Yikes, sorry about the late update! Work, she is a bitch…
Disclaimer: (sort of forgot this last time) own nothing, yada yada.
Jack Napier had been an ordinary gangster on the crime-ridden streets of Gotham city. Sure, he had been quicker to shoot than the others, took more enjoyment out of watching his victims suffer and certainly had an odd sense of humor, but it really wasn't enough to distinguish him from the rest of the rabble. Then came the botched bank job.
Long before the streets of Gotham were guarded by the Dark Knight, back when Bruce Wayne had only just met a strange man named Ducard, Jack had led an assault on the First Bank of Gotham, but someone had tipped off the police who were waiting with an arsenal of weapons.
After watching his buddies get slaughtered, Jack managed to make it back to his car and drove wildly through the city, pursued at every turn. Finally, he veered in the Gotham chemical plant, crashing his car through the front doors and slamming fender first into a vat of toxins. With the front of the car crushed, Jack squirmed and writhed, desperately trying to escape the vehicle as chemicals sprayed through the fractured windshield.
When the police found him, Jack was amazingly still alive, but permanently scarred in both body and mind. He was examined by none other than Dr. Jonathan Crane, who declared a danger to himself and everyone around him and placed him in the secure wing of Arkham. For once, the assistant DA Miss Dawes had made no argument.
But things were different now, he was no longer Jack Napier the thug, but Joker, the mad clown with a twisted dream to make Gotham his own. And since it had all began at the First Bank of Gotham, it was only fitting that things would now come full circle at the same place…
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a good old fashioned hold-up! Put on a happy face and point me in the direction of the money!"
Dressed her jester's costume, Harley rolled her eyes. "Put on a happy face? Lame."
"Shut-up!" hissed the Joker, "you are ruining the effect!"
There was only one teller left working since the bank had been about to close and he now wished dearly that he had gone home early as Joker fired his gun just slightly to the left of the poor teller's head.
"Hey! Can I get some service over here? Or do you have better things to be doing, Mark?" he asked, reading the man's nametag.
Mark shook and turned an interesting shade of green as the clown took potshots at fleeing customers. He tapped the panic button over and over, wondering if the police would even show. He had only one hope, one slim chance for survival-the batman.
The batman was busy. Bruce was in a meeting and was focusing all his power and strength on staying awake and not yawning too much as some lower chairman person went over some budget plan that Bruce could not care less about. Lucius Fox, his new director, was riveted and that was great for Lucius, who really was the only one with any business sense, but the old man refused to take over the company from Bruce, claiming that Thomas Wayne wouldn't have wanted him to. So for Lucius and his father's memory, Bruce disguised another disinterested yawn as a cough and gazed out the window.
The sun had nearly sunk below the horizon and darkness was claiming the skyline of Gotham, Bruce idly thought about Rachel, who had been promoted from assistant to DA in the wake of her boss's death. What was she doing right now? Was she thinking about him? Was she staring out her own window at the bat-shaped beacon that lit the twilight sky?
Wait a minute!
The bat signal! The one Gordon had made just a few months ago, batman was needed and Bruce had probably never been so happy about it. He stretched his arms, elbowing Lucius slightly.
"Bruce!" Fox hissed in irritation.
The young billionaire angled his head towards the window and Lucius mouthed: "Oh."
Bruce stood up suddenly, clutching his stomach and moaning.
"Is something wrong?" asked the presenter.
"Something I ate earlier," choked out Bruce. "Must have been the-urk-sushi…I'm sorry!"
The presenter shook his head sympathetically. "No, no, go ahead."
Bruce nodded his thanks and dashed out of the room, diving for the elevator. He straightened up and ran out to the parking lot, driving home at speeds Alfred would never have approved of.
"I saw the signal," was the Englishman's hello as Bruce slammed the front door behind him and made for his underground lair.
"Just please," Alfred started, "don't do anything too-" the secret door was already shut and Bruce was gone.
"-Too late for that, I suppose," he finished, resuming his dusting of antiques.
Meanwhile, Joker was gazing lovingly at his bags of loot. He had meant what he said to Harley before, it wasn't about the money, it was about the plan, and the bloodshed, that too. But that didn't mean he wasn't entitled to enjoy said money.
"Thanks a bunch, Marky-mark," he cackled, cocking his pistol and waving it playfully at the customers who had been unable to escape. "And thank all of you for being such a wonderful audience!"
"Batman," swallowed Mark the teller, "he will come, he will catch you."
"Oh I hope so," purred the terrifying clown, taking aim between Mark's eyes, his fingers stroking the trigger. "Let's just hope he's not too late,"
The Joker squeezed the trigger, only to have the gun jerked out of his hand and sent skipping across the floor. He jumped with surprise and pain, a bat shaped…thing was now lodged firmly in his palm. Joker pulled it out, blood flowing from the wound, and turned to face Batman.
"I'm always just in time," Bruce replied in the gravelly voice that was a part of his persona. Inwardly, he cringed. The line had sounded very tough and cool in his head, but out loud, rather stupid.
He had briefly met up with Gordon at the spotlight, who had told him of the situation, and that cops were on the way, but that Batman could get there faster. Bruce now stood facing the green-haired, pale skinned psycho and his disinterested looking jester cohort, ready to fight.
"Well, well," muttered Joker. "You're smaller than I thought you'd be."
Rather than toss back a witty reply, Bruce instead leapt at the Joker, pile-driving him into an ATM and slamming his head against the keypad. Thinking that was that, Bruce dropped his guard and the Joker, disoriented, still managed to grab Bruce's legs and pull him to the ground. He then roughly elbowed Bruce in the crotch, the suit not protecting him nearly as much as he would have hoped.
Bruce gasped on the floor, dots of pain dancing in his vision. He managed to tackle the fleeing Joker back down to the floor, grabbing hold of the clown's windpipe and squeezing.
"Ack…" Joker gasped. "Let's see how…tough you are when…you're as blind…as a bat!"
With his one free hand, the Joker pushed the garish fake flower on his suit and a smoking, green ooze squirted out into Bruce's eyes. He cried out, clawing at the eyeholes in his mask, momentarily forgetting everyone and everything as he desperately rubbed his eyes.
As his vision came back into focus, he stood up and saw the Joker, grinning from ear to ear.
"Look what I found," he said gleefully as he waved his rediscovered pistol and promptly fired three rounds into Bruce's chest as he tried to dodge, dropping the batman to the floor.
As the victims stared in fear at the motionless Batman, Joker and Harley took their leave, sirens blaring in the distance as the cops finally arrived. As Joker slammed the accelerator pedal of the getaway car he laughed wildly, flushed with victory.
"I did it! I killed him! That's the kind of notoriety that pays off! We'll have crooks from all over Gotham begging to join me now!"
Harley nodded, equally charged. "It was amazing! We got him!"
"We? What'd you do?"
"I…" she paused. "Offered moral support?"
Joker rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and count the money."
Back in the bank, Mark came out from behind the teller booth, edging towards the fallen crusader nervously.
"Is he dead…?" he asked, feeling that someone needed to say it aloud.
He reached for the mask, wondering what sort of person would put themselves in such danger for people they didn't even know.
Bruce was eyeing up the prototype armor. If he truly intended to go ahead with his insane plan, some protection would be nice."Is it bulletproof?" he asked Lucius innocently.
"Anything but a straight shot," the wizened techie replied.
"I want to borrow it," Bruce started, "for…spelunking."
"…Spelunking?" Lucius repeated, his eyebrows raised in suspicion
"Yeah, you know, cave diving?"
Bruce chewed his lip nervously as Lucius smiled, bemused.
"You expecting to run into much gunfire in these caves?"
But before the teller's fingers could even brush the tip of the mask, Batman shot up, grunting in pain.
Mark inched back, astounded. "How?"
Bruce grinned, despite the throbbing in his chest. "I'm Batman."
And he dramatically exited the bank, shooting a grappling hook onto the roof of a nearby building before collapsing in pain.
"Ow, ow ow! God Dammit!"
He slid his tiny cell phone out of his belt and dialed Wayne Manor.
"Alfred?"
"Yes, Master Wayne?" replied the worried voice on the other end.
"I've been," he paused not wanting to alarm his old friend and guardian more than he had to, "uh, hurt. Could you meet me at the corner of 51st and Stirling, quickly?"
"Certainly," Alfred replied, trying very hard not to panic.
The last time the young master had called for Alfred's help, he had been sprayed by a hallucinogen that had kept him delirious for two days. This time, it appeared Bruce had been shot.
He hadn't asked any questions, just helped into the car and drove home as fast as he could, wincing every time he glanced at Bruce clutching his stomach in the back seat.
When they made it home, Bruce uttered a few words of thanks, told Alfred to get to bed and made for his cave. He sank to the cold rock floor, yanking off his mask and stripping to his waist. He lay the top half of his suit down on his workbench, staring at the bullets embedded in it and marveling at Lucius's genius.
But even marveling hurt and along with the three golf-ball sized welts on his chest, his whole torso was beginning to turn black, blue and several colors in between. He had probably cracked a few ribs as well. And, last but foremost in Bruce's mind, the Joker had escaped.
What was he planning? Was there a method to his random hits? Where would he strike next? Every nerve in Bruce's body ached, but now was no time for sleep.
I need to think, I need to do some research, I have to…zzzzzz… And, facedown on his workbench, the fledgling hero slipped out of consciousness.It was never wise for a teacher to become emotionally attached to a student, especially if said student goes on to blow up your headquarters, try to dismantle your greatest plans and eventually abandons you in a speeding train bound for hell.
Ra's had taught many great students, but Bruce Wayne had been his best, perhaps even successor material. He had treated boy as if he were his own and what did he have to show for it? A permanent limp and a vow for revenge.
Ra's thought back to when he was thrown from the train as it had exploded, rescued by what remained of his men and taken to Metropolis, where he had agents keeping tabs on the red-caped boy scout who guarded the city. Now there was a man who made Bruce's persona seem subtle. Anyway, he was barely clinging to life, had his best healers and physicians come to his aid, the only thing keeping him going the thought of wringing the life from Bruce's neck.
He sighed, shaking his head as if to free it from such dark thoughts, staring out the window of the train as tendrils of dawn snaked across the sky. He turned on the small television monitor embedded in the headrest of the seat across from him. It blinked on to CNN, which had a live feed coming from the First Bank of Gotham.
"Just hours ago this bank was the scene of terror and chaos as a crazed man described as looking like a clown robbed the bank and fired on the customers and employee, injuring five and killing two."
Ra's shook his head, disgusted. There was no honor, no real skill in firearms. Any idiot could fire a gun. And the clown disguise, it was nearly as ridiculous as the potato sack that a former tool of his used to wear on his head.
"There was only one teller working and we have him with us, sir, what's your name?"
A small, mousy man took the microphone, gesturing wildly with his free hand as he spoke.
"My name's Mark Robinson and it was scary as hell! There was the clown guy and this jester chick and they were just firing on everybody! But the batman, he came! He really did and he beat the crap out of that joker! But then, the clown guy shot him a couple times and got away."
Ra's froze, his heart in his throat. Had he been robbed of his chance for vengeance by some third-rate criminal?
"But after that, he just jumped back up like he was fine! It was unbelievable!"
After Mark's testimony, the changed to a different story and Ra's shut the TV off, relieved that Bruce remained among the living. Still, things would have to be dealt with. Bruce would be killed by an equal, not some lunatic from the circus. Besides, God knows he needed a warm-up before going against his best student.
Yes, he would find and kill this joker, that sounded good. Now, he thought to himself, if I was a stupid thug where would I hide?
Somewhere good people would shy away from, somewhere dark, empty and preferably filled with characters of the same personality as the aforementioned thug. Ra's's smile was one of pure evil as he came to the logical answer.
The Narrows…
So that's all for now, sorry it took so long! PS, I know my action scenes suck, I'm still working on them. In the next chapter though, things finally start moving! (oh, and I never thought I'd use the word "embedded" twice in one chapter)
