The first thing someone always noticed about Gotham City was the smell. A smoggy, wet engine smell like a rusty lawnmower permeated the streets, blasting up from the steam vents and smothering the sidewalks, then creeping up to the highest floors of the tallest skyscrapers. That smell was always the first thing that Ben Edwards awoke to, even though his room was on the 22nd floor of the prestigious Robinson Park Terrace building and he kept his windows securely locked. The second thing Ben was aware of as he stirred in his bed sheets was the temperature. The air conditioning for his parent's penthouse was broken, which led to his room having the general temperature of the outside. Daytime in Gotham was a lesson in extremes. In the summer, the town became an oven, more comparable to a level of Hell than anyplace on Earth. The wintertime was just as frigid as the summers were hot. The towering buildings that leaned towards the street, teasing on collapse, seemed to contain and amplify heat and cold while effectively blocking out the sun. A moderate day in Gotham was about as common as a crime-free day in Gotham.
Among the mildly offensive city odor and hostile summer heat, the thing that really woke Ben up was the sounds of Gotham City at 11:30 am. The congested streets of Gotham City were a constant source of the honking of car horns, the screeching of tires, the screaming of profanities, and (of course) the wail of police sirens. The sidewalks next to the streets were no less vocal, the foot traffic being nearly as loud as the car traffic. The pedestrians below casually yelled and screamed various comments and insults, sometimes in various languages to no one in particular. Street hawkers called out to advertise whatever they peddled, occasionally being told to shut the hell up by a Gothamite that had enough pirated movies or low-quality hot dogs. Sometimes, the music of street performers added some flavor to the animal roar of the pedestrian traffic. Whatever uplifting feeling this added to the atmosphere was tempered by the catcalls of the occasional corner prostitute or the unmistakable bark of gunfire, which, even in the relatively posh Diamond District near the center of Gotham, was not as rare as one would think. The specific sound that convinced Ben Edwards that further sleep was futile was a rather distinct four-letter expletive that still carried some attention getting power in the 22 floors it had to travel upwards to reach Ben's ears. Ben sighed and rolled over in his bed to face his window to the outside world, seeing the same view of Gotham City that he had seen every morning in his 17 years of life. It was a view that his parents had paid a lot of money for. The apartment overlooked the lush Robinson Park of Gotham City, appearing as a large oasis of green amongst the encroaching stone grey and glass forest of the surrounding buildings.
The sight of Gotham City was unique unlike any other, begging the question of who on the urban planning council could've possibly let it go to waste. The buildings were mostly old Art Deco or Neo-Gothic, more stone and iron than modern glass and steel, and all seemed to have enough spires, gargoyles, or flying buttresses to tease the edge of ludicrousness. Almost every structure cantilevered somewhat towards the street rather than away, and with the addition of height restrictions originally being nonexistent, the buildings appeared to glare down at the pedestrians and traffic below. Wrought iron bridges between buildings and over the streets, coupled with the elevated train tracks snaking its way in between the skyline, gave the whole city a very confusing, intimidating look. The streets and sidewalks were dirty enough that it would have harkened a laugh at the sight of a street sweeper trying to make a difference, had any existed within the incorporated limits of Gotham City. No city block seemed to be complete without it's own multitude of steam vents belching heat into the air as if a volcano might live under the city.
Though an assault on the senses, Gotham City was, without a doubt, somehow irresistible to Ben Edwards.
He rolled over once more, feeling the white linen sheets of his bed cling to his near-naked form, then flipped off the covers. His feet hit the blue-carpeted floor, and he stretched once and hurried to the bathroom. On the walls of the room were dozens of posters and newspaper clippings of the Gotham skyline with a very particular bat-shaped light shining on the clouds above.
Ben quickly brushed his teeth, then threw off his boxer shorts and hopped in the shower. The water of the shower provided a measure of coolness that was refreshing amongst the suffocating heat invading the apartment from outside. After thoroughly bathing himself, Ben turned off the water and stepped out into his bathroom, the heat contrasting with the water on his body to make him feel rather slimy. Grabbing a towel off the rod on the wall, Ben stared into the steamy mirror. A fit, toned 17 year old with short-cropped Caesar-cut style brown hair and green-gray eyes stared back at him. He finished drying himself off and placed his towel in the sink, striding naked across his room and into his closet. Ben casually pulled a pair of clean boxers out of the closet, stepping into them, then putting on a blue Hollister t-shirt and a pair of frayed brown denim shorts. Slipping on a pair of brown sandals, Ben stuffed his wallet into the back pocket of his shorts and headed out the door. There was no stirring in the penthouse as he left his room and wandered through the apartment; his father was handling some sort of business in Metropolis and his mother, being the posh socialite, was rarely ever home. Personally, Ben preferred solitude.
Though he greatly appreciated the wealth and luxury afforded by his parents, Ben wasn't spoiled. He mostly used the allowance given by his parents to go explore the city, usually by himself. Occasionally, a friend from Brentwood Academy would join in, but few could understand Ben's passion for traversing the city and observing the people in it. Most that could afford it spent as much money as possible to separate themselves from the street-level Gotham City. Regardless, his parents left him to himself and Ben left his parents to their own affairs.
After having a quick breakfast consisting of a single Toaster Strudel and a glass of orange juice, Ben went back to his room and approached his desk. On the large black slab, next to his computer, was a thick leather-bound journal. Ben once again debated whether or not to take it with him as he ventured out into Gotham. He liked to write down his observations and thoughts in the journal, and all the better to write them down directly after observing an event, however there was always the chance that he'd lose it in the city somewhere. The muggers would take anything. Ben had never been mugged before, thanks to some very sound judgment, but there had been some close calls in the past. Crime was a fact of life in Gotham City, and no one could escape it.
Ben decided that it was best not to risk it. He wasn't planning on going anywhere interesting today, just taking a walk around Robinson Park. Maybe he'd take the subway up to Amusement Mile if he was bored, or he could come back home and lift weights in the building's gym. He didn't expect to come across anything so fascinating that it couldn't wait until he got home to write it down. It was times like these, trying to fill up the vacant summer hours, that Ben almost wished he'd gotten a summer job. Even if he'd really wanted one, his mother wouldn't have it, insisting that getting a menial, teenage job would all but guarantee that someone would try to rob his place of employment and end up shooting him in the face or stabbing him in the eye. He had to admire his mother's way of showing that she cared.
Ben looked over at his desk and found the rather strong wallet chain he wore whenever he went out, carefully clipping one end to the belt loop of his shorts and the other end to the riveted hole in his wallet, then headed out of his room and out of the penthouse. He padded down the generic-looking hallway that led to the only other apartment on the 22nd floor as well as to a pair of elevator doors. The pale green carpets didn't quite cooperate with the brownish-grey taupe color of the walls, creating a feeling of slight queasiness as he approached one of the elevators and pressed the call button.
There was a humming on the other side of the polished aluminum doors, however Ben had to wait as the elevator climbed twenty-two floors to reach him. He leaned against the frame of the elevator door in removed boredom, noticing with halfhearted concern that the air hadn't got any cooler by stepping out of the penthouse. Perhaps the entire floor's air conditioning was on the fritz. The Robinson Park Terrace was a rather well to do building, but even it fell victim every once in a while to Gotham's blistering heat or biting cold. The stuffy air didn't really bother him; it just made him more impatient about having to wait for the elevator. As if doing him a favor and answering his desires, the elevator chimed perkily and the metal doors slid open.
Inside the well-anointed wooden interior of the elevator, an elderly woman in her early sixties leaned against the armrest built into the waist-high perimeter section of the elevator. The woman had a quite sassy look about her for a senior citizen, wearing a rather modest looking white sundress, white penny loafers and a large white tea hat that gave her a kind of whimsical mystique for an old broad. She looked up and noticed him, her tea hat tilting like a satellite dish looking for better reception, and she raised a grey eyebrow, greeting, "Benjamin! How nice to run into you."
Ben politely nodded his head as he entered the elevator with a smile, responding with a curt, but affectionate, "Morning, Mrs. Kaier."
"Good afternoon, Benjamin," Mrs. Kaier corrected, "It's almost noon, lazy bones."
"You know me," Ben shrugged, pressing the button for the lobby, "Needs my beauty sleep."
"Oh, and you know I'm grateful that you get your beauty sleep, Benjamin. It shows," Mrs. Kaier teased, squeezing Ben's exposed bicep with a wink.
Ben's mom didn't know about the way he and Mrs. Kaier liked to tease each other. Come to think of it, no one knew aside from Ben and Mrs. Kaier. It was a lot less embarrassing that way.
Their relationship never extended much past the elevator and the flirting, sometimes semi-sexual banter that they shared. Ben had only met Mr. Kaier once or twice as far as he could remember; a gruff German immigrant that apparently made quite a fortune by (if Mrs. Kaier wasn't being facetious) producing a series of movies involving a few barely-legal Austrian co-eds and some farm animals. Mrs. Kaier occasionally dropped by to say hi to Ben's parents or drop off an innocent-looking present for him. Said presents were usually home-baked cookies or brownies, however she did create one hell of an awkward moment when she gave him a hip flask full of brandy the previous Christmas.
Ben didn't quite know why Mrs. Kaier seemed to enjoy flirting with a boy almost a fourth her age (frankly the most obvious reason she might enjoy it was somewhat disturbing), however he did find it hilarious enough to off-set any discomfort he might feel.
"I'd be careful, Mrs. Kaier," Ben playfully warned as the elevator descended, "Wouldn't want Mr. Kaier to find out about our torrid love affair."
"Werner?" Mrs. Kaier remarked, chuckling with suppressed huffs of breath, "I doubt Werner would mind, Benjamin. Back before arthritis and rigor mortis kicked in, we were quite the liberal couple. More than a few times that man convinced me to do unspeakable acts with perfect strangers, just so that he could watch. Ahhh… those were the days."
Ben snorted and thought about dropping the act and asking her if she was serious, but then considered the fact that he'd probably rather not know.
"Well, if he wouldn't mind, I don't see the problem, Mrs. Kaier," Ben shrugged, shifting his shoulders around in his blue Hollister tee-shirt, "When are you going to get tired of that old fossil and run away with me?"
"I'd love to, Benjamin, but I have to face the facts," Mrs. Kaier sighed, then purred, "You could never satisfy me the way he does."
There was a certain classy sensuality that transcended age in the way she cocked her head, smiled and winked at him, that white tea hat framing her head like a halo. Ben tried his hardest not to laugh or blush.
"Way to break my heart, why don't cha?" Ben grinned, scratching his head.
"Awww…poor Benjamin," Mrs. Kaier crooned, "Did I hurt your feelings?"
Ben suddenly heard the elevator start to chime as it got within two floors of the lobby.
"Yes, you did," Ben teased with his lip stuck out dramatically, "I think I'm gonna go find a tree in Robinson Park to cry under now."
The elevator chirped once more, and there was a sinking feeling as it came to a stop and the doors slid open.
"Maybe this'll make you feel better…" Mrs. Kaier cooed, kissing her palm, then showing it to Ben.
"Thanks," Ben smirked, then turned around and began to walk out the door, only to be caught by surprise as Mrs. Kaier patted his buttocks with the hand she'd kissed.
Ben's eyes swelled as Mrs. Kaier remarked, "God, it's rock hard!"
Deciding to just laugh it up, Ben retorted, "If only you were a few years younger…"
"If only," Mrs. Kaier falsely lamented as the elevator doors closed shut.
Ben just smiled and shook his head. If it were anyone else, he might've felt offended. He walked across the white marble floors of the lobby, waving to Jeff, The Robinson Park Terrace's security guard, and exiting through the building's glass double doors.
The heat radiating off of the pavement and the humidity from the steam vents hit Ben first, like walking into a suffocating shroud. He shook the disorientation out of his head and began to walk along the dirty, brownish-grey sidewalk, moving with the sea of pedestrian traffic that covered every inch of the concrete. Walking through the streets of Gotham City made it truly evident just how diverse and mixed the city's people were. People from all walks of life traveled the sidewalk: nervous yuppies in their suits, trying to avoid being pick pocketed; a pair of Asians that had ventured out of Chinatown, chattering to each other in rapid Mandarin; a group of gangsta thugs in their baggy clothes and bling; an Arab with a long beard yelling into his cell phone as he wiped the sweat from his brow; a group of pre-teens looking for a place to put their skateboards down; and an extremely scared family of tourists with a map. All of Gotham seemed to be on the street, and they were all in a hurry. As if he was swept up in the current of a powerful river, Ben followed the dense flow of traffic, assaulted by the smells of all of the people so uncomfortably close to him and so oblivious of his existence. Above, the towering stone and iron and glass buildings blocked out the sun and leered down at the puny humans so far below. Ben kept up the pace of the rest of the stampede, careful to go anywhere but the street that divided the two parallel sidewalks. As crowded and bustling as the sidewalks were, the streets were much worse, a constant source of honks, curses, crunching metal and the jerk-stop-jerk-stop of extremely impatient drivers. With a squeal of tires, a grimy yellow taxicab honked and leapt foreword, it's right front tire hopping up onto the sidewalk, inciting the river of pedestrians to divert slightly.
"YOU DIPSHIT!!!" the driver of the taxi roared to an offending driver, thrusting his middle finger skyward.
The only response was more honking of horns.
As Ben approached the corner of Burton and Fourth Street, the flood of bodies ebbed as most either crossed Fourth Street and continued up Burton or climbed the stairs leading to an iron bridge that crossed over the asphalt river to the other side of Burton Street. At the corner was the storefront of a Radio Shack, rows after rows of televisions in the window to attract possible customers (there were, of course, bars over the window, just in case someone got too attracted). Ben's attention was drawn to something on the TVs, and he drew close enough to the window to be out of most people's way. Just as he thought he might be able to hear the program that was on, an almost skeletal woman with big hair, knee-high leather boots, a candy-apple red feathered jacket, a smear of red lipstick and little else on nodded at him and purred, "Hey, sailor."
"Not interested," Ben dismissed, not even looking at the hooker.
The prostitute hissed something at him and continued on her way.
Through the bars, Ben was able to see and just barely hear the news, announcing the results of the recall vote for Mayor James Borg.
After a severe screw-up concerning the city budget, as well as accusations of sexual harassment, a petition for the recall of Mayor Borg soon flowed around the city until it had enough signatures to make some people in City Hall start looking for new jobs.
"The results of last month's referendum concerning the recall of Mayor James Borg are in," Jack Ryder of Channel 4 read monotonously off of the teleprompter, "And the people of Gotham have overwhelmingly displayed their lack of confidence in the current Mayorship. With a vote of 82 in favor, James Borg has been recalled as the Mayor of Gotham City."
Ben smirked a half-interested smile. It wasn't so much a surprise; most people knew that Mayor Borg was a douche.
"The election of the new Mayor has been scheduled for August 20th." Ryder informed, "Even before the results of the recall, there was much speculation as to who would run to be elected as Borg's replacement. Borg's opponent in the original election last November, conservative alderman Robert Hayes, has announced his intentions to run with little surprise, however much attention seems to be turned on what appears to be Hayes' opponent. Jacqueline King, a relatively unknown independent candidate, has been gathering a great deal of popularity and focus with her intentions to run for Mayor. Heiress to the King Textiles fortune, which is doubtless proving helpful in financing her campaign, Jacqueline King is quickly becoming known for her extremely critical views of one of Gotham's most well-known and mysterious figures, the Batman."
Ben had been about to leave and continue on to Robinson Park until he heard the newsman say something about Batman. He moved closer to the dirty, smudged glass, looked past the thick iron bars and tried to hear clearly what Jack Ryder was saying.
"Already, The Committee to Elect Jacqueline King has posted a campaign ad on The Gotham Globe's website, promising to change Batman's involvement in law enforcement if elected," Ryder said.
The screen then went black, slowly fading into a picture of Gotham from the air. It suddenly froze as a mature, somewhat nasal feminine voice said, "Gotham City. A city of greatness. A city of fear."
The screen suddenly changed to a picture of the skyline of Gotham City, with the stylized silhouette of a bat projected on the clouds above. A woman walked on the screen, superimposed over the picture. The woman was tall and thin, in her mid fifties, with her blond-grayish hair cut extremely short. Her lips and jaw were stern, however her thin nose and blue eyes seemed to have some compassion in them. She wore a black pantsuit with a lime green blouse, and she moved her hands in small gestures as she talked.
"For over twenty years, we have allowed the mysterious Batman to run rampant in our city, trusting a vigilante to protect us. And what has he done with this trust? In the past, he has left our city for extended periods of time, leaving extreme and violent impostors to fill his place. After the Cataclysm earthquake and in the early days of No Man's Land, the Batman abandoned us in our hour of need. Only just recently, the Batman and his vigilante protégés returned after a year of absence, during which they left our city's protection in the hands of Harvey Dent, who had supposedly reformed from being the violent criminal Two-Face. Dent reappeared as Two-Face and continued his life of crime shortly after the Batman's return, and remains at large. In addition to all of these derelictions of duty, let us not forget the countless Gothamites that the Batman has failed to save, simply by virtue of his nature as just one man. The Borg Mayorship was characterized by ineptitude, scandal, and an over-reliance on the Batman rather than our dedicated police force. We can no longer simply lie back and trust that the Batman will save us anymore. We must take matters into our own hands rather than relying on an unreliable guardian angel. If elected, I will push for heavier police funding and for harsher penalties against every day criminals as well as the breed of super-criminals that the Batman attracts. It's time that we make Gotham a city for Gothamites."
The screen went black, then showed a banner that said 'King for Mayor!' as an announcer commanded, "On August 20th, elect Jacqueline King mayor of Gotham City. Vote yes for a Gotham that doesn't need Batman: A Gotham without fear. Paid for by the Committee to Elect Jacqueline King." The screen returned to Jack Ryder's face as he began to comment on Jacqueline King's growing popularity, and the likelihood that she might defeat Robert Hayes, however Ben wasn't quite paying attention anymore, distracted by his own thoughts.
Everyone in Gotham had an opinion on Batman, and Ben was no different. Batman had been in Gotham for a few years before Ben was born; and he had been with Gotham through the best and the worst times. He might've disappeared occasionally, but he was always there for Gotham. Ben was a bit of a fan of the Batman; believing him to be one of the best parts of Gotham City. He'd never actually seen Batman in person, but he made sure to collect every printed picture he could find of the Dark Knight, and often went up on the roof of his apartment building at night, watching the skies for a glimpse at the Bat-Signal.
Ben had known for a while about Jacqueline King's ambitions to be Mayor. Ben's father, Darren Edwards, was one of King's primary election campaign consultants, serving as Jacqueline King's lawyer. Ben had never paid attention nor had a vested interest in politics, regardless of his father's involvement; however now he wished he'd listened a bit more carefully.
Regardless of this woman's other politics, a mayor that opposed Batman, especially one that had a half-valid argument, made Ben uneasy.
As he turned away from the televisions in the window, Ben thought it best to not think too much into it. The election was over a month away, and even if the Mayor did call for the arrest or stop of Batman, most of the GCPD recognized the need for Batman, even if they didn't exactly like him. After all, if Batman didn't take care of the freaks and whackos, they would have to.
Ben broke away from the Radio Shack and rejoined the flow of pedestrian traffic, sprinting along the crosswalk that traversed Fourth Street along with a fat-looking college kid, a young mother dragging her screaming seven year-old daughter and a dozen other people as the crossing light commanded them to WALK. The motorists of Burton Street that drove parallel to the crosswalk, quite indifferent to the walker's right to cross the street, began to honk and yell at the pedestrians that got too close to the lane. An observer could determine the Gothamites and the tourists in the scene; the Gothamites being the people that actually crossed the street, ignoring or returning the harassments of the passing cars, the tourists being the frightened human beings that tentatively crowded along the curb, dipping the tips of their shoes onto the crosswalk like a child testing the water of a pool.
Ben made it to the other side of Fourth Street without injury, seeing a block ahead the greenery of Robinson Park. His sandals clapped along the dirty sidewalk as the sweltering summer heat from the concrete below warmed his bare legs. As Ben continued to travel up Burton Street, he passed a normally bright-looking Limited Too store, which, by pure virtue of being located in dark, gritty Gotham City, had a rather sleazy, almost scary appearance to it. It looked grungy in a way that it wouldn't really surprise you to find a greasy-haired, forty year-old man behind the pink counter, or to discover hidden cameras in the dressing rooms filming secret reflectoporn of any prepubescent girl that might happen to walk in. The thought was enough to make Ben burst out laughing when the seven-year-old girl that had crossed Fourth Street with him began to screechingly nag her mother into taking her into the Limited Too store. Ben tried to stifle his laughter as a stern-looking black businessman passed him and gave a sideways glance. By the time the seven year-old brat was marching into the store, Ben had reached the corner of Burton Street and Nolan Avenue. Nolan Avenue formed the border between the Diamond District and Robinson Park, an impressive four lanes of rumbling car traffic. He scratched his brown hair, combing some of it down over his forehead as he waited for the crossing light to turn. The black man that had raised his eyebrow to him and a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair joined him near the opening of the crosswalk as the traffic lights froze the progress of cars along Nolan Avenue. Ben hurried along the crosswalk just as the light gave him permission to proceed, sparing a glance at some of the stopped cars that looked like they were just aching to turn him into a road waffle. In one of them, a dull-looking red Geo Metro with shiny, garish-looking rims, a pudgy looking redheaded woman with her hair in cornrows waved her index finger with attitude, yapping into her cell phone as DMX blared over the car's stereo. The car shook as if the bass boost of the sound system was made up of a few dozen nuclear warheads being detonated in rapid, harmonic succession. As Ben continued to stare at the jive-talking sistah, she seemed to notice his gaze and curled her lip at him, shifting her head from side to side as she gestured incredulously at him. Ben shrugged quickly and spread his arms, as if to wordlessly inquire what the ghetto queen was going to do about it. She promptly took the phone away from her ear and yelled an insult at him, which was of course drowned out by the gangsta rap blasting out of the car's speakers. By this time, Ben was already on his way across the other two lanes of traffic, and stepping through the arch to Robinson Park.
Continuing through the entrance, the familiar sounds of Gotham City were somewhat muffled by the tranquil trees and the green grasses. Though the jagged, tooth-like skyscrapers of Gotham still huddled around Robinson Park like so many giants, the trees hid the sights and sounds of the flowing madness that was the City's street-level. Even the air seemed more peaceful, less offensively stuffy and hot, without the distinct rusty, wet smell of Gotham.
Robinson Park had not always been such an oasis. Ben remembered, back before the earthquake hit Gotham, the Park was dirty, polluted, and after dark it was one of the most dangerous areas in the city aside from the Bowery and Crime Alley. The difference between then and now was clear, as Ben strolled along the brick pathway, remarking upon the flourishing weeping willow trees and marshes along the streams of Robinson Park, and the ferns that garnished the sides of the walkways. Ironically, it took one of Gotham's most notorious criminals to so drastically improve the park. Pamela Lillian Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, had claimed Robinson Park as her domain during No Man's Land, turning it into a tropical paradise whilst simultaneously making it one of the safest places in the city (for her, that was. Since Ivy controlled plants and hated people, Robinson Park was one of the most deadly places in Gotham during that time). Ivy also had a large group of orphans that she took care of in the Park, which created problems when, after the No Man's Land was declared over, the city council threatened to defoliate the Park and flood it with SWAT teams, not liking the idea of (to quote Mayor Dickerson at the time) "a psychotic eco-terrorist controlling the equivalent of thirty-odd square blocks". In a surprising move, Ivy surrendered to avoid harm to her plants and to her orphans.
Ben had to hand it to Poison Ivy. Regardless of how sick and demented she might be, she had an eye for green. Robinson Park's untouched nature and pure tranquility was such a contrast, such a vacation from the invasive and overwhelming at times atmosphere of Gotham's metropolitan area that Ben never felt like he had to get out of the city. Still, rumors persisted that the plants of Robinson Park had a tendency to move just a bit too much when stepped on. As Ben passed one of the willow trees, a warm summer wind swept through the park, caressing the vine-like leaves of the tree to blow in the wind, and Ben could have almost sworn that the tree had beckoned to him. Assuring himself that he was only seeing things, Ben hurried in the direction of the pond near the center of Robinson Park, taking the least overgrown path he could find.