The Judgement of the Bat

by GaigeStewart

When Skynet sends a T800 Terminator back in time to kill Gotham City resident Sarah Connor, she and her protector, Kyle Reese, must join forces with the Dark Knight himself in order to defeat the cyborg assassin. Story told in three parts.

2. Part 2

Part 2

Chapter 9

11:51 PM

The inmate known only as the Joker stared at the cheap TV that was mounted just outside his cell. It was showing a news broadcast of the GCPD, which was in flames. But that is not what interested Joker. On top of the building was the Batman fighting with a man. The man must be extraordinarily strong because he threw Batman 40 feet through the air, where he crashed into the Bat light. Joker sincerely hoped that Batman would survive this encounter because, ultimately, Batman was the only human who he felt a genuine bond with. After all, they were really very much alike: two men with mind leagues beyond anyone else, two men who had had one very bad day that had changed the course of their lives forever. "The only real difference is that I'm able to fully grasp how infinitely small and insignificant human lives actually are. A virus cleaning to a spec of mud suspended in endless nothing. While he still pretends that there is some point to all the struggling, that life makes sense, that there is some universal code of ethics that must be enforced. My god, the poor man. Still stuck in such a primitive way of thinking. I can liberate him, I can still save him from his own sense of self-righteousness. I will convince him to be like me, to be able to stare into the chaotic mayhem of life and not try to fight it or make sense of it. But instead, just to laugh." Joker thought with a smile. Then something happened that made his heart stop. Batman kicked his opponent over the ledge where he fell six stories and crashed into the pavement below. "Has Batman broken his sacred rule? Has he finally realized the absurdity of it?" But no, for the Joker could already see the man getting up off the ground. Batman glided down and dropped a smoke bomb, and for a second, both he and the man were lost in the cloud. "No one should have survived that fall. But that man did, Batman must have known that he would. He's still trapped. I HAVE to set him free." The Joker smiled; it was time to get out. "Excuse me, Mr. Bruges." he said to the young guard standing outside his cell, watching the television. "Would you be so kind as to get me a bottle of water. I am quite dehydrated right now." Bruges turned to face him. "Oh dear me." said the Joker as he saw Bruges black eye. "Are you alright?"

"Fuck you." said Bruges as he turned back to the screen.

"Oh come now. That's not how you're supposed to treat a patient." The guard muttered something under his breath, but went of to go fetch a bottle. With the new laws in place, guards in the asylum had be constantly looking out for the wellbeing of the inmates. "The murders and rapists and lunatics in this place receive better treatment than the "good people" out there in the real world. What irony." The Joker thought as Bruges returned with the bottle of water. No glass cups were given to the prisoners for obvious reasons. The officials at Arkham had found that out the hard way. Bruges reached through the bars and held out the water. "Thank you." said Joker as he reached out to grab it, but just as he grasped the bottle, he let it slip through his fingers. It hid the ground and rolled to Bruges' feet "So sorry. My bad." Joker said. Bruges leaned down to retrieve the bottle, but as he did so the Joker reached out and grabbed him by the hair. Joker then pulled back as hard as he could, and Bruge's head smashed into the steel bars. He moaned and fell to the ground. The Joker laughed gleefully as he stretched his arm between the bars and grasped a set of keys from Bruges' belt.

"Hey! What was that!?" shouted another guard from down the hallway. Joker began to unlock himself; he could hear the sound of running footsteps coming towards him. He freed himself just as the guard was upon him, a large African American man. He swung his baton and caught the Joker in the shoulder, knocking him against the wall. He continued his attack, beating the Joker to the floor. "You sick, twisted, evil son of a bitch!" he shouted. Then he felt a surge of electricity course through him. The Joker had got ahold of his taser and was laughing maniacally as he thrust it into the man's ribs. The guard slumped to the floor, twitching. The Joker got up, blood gushing out his nose and staining his milk white face. "Well gents, it's been fun but I am afraid playtime is over. I've got business to attend to." he began to walk away, then spun on his heel and kneeled down next to the twitching guard. "Mike." said Joker as he read the man's name tag. "Well it would be rude to leave you without a smile on your face." He fished through Mike's pockets and found a multi-tool. He pulled out the knife and began to carve into the man's face. Mike tried to scream, but only choked on his own blood. When the Joker was done, he got up to leave but stopped once again. "Well I can leave you out Liam-old-boy." When the Joker was finished with his work, he walked away leaving the two men dead, bloody smiles cut into their faces.

Bruce dodged left as the Terminator fired another burst of bullets at him. "Can't let him hit me. One bullet could make all the difference." He had been chasing the machine through the streets on his Bat pod for several minutes but had failed to take him down. The news helicopter flew behind them, filming the chase. "There are too many people on the streets. Someone is going take a stray bullet. Can't let that happen." Bruce brought the pod to maximum velocity and shot past the motorcycle. The Terminator fired a burst at him as he shot past. Bruce felt one bullet impact on his left shoulder, penetrate his suit, and bury itself in his flesh. It burned. A second after Bruce passed the machine. He aimed his grapple gun sideways, and fired it at a light post. The grapple wrapped around the pole, and Bruce hit the brakes. He hopped of the pod as it screeched to a stop, wrapped the cable around the handle bars, and braced himself. The Terminator hit the cable and was closed-lined off the bike. It hit the ground as the motorcycle pitched sideways and skidded across the street. The T800 got up and shot at Batman, who ducked behind the pod for cover. The news chopper flew past them, then turned around and trained it's spotlight (and cameras) on them once more. The Terminator raised its Uzi and fired into the cockpit, injuring the pilot. "No." whispered Bruce as the chopper pitched forward and fell to the ground. It hit the street, its rotors slicing the asphalt around it. A horrible screech filled the air, and Bruce prayed the pedestrians had had the intelligence or the good fortune to avoid the lethal blades. Gasoline leaked from the choppers fuel tank out onto the road. The rotors grinded to a halt on the pavement, shooting out sparks. The pool of gasoline lit, and the chopper was ablaze. "There are still men in there." thought Bruce as he sprinted towards the flaming helicopter. His suit was made of fire resistant material but it would not protect him completely or indefinitely. He pulled out his rebreather and put it in his mouth, wrapped his cape around him, and plunged through the flames. He reached the side door of the chopper. It was jammed, so he simply tore it off, the adrenaline coursing through him amplifying his strength. Through the smoke he could see the pilot, slumped against his controls, dead. He could also see a women, her head lolled to the side and she let out a small moan. Bruce reached in and grabbed her, pulling her out of the craft. He knew it was not wise to move her so roughly (she could potentially have severe head, neck, spinal, and/or internal injuries), but he had no choice; the gas tank could explode at any second. He tried to shield her as best as possible as he carried her away from the chopper. Bruce could feel the flames spread across the back of his cape. When they were about twenty yards away the helicopter exploded, propelling Bruce through the air and to the ground. He twisted in the air so that he would take the force of the impact, holding the women against his chest. He hit and skidded to a halt on the sidewalk. He then log rolled sideways, attempting to put out the flames that were still covering him. When they were extinguished, he ripped the rebreather out of his mouth and gasped for air. Bruce then released his iron grip on the woman and evaluated her condition, noting that she was Vicki Vale, Gotham's most popular reporter. She was unconscious, but she had not been burned and her breathing and pulse were regular. "She fared better than me." thought Bruce as he took note of the bullet in his left shoulder, the second degree burns covering his back, and the injuries he had received from his encounter with… "The Terminator. It is still out there. Stupid of me to forget." He got to his feet, drawing a batarang (though he doubted it would do much good) and surveyed the wreckage. The machine was no longer insight. "I must continue my pursuit. But I can't leave Vale here." he thought. He turned his head and saw the crowd that had gathered, about fifty yards from the downed chopper, staring open-mouthed at Batman and the fiery wreckage. Bruce lifted the reporter and brought her over to the crowd of people. Several members of the crowd owned cameras and were putting them to good use. "So much for sticking to the shadows. Tomorrow these pictures will be on every Gotham newspaper and news station. The people will want someone to blame for the havoc that ensued tonight. Half of Gotham's police force is dead or incapacitated, and the other half will not be able to contain the surge of violence as criminals take advantage of the situation. And I will not be able to assist the police, I must focus all my efforts and resources on stopping the Terminator. For if it succeeds in it's mission..." The full reality of the situation dawned on him. "nothing will matter." A wave of understanding swept over Bruce; it was the first time he could truly comprehend the gravity of the situation that he faced. Without consciously realizing it, he had reached a point where he now completely accepted Reese's story. And with it came the realization Gotham was no longer his top priority. Now he was fighting to save the human race. He had reached the horde of onlookers, who backed up as he neared them, many of their faces contorted with fear. However some looked at him with admiration. He set Vale down at their feet. "This woman must be taken to Gotham General. She needs rapid medical attention." The group stared at him, speechless, until one high pitched voice rang out.

"Okay Batman. We'll do it." The voice came from a small boy, no older than twelve. The voice seemed snap the rest of the crowd into reality and they quickly began to get with the task.

"Thank you, young man." Bruce said to the boy, and then turned and ran to his bike. "Connor is the key." he thought. "She must be protected." Fear gripped him for a second as he considered the possibility that the machine had already eliminated her. But no. "It was still searching for her when I got to the station. She is alive. Probably with Reese. I have to locate her. I should have bugged both of them." He reached his bike and check the coordinates of the Terminator. It was about a mile away, moving to the southern part of the city. "It must be on foot. I can overtake it." Thought Bruce as he hopped on the pod, but something stopped him. It was Alfred's voice, he could hear it in his earpiece.

"Come in Master Wayne. Come in."

"I'm here Alfred. What is it?"

"There are two people at the front door. A Kyle Reese and a Sarah Connor. They are asking to be let in. They say they need help. Reese seems to have suffered a bullet wound to the abdomen. He says that it is severe and it appears to be the case. What would you like me to do?"

"How?" thought Bruce "What would lead them to Wayne Manor. What would lead them to me?" Regardless of his questions, he now could protect Sarah Connor, and simultaneously get answers to all the questions swimming around in his head. "Let them in. Treat Reese however you can and do not under any circumstances let anyone else in. I will be there momentarily."

"Yes sir."

Chapter 10

At first Connor had been too shocked to speak. Then she had laughed at the insanity of it. "I don't know who you think Wayne is." she had said. "Maybe you saw him donating to another charity on the news or something. Whatever. Calling him a spoiled asshole would be an understatement. He won't help us, he couldn't risk being seen with criminals and common people. He probably isn't even home, he's probably of banging some foreign girl. So I don't know what you think you know about him but HE WILL NOT HELP US."

"Of course that's what you think." said Reese. "That's what he wants you to think."

"How do you know this?! You aren't even from this time!"

"Look. I don't need to justify or explain myself to you. My mission, which is pretty freaking important, is to protect you. And I can't do that if I'm dead. There is a bullet lodged inside me, causing internal bleeding. It WILL kill me if not attended to. We can't go to any hospital, the Terminator could easily track us there. We need someone else to help us, and the only person in this city who I know will do that is Bruce Wayne." Sarah was silent the rest of the way. When they reached Wayne Manor, Kyle gasped. "So this is what it was like." he thought. The mansion was enormous, sprawled across acres of beautiful grassy fields. Reese had never seen anything like it. He drove the Pinto up to the front door and got out. He had walked two steps when he collapsed onto the gravel. "I've lost too much blood." he thought. Sarah ran over to him and examined him. "Oh my god." she said, and then ran over to the massive front door. Kyle marveled at the doors beauty, at the exquisite craftsmanship of it. He began to close his eyes, amazed with how comfortable the gravel he was laying on was. "No." he thought. "Can't let myself drift off. I have to fight it." He bit the inside of his cheek so hard that it drew blood. "The pain should keep me awake." He could see that Sarah was talking to an elderly man, who was standing inside the house with the door cracked open. Then the man closed the door and Sarah ran back to Reese.

"I think he's going to help you. Just stay with me."

"That wasn't Bruce."

"No. It was his butler Alfred." Of course, Alfred. Why hadn't he realised that at first. He was unable to think straight. The blood loss was making him groggy. He bit into his cheek even harder. Then the door opened once more and Alfred ran out.

"Help me get him up." he commanded Sarah, and together the two of them hoisted Reese up and began to drag him inside. The house was even more impressive from the inside, massive and beautiful. It took away Sarah's breath too, for she let out a gasp. "When did I start calling her Sarah anyway?" he wondered.

"We need to get him to the infirmary downstairs." said Alfred.

"This place has its own infirmary?" asked Sarah.

"You would be surprised how frequently Master Bruce needs it." They struggled down the stairs, and got to the infirmary. Reese fell on to the spotless white cot in the center. Alfred began to examine him.

"The bullet is deep inside. It didn't hit any major organs but it caused severe internal bleeding. I will have to remove the bullet, which is not going to feel good, and clean and patch the wound. You will need a blood transfusion, so I will need to know your blood type. You are at high risk of infection, but we can't worry about that right now. So what is your blood type Mr Reese?" Reese struggled to stay conscious. Blood type? He didn't know. He vaguely remembered his father telling him when he was a child, but that was years ago.

"Don't know." he grunted. Alfred looked at Sarah.

"Do you know, Miss Connor?"

"No. I just met him today. But I have type O. Doesn't that mean I can donate to everyone?" A smile appeared on Alfred's face.

"Yes. Type O negative is compatible with all other blood types. Would you be willing to.." Before Alfred could finish Sarah walked forward and thrust out her arm.

"Thank you Miss Connor." said Alfred as he went to get an IV. Reese stared at up at Sarah as Alfred stuck the needle into her arm. She winced in pain, and then looked down at him. And in that moment, Reese realized that he had never seen anything so beautiful. Then he blacked out.

Bruce slowed to a halt inside the batcave, and winced as he dismounted his pod. Without the rush of combat, or the adrenalin pumping through his blood, he was beginning to feel the full effect of his injuries. He removed his suit and examined his body, which was bruised and battered. "No symptoms of a concussion. My ribs will need to be braced but they will heal. So will my shoulder as long as I can remove the bullet. However I will not be able to utilize it's full range of motion for at least a month." thought Bruce as he located a med kit that he always kept in the cave, and grasped a surgical tool. "Alfred, how's Reese?" he said into his earpiece as he began to extract the bullet.

"He needed a blood transfusion, which he got, courtesy of Miss Connor. I had removed the bullet. He is now unconscious but stable. Would you like me to come attend to you sir?"

"No I'm fine. Stay with them, but do not let them leave."

"Yes sir. But may I ask who these people are?" Bruce paused for a moment.

"I think that they are the key to the survival of the human race."

"Ahh." said Alfred, skepticism creeping into his voice. "Well won't this be fun."

4:26 AM

Bruce clamped his teeth in pain, as the bullet fell to the floor. It hit the rock floor and he relaxed, setting down the bloodied scalpel and closing his eyes, his mind racing. Reese had come to his home, for no known reason. Bruce had never met or even heard of Sarah Connor, and he obviously had no connection with Reese because until a day ago, he hadn't even been alive. "According to him, the date of his birth is still over a decade away." The implications of time travel were hard for Bruce to comprehend, and even more difficult for him to accept. He had never considered time travel on a linear level in a single universe to be even a remote possibility. There were too many impossible paradoxes. A man in present day reads a story by a famous author. He then goes back in time before the story was written and tells it to the same would-be author. The story then gets written and published. But who's idea was it in the first place? It was impossible to trace the genesis of the idea because the idea had no genesis. And there were dozens of other examples that disproved time travel. However, Bruce had done a significant amount of research concerning the theory of multiple universes. "Perhaps Reese's future has the technology to break the boundaries of space and time, and send objects/organisms to different universes, different realities. Of all the implausible explanations, it is the least implausible. I need to get more information from Reese, except this time on friendlier terms."

"Alfred." he spoke into his earpiece. "I'm coming up." He stood up and realized that he had wrapped his shoulder in a thick bandage while he was lost in thought. He put his arm in a sling, and changed into casual clothing. Then he put on his gold rolex, and rubbed gel through his hair. He did not know how much Reese or Connor knew, but until he was certain that until he was sure they were aware of his alter ego, he would put on a false persona, one that he had used to deceive all of Gotham: billionaire, playboy, elitist, eccentric, snob, Bruce Wayne. He jogged up the stairs, winced in pain, and then began to walk. "It's the ribs. I'll have Alfred set them when I get the chance." He opened the door to the infirmary and observed the scene. There was Sarah Connor, young and attractive, the fear in her eyes masked only by the exhaustion on her face. Bruce noted that this was the first time he had gotten a good look at her, and realized that she was a waitress at a popular cafe in downtown Gotham were Selina worked. Selina. A fresh stab of pain shot through Bruce, much worse than the one caused by his ribs. There was a look of disgust on Sarah's face, as she took in Bruce's appearance. "Her resentment towards me is not unjustified. After all, my tee shirt alone would probably take her several days to pay for." Alfred was there standing next to a cot that held Reese, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking tired but triumphant. He nodded in respect at Bruce as he walked in. Bruce returned the gesture, and addressed Connor.

"Hello." Sarah stared at him for a moment and then replied.

"Hi"

"You hungry? Alfred here can make up some fine fillet mignon."

"I'm fine."

"If you're tired you can sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. There quite comfortable, so I'm told."

"It's okay."

"You sure, you look pretty beat."

"I'm fine, Wayne."

"Look, Connor." Bruce said as he sat down in a chair across from her's. "You came here to my mansion, seeking my help. I just want to know why. All you have to do is cooperate and answer the questions."

"I don't know why we came here. That was Kyle's decision and I still don't understand it."

"I see. And how did Reese get shot?"

"I don't know that either. He got me out of the police station. There was a lot of fighting, he must have gotten hit." Sarah paused for a moment. "Look, Mr. Wayne, you won't believe me but I am in serious danger. There is...something...looking for me, something that will not stop until it finds me and.."

"I know." said Bruce, cutting her off. "The Terminator."

"How...how do you know about that?"

"The question, Miss Connor, is do you really believe it." Sarah looked at the unconscious Reese for a second and then locked eyes with Wayne.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"I am sorry to interrupt sir," said Alfred, "but I am lost. What Terminator?"

"I'll explain it to you later Alfred. Our mission right now is just to keep these two safe. How is Reese?"

He should be fine. He's a strong lad." said Alfred as he walked up to Reese and put a hand on his forehead. "He had a high fever but it seems to have abated by now. He…" But the butler was cut short as Reese's hand shot forward and gripped his throat.

Chapter 11

Reese was lying on a cot, his blood staining the white material. A machine stood beside him, its metallic hand clutching a razor. The machine sliced into him. Reese tried to scream, to fight, but his body would not respond to his commands. It was one of Reese's deepest fears, to be helpless, to not be able to fight back. He drifted off again again for an unknown period of time and found himself standing across from the legendary John Connor. Connor reached out and placed his hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"Tell her the future is not set. Our only fate is what we make for ourselves." Then Connor slipped a piece of paper into Kyle's hand. It was a picture of Sarah. Reese was about to respond when all of the sudden Connor disappeared, and Kyle found himself lying on the same cot. He could see Sarah standing in the corner, two other machines were in the room.

"No." thought Reese. "Have to protect her." One of the machines advanced on him and reached towards his head. Right as it did so he reached out and grabbed its neck. He could feel the cold metal underneath his fingers. He then brought back his foot and kicked the machine in the chest, sending it to the floor. In an instant, he was up, preparing to engage his next adversary. The second machine advanced across the room towards him with stunning speed. He swung at its head but it ducked the blow and pivoted across the ground, sweeping his legs out from under him. Reese fell to the ground hard, and before he could react the machine was on him, pinning his arms to the ground.

"Reese." said the machine. "Kyle Reese. You have to calm down. You're with friends." the voice shocked Reese, for it was a voice he knew, a voice he had heard for most of his life. "But it is not him." he thought. He knew the voice mimicking abilities of the machines all too well.

"Fuck you." he said as he stared into the glowing red eyes of his soon to be assassin. Then, summoning all the courage and defiance he had left in him, he spat in its face.

"Kyle!" Reese looked over and saw Sarah kneeling next to him. "It's okay. You're okay." Suddenly he was no longer in a Skynet torture facility, suddenly he was no longer being held down by a lifeless, indifferent machine. He was staring into the eyes of a man who brought so many conflicting emotions flooding back to him that the only thing he could think off to say was, "Oh my God. Bruce Wayne."

"Reese." said Bruce, nodding his head in greeting but not releasing his hold on Kyle. "Alfred. Are you okay?" Bruce asked.

"Quite alright sir." said the butler, although he grunted in pain when he stood up and held his knee gingerly. "Should I prepare a sedative for Mr. Reese, sir?"

"No." said Sarah, looking into Bruce's eyes. "Please."

"I don't believe that will be necessary, Alfred. Will it, Reese?" he asked as he tightened his grip on Kyle slightly.

"No." said Reese without hesitation. "No, it won't be a problem."

"I'm glad you're willing to cooperate." said Bruce, as he stood up and helped Reese to his feet. "You can start by answering some of my questions." Kyle felt the vice like grip of Bruce's hand on his forearm. He had felt that grip before, a grip firm enough to either completely reassure, or intimidate, depending on what side of his you were on. The problem was, Reese no longer knew what side of Bruce's he was on. "Wayne doesn't trust me. He doesn't trust anyone for that matter, let alone a stranger who just attacked him in his own home. Even know I can see it in his posture, the tension in his muscles. He is ready to take me down at any moment. I have to regain his trust. He doesn't know me, but I know him. And he has to know I know him."

"No interrogation this time?" Bruce looked at him puzzled.

"Interrogation this time? I'm afraid you've lost me. As far as I know, this is the first time we've met." "He's good" thought Reese. "Good at denial. He's practiced."

"Save it." said Reese. "I know you are the Batman." Sarah gasped. Bruce and Alfred exchanged a quick glance, but their expressions betrayed nothing. Bruce turned back to Reese.

"Let's pretend for a moment that your delusions are..."

"You feel the blame of your parents death because you wanted to leave the theatre. You received your training from Ras al Ghul, leader of the League of Shadows. The bat cave is located under the southeast wing of the mansion. Need I go on?"

"No. You have proved your point." Said Wayne. Alfred stared at Kyle intently. Sarah was speechless. "You know a lot about me Reese. Tell me how."

"I...knew you from the war."

"Are we allies?"

"Sir." interrupted Alfred. "Perhaps I should take Miss Connor to the lounge and fix her a cup of coffee.

"Yes Alfred. Please do."

"I don't need coffee."

"I'm sorry Miss. But it was not an invitation." said Alfred firmly. Sarah locked eyes with Reese, who nodded. She then allowed herself to be escorted from the room.

When the door was closed, Wayne said. "Okay Reese. So you say were allies. Right now I am thinking of a specific date. I will of course have known that this conversation will eventually take place, and therefore, if I really trusted you, will have told you that date. So tell me, what day am I thinking of." For a moment, Kyle panicked. He frantically tried to search his mind for...of course. Bruce had made sure to hammer it into his head, though he had never revealed why.

"August 5th, 1936. Your mother's birthday." For a second, Kyle thought he saw Wayne's mind drift, for a second, Bruce was in a different place. Then he returned to the present with a faint smile.

"You are correct." he said as leaned back against the wall in deep thought. "You knew the date, which suggests that time-travel is possible on a single timeline."

"I don't trouble myself with the details of this technology, that's a job for computer scientists and mathematicians. I'm more of a soldier."

"I can see you are." said Bruce. He looked troubled. "Are we all just puppets, then? Living out our predetermined destinys with only the illusion of free will?"

"I don't believe that sir. And neither does Connor. John Connor that is.

"What do you believe?" Kyle thought back to what Connor had told him before sending him on his mission.

"I believe that the future is not set. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves."

Bruce smiled. "So do I."

"Look, sir," said Reese, "I need to tell you something. In the war…"

"Stop." Bruce interrupted. Kyle was surprised, but obeyed the order. "Is what you were going to tell me about me, about what I will become in the future?"

"Has he already guessed?" thought Reese, but he responded, "Yes."

"Than don't tell me. Destiny or not, I want my path to be my own." Kyle nodded in affirmation. That one statement seemed to have lifted a massive weight from his shoulders.

"Understood, sir."

"Now let's focus on the problem at hand." Said Bruce as he began to walk out of the room. "And figure out how to kill this goddamn machine.

Alfred stuck two slices of bread in the toaster, and then began to pour a glass of orange juice. He handed the juice to Sarah, who was sitting at the bar, lost in thought. "Thank you." She said as she took the glass.

"I figure, having been through all you have today, you at least deserve a proper breakfast." Alfred said as he began to assemble a fruit salad, attempting to make sense of what had occurred. Despite neither him or Bruce having any previous knowledge of either Connor or Reese, they, or at least Reese, seemed to know Bruce. Reese knew Bruce's secret identity as the Batman, and for some reason Reese trusted Bruce enough to come to him in a moment of dire need. What was this terminator that had been mentioned? An assassin or hit man employed by the mob to silence Batman? It would not be the first time. However, this was something different, Alfred could see it in Bruce's eyes. Not exactly fear, but a certain tension. Something had happened that night that had shaken Bruce, shaken him to his core. Alfred was missing too many pieces of the puzzle. "I will have to talk to Bruce when the time is right. However, know is not that time. I could question Connor, get information from her." He glanced at Sarah who blankly stared at her untouched orange juice. "No. She has had enough for one day."

His thoughts were interrupted when Sarah broke the silence by saying, " I can't believe that it was him, all this time. He was the Batman."

"Ahh, yes. Bruce is quite good at disguising his identity when he's not wearing the mask."

"But it should have been so obvious. His parents were gunned down in front of him. I remember even though I was only a kid when it happened. He goes traveling for eight years, and then within a few months of his return, the Batman shows up in the newspapers." Sarah looked up at him. "It was his parent's deaths wasn't it, that pushed him over the edge." Alfred paused, wondering what all he should tell Miss Connor. He didn't want to reveal to her things that Bruce would want hidden, yet despite not knowing the whole story, Alfred knew that trust would have to be developed between them and Connor and Reese. "And there will be no trust if Miss Connor simply believes that he dresses up like a flying rodent and beats criminals to a pulp out of some psychotic impulse.

"Yes." Alfred responded. "His parents death changed him, exposed him to the evil in the world, infected him with a disease. The thing is, I am not sure whether the Batman is a byproduct of that disease, or simply a way of controlling it."

"So it's just revenge then. He wants vengeance for the wrong that was committed against him and so he takes it out on the criminal fraternity."

"No no no, it is much more than mere vengeance. Perhaps that's what motivated him originally, when he first left Gotham. I could see the anger building in him as he matured. Not just anger at his parents death, though that was at the heart of it. Their murder changed his perspective on the world and allowed him to see the injustice that pollutes it. Eventually it became too much for him to bear, so he ran."

"But he came back. Why?"

"Because the Wayne legacy, everything his father and his ancestors built, is tied to this city, and he could not see it fall to rot. For eight years he trained, channeling his anger as he tried to find a way to combat the injustice that was corrupting his city. The Batman was that way. However, he wanted to do more than punish evil, he wanted to inspire good. That's what the Batman is, an incorruptible symbol of hope."

"But you said he had been infected with a disease."

"He was, and the Batman is his response to that. You see, Bruce needs the Batman just as much as the people of Gotham need him.

"What do you mean?"

"At first, I worried he had an addiction, to the suit and to the violence. However, I believe the primary reason why he is so dependent of the Batman is because he knows how badly his parent's death damaged him. And he has to make sure that such a thing never happens to another child. He exists to keep other children from becoming what he is now."

Chapter 12

The T800 stepped over the bullet-riddled body of the 60 year old women, boots crushing broken glass. The cyborg had obtained her name and address when it was searching Connor's apartment; Gretchen Rose Connor, mother of Sarah Jeanette Connor. According to the machine's detailed files on human psychology and behavioral, in times of stress humans would often seek counsel and comfort from friends and relatives. There was an acceptably strong probability that Connor would attempt to to contact her mother, which would give the Terminator her location. Just than the phone rang. The Terminator walked over and picked it up. Connor's mother had screamed when it had smashed through the door, begged for her life when it pointed a gun at her head. The T800 had her voice recordings, and could now duplicate her tone and pitch.

"Hello." it said.

"Mom?"

"Sarah, oh my God, sweetie. I was so worried about you. I saw on the news…"

"Listen mom, are you alright."

"Am I alright. Are You alright. I tried calling your apartment but only got the answer machine."

"I'm okay. I'm hiding right now and will be for at least a couple weeks."

"Where are you hiding? I need to see your face, and make sure you're alright."

"You can't come. It's not safe, and I was told to tell nobody where I am.

"Honey, I won't be able to sleep at night without at least knowing where you are. Please tell me."

"Okay, okay. But first you have to promise me to feed Rover. He's stuck in my apartment and he needs someone to take care of him."

"Of course I will sweetheart. Anything for you."

"I'm hiding in an abandoned masquerade theatre in northern Gotham. The address is 20603 Dies Irae Drive."

"Okay, well you stay there and stay safe. I love you so much.

"I love you too mom." There was a click a she hung up the phone. The Terminator slid a fresh clip into his Uzi sub-machine gun and walked outside to where his motorcycle was waiting.

Sarah Connor's blood turned to ice as she stared at the screen in front of her. "No." she whispered before she whirled around to face Bruce. "Where is your phone?! I need to call my mom!" Sweat beaded up on her forehead and she could not keep the fear out of her voice.

"Sarah, it's too late. The Terminator is already at her house. If she was home, she's gone." Kyle put an arm on Sarah's shoulder, but she shrugged it off, still staring at the computer monitor. It displayed a map of of a suburban neighborhood, 300 miles north of Gotham. A red dot was flashing in the center of the neighborhood, and when zoomed in, Sarah saw that it originated from 20603 Marlin Drive: her mother's residence.

"No dammit, it's not too late! We have to warn her, we have to do something!"

"Sarah, if you call home, you will hear your mother's voice answer. But it won't be her. T800s are equipped with voice recognition and duplication software, to help them infiltrate resistance bases. Trust me…" Sarah could see a strange fear in Kyle's eyes. "It sounds so freaking real, but it's not. If you call home to warn your mother you'll only be letting the Terminator know that we can track its movements, and that will nullify an advantage we currently have over it." His words hit Sarah like a sledgehammer.

"It can copy her voice?"

"Yes. Not only can it sound human, but it can also act human. This machine is designed to infiltrate." Reese grabbed her hand and held it firmly. "I know you love your mother, but this is bigger than her life. It's bigger than my life, or even yours. It's the survival of the human race." They locked eyes, and for a moment, Sarah could see in his an intensity and passion that frightened her, but also…

"You say that it can sound and act human. If Sarah calls, the Terminator will impersonate her mother, and no doubt attempt to extract from her her location."

"Yes." said Reese. "What are you getting at?"

"We give it false information." Bruce said with a smile.

"Of course." said Reese, excitement creeping into his voice. "Sarah could lead it to literally any location we want. We could send it across the country, or, hell, anywhere."

"We could. But I would prefer if we directed it back to Gotham. We can't rely on hiding Connor from this machine forever, we must instead destroy it, permanently. Not only will this eliminate the threat to Connor, but it will also give us a chance to study the machine, which may give us vital information on how to disable Skynet before the war even starts."

"Hold on a second Wayne." said Reese. "You're thinking way too far ahead."

"In my experience, there is no such thing."

"My priority is to protect Sarah, not attempt to stop something inevitable and endanger her in the process."

"Inevitable? I recall you saying that the future is not set."

"Certain things are." said Kyle in a voice like steel."

"Sir," said Alfred, breaking his silence. "If I may, you are in no condition to re engage this machine. It almost killed you the first time, you have broken ribs, a bullet wound, and God only knows what else."

"But this time, I'll know how to bring it down."

"How? So far, this thing has demonstrated to be virtually invulnerable"

"Nothing's invulnerable. And right now, we have the one man in the world who specializes in fighting these things." said Bruce as he gestured to Reese.

"Excuse me." said Sarah. The three men turned towards her, expectantly. "You know I hate sending others to fight my battles for me. But like Kyle said, this isn't about me, it's about mankind. So I agree with Bruce, we need to destroy this thing, and we need to do it now. If we wait, sooner or later it will find me and when that time comes, we will have to face it on its terms instead of ours. So let me make the phone call." Kyle looked at her, and his face broke out into a grin.

"I can see him in you." he said. "I can see John Connor." Bruce just stared at her, his expression unreadable.

"Come on." said Alfred, ushering her out of the room. "I'll show you the phone." Kyle and Bruce followed them out.

"You'll have to confirm that who you are talking to is actually the Terminator." said Bruce.

"Okay. I'll ask it to come to my apartment and feed my nonexistent dog. If she goes with it, than it can't actually be her." said Sarah as she sat down in a chair in some office Alfred had lead her to, and picked up the phone at the desk. Suddenly, a wave of remorse and guilt hit her. In all the debate, she had forgotten that her mother was, in all likelihood, dead. Her hands shook and she tried to silence and sudden sob. "God," she thought, "This is my fault. I brought this on her." Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Alfred give her a reassuring nod.

"Be strong, soldier." She heard Reese say from behind her. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and punched in the numbers. The phone only had to ring once before it was picked up.

"Hello.", her mother's voice sent a cold shiver down her spine.

Chapter 13

A white van pulled up to Gotham Boy's home, the window rolling down to reveal a hideously scarred face. The Joker surveyed to run down, multi-story brick building, with iron bars over the windows and graffiti covering the walls. Unlike Roosevelt Orphanage, which was funded by the Wayne Foundation, this Boy's home received money from the city council. By the time its funds had trickled through every corrupt city official, there was virtually nothing left. "The perfect place to pick up a couple of street urchins." The Joker thought with a smile.

"Mmmmm!" "Mmmmmmmmm!" The Joker turned his head around to stare at the back of the van where Judge Amy Surillo lie, her hands bond by zip ties, and her mouth covered with duct tape. Beside her was the unconscious body of Deputy District Attorney Claude Redford, also bound. It had almost been too easy kidnapping them as they exited the Metropolis courthouse.

"Oh bite your tongue." The Joker said to Surillo as she tried to shout through the duct tape. "You'll have your fun soon enough." He opened the van's door and stepped out onto the pavement, checking his suit pockets as he did so. It was all there: his knives, his canister of laughing gas, his playing cards, all retrieved before he left the Asylum. All he needed now were a some volunteers. He already had the DA and the Judge, but he wanted a more innocent touch. As he walked up to the building he saw a black bat symbol, spray painted onto the brick. "I like this place already." The Joker thought. He began walking to the front door, then stopped. He could hear a ball being bounced, and kids shouting from somewhere behind the building. Intrigued, he walked through the alley that separated the home from an apartment complex, and found open stretch of pavement with a makeshift basketball hoop at one end. A group of adolescent boys was playing, so absorbed in their game that not one noticed the bleached white man in a purple suit watching them. One of the boys was passed the ball and jumped up to shoot, but just as it left his hands another boy leaped up and smacked the ball out of the air, blocking the shot. The ball rolled over to where the Joker stood, and he trapped it with his foot.

"Nice one Dick!" Someone shouted. The boy smiled, and then went to retrieve the ball, but froze when he saw the Joker, his expression going from one of excitement to one of stone. The other boys followed his gaze and the Joker could see their expressions morph into ones of suspicion, anger, and fear.

"Hey asshole! Toss the ball." Said one of the larger boys, beckoning for it with his hands. "Were not here to get our faces painted." Some of the kids laughed, but is was a slightly nervous laughter. The Joker joined them, his maniacal cackle cutting through the air.

"Well fortunately, I'm not here to paint faces."

"What are you here to do?" Said another equally large boy. "I hope it involves getting your ass beat."

"I'm here to play basketball." Said the Joker, as he kicked the ball up and snatched it out of the air. "Who thinks they can take me?" The two larger boys began to come towards him, one on either side. They couldn't be more than 13, but they were almost as tall as he was, and they had . He could hear a ball being bounced, and kids shouting from somewhere behind the building. Intrigued, he walked through the alley that separated the home from an apartment complex, and found open stretch of pavement with a makeshift basketball hoop at one end. A group of adolescent boys were playing, so absorbed in their game that not one noticed the bleached white man in a purple suit watching them. One of the boys was passed the ball and jumped to shoot a three-pointer, but just as it left his hands another boy leaped up and smacked the ball out of the air, blocking the shot. The ball rolled over to where the Joker stood, and he trapped it with his foot.

"Nice one Dick!" Someone shouted. The boy smiled, and then went to retrieve the ball, but froze when he was the Joker, his expression going from one of excitement to one of stone. The other boys followed his gaze and the Joker could see their looks morph into nes of suspicion, anger, and fear.

"Hey asshole! Toss the ball." said one of the larger boys, beckoning for it with his hands. "We're not here to get our faces painted!" Some of the other kids laughed, but it was a slightly nervous laughter. The Joker joined them, his maniacal cackle cutting through the air.

"Well fortunately, I'm not here to paint faces."

"What are you here to do? Said another equally large boy. "I hope it involves getting your ass beat."

"I'm here to play basketball of course." Said the Joker, as he kicked the ball up and snatched it out of the air. "Who thinks they can take me?" The two larger boys began to come towards him, one on either side. They couldn't be more than 13, but they were almost as tall as he was, and they had a certain look in their eyes that you could only get from living in Gotham. The Joker rhythmically bounced the ball with one hand, his other going into his pocket and grabbing the canister of laughing gas. It looked like a small hand-held oxygen tank, but what it held was anything but oxygen. The first boy snatched for the ball, but the Joker jerked it away. The second boy swung at his head, not even attempting to get the ball. The Joker ducked under the blow and whipped the canister out of his pocket, spraying the gas across the boy's face. He coughed and swung again, this time clipping the Joker's chin.
"Well that was most definitely a foul." said Joker, rubbing his jaw.

"Did you see that?" he heard the murmurs of the group of boys. "What the hell was that?"

"Johnny!" The first boy yelled as he ran over to his friend. Johnny was bent over, laughing, his body shaking, his hands at his throat. "What's wrong man?" asked the first boy, but as he was saying so John fell to his side, smacking into the concrete. He was laughing hysterically now, his eyes wide open and full of panic, clawing at his face and throat. His friend knelt beside him, but was frozen, not having the slightest clue of how to help. Joker bounced the ball twice and then shot it at the hoop. It swooshed through the net.

"I think that means I win." Johnny's laughter abruptly ceased. His face was twisted into a huge, sadistic smile, and beads of blood ran from his eyes, leaving rivers of red down his face. The group of boys was absolutely frozen.

"You fucking bastard!" said the first boy as he stood up from Johnny's body. You killed him! I'LL KILL YOU!" he sprinted towards the Joker, and as he did so, someone in the group of boys shouted "Run!" and the whole group scattered. Joker sidestepped the first boys attack and elbowed him in the throat, bringing him to the ground.

"Be a good boy and stay there." He said. There was a tall chain link fence surrounding the court, which most of the boys were rapidly scaling. Some had already made it to the top and were leaping to the ground ten feet below, rolling out of their fall and sprinting across the street and down alleys. The Joker ran up to the fence. "I just need one more." he thought, and then he spied an overweight boy, attempting to lift himself across the top of the fence. "Perfect." Joker ran to the fence, leaped and felt his fingers close around the boy's ankle. With a shout the boy lost his grip and fell to the ground, grunting on impact. He lie there whimpering. "Pathetic." the Joker thought as he seized the boy's collar and began dragging him over to where the other boy was struggling to get up. His breathing was raspy and their was a bruise already forming on his neck. The Joker kicked him in the face and he went down again.

"What do you want from us?" that fat boy asked through tears. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to stage a little social experiment. And you get to be one of the stars."

"Wait!" the Joker turned his head to see one of the boys standing behind him, his hands raised in front of him. "What are you going to do to them?"

"God. Such a lack of originality among you. It really doesn't concern you, I have two volunteers already."

"They didn't volunteer." said the boy, "But I will." His voice was shaking, but there was an unshakable determination in his eyes. "Just let them go." The Joker thought about it, then smiled.

"I like it. I like it a lot. Of course you can't take both of their places. However, I am feeling rather generous today so I will let you decide."

"Robbie." said the boy, gesturing towards the fat one.

"Very well." said the Joker, but he did not release his grip on the fat boy's shirt. "Get your friend and bring him to the van." he said, motioning to the boy he had kicked, who was laying on the pavement only semi-conscious. The kid hesitated, but did as he was told when he saw the Joker raise his tank of laughing gas to Robbie's face. He stooped down to where his friend lay and helped him to his feet.

"Come on Jared. Work with me."

"Wha… Where's Johnny?"

"You can't worry about that right now." said the boy, as he looked back to where Johnny lay, the horrific smile captured in the twisted muscles of his face. The two boys hobbled across the alley, and the Joker watched them, still holding the can to Robbie's face. Just as the reached the van, a man staggered out the front door of the boy's home, disheveled and drunk.

"What the hell's going on out here." The Joker pulled a large revolver from his suit pocket and aimed. "Jesus!" shouted the man and he fell back into the house and slammed the door. The Joker pulled the trigger and out of the barrel popped a little red flag with the word "BANG!" on it.

"How disappointing. The world needs more people in it with your kind of bravery. What's your name again boy?"

"Richard, Richard Grayson."

"At least it's not Richard Head. Am I right?" the Joker said, cackling at his joke as he opened up the back of the van. Richard did not laugh, only stare at the two imprisoned people laying in the back of the van. "Of course, brave, but utterly lacking in the humor department."

"Whatever you're planning, Batman will stop you. He always does." said Richard, helping Jared into the back." The Joker let go of the fat boy's collar and he fell hard to the asphalt. "My dear boy, we can only hope."

"How does it feel." Bruce heard Reese's voice through the earpiece inside his helmet. He moved his arms and shrugged his shoulders, searching for imperfections in the kinetics of the new exo-suit. There were all too many.

"Primitive. Cumbersome. Unwieldy. Clumsy." They had been in the batcave for hours, working on the suit ever since Sarah had made the phone call. Bruce already had the blueprints to construct it, but as he knew all too well, blueprints and reality were never completely in sync.

"Looks like it could handle quite a slugfest."

"So can the Terminator. I usually make a habit of not playing to my enemies strengths. As they had built the suit, Kyle had bestowed upon him all his knowledge on the T-800. It was a new model built for both infiltration and combat, which possessed immense strength, speed, and adaptive capabilities. The first infiltration units had been T-600s, hulking machines covered with rubber skin, which could be easily spotted by resistance fighters. But then Skynet created the T-800, a man size cyborg that could be covered with living human tissue, complete with an artificial heart that could pump blood. It was almost as strong as the T-600 and had greater speed and agility, but that is not what made it such a dangerous enemy. Originally Skynet had had total control over all its machines, deploying them and directing them as a chess player would his pieces. The T-600s had a limited AI capacity, but mostly relied on Skynet. The T-800 was different; it's CPU was much more powerful than the T-600's and as long as it had a directive, it could function for months, if not years, without any oversight. It could adapt to almost any situation, and could learn from its experiences. That unnerved Bruce the most. "Anytime I spend fighting it will only increase its chances of beating me. I was a fool to engage it the first time, without first studying and analyzing it. One failed dodge, one misstep, and it would all have been over. And since it has fought me before it will be able to counter me technique more quickly." he thought. He leaped, flying 6 feet into the air before landing in a crouch, his fist shattering the concrete floor as it impacted. He then took of running around the room. The suits acceleration was poor, but it gradually picked up speed until his was sprinting at over 30 miles per hour. He circled back around to Reese and checked his power supply, which could be seen on the helmets HUD which was displayed in front of his eyes. It was at 99 percent. Acceptable for now but could be improved upon.

"Impressive." Said Reese. "Now let's get started on my weaponry."

"You're not coming." Bruce said as he took off the helmet. He could see Reese's expression shift to one of anger and defiance, though he did a good job of not letting it show.

"I'm sorry sir, but you don't get to give me orders."

"You're right. But John Connor does, and he ordered you to protect Sarah Connor, at all costs."

"I don't need you telling me what my orders are. I'll protect Sarah by destroying the monster that has been sent to kill her."

"You'll protect Sarah by staying by her side at all times, and by being ready to take her out of the country if this engagement does not go according to plan. I trust Alfred with my life, but his SAS days are long behind him, and I cannot trust him with humanity's future. I can, I believe, trust you."

"Trust is formed on the battlefield. Once we've fought together, then we can talk about trust."

"Just 8 hours ago you were unconscious from blood loss. You had a bullet dug out of your abdomen. You are in no condition to fight."

"Neither are you. Look Wayne, I appreciate the concern, but I'm not going to allow you to fight my battles for me."

"But that's just it. This isn't your battle, can't you see that? This is mankind's battle and it hinges on the survival of Sarah Connor. That's your mission right now, not potentially getting yourself killed and leaving Connor almost defenseless." Bruce could see the confliction in Kyle's eyes, which were looking down at the floor, and the way that his hand clenched and unclenched itself, a habit that he had as well in times of stress.

"I'm a soldier, Wayne. It's the only thing I know, the only thing I'm good at. And soldiers fight."

"Yes they do, and you are a soldier down to the last fiber of your being. Yet the defining characteristic of a soldier is that of sacrifice; sacrificing one's personal desires for some higher purpose. That is who you are Reese, and that is what you must do now. I know you would rather be fighting this menace than preparing to go into hiding, but that is not your mission or your duty, it is the sacrifice you must make." Bruce could see Reese visibly tremble, he had been hit hard.

"You don't trust me, and I don't blame you. The first thing I did when I work up was attack Alfred. You probably have already diagnosed me with a half dozen mental disorders, many of which I may have. But one thing I know for sure is that I can help you win this fight. And you are going to need all the help you can get."

"Your knowledge has already been of invaluable assistance to me. And you're right, it is hard for someone to gain my trust, particularly when the fate of the human race is at stake. And yet, I'm trusting you."

"God damn it Wayne, why?"

"Because in you I see a man who's been broken. I see a man who had every reason to turn his back on the world because it gave him nothing but tragedy, and yet didn't. I see a man who will stop at nothing to complete his mission, even if it takes his life. In many ways, I see myself in that man." Bruce reached out and for just a second, put his armored hand on Kyle's shoulder. He locked eyes with Reese, and saw that his eyes were moist. The soldier opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better and closed it again. And then the moment was shattered by a beeping noise. "It's almost time." thought Bruce as he let go of Reese and walked over to a computer desk and looked at the monitor. He had set it to warn him when the Terminator was 30 miles from the destination. He could see the map displayed on the screen and the red dot representing the Terminator closing in on the city. He turned away and began to walk to the batmobile. "I have sensors in my suit monitoring my heart rate. In the event of a flatline, I advise you to take Connor and leave the city. Go somewhere desolate, where you can lie low. Alfred will give you whatever you need for your journey."

"Understood. And Wayne…" Bruce turned around and looked at him. Once again he seemed to be in a state of conflict and indecision, but then he said, "Kill this fucker." Bruce allowed himself a chuckle.

"I have vowed never to take a life. Fortunately I don't believe artificially intelligent cyborgs qualify." As he got to the batmobile, the bubble-like windshield slid forward and he hoped in. It was slightly cramped because of the extra mass from the exo suit, but he could still control the vehicle.

"All systems online." said and electronic voice. "Please select autopilot or manual control."

"Manual." said Bruce, and he began to drive forward, heading towards a tunnel opening. The tunnel would lead him down under a lake, where he would emerge on the other side, about 10 miles away from the city. Reese had not been wrong; he would have been an immense help and Bruce did indeed need all the help he could get. There were too many unknown/uncontrolled variables, the true combat ability of his opponent, the combat ability of his suit, and even himself. Alfred had told him he had a mild concussion, along with three broken ribs, and severe tissue damage to his left shoulder where the bullet had entered. He had pushed the pain from his mind, but the injuries remained, and he was not sure how great of an effect they would have on him in battle. He needed backup, a soldier who knew how to fight this machine, who had been fighting them for his entire life. Kyle Reese was that soldier. And yet he could not risk allowing Kyle to go with him. True, Connor needed to be protected, but Bruce knew that Alfred, aging though he may be, would be perfectly capable of keeping her safe, moving out of city and even out of country if need be. Reese didn't have to stay behind only to protect Connor; Reese had to say behind to protect himself, because it was very likely that he was as vital to John Connor's conception as Sarah Connor was. From what Bruce had gathered, Sarah had few friends, and in light of recent events, it was extremely unlikely that she would ever settle down and be able to have a child with someone else, particularly someone who had such greatness in his genes to be able to help create a child that would lead the human race to salvation. No. In all likelihood, it was Kyle who would be the father of John Connor. Connor had of course not told him this so as not to disturb the natural flow of events, and so Bruce would do the same, never telling Reese, yet protecting him with the same urgency that he would Conner. Even if that meant facing the Terminator alone.

Chapter 14

Sarah was watching television when Kyle walked into her guest room, completely absorbed by what she saw. "What is it?" She pointed to the screen. He turned to face it and saw a reporter talking head on half the screen, and images, taken from security cameras in the police station, on the other half. The pictures were colorless and grainy, but clearly showed a huge man, assault rifle in hand, walking through a hallway littered with bodies of the policemen.

"I just can't believe this is all because of me. Those cops died because of me."

"Yes they did. And even though they never knew it, they died fighting to protect the key to the survival of the human race. Such a death is its own reward." Now footage showed the Terminator racing through the streets on a motorcycle, with Batman pursuing him.

"Will he be able to destroy it? Will Bruce be able to destroy the Terminator?" Reese hesitated. He had tried not to allow himself to consider the possibility of Wayne failing.

"I believe the future is always changing. However, if anything is set in stone, then Wayne is going to survive this."

"Who does he become? Surely some resistance General: John's second-in-command."

"No. He never... he never knew Connor. He..." Sarah searched his face, trying to see what was wrong. She had only known him for one day, yet he had already saved her life multiple times. He was a rock, facing an enemy that seemed invincible, staring death in the eye and fighting on. And yet now, inexplicably, he was trembling, though not with fear. "He's my father Sarah. And I've let him down." Sarah was speechless. But it made sense, it explained why Kyle knew all of Bruce's secrets, it explained why he had trusted Bruce with his life.

"Have you told him?" Was all she could say.

"No. Wayne… My father… has had too much emotional scarring. So he has learned to tune it out. The mission always comes first. That's something I picked up from him, and it has helped me survive. I won't tell him something that will only compromise his focus, his ability." Sarah stood up and walked over to him.

"What you tell or don't tell Bruce is your decision. But one thing I know is that you are not a failure. You have spent your entire life fighting for something that actually matters. I've spent my life fighting for myself, and even that I've done badly. I mean…" she said as she sat down on the side of a bed. "I keep waiting for someone to tell me that I wasn't the one. That there is another Sarah Connor out there, one who is confident, and charismatic, and strong. One that's… more than me." This time it was Reese that took a seat next to her.

"It seems like only yesterday that I was fighting alongside my brothers, alongside Connor. In a way, it was only yesterday. I would have gladly given my life for each and every one of them. I thought that's what love was, and maybe it is. But when Connor told me what he needed me to do, when he showed me your picture, I felt something different. Whatever it is, it seems to be only a hindrance; fogging my mind. Yet I knew the instant I saw that picture, that you were my purpose, the one my father had always talked about. I loved you when I saw that picture. And…" quickly, to Sarah's bewilderment, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Instantly his back stiffened and he looked away. Emotions exploded inside Sarah. She had kissed men before. She had slept with men before and hell, it had been pretty fun. But she had never felt a connection; she had always felt like just a piece of meat. And yet now, with this man who did not not know how to express emotions because he had spent his whole life repressing them, she felt a passion like no other."

"I sorr…" he began to say, refusing to make eye contact, but she was already on him, pushing him to the bed. The tension was clearly visible in his muscles as she removed her shirt. "This man truly knows only war." she realized. She kissed him gingerly on the mouth. She could feel his body slowly begin to relax. And for the first time in what seemed like years, she was truly happy.

The asphalt shined, it's wet surface reflecting the light of the moon. Rain hammered down on every surface, making an odd, hollow sound as it impacted on Bruce's titanium alloy helmet. He was perched on top of what was once an opera hall, staring down an alley. Dies Irae. Even without the night vision built into his helmet, he could see every detail, for its image had been burned into his memory for over 20 years. It was the alley where his parents had had their lives torn from them. He had forgiven himself for the fact that it was he who was terrified of the bat costumes, he who had forced his parents to leave early when everyone else was still in the theater, causing them to be vulnerable. Of all the terrible mistakes he had made in his life, that was not one of them. Or if it was, at least it was an innocent one. He wasn't the one who pulled the trigger, that had been Joe Chill. A name so fitting of its owner, common yet passionless. He was a criminal like a thousand others in Gotham, with a gun no more distinguishable than its user. And yet that was all it took, a man with a gun, and Bruce's life had been broken forever. He would never be repaired. He knew that as he stared into the lifeless eyes of his beloved mother and father, their blood pooling on the pavement. Never repaired, but perhaps channeled. He often times thought back to that one moment, that had shattered his pathetically easy life into a thousand possible paths that could have been taken. Alfred would never been able to stop him from bringing a kitchen knife into his bedroom and making a few easy cuts. He could have become hermit and a recluse, wallowing in his tragedy as his city and family legacy crumbled around him. He could have abandoned sanity altogether as the Joker had. He could have done so many things, but something extraordinary had happened. A man had come up to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and asked, "Bruce, why do we fall?" It was one of his father's sayings, his way of counseling Bruce after he had failed. He did not know whether it was reality or simply a figment of his imagination, though it was most likely the later, but this one simple phrase had brought him back from near complete despair. He did not remember the man's face, only his hand and voice. But it had made all the difference. He was shaken from his memories when he heard the sound of a motor cycle engine, growing louder every second. The Terminator. "This is a good place for our engagement to take place." He had purchased the block and those surrounding it, for he could not stand the thought of people defacing the area with no regard for the fact that two of the greatest people he knew had been murdered on that very pavement. It was deserted, so no bystanders could get hurt. He saw the cyborg come from out of the darkness into his blueish green field of vision. The sight of the machine caused rage to surge through Bruce. Selina's body was at his home, waiting to be buried. Barbra Gordon was likely sobbing at home over the brutal murder of her husband. Millions of innocent people would be killed in the nuclear war that would be launched by the artificial intelligence that this monster directly embodied. "This time I will not let my anger get the better of me. I will use it, not let it use me." The machine slowed and came to a stop along the sidewalk, sliding out the kickstand of the bike and dismounting. There was an Uzi submachine gun in its hand. Bruce calmed himself, took a deep breath, and leaped off the roof. The microfibers in his cape extended, but due to the added weight of the suit, he was still descending extremely rapidly. He could see the street and the Terminator rushing towards him. The machine looked up but it betrayed no emotion. And then Bruce impacted, his metal boots smashing into the machines face. They went down, and Bruce felt the tremor go through his legs and spine as they hit the street. He rolled out of it and turned around to see the Terminator getting to its feet. Half the skin on its face was missing, showing the metal endoskeleton underneath. As it raised its weapon and fired, Bruce spun around, letting the bullets ricocheted off his armored back. His spin brought him closer to his opponent and he backhanded the firearm out of the machines hand. He continued his spin putting his momentum into a left hook. The impact felt different than it had in their previous encounter, it seemed to actually cause damage to the machine. His next blow, an uppercut, lifted the Terminator off the ground, and his kick sent it flying into the brick wall of the theatre. He drew his grapple and fired it so that the hooks stuck in over the machines shoulder. He had fitted it with heavier duty cable, to compensate for the added weight of his suit, so when the grapple began to retract, he accelerated towards the Terminator, throwing his whole weight into his shoulder as he impacted. They both crashed through the brick wall and tumbled into the theatre. Bruce landed on top off the machine and drew an explosive batarang, preparing to jam it down into the T800. But as he did so, the machine caught his wrist and held it there, its strength equal to the Bruce's. Bruce felt his arm tremble, the exoskeleton powered armor wavering under the strain. He clasped his other hand on top of his first, ready to force the batarang down but just as he did so he felt a stunning impact on the side of his helmet that launched him sideways. The Terminator rolled over on top of him. It raised its hand, the slab of stone it had used on Bruce still clutched in its grip, and began raining blows down on him. "Even with the armor, I can't take this." thought Bruce as he did his best to deflect the brutal onslaught. "Have to tie him up." The machines strikes were devastating, but rhythmic, coming in at predictable intervals. Bruce deflected another hit and thought, "I've got you now." When the machine threw his next blow, Bruce caught the arm with both his hands and then wrapped his legs around the machines neck and chest. The Terminator tried to strike him with its other hand but the awkward angle prevented it from having any power. Bruce stared into the machines eyes, one human except for lacking any emotion, the other metallic and glowing red, stipped of its organic covering. He focused on the mechanical eye, reaching up and grasping it between two fingers. With a grunt, he tore the robotic eye from its socket. The machine made no reaction, aside from lifting Bruce (who's legs were still locked around it) and slamming him into the ground. Bruce felt his head begin to throb. He was still recovering from a concussion he had received from their previous encounter, and even with armor, if he continued to take hits like that he could potentially be rattled to death inside his titanium prison. He did not relish the thought. Before the Terminator could repeat the move, Bruce unlocked his legs and placed his feet under the machines chest. He then pushed with all his might, the strength of his legs augmented by the armor. The machine flew back ten yards, where it skidded to a halt. Bruce got to his feet. "Activate shock gloves." he said, and a second later he could hear a soft hum as electricity pulsed through his metal gauntlets. "Alright." he said as the Terminator stood up and began to charge at him. "Show me what it takes to break you."

Chapter 15

Kyle Reese laid on his side, staring at Sarah as she slept, his mind spinning. This was not the first time he had slept with a women. With the human race facing extinction, one of the duties of every man and women was to reproduce, fast and often. A simple contribution to the war effort. Not the Kyle minded, of all his tasks it was definitely one of the more pleasurable ones, almost as enjoyable as watching a Hunter Killer explode into flames, or smashing a T600s skull into smithereens. But what he had done with Sarah tonight was something much different; deeper and far more dangerous. He hadn't just had sex with her, he had loved her. "No that's not it." thought Reese. "I loved her since I saw saw her face on that picture for the first time. But instead of repressing that feeling, I gave into it. And what's more, she gave into it to. No, don't think that. She's fueled by fear and adrenalin, with an impossible weight recently placed upon her. Whatever her motives, she didn't have sex with me out of love" Was he completely jeopardizing his mission, letting his emotions cloud his judgement and ability. No. "I'm a human being." thought Reese. "Not a great one, but a human being nonetheless, not some fucking Skynet puppet. Not some goddamn machine. I have emotions that I can't stop, and even if I could I'm not sure I would want to. Being able to love is something that distinguishes us from them, it's one of the reasons I'm fighting for humanity's survival in the first place. And now having experienced what it tastes like for the first time, I will fight harder than I ever have. This will increase my ability, not diminish it." Suddenly he heard a voice that shattered his thoughts and sent a cold shiver down his spine.

"Good evening Gotham. This is your friendly neighborhood Joker speaking." It came from the television, which had never been turned off, simply ignored. Reese turned to face the screen and saw what looked like footage filmed from a handheld camera, shaky and scratchy. It panned across a dimly lit room and settled on four people (two adolescent boys, a man, and a woman) kneeling with their mouths gagged and their hands tied behind their backs. "Sorry to interrupt the typical evening programing, but, courtesy of the Gotham News Broadcasting Team, I now have the pleasure of violating you even in your most sacred sanctuary, the mindless haze of sitting, eyes glazed in front of your television screen. Ah haha. But have no fear, for I am not here to offend or mock you. In fact…" but Reese was no longer listening. He sat down heavily on the bed as a wave of memories washed over him. Bruce had told him about the Joker, a man who he described as having no motive other than watching the world. "He was a sick, pathetic specimen, hell bent on convincing the world that the rest of humanity was just one bed day away from being just like him." Kyle remembered the look on his father's face when he told him this, despair and even something that resembled fear taking the place of his usual grim, determined expression. "He had a certain… fixation on me. I believe this was because….I believe this was because he saw parallels between us. Both of our lives had been shaped by tragedy. He saw this and tried to make me see life from his perspective." At this point in time he seemed to become haunted by memories and was always unable to meet his son's eyes. "Graveyards he filled. People I loved, people I hated, people I never got the chance to meet. Taken from this world because of me, because I lacked the courage to do what was necessary. I believed that my refusal to take a life may have been the one thing preventing me from becoming like him."

"No." Kyle would say. "You could never be like him." Bruce would then look down and smile sadly.

"Thank you son, though we will never truly be able to know. But I do know this." He would then kneel down to Kyle's (who was still a child a the time) level. "I was foolish enough to see the world in black and white. Good and evil. Over the years I lost many of my original notions of these concepts. Now make no mistake, there is good and there is evil, but we rarely get the luxury of having them divided by a distinct line. More often than not it will be a blur. You must know this, because soon you will fully enter a world where you may be forced to do despicable things. Never feel guilty or ashamed because your were forced to do an awful deed in order to defend yourself or your comrades. Taking the life of one is not always the same as taking the life of another. Remember that."

Reese remembered that now, more than ever. He had been forced to take human life multiple times throughout the years in order to survive and protect his fellow soldiers. Now he would have the chance to do it one more time, to fight and end a battle that his father could not win. He had seen the haunted look in Bruce's eyes. He had heard of the countless people who had died at the Joker's hand. He could put a stop to the endless cycle of violence. "Bruce is off fighting my battle. Now I can do the same in return." He stood up and checked his pistol for bullets, but reconsidered and set the gun down next to Sarah. His father despised guns, and would not want it done that way. Hands would do just fine. He slid out of the room and began to lightly jog down the hallway. The bullet wound in his abdomen pulsed with pain with every step, but Reese pushed it from his mind. "Pain is merely weakness leaving the body." he thought with a smile. When at last he descended the stairs that lead to the batcave, he headed towards the parked batpod. On his way he grabbed a few batarangs displayed on a weapons stand. Though obsolete against machines, they were quiet and precise weapons that worked well against human adversaries. His father had made sure to teach him how to use them. He hopped on the the pod, powered it up and hit the accelerator. The bike sped down the tunnel and off towards Gotham City.

Bruce felt the rusty hood of the old AMC Gremlin cave in under his immense weight. The Terminator slammed its robotic hand down onto his throat, pinning him to the car. It's other arm raised and then descended towards his head in a brutal arc. Bruce raised his forearm to block the deadly strike, and felt his radius crack when the machines arm impacted. As the T800 lifted its arm to make ready another blow, Bruce arched his back and kicked upwards with both feet, connecting with its chest and face. The machine was knocked backwards and hit the ground hard. Bruce stood up, but even before he had finished the Terminator was sprinting back towards him. "Use its momentum against it." he thought. Just before the machine reached him, he pivoted sideways out of its path. As it barreled past him, he grabbed the machine and added his force to its momentum, throwing it forward with the suits diminishing strength. The Terminator flew through the car's windshield and into the cabin, sending the vehicle skidding backwards several meters. Bruce had already drawn a batarang (equipped with an incendiary explosive three times as powerful as what he normally carried), and flung it into the cabin. He then turned and sprinted away, leaping at the last second. The batarang detonated, as did the car's fuel tank. The combined explosion sent Bruce flying through the air and smashing into the ground. He covered his head as bits of shrapnel from the destroyed vehicle rained down around him. "It could not have taken that explosion at such close proximity and still be in fighting condition. If it did, I will have to retreat. Even in this suit, I am still outmatched physically, and my arsenal is nearly depleted." He checked the battery power left in his suit, which had been slowly draining since he started his encounter. It was now at 39 percent. He looked back towards the flaming wreckage of the car, scanning for movement. He just had time to register the metal object hurtling towards him and instinctively jerk his head away before it impacted on the side of his helmet. The force knocked him to his knees, and for a moment, Bruce saw nothing but darkness. He thought he may have been knocked out until he realised that it was just that his heads up display was no longer online. The helmet's computer must have been severely damaged when the object collided with him. Though the suit would still operate, he would now have no way of monitoring its battery power or operating what little weaponry it had left. And although he was accustomed to seeing without much light, his lack of night vision would force him to see through the small, narrow eye holes. They completely cut off his peripheral vision. But he was still able to perfectly see a smoldering humanoid shape advance out of the fiery wreckage. All flesh and clothing that had clung to the machine had been consumed by the flames, revealing a red hot endoskeleton underneath. Yet it still moved fluidly, and aside from several dents in its skull plate, appeared completely uninjured. Only its eye glowed brighter than its body, locked on Bruce's with a passionless gaze. It reminded Bruce of shark eyes, cold and unfeeling, yet full of menace. When the T800 was almost upon him, Bruce's threw a kick to the abdomen. But the machine saw the blow coming, and kicked out as well, catching Bruce's leg at the knee joint. Bruce heard a sickening crunch, not knowing if the sound came from the gear-like joint of the suit or his own knee. The Terminator unleashed a barrage of strikes, with inhuman speed. Bruce attempted to block and counter but the combined sluggishness of his suit and his limited vision mode it nearly impossible to intercept the machine's attack. He felt a blow to the side of the head, a kick to the sternum, an elbow to the clavicle. Then the machine easily ducked one of Bruce's punches, got around and behind him, gripped the titanium bat ears protruding from the top of his helmet, and threw him brutally to the ground. Bruce's side exploded in pain as the T800 kicked him savagely in the ribs. He skidded a few meters across the asphalt, where he came to a stop, blood dripping from his mouth onto the inside of his helmet. His vision was blurry and he was having trouble forming a coherent thought. "Not a bad death." was all he could think. "Not a bad way to go. No, Bruce, you have to fight it. Can't allow yourself to be beaten to death inside this metal prison. Can't allow yourself to fail Connor, fail Reese, fail Gotham, fail the human race." He felt a cold hand grip him by the throat, hoist him up and turn him around. But it wasn't the Terminator, it was Jim Gordon. He stared through his glasses down at at Bruce, disappointment across his face.

"You killed us." he said, before bringing his fist crashing down on Bruce's head.

"No. I…" but when he locked up Gordon was no longer there, instead it was Selina Kyle.

"You killed us!" she shouted, anger and fear in her voice, and then smashed her fist into Bruce's face. His vision began to turn red. He locked back up to find that Selena had been replaced by Sarah Connor.

"You killed us." she said as she reached down and grasped Bruce's helmet. The thin neck armor began to warp under the tremendous strain, as Connor attempted to rip the helmet off. With a awful screech, the metal gave way and the helmet was torn from the rest of the suit. Bruce felt cold rain drops hit his bloodied face. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Connor still stood above him, helmet in hand. Behind her were dozens of children, eyes locked on him in solemn resignation. "You killed us." they all said in unision. Connor dropped the helmet and raised her fist. Just then Bruce saw a nuclear bomb detonate in the background, its explosion racing to engulf the children.

"NO!" Bruce screamed, catching the fist as it descended upon him. The explosion was gone. The Children were gone. Connor was gone. Only the Terminator remained. "It's arm shook as it tried to free itself from Bruce's grasp."

"I didn't kill them." said Bruce, his mind suddenly clear. "But I will break you." He then slammed his forearm into the machine's arm, collapsing it. The move caused him to spin around and smash his elbow into the T800's face. His mind was clear, despite the many injuries to his body. Bruce sidestepped one of the machines punches, caught the arm, and threw his weight into the machines elbow joint which hyperextended and snapped. He then grabbed the Terminator by the neck and threw it the the ground, cracking the asphalt. The T800 rolled back, attempting to put some distance between it and Bruce, but before it could get to its feet it received a kick to the chin. Its body rotated 180 degrees and skidded to a halt, its lower jaw hanging by a few metal cables. Bruce bent down and grasped his helmet, from where it lay, but did not put it on his head. Instead he slammed it down into the machines face, driving it deeper into the shattered asphalt. The force of the blow knocked its jaw off, sending it flying off across the street with a metallic "ping!" Bruce hit the machine again. One of the metal ears of the helmet snapped off. He might have been screaming, but he could not tell. All he could think was "This thing killed killed Selina. It killed that man at the bar and dozens of police officers. It killed Jim Gordon, and deprived his wife of her husband, his son of a father. It nearly killed Sarah Connor, and attempted to deprive the world of a savior, a future." He continued to pummel the Terminator. The titanium helmet shattered, but he continued to beat it, his fist drilling the machine's head further into the shattered asphalt. Two of the metacarpals in his hand snapped. He thought of the children, of the nuke, and kept striking. He did not know how much time had gone by, but when he stopped there was a crater on the side of the T800s face. Without its lower jaw, it simply looked like a crushed human skull. The red eyes flickered, dimming and brightening. One robotic hand twitched, fingers closing and opening. Bruce looked at his own right hand. The armored glove was battered and deformed, the hand inside unable to respond to his commands. For a moment, Bruce worried that he had beat the machine to severely, and that its CPU would be too damaged to study. Once again, the children and the nukes flashed before his eyes, and he did not regret a single punch. He grabbed the T800s skull, and found the circular blast shield at the side of its head, just where Reese had told him it would be. After unscrewing it, he pulled out the shock dampening cylinder, revealing the small but immensely powerful CPU chip. Without hesitation, he gripped it between two fingers and pulled it out, careful to not crush it while doing so. The red light in the machines eyes faded to black. The adrenaline that had been surging through him died away, and Bruce felt the consequences of the battle wash over him. Pain hit him like a sledge hammer, and his vision became foggy. He slumped to the ground with his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. "Have to get the T800 to the Batcave. No one can be allowed to find it." He thought and started to sit up. His body felt like it weighed thousands of pounds. "It's not just my injuries." Bruce realized. His suit was almost out of power. Summoning what energy he had left he rose to his feet and began to drag the Terminator's body to where he had parked the batmobile, CPU still clutched in his hand. The armor seemed to decrease in speed with each step. He walked to the side of the vehicle and opened a hatch, revealing a medium size storage space. It was designed to hold a human, in the case that Bruce had to take one for interrogation, so it would hold the T800 just fine. He flung the large metal skeleton into the compartment, followed by the CPU, and shut the hatch. He then reached up to his chest where the bat symbol was etched into the titanium alloy armor, and slid the metal emblem back to reveal a small number pad. He typed in a five number code (his parents anniversary) and the dying suit powered down, the plates detaching from one another with a slight hiss. He began stripping them off, the titanium alloy falling from his limbs and torso and clattering to the ground, leaving him in only a black kevlar interwoven spandex suit. His body throbbed from many points, like epicenters radiating pain throughout his body. There was a pounding noise in his ears, and his skull felt as if it was being crushed in a vice. "Forget the armor, I have to get back to the batcave. Let Alfred tend to my injuries and start to analyze the CPU and the endoskeleton. They may hold the information I need to bring down Skynet before it has the chance to come online." An odd thought came to him. "Am I now just like the Terminator, on a mission to destroy an enemy before it exists and has the chance to oppose me and my goals? Regardless, my mission is the survival of the human race. I am on the side of life, the machines are not. And they started, or will start, this war. I will not hesitate to finish it." The bubble like windshield slid back and Bruce climbed into the cockpit, wincing as he did so. Once inside, he began to assess the extent of his injuries but stopped when he noticed Alfred's face flashing in the corner of the monitor. He tapped the screen, and suddenly Alfred's voice filled the speakers.

"Master Bruce. Come in Master Bruce." his voice was calm, but filled with strain.

"Alfred, what happened? I'll be there in 7 minutes."

"No sir! Do not worry about me, you have to listen. The Joker broke out of Arkham and is at the Gotham News Building. He has hostages. Reese must have seen the news broadcast and gone after him."

"I'm on my way there now. What happened to you Alfred?"

"It's Connor, sir. She followed Reese. I tried to stop her but… was unable to. You must intercept her; if she dies…"

"I know the stakes." said Bruce, his injuries forgotten and his foot already on the accelerator.

"Get out of my way Alfred." said Sarah Connor, trying to put as much steel into her voice as possible.

"You know I cannot do that." said the old butler, staring back at her, his voice even and his eyes unwavering.

When she had woken up, Kyle had been gone, the only thing remaining of him was his gun. Sarah was unworried, until she saw the television. It showed shaky footage of two people wrestling on the ground, a man and a woman. The man was pinning her down and trying to wrestle a knife from her hands. With a mighty yank he jerked it away, raising the blade above his head. Sarah could not see the woman's eyes but could hear the terror in her scream as the knife descended upon her. Sarah closed her eyes, but was unable to shield herself from the audio. Even as the woman was choking on her own blood, Sarah was captivated by another sound, one that had been forever seared into her memory: the maniacal laughter of the Joker. She ran to turn the television off for she could not bear to see whatever else the Joker had in store but even as she found the power button, she caught a glimpse of the screen. In the background of the grainy image, she could see the brightly lit words Gotham News Agency. She hit the button and the screen clicked to blackness. She breathed heavily, cold sweat beading up on her brow, longing for nothing more than for Kyle to be in the room with her. "Where is he?" she thought, than a thought hit her that made her blood ran cold. Of course Kyle was gone, he had seen the footage of the Joker and had gone after him. It made sense, really. Kyle was a soldier, and with Bruce battling the Terminator, he felt that he had no war to fight. So he choose another one. He would try and kill the Joker. "Calm down Sarah." she thought to herself, as she tried to slow her racing heartbeat. "Kyle is a trained, battle-hardened soldier. He can more than fend for himself." But even as she thought this, another thought crossed her mind, one that had been brewing inside her subconscious ever since they had kissed. "Kyle is the father." She could not explain it but as soon as she said it to herself she knew it was true. "Kyle mentioned John Connor had hardly spoken of his father, just that he had died before the war. Which means…" The fear that was building inside her could no longer be contained. She sprang to her feet, grabbed the pistol from the bed and ran for the door and into the hallway. "I have to protect him, I have to get him back." she thought as she sprinted down the corridor. "I can take the Pinto to…" but her thoughts were interrupted when she saw Alfred standing in front of the main door.

"I will not ask you where you plan on going, because I already know. I will, however, ask you to drop the gun and take a seat. Sarah could hardly think straight, but she managed to make out one coherent word.

"No."

Alfred signed, but not out of exasperation or boredom. "I understand, at least partially, what you are going through Miss Connor."

A sharp laugh, sounding more like a snort, escaped Sarah's mouth. "How the fuck could you understand?!"

"Because, Miss Connor, everyday I watch as Master Bruce dons the cape and cowl and throws himself into the criminal underbelly of one of the most dangerous cities in the world. He is the only family that I have left, and everyday I fear that he will come back with some mortal injury that I cannot save him from, or worse, won't come back at all. It is an agonizing feeling, but it is one that I have learned to live with."

"He WILL die if I don't save him." As she said it she knew it was true. Everything fit together to perfectly. For him to die just after he had helped conceive John, leaving the unborn child fatherless. Hell, John probably sent Kyle back knowing that he was the father and that he would die. "No." thought Sarah. "I can't allow myself to start thinking like that."

"Then maybe that is his destiny. However, getting yourself injured or killed trying to rescue him is not yours. You must remember that you are now forever intertwined in a situation far bigger than yourself. Your safety, your destiny, is key to the survival of the human race."

"Say "destiny" one more time and I swear to God…" Sarah said, raising the gun and struggling to cock back its hammer with her shaking hands. Alfred might as well have been a statue.

"I don't believe you will shoot me. Your are too good a person."

"You clearly do not know me that well." Sarah responded. She could feel the adrenaline pulsing through her bloodstream, willing her to act. Alfred was costing her seconds that she, that Kyle, did not have.

"Your bravery drives you to risk yourself to save a friend. Your compassion keeps you from pulling that trigger. Even as you deny them, you exhibit the virtues of a true leader. Your example will no doubt be a reason why men flock to your son in the war to come."

"I think you overestimate the quality of my character." said Sarah, her voice shaking, body feeling as though it was on fire.

"Perhaps, but…" Sarah could restrain herself no longer. She lowered the gun from Alfred's chest and aimed it at one of his legs. The old butler saw this and reacted instantly, lunging forward with surprising speed for a man of his age. Sarah was barely able to get a shot off, hoping that the bullet would only incapacitate, and not cause serious or even mortal injury. The gun bucked hard against her palm and she stumbled backwards, ears ringing. When her eyes refocused, she saw Alfred lying on the ground just feet from where she stood, holding a bloody leg with his face contorted in silent pain. For a moment her mind was blank, the shock of what she had just done rushing over her like a tidal wave, then her mission came careening back into her mind: save Kyle. She ran for the front door and opened it.

"Miss Connor." she could hear Alfred's strained voice from behind her but she refused to turn around. She had just shot a man who had showed her nothing but kindness, and not even bothered to check and see how serious his wound was. She had one objective, everything else seeming irrelevant.

"Curse me." she thought. "Scream at me. It's far less than I deserve." She ran to the Pinto, which was still parked out in front of the mansion in the rain. As she opened the door to get in she heard Alfred's voice shout, "Good luck, and Godspeed!" With that she shut the door and began to race down the long gravel driveway.

Chapter 16

Dick Grayson tested the strength of the ropes used to bind his hands as he knelt next to his friend Jared. Two others that he did not recognize were with them; adults and, by the look of their suits, official. Yet their faces showed panic and despair rather than collected professionality. "They won't help. I'll have to get out of this myself." He looked over at Jared, whose eyes were fixated, unblinking, on something across the room. "The bodies." Dick thought. There were at least half a dozen of them, spread around the room, blood pooling from the various knife and bullet wounds inflicted upon them by the Joker. Grayson's mind began to freeze with fear, preventing him from thinking clearly and logically. "No!" he thought. "There is nothing wrong with being afraid. But if my response to it is to freeze up, then I have already failed." He took a few deep breaths to clear his mind, and then tested the ropes once more. They were strong and would not be broken, but he may be able to slide one of his slender wrists though and get free. He eyes locked on the Joker, who was fiddling with a handheld camera.

"I never could understand these darned gadgets." There was no anger in the Joker's voice, yet it sent a chill up Dick's spine. "You're sure that this will broadcast live?" the Joker asked to a small, red haired man: the one employee at the Gotham City News Station that he had kept alive, strictly for technical purposes.

"Y...y...Yes. Yes sir." the man barely managed to squeak out.

"Oh goody." said the Joker. He pressed the record button and began slowly sweeping the camera across the room. "Good evening Gotham. This is your friendly neighborhood Joker speaking. Sorry to interrupt the typical evening programing, but, courtesy of the Gotham News Broadcasting Team, I now have the pleasure of violating you even in your most sacred sanctuary, the mindless haze of sitting, eyes glazed in front of your television screen. Ah haha. But have no fear, for I am not here to offend or mock you. In fact I am here to attempt and provide you at least a small comfort. You see, you people of Gotham are often looked upon with disdain, by those he see themselves as superior. They see the rampant crime and murder and ask "Why? Where are their morals, their humanity? They behave more like wild beasts than civilized men." His laugh was absent of all humor. "Civilized. What a word, used by people to try and distance themselves from the hard truth; that we are nothing more than another species of organism, clinging to existence like everything else. We are distinguished by nothing other than having a slightly larger chunk of organic matter firing off neurons between our ears. And what do we do with it? Well... create brutal weapons and other means of causing death, of course. We have become so skilled in the art of destruction that we could now destroy the earth, and all its life, dozens of times over." The Joker was strutting around the building. Pointing the camera at his face, and occasionally out the huge glass window overlooking the city.

"Good, keep talking." thought Dick. "Give me more time to escape.

"Do you know how many children could be saved from starvation with the money it takes to build just one atomic bomb?" The Joker continued. "And yet we stockpile these weapons, amassing far more than we could ever manage to use on this fragile planet."

Dick could feel blood begin to trickle down his wrist as he twisted and strained against the knots, but to no avail. The Joker, who had been staring at the camera, suddenly whirled around and began walking towards them, stopping in front of the man in the suit, who knelt gagged and trembling. "Civilized. How civilized is a man when he must choose between his life and the life of another. Well, ladies and gentlemen…" he shoved the camera close to the man's face. "We're about to find out." The Joker drew a knife out of his pocket, causing the man to scream, but the sound was muffled by the duct tape across his mouth. The Joker cut the rope at his hands, and tore the tape from his mouth, then moved on the the woman kneeling beside him. He freed her, then tossed the knife away, the blade sliding across the hardwood floor and coming to a stop about 30 feet away. The woman got to her feet, her hands clasped together, her head bowed in prayer. "Tell me what you pray for?" the Joker asked, his voice almost soothing.

The woman looked, tears in her eyes, then shuddered, "Life. I want to live." The Joker's laugh was sharp and quick.

"I'll give you some advice. If there is a god, he doesn't want your prayers. He wants blood, as he always have. Give God what he wants, and I'll give you what you want. Sound like a plan? The woman just stared at the ground. "Then let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The woman glanced up at the man in front of her, her eyes pleading. "Claude…" but even as she said it the man sprang towards the knife lying on the ground. Right behind him, the woman ran towards it as well, throwing herself on the man as he reached it. Dick watched in horror as they rolled on the ground, the Joker filming them with an impossibly large smile on his face. The man rolled on top, pinning her to the ground. Dick heard a him scream, and touch his face, his palm coming away bloody.

"Don't look at them." he thought. "Just focus on escaping." He nudged Jared with his shoulder, whose eyes were glued onto the fight, in transfixed horror. He seemed oblivious to Dick and the rest of his surroundings. "He wouldn't hurt me." Dick tried to reassure himself, "I have known Jared most of my life. If it comes down to it, which it most likely will, he wouldn't." He twisted his wrist to a new angel and yanked hard. Excitement shot through him when he felt his hand slide just a fraction of an inch out of the bonds. "The sweat is making my hands slippery. But I have to move fast. Don't have enough time. He twisted, his hand slipping further and further out with each pull. He realised he had no plan for when he got his hands free. Make a run for it? No, that would be leaving Jared behind. Attack the Joker? Only as a last resort. The Joker was larger and stronger, plus he was armed. Try and free Jared? How could he do so without attracting the Joker's attention?

"Having fun there." A pang of fear coursed through Dick as he heard the Joker's voice. The clown was still filming, but he was looking down at Dick through bulging, bloodshot eyes. "Don't worry kid, you'll get your chance soon enough. Another scream, this time the woman's brought both their eyes back to the fight. The man had grasped the knife and was holding it above his head, while the woman covered her face with her hands in a futile gesture of defense. She let out another bloodcurdling scream as the blade descended upon her. Dick closed his eyes but it didn't matter, his imagination was already finishing the scene for him, replaying it over and over in his mind. The man rolled off the woman and onto his side, letting go of the knife lodged in her chest, crying. He sounded as if he were gasping for air. Dick regretted opening his eyes again, for he found that the woman was still alive, choking on her own blood. Dick tried to shut all stimuli off to his brain, but failed. The sounds of her death echoed in his head long after she had fallen silent. The Joker, who seemed to have not a care in the world, walked up to the man on the floor, and nudged him with his shoe. "What a pitiful sight you make." He said, the camera still held out in front of him documenting everything. "But I am nothing if not a man of my word. Get up." The man did not respond, he just rocked back and forth, hugging his knees. "I said get up!" the Joker suddenly shouted, mercilessly kicking him in the back. The man got shakily to his feet and began walking towards the door. He did not so much as glance at Dick or Jared, who were still bound and gagged as they awaited slaughter. "One of Metropolis's finest District Attorneys: a man whose record is unblemished by corruption or scandal, is reduced to a savage animal and then a blubbering child in mere hours. How frail are the barriers that we erect around our minds, how easily they crumble when we are freed from the laws of society and embrace our primal state. Even those trusted to lead our civilizations fall as effortlessly as dominoes when the chips are down. Yet some believe that humans are born with an innate goodness, which is slowly corrupted by society. Such a naive belief. A child is a creature of instinct. And what is more instinctual than survival. He beckoned Dick and Jared to the center of the room, smiling. "I told you you'd get your turn."

Dick looked once again at Jared, trying to make eye contact. He nodded when Jared turned his head towards him. Jared did not nod, only stare blankly at Dick as though they had never met. It left Dick feeling cold and hopeless. He would have been scared either way, but knowing that his friend was with him, and would never bend to the Joker's whims would have been of great comfort. "I won't kill him. No matter what the consequences, I will not." The Joker wrenched the knife out of the woman's corpse and cut their bonds. Dick could feel the blood on the knife blade where it touched his skin, still warm. As he walked towards the center of the room, he could feel that his senses were operating on overload. Time seemed to move in slow motion and he swore he could feel the adrenaline invade each individual capillary. He felt each hair torn out of his skin when the joker pulled the duct tape from his mouth. Jared's face was no longer his own, and instead had taken on an expression of animal like ferocity. "We should attack the Joker." Dick thought. "With both of us and the element of surprise, we may be able to overpower him." But before he knew it, the Joker had flung the knife to the floor and whispered, "Begin."

Jared charged forward, his head out like a bull. Dick tried to dodge sideways but was caught full in the mouth by the boy's skull. He was knocked to the ground and could feel a chunk of broken tooth floating in his bloody mouth. Jared lunged at him, but Dick rolled out of the way. When Jared hit the floor, Dick reversed his spin, rolling towards his opponent and kicking him in the ribs. The boy let out a grunt of pain, but in an instant was on his feet again. Dick was as well, surveying the room for the knife. His friend-turned-enemy swung a wild haymaker blow at him, forcing Dick to back up and avoid the blow. The boy kept swinging, causing Dick to continue retreating backwards. "Can't back up forever. Have to fight back." he thought. At Jared's next blow he stepped forward, getting inside the punches ark of power. As he did so, he punched forward straight and hard, but his aim was off slightly and he only felt his knuckles glance of the boy's head. The momentum of the swing caused him to be thrown of balance, for just an instant but it was long enough for Jared to get behind him and slip his arm under Dick's chin, into a rear-naked choke. Instantly, Dick began to feel the pressure of Jared's arm cut off the blood flow to his brain. Panic almost engulfed him, as he clawed and tried to bite the arm that would spell his doom. "Please." He pleaded internally. "You know me, we're friends. Don't do this." But it was useless. Dick's vision began to tunnel, darkness creeping in around the sides. Somehow, he felt oddly peaceful. "No! Fight it!" Out of the corner of his rapidly receding vision he saw the glint of steel. The knife had ended up by his foot. He tried to bend down and grasp it but it was just out of reach. His vision clouded even more. A warmth crept through him. But just as he felt himself slipping from consciousness, his fingertips brushed across the cold metal. He grasped the knife by the blade and jammed it into Jared's thigh, slicing his own fingers in the process. The boy yelled in pain and released him, clutching at his leg. Dick jerked his head backwards and caught Jared full in the face. The older boy went down, holding his leg while his nose gushed blood. Dick looked down and realised the knife was still in his bleeding hand. He brandished the weapon and advanced on Jared, but then he stopped. Something was wrong. This was wrong. His mind was clouded by fear and adrenaline, but basic thoughts began to form. "Won't kill. Brother. Wrong." But that boy's death meant life. That boy who had had no confliction about killing him, was the only thing standing between him and freedom. "But will I really be free? Or will I be forever a slave of the Joker, because I proved him right." Then an image appeared in his mind, so clear that it might as well have been real: the bat symbol. A symbol that could inspire terror was now giving him hope. "I'm no hero, but I won't betray my friend. And I won't let the Joker dictate how I live my life." He discarded the blade, and turned to face the Joker. He was still smiling but his eyes had gone hard.

"A hero, huh. I see. Sacrificing your life out of some over-developed sense of self-righteousness. And for what? How long until they forget your name, any memory of you fading into oblivion. How long?" In a flash he drew a large revolver from his pocket, and leveled it at Dick. Oddly was not afraid."

"I won." he thought. "No matter what happens, I won." He closed his eyes and waited for the end. But no shot came. Instead he heard a swishing sound, and a cry of pain from the Joker. He opened his eyes and saw a black piece of sharpened metal protruding from the Joker's hand. It was shaped like a bat. "Batman." he thought, nearly overcome with a sense of relief. They would not die today. But when he looked at the man sprinting towards the Joker, he saw no cape and cowl, nor mask of any kind. He only saw a man in ragged clothes, with such a look in his eyes as Dick had never seen. He launched into the Joker, ramming him into a computer desk. They rolled over the desk and onto the other side, concealing them from Dick's view. He heard the sound of blows and grunts of pain and started to run over, but stopped. "No. I'd just get in the way, and my mission right now is to get Jared and myself to safety." He turned to where Jared lay to find that the boy was on his feet, his pant leg soaked red with blood.

"Come on man. We need to get the fuck out of here." Dick said. Jared just nodded as Dick helped him to his feet. The two boys stumbled to the door and didn't look back.

Chapter 17

Ellen Yindel threw open the passenger door of her police cruiser and leapt out before the car had come to a full stop, her pulse hammering in her ears and her mind was racing as she stared up at the tall Gotham News Agency Building. As the newly appointed Gotham police Commissioner, the first woman ever to hold the position, she was fighting to keep her desire to prove herself from compromising her ability. For it was ability alone that enabled her to advance through the ranks of the Metropolis police department, despite her superiors and subordinates doubting her at every turn. With Gordon murdered in what was easily the largest and most famous attacks on law enforcement in history, and all other likely candidates incapacitated or refusing the offer, the rank of Commissioner was bestowed upon her. She would cut out the corruption and restore integrity to the department. She would lower the crime rate to a point not seen since before the economic recession twenty years ago. Most importantly, she would forge a police force that didn't have to stoop to the level of relying upon a masked vigilante, as Gordon had. Despite being a man renowned for his virtuosity, she could not stomach him for being willing to conspire with a man who so obviously believed himself to be above the law. "But all that can wait. Right now I only have one mission, to take down the Joker. I will not allow my reputation to be tainted by being the one who allowed the Joker to murder another civilian." She surveyed her surroundings, trying to focus her thoughts. Several officers were already at the scene, and she could see one interviewing a civilian, the front of his suit soaked with blood. "One of the hostages." she thought. Why had the Joker allowed him to escape? She turned towards the News Building. The Joker was reportedly on the fourteenth story. If she could get snipers up in the surrounding buildings, they might be able to get a clear shot. But no, the Joker wouldn't allow it to be that simple. They would have to storm the building. But a SWAT team was at least ten minutes off, and the Joker would undoubtedly see them coming and have a surprise for them in store. She would have to go in herself. "Matthews." she said to the officer standing beside her. "Section off this block and form a perimeter. No one comes in or goes out, under any circumstances. When SWAT gets here, I want them to prepare to back me up, but not to enter the building." Matthew's eyes widened.

"No si...Mam, you can't go in alone." He stammered.

"Matthews, we have no time to wait for backup. Hostages are in there, and the Joker has a tendency to turn hostages into corpses. We hit hard and we hit now. Form the perimeter, and prepare to send in reinforcements if things get rough. And grab me my M16."

"You won't need it." said a quiet, yet firm voice from behind her. She whirled around to see the Batman standing a few feet behind her. Private Matthews's eyes widened and he reached for his sidearm, but before he could reach it the Batman struck out, his arm a blur. The side of his hand seemed to glance of the officer's neck and the next moment Matthews had slumped to the ground unconscious. Yindel's hand shot instinctively towards her pistol but she stopped herself mid motion. She felt frozen in place by the intensity of the Dark Knight's stare. "Just don't." He said, his eyes never leaving hers. The officers around her had stopped moving altogether, watching the exchange in awe. "Form your perimeter, but keep your men out of the building. This situation is too delicate."

Yindel had imagined herself face to face with the famed vigilante dozens of times, yet the virtual encounters had always been on her terms. She was the law, will the Batman was just another man who thought he was above it, no better than the criminals he hunted. He was a freak, and when the time came, she would bring him to justice along with all the rest. Yet now her tongue felt heavier than lead, and her mind was sluggish. "There is a woman who will attempt to enter this building by the name of Sarah Connor. Restrain her, but if any harm comes to her I'll be coming for you." He then walked swiftly by her, heading towards the News Building and drawing gun like device as he did so. The sight of the weapon seemed to bring Yindel's wits back to her. She whipped out her Beretta and trained it on the back of Batman's head.

"I'm no James Gordon. I don't take orders from criminals; the law is on my side." The Batman stopped walking but did not turn around. "Officers, take the Batman into custody." Yindel said. But only silence greeted her. "Now, dammit!" she commanded, looking back. The police officers looked nervous and conflicted, most refusing to meet her gaze. "They trust him more than me." the thought filled her with rage, but she was interrupted by the sound of pressured gas escaping and cable uncoiling. She whirled around to see the Batman shoot up into the air, the hand that held the gun stretched out in front of him. She raised her weapon, hoping to get a bead on him, but before she could fire he had reached the building and smashed through the fourth story window.

Reese's heard a satisfying crunch as he smashed his knee into the Joker's nose. He then slammed the clown's head down into a desk, leaving a smear of blood on its surface. The Joker staggered to his feet and sneered, yanking a small but deadly looking knife out of his pocket. Without warning his hand flashed out with impressive speed. Reese tried to counter, but the blade slipped through his guard and opened up a gash across his chest. He lunged at the Joker who had already danced out of reach, already beginning to feel the sticky, warm, wetness spread across his body. The Joker smiled, blood running from his nose and onto his bleached face. "You're good kid, but you're no Batman." Reese was beginning to feel woozy; his movements slow and clumsy. Sharp stabs of pain radiated from his abdomen and he realized that his gunshot wound had burst open, and was leaking blood and pus.

"Wow." he thought as the Joker began to advance on him, brandishing his bloodied knife. "I've fought near indestructible cyborgs, made specifically to slaughter humans, and now I'm about to be killed by a clown." He saw the hand flash out, the blade that would be his end clutched within it.

"What are the machines?" John Connor had asked him and his fellow recruits that during training so very long ago. The room had been silent , with no one knowing what answer Connor was fishing for. "The machines are death. Your death. Your brother's death. Your family's death." He surveyed the room, with his steely grey eyes that seemed as though they could see into your soul. "And as a soldier in this resistance, you will be forced to face death, every hour of everyday. What will you say to it?" Once again the room was silent. Connor smiled. "You first."

Reese pivoted, the knife missing his body, and grasped the Joker's arm. He added his strength to the Joker's momentum, yanking him forward and then slamming his elbow into his trachea. The Joker fell to his knees, clutching his throat and wheezing, desperately trying to get a breath of air. Reese kicked him hard in the chin and sent him sprawling to the floor. He then bent down and grabbed the knife from where it had fallen, and flung it at the large window that displayed Gotham City in all its glory. The window shattered and the room was filled with the sounds of wind and rain. Grasping him by the lapels of his suit, Kyle dragged the Joker over to the shattered window, which stretched all ten feet from the floor to the ceiling of the story, and began to beat him. He did not know for how long, only that when he was done, he was unable to fully open his hands, so damaged were the bones in them. He stared at the man who had caused his father so much pain. He looked strangely pathetic; a skinny, sickly man, his green hair plastered to his bloody, swollen face. "Such a small, sad man to have caused such chaos and destruction." It had been years before Bruce would talk to him about the Joker, and even then he would only speak in vague terms, refusing to recount specific incidences. Yet even so, Kyle could see how greatly his father was tormented by the memory of the man. Kyle remembered sometimes waking up to find his father clutching at the air in his sleep, screaming "Never again!" He would soon awake, and apologize for his foolish actions, but it never changed what Kyle had seen. "Sometimes, I regret not killing him." he remembered his father saying. "Everytime I look at you I…" but he would never finish.

"Oh don't stop now." The Joker's voice shook Reese from his memories. "My sinuses are finally starting to clear." Years of rage were channeled into another brutal punch, shattering several of the Joker's teeth.

"I'm going to ask you one question." said Reese.

"Please show some originality and don't ask, 'Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"Oh don't worry about that. Just tell me, does it bother you that you were wrong." The disfigured grin seem to fade slightly from the Joker's face.

"You clearly missed the start of the show."

"But I caught the end of it. I saw a kid prove you wrong: a kid who wouldn't stoop to your level even when looking death in the eye. You couldn't break him. You couldn't break the Batman."

The Joker let out one sharp, humorless laugh, and spat a glob of bloody spit into Reese's eye. "I'm about to break you, aren't I?"

This time it was Reese's turn to laugh. "I was born broken." He pulled his last batarang from his pocket and held it above his head, eyes locked on the Joker's murderous, blood shot ones. As his arm tensed, ready to deliver the fatal blow, he heard a voice say, "Reese, No!" He turned his head to see Batman standing in the doorway. He opened his mouth to respond but before he could he felt a sharp, cold bite, as a blade passed through his throat.

Chapter 18

Bruce's body throbbed as he sprinted up the stairs of the Gotham News Agency, taking the steps four at a time. But despite the severity of his injuries, the pain was a mere nuisance; his thoughts were focused only on Reese. "Of course he would go after the Joker once he saw the news. He is a soldier and I took away his enemy. So he found a new one." But Reese wasn't aware of the full reality of the situation. He could very well be John Connors would-be father, making him as essential to Connors conception as Sarah. "And he is still recovering from the bullet wound in his abdomen. He does not know how unpredictable the Joker is. Unpredictability is dangerous. One misstep on Reese's part and it could all be over." He forced his legs to pump faster. The sound of grunts and uneven footstep stopped him in his tracks. In the dim bluish light of the spiral stairway, Bruce saw a shadow making its way down across the stone wall. He braced himself for a fight, but relaxed when he saw the owners of the shadow: two adolescent boys. One boy's pant leg was soaked red with blood and he seemed to be in a state of semi consciousness. His arm was draped around another boy, whose black hair was plastered across his sweaty, battered face. The boy laid eyes on Bruce, and Bruce could see the fierce determination in the boy's eyes replaced by relief and awe. "Ba...Batman. Oh my god…"

"Give him to me." Bruce said, nodding to the semi conscious one and extending his arms.

"No. I can take him. The Joker, he's up there. You have to stop him." The gritty resolve returned to the boy's eyes, though his legs shook and seemed ready to collapse. Bruce knelt and tore off a strip of his cape.

"Oh I intend to do more than that." He said as he began to tightly wrap the strip around the bleeding's boys thigh, cutting of the circulation to the leg and slowing the blood that was seeping through what looked to be a stab wound. "There are policemen surrounding the building, they'll be able to help your friend. You just worry about getting him there." Bruce then raised his gloved hand and grabbed the boy's shoulder. "Son, the world needs more people like you in it." Then he sprang to his feet and began to sprint up the stairs. When he reached the fourteenth floor, he stopped and put his ear to the metal door.

"was born broken." he heard. But it was not the Joker's voice. He kicked it open and instantly took in his surroundings. There was a women, lying on the ground dead, but that was not what caught his eye. By the large shattered window that looked out over the Gotham city skyline, Reese had the Joker pinned to the ground, and was brandishing a batarang above his head.

"He's going to kill him. And why should I stop it? Why should I try and save this monster." But even as Bruce though it, he heard himself shouting, "Reese, No!" Kyle looked at him, confusion in his eyes. He didn't see the knife that the Joker had silently slid from his pocket. Bruce shot forward but it was too late. He could see the blade disappear into Reese's neck, and emerge with a spray of red. Reese began to reach up towards his wound, but before his hand made contact the Joker arched his back violently. The sudden motion launched Reese forward, off balance, and the Joker finished the job by grabbing his shirt and yanking him the rest of the way over the side. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Bruce saw Reese go over, accelerating towards the concrete below. As he dove over the ledge and off the building, he heard the Jokers hysterical laughter echoing behind him. "Not enough time." he thought as he plummeted down head first, as aerodynamic as possible. He was closing the gap between himself and Reese, but not fast enough. He could see the concrete that would be their doom careening towards them. His arms extended to their max, grasping for Reese who was only inches away. "Not a bad death." he thought. "But death all the same. I'm not ready to die just yet". His fingers closed upon Reese, and he spun around, so that he was on the impact first and hopefully cushion Kyle's fall. Just meters from the ground, the microfibers in his cape extended, and for a moment Bruce thought that they just might survive this. Then they impacted and everything went black.

When Bruce opened his eyes he saw only a hazy darkness, which gradually began to clear. He could hear people shouting in the background, but what their voices carried no relevance. He sat up, hardly noticing the explosion of pain that engulfed every bone and muscle, and saw Reese lying a few feet from him. He crawled over to the man, and saw almost instantly that it was hopeless. His eyes were barely open, the slight wheezing sound coming from his mouth was the only sign that he was still breathing. Blood gushed from his neck and rapidly pooling on the pavement around him. "I can at least comfort him in his last few moments." Bruce thought as he reached down and grabbed Reese's hand. A slight sign of awareness seemed to appear in his eyes at the touch, and he gripped Bruce's hand with the desperate strength of a dying man.

"F...f." Bruce leaned down closer. "Father...for...forgive…" And then the weezing stopped, and Reese was gone. The fall he had just taken was nothing compared to the impact the Bruce felt. "Men say all kinds of things in their final moments. It doesn't mean…" But Bruce knew it did. Maybe he had known all along, if only subconsciously. They had the same eyes, the same facial structure. The same drive. "No wonder I saw so much of myself in him." Then something pierced through the ambient shouts and sirens, a sound all too terribly familiar to Bruce, the Joker's laugh. There he was, clothes torn, face beaten, standing at the entrance of the Gotham News Building. Bruce didn't remember getting up, only that he was walking towards him, the man who had been the cause of so much needless death and destruction. The Joker's mouth was moving, but Bruce couldn't hear, or maybe he just didn't want to. His hands wrapped around the man's throat and slammed him against the metal wall of the building. There was no one else in the world. "Just me and the Joker. Maybe that all it has ever been; two sides of the same coin, locked in an eternal battle. But no more. Tonight, it ends. The laughter had been replaced by a smile, so content and at peace that it was almost worse. Bruce may have been screaming, he did not know. The world was utterly silent and utterly ablaze at the same time. A quick twist of his hands and it would all be done. He could feel his arms tense, feel the bones in the Joker's neck begin to snap. And then the deed was done.

Chapter 19

Everything else was blurry. No matter how hard Sarah Connor tried, from the moment she had shot Alfred to the moment she found herself back in Bruce Wayne's guestroom bed, all she could recall were fragmented images. Only one memory was clear. The gun was in her hand, but she could hardly feel its weight. She was staring through the rain at a figure on the ground, his eyes that she had come to love staring lifelessly up at the sky. Yet she wasn't overcome despair as she would have expected. Instead she was gripped by a cold, unfeeling determination. "Fate." she thought. "This has always been his fate. She raised the gun. "Just as this is mine." The Batman had the Joker pinned against the wall, his gloved hands wrapped around the Joker's thin, pale throat. Someone was shouting incoherently, but Sarah tuned it out. Her mind and senses were focused in a way that she had never before experienced. She leveled the Joker's head within the iron sights. Despite the distance and her lack of experience, she had never been more sure of herself. For a brief moment she saw Kyle's face, thought of his baby that would soon be growing inside her, but she pushed it from her mind. "The time for grief will come. The time for action is here." She squeezed the trigger, the butt of the pistol kicking against her palm. She felt that she could almost see the bullet racing through the rain, towards its target. It impacted, shooting through the Joker's left eye socket. And then the world dissolved into cloudy images once more: the batmobile racing into view, firing canisters into the midst of the police officers that were surrounding the building. Smoke filling the air. Someone grabbing her. Rain drops making watery paths as they rolled down a windshield. Blackness.

"I trust you got a healthy dose of rest." Sarah raised her head and saw Alfred standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. A pang of guilt shot through her.

"Alfred...I'm sorry. I…"

"The bullet passed clean through, Miss Connor. I have lived through much worse. A weary smile crossed his face and then was replaced by a much sterner look. "That being said, I trust you will never do such a thing again. Beyond the wound, you put yourself at far too great of a risk. Everything Reese.. fought for, could have been undone. Hearing his name out loud caused all the strength she had to desert her. Despite her best efforts, tears began to run down her cheeks. "I...couldn't save him. God, why couldn't I save him!?" Alfred crutched over to her and sat beside her on the bed.

"Maybe that was his fate." he said. It was meant as a gesture of reassurance, but it sparked anger inside of Sarah.

"I've heard enough of fate! Fucking fate, God! I never asked for this...this." Despite her best efforts, tears were welling up in her eyes. "Goddammit. I...I never wanted this." Alfred said nothing, but she felt him lay a hand on her shoulder.

After several moments he spoke up. "It is my personal belief that burdens are only given to those who can bear them."

Sarah let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Then you're wrong."

"Maybe." Alfred chuckled. "But if I am, you won't be the one to prove so.

Alfred crutched down Wayne Manor's extensive hallway as fast as he could, heading for the master bedroom. There was screaming coming from the room, Bruce's screaming. Alfred's mind raced, thinking of all the possible enemies that may have uncovered the identity of the Batman, and seen this as the best chance to kill him, while he was weak and injured and bedridden. When he reached his destination he threw open the doors and lurched into the room, one of his crutches catching on the thick Persian rug covering the floor. He toppled over and fell hard on his shoulder, but within an instant was struggling to his feet, scanning the room for an enemy but finding none. Instead he saw Bruce squirming in bed, his hands reached up in the air and clenched as if strangling some invisible foe. "Never again!" he shouted in a voice filled with rage and anguish.

"Master Bruce." said Alfred as he limped over to the bedside. "It's alright. Wake up sir. It's alright." Bruce's eyes snapped open, locking on Alfred, and for a moment it seemed that he was going to give up strangling the air and move onto the butler. But in an instant his eyes had softened again.

"Hello Alfred." The old butler let out a sigh of relief and slumped down next the the bed, cold sweat plastering his thinning white hair to his forehead.

"Hello Master Bruce. I'm afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself coming in here. These crutches have not been my friends of late." He gestured at the crutches laying close to where he had fallen.

"Crutches? What happ…" Bruce began to sit up, then winced in pain.

"Something that pales in comparison to the injuries that you have received. When you dragged yourself out of the Batmobile three days ago with Sarah Connor in tow, you had a dislocated shoulder, a moderate head concussion, six fractured ribs. severe lacerations on your face, along with the second-degree burns on your back from the night before, the bullet wound in your other shoulder…"

"I get the point. They're hindrances, nothing more. Three days?" Alfred nodded. "And Sarah is alright, I take it?"

"More than alright, sir. We have already begun her training."

"Training?"

"At her request. What knowledge and skills I can offer her I have been. It's all elementary at this stage, basic medical and self-defense skills, but she picks it up quickly. She's stronger than she gives herself credit for."

"She'll have to be." Alfred could tell Bruce's mind was on something else. He was looking at Alfred, but not seeing him.

"Reese." Alfred thought. "His death is haunting even his dreams." "Master Bruce, Reese's death was not your fault. He was a soldier who knew and accepted the risks."

"But I distracted him. I took his eyes off the Joker, otherwise he would have been able to intercept that knife. If I had just…"

"If. Life can be spent in regret asking if. What if your parents had decided not to leave the theatre early? What if a bat never crashed through the window when you sat is this very house, dying in your own blood? There are no ifs only what is, and you can make it be."

"I used to believe that, but now… Maybe it was my parent's fate to leave the theatre, and Joe Chill's fate to be walking down that alley at that exact moment. Maybe it was Reese's face to die that night, and my fate not to be able to save him. If the future is already set, then what is the point to struggling against it? Why do we fight what can't be changed?"

"Why do we fight?!" Alfred was startled at the anger in his voice. "We fight because we believe there are things in this world worth fighting for. The moment you cease to believe that, you are lost." For a while, Bruce made no response, just lay there in silent contemplation. Alfred found himself staring into Bruce's eyes, trying to decipher the thoughts that were so obviously tormenting him. "Something shook him last night that he's not telling me. Shook him even worse than even Ms. Kyle's death." Alfred felt a wave of relief wash over himself when he saw the anguish and rage in Bruce's eyes begin to be replaced with a steely determination. "That's the Bruce I know, he thought."

"You're right." said Bruce. He began to sit up, his face contorted in pain. "There are things worth fighting for." He slid his legs off the bed, took a breath, and stood up. His whole body seemed to shudder, but he remained on his feet. "Some breakfast if you would Alfred, I need to regain my strength. We have a lot of work to do."

Chapter 20

Every muscle in her body ached, her mind was still recovering from the onslaught of information she had received, yet Sarah had never felt more content. She had the beginnings of a plan, and more importantly, she had direction, purpose, and resolve.

At first she didn't know why she needed to leave. Bruce and Alfred had emphasised time and again that she should stay at Wayne Manor where she would be safe. Bruce would train her, and together they would study Cyberdyne systems, and hopefully be able to prevent Skynet from ever coming online. Sarah wanted to believe him when he said that, but she could not. Judgement Day was coming, she could feel it in her bones. It could not be stopped, but it could be prepared for. That was now her purpose, to prepare herself and most importantly, her unborn son for the armageddon that was bearing down on them. "Then why don't I stay?" she thought. She was not able to give an adequate answer when they first asked her, but now, looking at them for possibly the last time, the reason came to her. "Because here, I will always be someone who needs protection. No matter how much I train or how skilled I become, when they see me they they won't see a fellow soldier, they'll see a victim of circumstance, who must be kept safe at all cost. If I am to be able to protect my son, I must first be able to protect myself."

It had been a week since Kyle had died, since she had shot the Joker, and since she had woken up it had been nothing but nonstop training. For three days, Alfred had taught her basic self defense techniques, as well as marksmanship and rudimentary medical practices. On the third day, when Bruce had recovered enough to get out of bed, her life had become a whirlwind. Brutal combat methods that may help even the odds against an opponent with superior size and strength, exercises aimed at strengthening the body and focusing the mind. Vehicular training, weapons training, even basic psychology. A week had passed and already she felt transformed. "Or maybe this is who I have been all along, except now I have something to fight for."

It was an overcast day, and Sarah could see dark, ominous clouds looming on the horizon. She turned back to where Alfred and Bruce stood, side by side on the long, gravel driveway, the vast walls of Wayne Manor rising up behind them. Bruce held out his hand, a flat rectangular object between his fingers. Sarah reached out and took the object. It was a Gotham Express credit card, the plastic face generic and slightly scratched. Nothing to distinguish it from the million other cards like it in the city. "This is linked to a untraceable dummy account. I'll keep it well supplied, so you will always have financial support. But make sure not to draw attention to yourself. Don't live under the same identity for too long. Stay on the move, and train." Sarah nodded and slid the card in her pocket.

"Remember that you are always welcome here." said Alfred. "You need not fight this battle alone." Sarah nodded but said nothing, for fear that her voice would betray the sorrow that was beginning to surface. Instead she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his thin frame.

"Thank you, Alfred." she said. Her father, Daryl, had been a drunkard, gambling away the family savings and then walking out on Sarah and her mother. The thought of him paying child support was a joke, for they never even received so much as a call from him since he had left. In a few short days, the old, wizened butler had become more of a father to her than her biological one had ever been. Alfred returned the hug and whispered in her ear.

"Next time, don't aim for the leg." Sarah pulled away from him and saw that despite the thin smile he wore, there was no humor in his eyes."

"I will." She then turned and locked eyes with Bruce. Now that she knew the truth, it was so obvious. Wayne was thicker, his hair black instead of sandy brown, his face fuller and lacking Reese's raw, weathered look, but otherwise their resemblance was unmistakable. It was their eyes, both had a certain steel in them, a hardness that paid testament to the burdens they carried. Bruce opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again and held out his hand. Sarah clasped it.

"You are a fellow soldier now." he said. Sarah nodded. She didn't know if what he said was true, but it was what she needed to hear.

"You always gave me hope, Bruce. Not as Bruce Wayne, but as Batman. When everyone else in this city seemed broken, you remained unbent. I never understood why you did what you did, risk your life to save people who owed you nothing. But I think I do now." she leaned in and embraced Bruce, and as she did so, whispered in his ear. "Take care of Kyle for me." The word seemed to be a physical blow to Bruce. She could feel the muscles in his back and neck clench as she said them.

"I will." he said in a voice that seemed to be chiseled from granite. "That is a promise." Sarah let go and turned away without another word. It was too much for her; the thought of Reese, the thought of leaving, the thought of what was to come. But she could not show weakness, not now in front of them. She opened the door to the faded-red Toyota pickup parked on the gravel behind her and slid into the driver's seat. The truck was battered and inconspicuous looking, but well maintained. Concealed under her seat a sawed-off Remington shotgun, and at her waist was a Smith and Wesson revolver. She rested her hand on the weapons handle, as if to reassure herself it was still there, then started the truck and began to drive down the driveway that cut through the perfectly maintained lawn of Wayne Manor.

Hours passed and the Gotham skyline began to slowly fade into the distance. She had no clear destination in mind, just away. Three hundred miles later she pulled into a gas station with a quarter tank. As she was filling up, she thought of Selina. The plucky, charismatic waitress had been one of her only real friends, and she had left without so much as a goodbye. "I'll be able to get into contact with her." She thought, wondering how much of her story she could tell, and how much Selina would believe. Selina Kyle, Kyle Reese. Everything she thought of kept leading back to him. That's why she had asked Bruce for a portable tape recorder before she left. The tapes would be for John, but the making of them would be for herself. She felt it was vital to document Kyle, to assure that no matter what happened to her, there would always be some testament of him. "Bruce Wayne" she thought. "Kyle will live on through him as well as me." A click and a flash interrupted her thoughts and she turned her head to see a young, Hispanic boy lower his Polaroid camera and examine the picture that slid out.

"Tres dolorès por favor?" Sarah sighed and took out the bills, handing them to the enthusiastic boy in exchange for the picture. "Muchos gracias." Said the boy, running away. Sarah examined the image as it slowly materialized. Nothing really noteworthy, just a closeup of her face, pondering with a distant look in her eyes. She hung up the diesel hose and opened the door of the pickup. As she did so an envelope fell from a compartment in the door and hit the ground. She stopped down and grabbed the envelope, opening it to reveal a folded piece of paper inside. She unfolded the paper and began to read.

"Sarah. I wanted to thank you for what you did the night Reese died. If you had not fired that shot, I would have taken the first step into an abyss from which I would never have escaped. Despite the code that I hold myself to, I would like you to know that I believe taking the Joker's life was justified. I pray that you will never be forced to make such a decision again, but you are a soldier now, one with a duty of unsurpassed importance, and therefore may be required to do things that will haunt you indefinitely. Don't become a prisoner of your anger and your grief as I have. Instead become a protector of what is most important in this world: human life. These last several nights I have been unable to sleep, feeling as though I am a pawn in a scheme that I have no control over; that I am a puppet whose actions are dictated by fate. Yet I have found comfort in something Kyle said to me and hopefully you can find comfort in it as well. The future is not set, there is no fate but what we make."

Bruce laid the rose down on top of Selina Kyle's newly placed headstone. Her grave had been dug next to his parents: Thomas and Martha Wayne. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you." Bruce said. "You were taken from this world too early." He turned and began to walk back towards Wayne Manor, feeling the light impact of raindrops as he did so. Alfred was at his side, face solemn and mournful.

"Ms. Kyle, Commissioner Gordon, Mr. Reese. This was has just begun and already too many have been lost." the butler said. Bruce nodded but said nothing. His eyes were locked on the Gotham city skyline. The city had fallen into chaos in the wake of the attack of the GCPD. With Gordon dead, and the Batman nowhere to be seen for several days, violent crime was at an all time high. Arkham was in shambles and a new anarchist gang that called themselves the Jokesters, sporting similar face paint and clothing of the deceased serial killer, had carried out a series of fatal attacks on police and other city officials. Yindel seemed unable to bring order back to the streets.

"I suppose I will not be able to convince you to continue to rest and wait for you injuries to heal, sir."

"I've rested long enough Alfred. Gotham needs me."

"The world needs you." Bruce nodded. It was true. He could no longer focus exclusively on Gotham. His primary objective had to be preventing Skynet from ever coming online. It had to be stopping judgement day. But he could not stand and watch as his city burned. He still had a promise to keep.

"There's a storm coming, sir." Alfred said, surveying the cloudy skies. Just as he said so, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, the thunder reaching their ears one second later. Bruce looked out at Gotham, as rain began to hammer down on his face.

"I know."

End of Part 2