Yay! People have been reading this. Again, you know the deal. I own nothing you recognize.
Supplicant
Johannes Mueller had spent almost his entire life working his way in and out of Gotham's criminal system. He'd been one of those kids who had never had a chance at anything. Growing up with parents who were less than supportive and living in the roughest parts of the Narrows, he was never able to realize his own potential to do good and change the world for the better. He was a lost cause from the moment he took his first breath. Desperation had ruled his life instead of love.
He'd had his first taste of criminal life at the ripe age of twelve when he stole a bike. When he was younger, he'd always wanted one, but his parents couldn't afford it. At least, that's what they used as their excuse. True, they could hardly scrape enough money together for the monthly rent, but they didn't care enough about their son to buy him anything but clothing. They hadn't even planned on having him in the first place, so they got away with the bare minimum when it came to parenthood. As he got older, Johannes learned to use his parents' apathy to his advantage. They never asked him to tell them where he went when he left the apartment, and they hardly noticed when he got back. This only made it easier for him fall into a life of crime.
After he dropped out of high school, his criminal record skyrocketed. Within the span of two years, he'd been arrested on counts of drug possession and distribution, theft, arson, and assault. By the time he reached his twenties, the gravity of his crimes increased. He'd been arrested for mugging and rape numerous times, yet he'd managed to avoid jail time by saving up for a good attorney. However, things changed when he'd committed his first murder. He was caught right at the crime scene, trying to stuff the man he'd killed into a nearby dumpster. No lawyer could argue for his freedom. He'd been sentenced to eight years in prison, but he'd been released on good behaviour after five. No one in the police department was particularly thrilled about this, but they trusted that the terms of his parole would keep him at bay for at least a little while.
Within months of his release he'd been arrested once more for drug possession and distribution. A string a petty crimes followed after those charges. His record began to fill up so quickly that the officers of the Gotham City Police Department could practically greet him by name. They often joked that it was Johannes Mueller that kept them busy. Batman did the rest, the bigger jobs which the GCPD couldn't carry out with their own limited resources. Though, who knew how long it would be until the Dark Knight had to take care of him once and for all?
Mueller pulled his jacket closer to his body as he waited by the docks. He never understood exactly why people had to meet there; the cold that blew in from the water was worse at night, and it wasn't as though they could meet in broad daylight when ships from all over the world were loading and unloading their wares (which were mostly in relation to Wayne Enterprises). The downfall of meeting at nightfall, however, was running into Batman. Yeah right, he thought. He'd always brushed that possibility off as something that would never happen to him. After all, he'd been a criminal all this time without being caught by the masked menace. Even so, he'd keep his eyes alert.
He had a box right by his feet that was given to him by some shady guy on the other side of town only one hour prior. His instructions were to take box to the docks where he'd wait for a man by the name of Jones. He'd followed those directions to a T; the better he carried out his task, the more money he'd be paid. That's how it worked, no matter what task he was supposed to carry out.
"You here for Jones?" another man asked him from the shadows. This startled Mueller, but he quickly regained his composure.
"Yeah. What's it to you?" he asked, trying to get a better glimpse of his new companion.
The mystery man emerged from behind a vacated shed, stepping into the flickering glow of a rusty streetlight. He certainly looked the part of a questionable pick-up guy, from the black trench coat down to the dark boots. He had a gleam in his eye that made Johannes leery of him.
"Well, you just gonna stand there all night?"
The man finally replied, "I'm Jones. Do you have the box?"
"How do I know it's really you?"
Jones chuckled, a skewed smirk on his face. "Look on the inside flaps of the box. It should say 'Allen' somewhere."
The younger man got to his knees, never taking his eyes off of the newcomer. He took his switchblade out of his back pocket. It would be stupid for a guy like him to go unarmed to a drop off. In one fluid motion, he cut through the tape and pried the box open. Tilting the box toward the light, he tried to find the word on the underside of any of the four flaps. Sure enough, the word "Allen" was there in small print. So, this guy was for real after all.
"And I'm just supposed to give it to you, right?"
The other man nodded, "That's what I had in mind, yeah." He walked to Mueller eyed the box on the ground. "I've been waiting for this."
The younger man was curious. "What's inside?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," Jones said. "But, I suppose there wouldn't be any harm in showing you." With that, he knelt down and gingerly began to remove the contents from the box. It was delicate, for it was wrapped in newspaper and bubble wrap. He expertly removed the packaging without the aid of a knife and showed the object to Mueller. "Actually, there may be a little harm in it."
Mueller didn't have time to react. He fell to the ground and saw no more.
Red and blue lights illuminated the docks as a steady stream of police officers examined the area, hoping they could find some evidence and call it a night. Identifying the deceased took all of two seconds, but that wasn't even half of the work. The only things to be found were the deceased, a switchblade, and an empty box. However, the body itself complicated the matter even further.
Batman watched from the shadows above, eager to find out more in regards to the body. From his perch, he could tell that this wasn't some random murder; the corpse was against a tower of imported crates, his wrists nailed into the wood. His head was jerked back at an awkward angle with two coins laid over his unseeing eyes. The killer had somehow managed to maneuver his victim into a kneeling position, implying the pose of a begging or praying man. He'd never seen anything like it.
Lieutenant Gordon looked dazed, running his hand through his hair as he stared at the crime scene. He remembered the days when a simple bullet in the skull was the only method of murder in these parts. The times had changed, and he had no idea how to explain this to the others at the MCU.
"Do you have anything?"
Gordon flinched visibly, looking to his left to see the shadowy mass of the Batman. "You need to stop doing that!" he barked, losing his calm not only because of the late hour, but because of the nature of this murder. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath. "His name is Johannes Mueller. We know him very well over at the MCU—I think he's been there more than he's been at his own home. Charged on various drug counts, arson, rape, murder, you name it. I can't say that I'm devastated by his loss."
"And the coins? The box?" Right to the chase, as usual.
"The coroner said something about some ancient tradition about placing coins over the eyes of the deceased to guarantee safe passage to the next world. And frankly, that's the only thing I've got on that matter. As for the box, empty. Not sure if it means anything, but one of the flaps said 'Allen' on the inside. Could have been a recycled box, for all we know." The lieutenant exhaled loudly and stared at his unlikely ally. "Can you do anything with that?"
"I'll look into it."
"Good enough for me right now," Gordon replied, looking at Mueller's body get bagged up. When he turned around, Batman was gone.
"He really needs to stop doing that."
Unsurprisingly, Alfred Pennyworth was waiting for Bruce when he arrived back at the penthouse. It didn't have the same comfort of Wayne Manor, that was for sure. He'd still found it difficult to make himself at home there, and the time he spent waiting for his master to return passed slowly. It was a relief to hear the door open. The butler had never said it outright, but he had genuine fears for the day when Bruce never walked through that door again. He'd quipped about that day he'd say, "I told you so," to his young master, but he deeply hoped he'd never have to.
"Alfred," Wayne greeted simply.
"Ah, Master Bruce. Glad to see that you've made it into tomorrow. Do you need anything?"
"I need you to stop staying up till all hours of the night to make sure I arrive back safely. That's what, my friend," the younger man replied, giving Alfred a pat on the shoulder.
"Well, I was hoping one of these days I would get paid extra for it," the Englishman replied dryly but jokingly. Thomas and Bruce Wayne had been kind to him. He couldn't possibly ask for anything more of them. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, what kept you?"
Bruce paced over to the nearest chair and slumped down upon it like a bag of cement. Sighing in relief, he closed his eyes before replying, "There was this pretty gruesome murder down by the docks. Young man by the name of Johannes Mueller, and, from what I understand, he had quite the colourful criminal record. The way the body was positioned was like some sort of ancient ritual. There were coins on his eyes, even. I can't make any sense of it."
"Of course you can't, Master Wayne. It's three in the bloody morning!"
Bruce chuckled, "That, and I know nothing about ancient rituals."
"Oh! That reminds me, sir."
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow night you have to be at the Gotham Museum of Anthropology and Archaeology for the opening of the Wayne Wing of the building. Suit-and-tie affair, I can assure you. I'd hope you have a little something prepared for it."
The young man groaned loudly, "That's tomorrow?"
"I'm afraid so, sir. But look at this as an opportunity. I'm sure they know plenty about ancient rituals."
"Alfred, you're an absolute genius."
"I try, Master Bruce. I try my best."
Well, there's the first chapter for you! I hope you found it enjoyable. I'd hate to bore. Please review. It'd make me happy (and my 18th birthday is on Sunday).
