk up above. Then he was sailing upwards and onwards, the air blowing against his sweaty face, praying for that sense of liberation that only the night could grant him. I caught Kira, didn't I? I won. This has to be the end, doesn't it?
Batman landed on the catwalk and began to climb a nearby steel ladder out of the belly of Gotham, back into the heart of the beast.
I don't think that this is over his intuition told him In fact, I think that this war has just begun.
Commissioner Jim Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department stood in the small, cramped kitchen of the police headquarters and poured what he considered to be a rather deplorable brand of coffee into his mug. Who bought this crap? And who made it? Bullock? Jim thought. He took a sip and grimaced slightly. It tasted like he felt: weak and bitter. Still, even if it tasted like something that came out of the rear of a baboon, he would drink it just like all the other countless cups of coffee he had consumed that year. Quality was irrelevant, at least for now; caffeine was crucial if he wanted to retain his sanity. Per Barbara's advice, he had tried to switch to green and black tea, which he still drank regularly, but he ultimately discovered that coffee, as ridiculously caffeinated as it was, gave him that extra step he needed. Needed to endure Gotham. Needed to endure murder. Needed to endure the murderers.
Murderers like Light Yagami.
Gordon rubbed his forehead with one hand, closed his eyes, and sighed. Yagami. God, he didn't even want to think about that can of worms now. It was exhausting enough working the Kira case even with Batman and the rest of his allies; not only had Yagami's modus operandi been nearly impossible to discern, but his actions incepted the kinds of emotions he considered too dangerous for an officer of the law to possess.
And he's just a kid, Jim thought. He's only twenty six years old and already he's responsible for one the worst genocides in modern history. Christ, what a world. A world where someone as talented and brilliant as Yagami becomes man's worst enemy when he could be our greatest humanist. It's as cruelly ironic as my own son-
Gordon wrinkled his nose angrily and placed the pot of coffee down on the counter with more force than he should have. No, he couldn't start thinking about James again: it would only distract him from the present, and ignoring Light Yagami was about as smart as ignoring a rattlesnake.
Can't help but think that you were spared, Soichiro Jim thought with a level of resentment he instantly knew to be unjustified. He couldn't help the way he felt though. You got to die believing that your son was innocent, not some sadistic freak. Me, I get the dubious pleasure of living with said fact. For your sake, I hope there's no afterlife.
Jim sighed again, and if he could have seen his face, he would have seen it sag. He was angry but more than that he was tired, and that was making him more irritable than he tended to be. Getting him to think things he knew were neither fair nor true too. He cast a weary eye on the refrigerator, an old, blandly white relic. Amidst several magnets, one caught his attention. It showed a man grinning wildly while gripping prison bars, and beneath that, in big, bold, capital letters it read YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE CRAZY TO WORK HERE, BUT IT SURE HELPS!
"You have no idea," Gordon muttered.
"Please tell me that's not decaf," a harsh voice said immediately behind Gordon.
A solid lump formed in Jim's throat, and his heart beat like he was running a marathon. He whirled around with an impressive sense of agility for a man his age, his hand moving for his pistol.
"Take it easy, there 'Shane'," Batman said, facing the coffee table.
Jim stared at Batman, a look of mild incredulity stretched across his worn, grizzled features. He wanted to chew out Batman enough for his lack of tact, but the the immediate situation was a rare one. "I think this might be the first time I've ever heard you make reference to pop culture," he said, after a moment.
"I saw the movie when I was younger," Batman said. He moved over to the coffee table, and began to fill it a mug with the coffee pot. "Something about protecting a town and its people appealed to me, apparently."
Jim eyed Batman warily as he poured the dry creamer into his coffee. "I had eight officers stationed at the front of the department..."
"Old ninja tricks die hard," Batman said. He blew the steam emanating from his drink away and then took a sip. "Last time I checked, the only experience cops have with ninjitsu and stealth was Metal Solid Gear, maybe."
"Metal Gear Solid," Jim corrected him.
Batman gave Jim a funny look.
"Barbara left her games out," Jim said. "I had insomnia. And it kept me going all night. No wonder kids spend hours with those things."
"How's Mikami doing?" Batman asked, changing the subject. Both Dick and Tim had played those games and compared him to Solid Snake, something that irked him: there was no way he would ever sport a mullet.
Jim sighed, paced one hand on his hip and ran the other through his gray, thinning hair. "He'll be fine," he said. "Actually, its the damnedest thing: Mikami's body is healing at an extraordinary rate, according to the doctors. He has two broken ribs, a bruised sternum, and several concussions to work through, but even without being a superhuman the doctors are amazed with his progress. At this point, they're confident that he's some sort of adept or another, one of those people who can adapt and learn new things at remarkable speeds. Not quite as great as having a ring from outer space or a 600 pound hammer, I suppose, but it's still something, I suppose."
"Is he still stark raving mad?" Batman asked.
Jim sighed: "Oh my god, you have no idea. The moment he wakes up, he demands to know where Yagami is. Then, after he's told that his boss is fine, he starts screaming about the wrath of Ra and the fulfillment of the Dead Sea Scrolls or something crazy like that. They had to inject him with enough sedatives to bring down a rhino or else he would have redamaged his injuries."
"All's well that ends well then," Batman said.
"Sadly, that's not the case," Jim said. "Mikami used to be a lawyer, and a damn good one at that. I can't see him getting out of some hard time, but he'll probably be able to stall the court for a while."
"He'll get life," Batman said.
"I hope so," Jim said. "I wouldn't say I'm an optimist, but in this case I don't think there are too many people who deserve life in the pen as opposed to all the people who don't deserve that. But, Mikami... that man's a different case, all right. A bright, glaring case."
Batman took a sip of his coffee. "Mikami without Yagami is like a puddle of lighter fluid without a match," he said. "Mikami is intelligent, but on his own we can contain him.. With Yagami..." his voice trailed off and he craned his neck towards the direction of the adjacent hallway.
"Ready to wander through the Freak House, huh?" Gordon asked. "C'mon, Yagami's being held in interrogation."
"You did tell your officers not to bring any weapons near Yagami, firearm or not, right?" Batman asked. Gordon thought that he sounded a little anxious, a rarity in itself, but decided not to press the issue.
"Yeah, I received your call," Gordon said. "Don't worry: Ennis may be a hot-headed Irish boy, but he's far from insubordinate. Yagami won't be able to screw him over."
Gordon and Batman walked down the hall and into another room. The room that they walked into was bare except for a few chairs and a one way mirror separating one half the room for another. On the other side of the mirror was a pale but seemingly fit white officer yelling at Light, occasionally slapping the desk or pointing a finger close to his face. Light was being chewed out in the interrogation chamber, but he didn't seem particularly nonplussed about the state of affairs. He looked bored, even. Occasionally, he would stare at his nails, as if idle and not in hot water.
"God, would you look at him?" Jim said. "He's a kid, what, maybe twenty four, twenty five? Still so young, and yet he's done more harm to mankind than most people do their entire lives. It's so hard for me to believe that someone like this can be Kira. How can someone that intelligent and promising possess such hatred?"
"You'd be surprised," Batman said. His voice was almost terse.
"Come again?" Jim replied, pushing his glasses further up his nose.
"Lucifer was said to be God's greatest creation," Batman said. "Perfect in all ways but his rebelliousness and his inclination for power. It's almost funny: Yagami has such contempt for authority, and yet he'll stop at nothing to achieve it and lord it over everyone. His disdain for people must be immense."
"Well, now he won't be able to lord anything over any one ever again," Gordon said. "At this point, the FBI has to come in. Maybe Homeland Security. Knowing you, you'll probably manage to get yourself some face time with Yagami, but-"
"There's no need to call the FBI," Batman responded. "And I would prefer it if you told no one outside your department about this."
Gordon narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.
"Several things," Batman said. "First, what will the reaction be to the truth? That Light Yagami is indeed Kira? That this handsome young man is responsible for the deaths of over a million, all in the name of God? Yagami isn't like one of our masked criminals, Jim: he's not loud, he's not flashy, and he's not overt. We're not talking about Scarface or Riddler or Hatter; we're talking about someone who prefers to have his identity kept secret."
"Please tell me that you're not actually proposing what I think you're proposing," Gordon said. He looked faintly incredulous, almost astounded, like he was seeing a side of his friend that he had rarely seen before. "Are you telling me that you want to cover up the fact that Light Yagami is Kira? From the rest of the world? Have you lost your mind?"
"God is said to be perfect," Batman said. "People take one look at Yagami, and they'll be convinced that he's their new messiah. He'll put on his show, convince them that he's wise and merciful, and convert some. Maybe most. It's hard to say for certain. But violence would undoubtedly break out between pro Kira and anti Kira factions, maybe even wars. The world has been enduring a very pensive situation for the past few years: what I don't want is for this to be the thing that lights the fuse. Yagami doesn't want to be revealed unless he has to, but he must know that either way, hidden or exposed, it's all a win-win for him."
"Oh God...," Gordon sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it? What about due process? We can't deny him a trial."
"Yes we can," Batman said. "I have pull with the government, both state and federal. I'll have to pull a few strings, but under the Patriot Act, Yagami can be designated as a terrorist and then be imprisoned indefinitely without access to the media or a trial."
"That doesn't sound ethical," Jim noted.
"It's better than the alternative," Batman said. "Yagami is daring us to enact the standard procedure of revealing the criminal's identity. It's his trump card. He probably already has a series of strategies and tactics already written up for that, knowing him."
"Are you aware of what you're saying?" Jim asked Batman. "This isn't just Gotham's problem; this is everyone's problem. The magnitude of all of this affects everyone. Are you really willing to make this choice, knowing that you'll deceive everyone to protect them?"
Batman paused. "I am," he said. "I've thought about this for a long time now. I sincerely believe that this the best decision that we can make."
Jim studied his partner for a moment quietly. "Alright, then I'm with you," he said. He turned to look back at Yagami, now casually dipping a tea bag in and out of a steaming cup. Ennis did not look amused. "So where do we hold him? The man's a genius. We'd need maximum security, at the very least. Maybe constant surveillance."
"That's not enough by far," Batman said. "Based on my calculations, there's a ninety five percent chance that Yagami could start a riot, conquer the facility, or flee from incarceration in as little as two weeks."
"For how many prisons?" Jim asked.
"Most of them," Batman said.
"Blackgate?" Jim asked.
"Especially Blackgate," Batman replied.
"Can't blame me for trying," Jim said. "How about Rykers?"
"He'd escape," Batman said.
Gordon thought for a moment. "Phantom Zone?" he asked with some hope.
Batman just stared at Jim in response.
"... Jesus Christ," Jim muttered. He took out a napkin from his trench coat and wiped the sweat off of his face.
"Can't help but think that He would be disgusted by this man," Batman replied. There was no humor in his voice.
Jim thought for a moment. "He's not a bad looking kid," he said tentatively. "Neither is Mikami. You're not afraid, that, ah-"
"No," Batman interrupted. "I'm not. Remember the recent East Side murders?"
"How can I forget?" Gordon muttered.
"It took me a while, but I solved them," Batman said. "I would have told you earlier, but Yagami kept me busy. Turns out it was Yagami and Mikami. They were the killers. They were the ones that terrorized that ghetto."
Gordon looked confused. "I don't get it," he said. "We know that Kira kills without physically touching his victims, that he murders them from a distance. So why would he commit murders that were called for close, physical encounters?"
"Because this is Gotham," Batman said. "Tokyo has it's dark side like any other major city, but when it comes to Gotham it doesn't even compare. Yagami must have known that. Then you take a look at the victims: the homeless, crack addicts, low level pimps, impoverished prostitutes. The bottom of society's chain. Divorce compassion from logic and you realize that no one would really care about their deaths. And in Kira's excessively utilitarian mindset, if they drain society and don't contribute to it then there's no reason to keep them alive. He might have even thought that he was doing them a favor, in his own malicious way. Then the weapons: ropes, knives, shards of glass, baseball bats, even plastic bags for strangulation. They weren't content to simply shoot their victims and be done with it. They wanted to engage in long, drawn out encounters."
"I must be losing my mind," Gordon said, looking revolted, "Because I think I'm beginning to understand this guy's reasoning. He knew that he had to toughen up to survive in Gotham, didn't he? So he decided to start getting a feel for the rush of killing in the grimiest, most brutal ways that he could. He knew that if all he could do was murder from a distance that he wouldn't be able to keep up with the big dogs. After all, how can you take over a town controlled by the Joker when you're squeamish about bloodshed? And then the prison bit: if Yagami did have to go to prison, a guy like him would have to kill to survive, just like any other dog being thrown into a pit. And in the pen, all things go. Good God, this kid really does like to keep all his bases loaded."
"Now you really know the kind of monster we're dealing with," Batman concurred, nodding his head.
"You already know how we're going to do this, aren't you?" Jim asked wryly. He wondered if he was beginning to take his friend's genius for granted.
"We don't say that Yagami was Kira," Batman replied. He didn't seem particularly horrified by the thought of lying to the entire world. "What we'll say is that Yagami believes himself to be Kira but that he's really just a deluded serial killer. Considering that he associates himself with a legitimately insane man who considers himself to be an angel of death, it shouldn't be too hard to pull off.
"Right, who needs Stephen King when we have all of Mikami's journals in evidence?" Jim said. "But you still haven't answered the million dollar question: If Yagami can control or escape any prison, then where exactly are we supposed to put him?"
"Light Yagami is a monster," Batman replied, "so we're going to put him in the one and only place that can successfully hold monsters."
"What? What are you saying? Where can we-" Jim began. He stopped speaking abruptly, and his eyes opened wide with shock. "You can't be serious! Not that place! They'll eat him alive!"
"You're underestimating him again," Batman said.
"He's just a boy!" Jim snapped. Even while defending Light, a part of him was nonplussed that he was doing so. "Putting him in there would be just like signing his death warrant! Are you deliberately trying to kill him?"
"Jim, Yagami isn't James," Batman said, now staring directly at the man he considered to be an older brother and a father figure. "I'm sorry that I have to be so blunt, but I can tell that he reminds you of your son. And call me unrealistic if you want... but I don't think Yagami's entirely lost. I think that there might be some good left in him. I might sound like Superman right now, but it's difficult for me to believe that anyone, even the Devil himself, is beyond redemption. At least this way, I can keep my eye on him. Maybe I can even rehabilitate him. In a world of flying men, space gods, and alien goddesses, is it really so much to hope that someone with such potential will come to see the errors of his ways?"
Batman expected Jim to come up with some sort of angry, indignant remark: he was aware that saying that Kira could redeem himself was akin to saying that Hitler could atone for the millions of deaths he was responsible for. Not an idea most people would embrace. However, Jim instead stared at the detective with a bit of controlled awe.
"What?" Batman asked, a bit testy.
"You've changed," Jim said. "When I first met you, you were so angry I thought you might try to punch out Galactus. But now, you seem, I don't know... calmer. Wiser, even. Years ago, I would've had to stop you from choking someone like Yagami to death. Now you're talking like you're giving a Sermon on the Mount. I'm not sure whether I'm shocked or impressed."
Batman hesitated. "I'm getting older, Jim," he said finally. "I'm learning more and more that hatred isn't a gift: it's a burden. And I can't keep going on the way I have, simply knocking the hell out of everyone I hate. I don't want revenge anymore. I don't even want to destroy me enemies anymore. All I want... all I want is peace now. Because if my father taught me one thing, Jim, it's that all life is precious. Even the life of a person like Light Yagami."
Batman's voice trailed off; he noticed that Jim was no longer looking at him but at the one way mirror, and with horror to boot. Batman turned his head in the same direction and instantly understood why Jim looked so horrified.
Detective Ennis stood, his back to Jim and Batman, with his pistol pointed at his head.
"No-" Jim began.
Detective Ennis pulled the trigger and blew his own brains out.
For a few moments, there was only silence, a silence so deep and so heavy that Batman was sure it would suffocate him. Gordon was the first to break it.
"ENNIS, NO!" Jim screamed. "CHRIST IN HEAVEN, NO!"
Batman and Jim barged through the adjacent door and burst into the interrogation room. Ennis' body lied on the floor, his head mangled, his corpse surrounded by a pool of blood. Light continued to check his nails in a manner suggesting that he was waiting for something more interesting to happen.
"YOU GODDAMN FREAK!" Gordon shouted at him, the veins on his forehead and neck bulging. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?"
Light deigned to raise his eyes from his nails. "Commissioner Gordon, please," he said, as if addressing a tantrum prone child. "The only reason that Detective Ennis killed himself was because I deduced that he was a closet homosexual and then convinced him that everyone he loved would ostracize him once they found out. You act like that's a bad thing!"
"OFFICERS!" Jim screamed. "OFFICERS, GET IN HERE NOW!"
The four officers arrived in a short amount of time. Morrison, the Scottish immigrant with no hair and a bemused look; Hernandez, a rotund but strong looking man with a salt and pepper goatee; Ellis with his unusual but customary long hair and shaggy beard; and Otomo, a recent transfer from Star City who came recommended by Oliver Queen, of all people.
"Funny, I don't recall ordering bacon with my meal," Light smirked.
"Jesus Wept!" Officer Ellis exclaimed. "What the hell happened here?"
"He happened," Jim said, pointing a finger at Light. "Get him to his cell and do not engage him in any way, shape, or form!"
"I say that we beat the bleedin' hell out of him here and now," Officer Morrison growled, reaching for his baton. "Anyone able to wreck this kind of damage should-"
"Don't test me, Morrison!" Jim snapped at his fellow officers. They were strong, competent, and capable men, but they flinched regardless. Gordon was a disciplined man, but he could get nasty if he wanted to. "Just do your job, and I promise we'll be able to reimburse this bastard in full."
"Let's go, kid," Officer Otomo said, unlocking Light's handcuffs and then locking them again behind his back. "I suggest you take advantage of this rare opportunity and keep your trap shut."
"Oh, so rough, boys!" Light laughed, undaunted. "What, having trouble with the wives downstairs?"
"Guy, you'd better shut the hell up if you want to keep all your teeth," Officer Hernandez warned Light.
"I stand corrected!" Light laughed again. 'Looks like only three of you boys are into the fairer sex!"
Officer Hernandez raised the back of his hand, ostensibly to strike Light. Batman, up until now willing to let Gordon do things his way, prepared to intervene: there was something in Yagami's eyes that he didn't like, something that told him that he was preparing to sever the hand the moment it reached his mouth.
Batman and Hernandez were interrupted by Gordon. "NO!" he bellowed, as sharp as a cracking whip. The officers flinched, Otomo jumped a little, and Light stared at the commissioner as if for the first time, more intrigued than he was amused. "That's exactly what he wants! Do not touch him, do not look at him, do not even speak to him! You just get him into his cell and nothing else! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
The officers stared at each other for several seconds, stupefied. Eventually, Officer Otomo shoved Light forward. "Get moving, jackass," he growled. "And thank God the commissioner decided to spare you."
"And I'm so generous that I'll probably end up returning the favor," Light smirked, moving forward, the officers watching him like hawks. He came closer to Gordon and stared him right in his eyes. "Fair warning, Commissioner," he said. "I don't want to kill you, but I will if it comes down to that. We may have our differences, but you could still prove yourself to be a valuable ally. And against me, you don't stand a chance. Take it into consideration at the very least."
Gordon stared at Light with murder in his eyes. "You get out of this room while you still can," he seethed.
Light continued to smirk, undaunted by Gordon's restrained fury, and turned towards Batman. It was only when facing his fellow detective that he dropped his grin; his mouth and eyes lost all traces of humor, of warmth, of humanity.
"Not like the first time we met, huh, Bats?" Light asked.
For a brief moment, Batman's scowl became marked not just by anger but by pain and regret. Gordon, almost hysterical, failed to notice it; likewise, the haunted expression on the detective's face arose and disassembled too quickly for the officers to notice. Only Light, with his razor sharp perception, was able to detect it.
Light's smirk fell.
Their eyesight connected to one another's perfectly. It was an intimacy only the greatest of brothers and the worst of enemies could achieve.
For that single moment, Light Yagami and Bruce Wayne truly knew one another.
"You're right," Batman said. "It isn't."
The staring could have gone on for seconds, minutes, maybe even hours. Neither man would budge, and neither man could budge. They stared at each other, two men of mysteries and of secrets, looked at each other hard enough as if they could see each other's thoughts, dreams, souls.
But then Ellis and Otomo grabbed Light by his shoulders. "Move it, you little bastard," Officer Ellis growled, beginning to remove Light from the room.
Light's grin returned, as malevolent and sly as ever. "See you later, Koumori", he said to Batman before leaving the room with the rest of the officers.
Gordon slumped in a nearby chair, the beginning of a small amount of tears forming in his eyes. Getting Gordon to cry was about as easy as getting a camel through the eye of a needle: the only time Batman had seen his friend weep was when his ex-wife had been murdered and his son had been institutionalized. In a sick, demented sort of way, Light was one of the few skilled enough to make such a strong man vulnerable.
Batman took his cape and placed it over Ennis' corpse. He wasn't able to cover up all the blood, but it was better than nothing.
"Jim... I'm sorry" Batman said. He felt stupid for saying something so casual in response to such a terrible situation, but he didn't know what else he could say.
"I knew Ennis for years," Gordon said, staring at the cape and the body under it, as if he hadn't just heard his friend. He looked absolutely drained, maybe on the edge of a nervous breakdown. "I knew him when he first started out. He was my friend. We drank together, played poker together. I even ate dinner with him at his parents' house. Oh, oh God, his mother and father... How am I going to break this to them?"
"This is only a sample of what Yagami is capable of," Batman said. "You know what we have to do."
Gordon put his hands on his face and kept them there for a few moments. For a while, Batman worried that Gordon might have finally snapped. But then Jim's hands fell from his head, and his eyes clearly showed fire, not a flaming fire of madness, but a controlled fire of logic, of knowing what cruelty needed to be performed.
"You're right," said Gordon, now staring directly at Batman. "This can't go on. I won't let it go on. It's time we sent the Devil back to Hell. It's time we sent him back home."
"It's time we send Kira to Arkham."
NEXT TIME ON THE LIGHT IN THE ABYSS! What do Light and Batman know about each other, and what is their history? Will Light and Mikami survive Arkham Asylum? Will Batman be able to keep the secret of Kira from the world? Can the author successfully fill up all the plot holes without hanging himself? How is the late L connected to Batman? And where does Bruce figure in Light's plans for world domination? The answers to these questions may be answered in future chapters, if readers post reviews and indicate that they give a crap! Maybe. Probably. I don't know. I need pot. Tune in next time, same Bat time, same Bat fanfic!
Meanwhile, here's some cool Batman/Death Note stuff I found while writing this story. And, hey, maybe if people get excited about the potential for this crossover, we can get DC to work with Madhouse or Viz!
AWESOME: ./asset/0368/1296_
… maybe a slumber party? .com/art/Batman-vs-Death-Note-189541753
Misa: Harley Quinn's long lost sister?
.com/?qh=§ion=&global=1&q=batman+death+note#/d3ghsad
The Death Joke: Nice! .com/?qh=§ion=&global=1&q=batman+death+note#/d3j4jr0
