Batman Beyond #2
New Dawn
By George Jones
2019
Justice is a cold mistress of the night. A righteous demon that haunts the dreams of the wicked. The vengeance of justice is unprejudiced, it's unrelenting in its nature. Leaving you with a cold chill you can't shake. Justice is like a cancer decaying away at the heart of the criminal body. After all these years struggling against the corrupt tidal wave that consumes my City I know that the battle will never be won. Evil is as constant as the pale moon. The battle will never end but I will. I am feeling my age now, my hair is grey and my body is a shallow image of what it used to be. The last few nights out my heart felt like a bubbling cauldron at boiling point ready to burst. Even the new suit I developed isn't making up for the years of mileage. My greatest fear is not my eventual death, it's what will be left of my City when I finally succumb. Will I fall at the hands of an enemy or will I pass asleep in my bed alone. Mortality is a cruel maiden that can send a man crazy once he starts thinking about it; a great advantage of youth is not having to worry about such things but youth is no longing on my side. Youth is on the side of the enemy. Stronger, faster, quicker than I am now. A cruel irony of time. The legacy of the Batman must live on not for my sake but for the sake of my City; Gotham, the cruel siren of debauchery and villainy.
The withering and old Bruce Wayne drops his pen next to diary and sighs to himself. Ace walks into the room with his usual elegance, he struts up next to his master and rubs his tail against Bruce's arm that dangles from the side of the chair. They say a dog can sense illness or sadness from its master. Ace certainly knew. A slight smirk began to stretch from Bruce's mouth as he gazed down at the puppy dog eyes that Ace seemed to have kept on to into his own old age.
"Come on then" said Bruce as he pushed his chair back and patted his lap
Ace jumped up and curled up on his master. The dog licked his cheek once and put his head down to sleep. "You're getting to big for this" Bruce smirked as he wrestled to keep the big canine on his lap
The Narrows
Bruce Wayne crouched down atop the crumbling old machinery building and towards the evolving skyline slowly being moulded into a new space age like neo-utopia. Flying hover cars and metallic blimps crowded the skyline, the white and neon lights of the 'new' City casted an eerie reflection on the parts of the City that hadn't been developed yet. There was a defiant separation between the gothic architecture of what Bruce called 'Old Gotham' and the postmodern futuristic slim and curved lines of 'New Gotham'. Bruce felt at one with old Gotham, it was the only Gotham he knew. It was like him, dying and being left back by time and change. This 'new Gotham' needed a new Batman and he knew it.
The earpiece inside the new sleek and powered suit shattered the silence of Bruce's internal brooding with the reports of police dispatches. The Jokerz Bruce thought to himself listening to the calls. He saw them as sick and twisted, modelling themselves on a Psychopathic murdering sociopath of a bygone era. The Jokerz was a far reaching movement with around 200 splinter gangs that were starting to shoot their way to the top. Even in his death the Joker was still reaping hell on Gotham. After that eventful final confrontation with him after what he did to Tim, the absence of the Joker made him a cult figure amongst the sick and depraved. There were many things Bruce missed but his demonic and sadistic laugh was not one of them.
The jet boots of the new suit ignited and fired Bruce into the night, he lifted his heavy arms and the retractable crimson wings stretched out aiding flight. The satellite navigation inside his cowl was leading him straight to the scene of a Jokerz attack being called in on the Police frequency. That night was one of the last occasions that Gotham ever saw the Batman.
2039
Gotham City
Terry McGuiness the new Batman of Gotham strode cautiously down the corridor towards the centre of the old mansion that seemed like a labyrinth. The interior of the building was not one Terry was used to; nothing like the new Neo-Gotham. The corridors were decorated in the style of a Victorian house. Large and beautiful portrait paintings hung from the walls and the wooden furniture itself seemed strange to the new Batman. The rooms were lit by a mix of gas lamps and candles which created a shadowy haze. Terry came to the end of the long and ornately decorated corridor which led him face to face with a large wooden oak door. The hinges were copper and the wood of the door itself was engraved with elegant depictions of cupids and angels. Terry kicked the door off its hinges with ease and made his way into the central room. This large circular central room was a feast for the eyes, 20ft high book cases circled all around the edges of the room and a fairy sized ornate globe sat resting in a bronze easel at the middle. A large delicate chandelier hung from the roof and was a thing of pure beauty.
"End of the line Jack" Terry proclaimed at the man who stood rather casually next to the globe. Gotham Jack; the grandson of the former Gotham Jack who clashed with Bruce in his prime. He wore the top hat and black suit that had made his grandfather infamous. Unlike the notorious sadistic nature of the former Gotham Jack, this man was as clever as he was deadly.
"For you yes it is, can I tell you a story?" Gotham Jack spoke elegantly as he twirled the diamond tipped cane in his left hand.
"Lucky for you I like stories especially the ones in which I beat the bad guys to a pulp"
"Cyrus Gold! 19th Century wealthy merchant shot to death during a coach heist. His body was dumped into a swampy marsh east of the Gotham River. The tale goes that 50yrs later the dead and bloated corpse of Cyrus was reanimated and it hunted down the men who wronged him. His mind shattered and now resembling more beast than man; the only thing the dumb brute could recall was that he was born on a Monday. And how does the great poem go Solomon Grundy born on a Monday, Christened on a Tuesday, Married on a Wednesday-"
"Took ill, died and buried. I know it yeah" Terry interrupted
"Not quite as elegantly put as the poem but yes. But alas! It is time for you young man to meet MR SOLOMON GRUNDY!"
Gotham Jack pressed on the continent of Europe on the large globe. It pushed down like a button and caused metal mechanisms under the floor boards and roof to start to turn. The bookcases on the right side of the room were pushed forwards slightly and to the sides revealing a large room behind it. A room lined by a huge steel cage and inside revealing the hulking zombie body of the man once known as Cyrus Gold; now Solomon Grundy. The beast roared in pure rage.
"Have Fun!" Gotham Jack laughed as he turned, ran and started to climb one of the large ladders propped against the book cases at the opposite side of the room. Terry ignited his jet boots as the cage door was lowered. The new Batman flew through the air but was swatted by the stampeding Solomon Grundy. Terry crashed to the floor and through a wooden table as Solomon Grundy snapped Gotham Jacks ladder like a dry twig. He fell down and was caught in mid-air by the hulking man beast.
"Solomon Grundy born on a Monday…" He started as he grabbed either end of Gotham Jack with his huge pale hands
"…Christened on a Tuesday…" the beast continued as he ripped Gotham Jack in half. His guts and intestines were sprayed across the room. Terry almost vomited as blood splatter gave the room a new coat of paint.
Terry ignited his boots once again and flew towards the face of the beast. The Batman tossed two bat-a-rangs into his eyes but they were merely pulled out with ease. Terry flew and darted around Solomon dodging huge punches from the enraged beast. The young man tapped his earpiece "Bruce! I need help with this one! Solomon Grundy-"
"Cyrus Gold the former-" the cold dry voice of Bruce came back but was interrupted quickly
"Just heard it! How'd I beat him!?" Terry shouted back
"Well that bit is complicated Terrance. His healing factor and his apparent 'immortality'-"
"Great. Time to experiment" Terry panted as Grundy was getting closer to swatting him into the ground.
The pale zombie managed to clamp Batman with his huge paws and pull him into his own chest, squeezing the life from his lungs. Terry panted and squirmed as his felt his organs and bones being crushed together. Terry's arms were at his side and with his hand he pressed it against a small button on his internal utility belt. This better work he thought to himself as Bruce's voice giving him advice in his earpiece was turning into indistinguishable noise.
"Hope you're resistant to electricity! I know I am!" and with that the suit was consumed by streaks of fierce electric bolts and sparks that spread over to Grundy. His eyes and ears began to smoke as Terry kept his finger on the button, Grundy wouldn't fall though. Batman could hear the shouts from Bruce for him to stop and he could feel the suit degrading from the static attack. Then it all went black…
Name's McGuiness. Terry McGuiness. I have to admit my life has become pretty crazy since I met the old man, Bruce. I grew up in a Gotham without a Batman, I was a punk little squirt and I hurt the ones closest to him. But a lot changed that one night when I stumbled in on it all; the cave, Bruce. Every night I go out I feel like I'm making a difference, helping the little man. Yeah I'm not perfect but I will never give up and dishonour the mantle of the Bat. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're just about to kick the bucket but I have to disagree, it's happened to me a few times now. I may not be Bruce and never will be but I'm Terry McGuiness and I am the Batman.
2019
"Walk away Gramps! While you can still hobble!" the lead member of this particular Jokerz gang taunted as Bruce emerged from the shadows. Not because he wanted to but because he accidently kicked a trash can over revealing his position.
"Listen to him Bats! Go home!" the taunts wouldn't stop but they would stop Bruce either
"Shut up and fight" Bruce growled as he charged the gang. The Jokerz were heavily armed; metal chains, bats, sledgehammers and crowbars. Nothing new. Bruce planted his fist on the leader, he felt the shudder of the impact vibrate up his forearm as the disgusting crack of the jaw bone echoed through the alleyway. Then he felt the first kick, to his rips; the pain was like fire. Bruce panted and stumbled as he raised his arms to block incoming fists. Bruce kicked out and aimed for the crotch. Through his blurring vision he felt the body tremble at the impact of the kick, then fall down. Before he could even breathe he felt the crowbar strike his lower back, it felt like a bulldozer. The Dark Knight winced and coughed up blood as he stumbled to his knees due to the intense fiery pain spreading across his torso like a forest fire.
"He's nothing! Just a washed up hero!" he could hear the taunts and they angered him. Then he heard it, the click of the gun hammer. His head darted up to see the barrel of the pistol in his face.
"WASTE HIM!" the cries came. This was it he thought. Bruce kicked his leg out and snapped the man's leg at the knee. He discharged a bullet as he fell. The flying piece of metal cannoned into Bruce's shoulder. The suit managed to take most of the impact of the round but it still hurt like hell. Then the scramble for the gun, the click of the hammer again and the discharge again. The bullet this time fired into his chest.
BLAM!
Suit integrity 65%
Again the gun fired. Bruce was a hot mess of muscle on the floor now. Wincing and panting for air.
BLAM!
Suit integrity 45%
The whole pistol clip was empty onto Bruce as he lay on the floor. Screams of triumph howled through the cold night air.
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Suit integrity 10%. Warning! Warning!
Bruce rolled over onto his stomach and feigned death.
"Is he dead?! I don't see blood!"
"Shut up Bozo! He's dead I shot him like 7 times!"
Bruce lay still and prayed they'd leave. He couldn't fight them. The fight was just too much. He was an old man playing a young man's game. Then the scurrying of feet brought salvation to his soul. They had gone. Pathetic Bruce thought to himself as he stumbled to his feet. Pathetic.
2039
Terry awoke from the darkness next to the prone body of Solomon Grundy. His face charred black and his whole head steaming. Terry titled to head to look at his suit, it was fried. The internal wiring was red hot.
"Guess that worked"
"Stupid! You almost sent your own body into cardiac arrest!" the growling voice barked in his flickering earpiece "But it worked so good going Terrance. Call it into Gordon and come back"
"Wow are you becoming sentimental Bruce?!" Terry joked innocently back
"Shut up. Cave out"
"That's a no then" Terry said to himself as he raised himself to his feet and inspected the damage of the fight.
Then Terry's phone which he synched up to his earpiece began to ring.
Incoming call. Dana Tan. Incoming call.
"Terry where the hell were you tonight!?" the female voice screamed as he accepted the call
"Oh Shi-" Terry answered back as he remembered the date.
"Oh S* ! Indeed Terry! Where the hell are you?"
"Would it help if I said I'm sorry and I'll make it up to you?"
"No"
The phone went dead. Damn it Terry thought to himself. Then he rolled his eyes No rest for the wicked.
THE END