Chapter 3

Everyone Wants Something.

"Master Wayne."

The body in the bed was dead. Or, seemed like.

"Master Bruce."

Again, no reply.

Alfred moved to the bed, seeing the young billionaire lying on his stomach and spread out across the bed. He laid the breakfast tray on the table next to the bed, and proceeded to leave the room.

"Alfred," came Bruce's energy depraved voice.

The manservant stopped, turned 360. "Yes, Master Wayne?"

Bruce then slowly sat up, though groaning. Alfred moved back to the bed, picked up the tray and laid it across Bruce's lap.

Bruce sniffed something funny. His armpits. An incline of the head, a raise of the arms, and-- Geeze!

"Another venture to the underworld of crime?" inquired Alfred, watching Bruce's reaction.

"Something like it," Bruce said, buttering his toast. "I had to go into the sewers to avoid Gordon's men."

"Thankfully you were not snuffed out, sir."

"Wha, don't like Essence de Mierde?"

"I prefer not to, sir."

Bruce shrugged his shoulders as in 'oh well', and then began to eat his breakfast. But as he begin his morning morsel, he recalled his dream. Then his face turned sad. Tired. Pained.

Alfred noticed this. "Did you find anything concerning Maroni, sir?"

"He's not at East Gotham."

"Oh no?"

"No. Gordon's men must have moved him again."

"And so quickly."

"I know. Gordon's up to something, or..."

"For what purpose?"

"To keep the mob chasing, no doubt. But this just doesn't seem like Gordon..."

"You believe there's some inside work."

"Cops can always be corruptible. Maroni's the head; chop it off and you get…"

"Blood, sir."

"Okay, I would have said power."

"Blood is power, sir. The very word is swathed in it."

"Are you trynna say my father killed for his position of power?"

"Of course not. The power you refer to is not the same one which your father earned. Power can be righteous or self-divined. You work for it with your own blood, your own sweat and your own tears, or you pay for it, kill for it, and, in both cases, suffer the innocent."

Bruce nodded. Thinking.

"So," continued Alfred. "What do you plan to do about Maroni, sir?"

"Of course, I need to find him. But if I could just talk to Gordon-"

"You made the choice, Master Wayne. You chose to take Dent's crimes upon yourself, and Gordon's duty is to avenge him. Your remedy is to back out or let Maroni talk."

Bruce said nothing.

"Since the good of Gotham would collapse under both options, your goal is to endure the anger of the world."

Bruce nodded.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you Alfred."

"Oh, and, sir, reminder: you and Mr. Thorne are meeting with Robert Rayeth concerning Harbor Division's inspection."

"…oh yes, yes, thank you. Is that today?"

"It is, sir, at 10 o'clock."

"Crrrrap, I only have one hour. One hour to eat and-- Oh, uh, and am I supposed to congratulate someone?"

"Yes, sir, the man who cracked the terrorists' code."

"That was from our people?"

"Indeed."

"Heh, I can't ignore another hero, now."

"As you shouldn't."

"Mmhmm. Thank you Alfred, I'll get ready."

Alfred bowed his head, saying, "I'll get the car ready," and left.

And Bruce knew he would smell crap on him all day.

He then didn't feel hungry anymore. Realizing his dream again while conscious and knowing he had little time, he put the tray to the side, moved the papers off his bed-

he glanced at them momentarily. A Bombing... a killing... all in one day, yesterday.

He grimaced. Then he stood and walked to the windows.

He still lived in his 'castle' in the city, but Wayne Manor was near completion. Really near. In... what was it, a week?

A month and a half ago, Joker destroyed Harvey Dent.

Two weeks ago, Joker broke out of Arkham, along with other freaks put in there. But while escaping, apparently he had run into a door while a SWAT was coming through it, and he fell into a pool of water. He drowned.

But the others, they managed to escape. Freaks... like Crane.

The freaks were in the streets... looking just like everyone else...

And just recently, clones have popped up.

Crane would likely try to go back into selling his products onto the streets again, but that seemed unlikely considering his reputation was ruined.

And Bruce was so tired. Everyone was hunting him. Everyone was trying to find clues as to who he was. To avenge Dent.

Everyone.

Gordon... the news... the world had turned against him.

But while Bruce could not take it... Batman has to.

Batman has to endure.

But, everyone doesn't get what they want, do they?


I know the cheek thing is annoying to her, but, I've been doing it to her since she was a kid. I'm heavily grateful she is coming down to Gotham to visit me, it's sup—

Dalton came up. "Sir, site is clean."

Commissioner Gordon looked up. Dalton, the new MCU Lieutenant, a young, raven-black haired man, still had that look of horror on his face.

Gordon nodded. "How many assailants?"

"Witnesses say six. Minus the one left in the hotel."

"Let's go check him, then."

The Lucky 1 Hotel, a poor hotel: a sight of murder. Horrid murder. The entire first floor of apartments, the majority of those living there were murdered. Gruesomely. Even the lobby suffered deaths.

Blood smeared the walls wherever Gordon and Dalton went. Everyone was at work to record, study examine, whatever to the site. The halls were plastered with blood and smeared vegetation. Faces of The Joker: eyes and lips.

They came to Room 120. The worst one.

A body lay on the bed, stabbed and shot. The walls were painted with blood, depicting images such as men killing Batman, or Batman killing other men.

The real focus was what lay on the floor.

It was a dead Joker. A knife in his hand, he wore a clownsuit; his face gleaned in pallid white make-up and death, and had been split open by a knife to show an abnormally huge 'smile.' Fresh blood pooled from his mouth as well as the opening in his throat.

Gordon said nothing.

"Camera surveillance shows that the receptionist had joined them as they killed everyone in the lobby," said Dalton.

"Mmm. A follower."

"Yessir."

Gordon wiped his nose. "It looks like the Joker has a fanclub..."

"Anywhere you look could be him or a copy of him. It's like one bad plague, sir."

Gordon wiped the sweat of his forehead, sighing dramatically.

Dalton looked at him curiously. "Sir, are you alright?"

Gordon was lost in his mind for that moment.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

Gordon's eye caught sight of the newsreporters hanging outside the hotel, already starting their report. Better just give them a story. Something that'll appease 'em.

"When we get back to MCU, let's have a chat," said Gordon.

"Yessir."

Then they went outside and dealt with the newsreporters.

--------------------------

Gordon slouched in his chair, back at MCU, and Dalton took the seat across from his desk. They sat silently, not exchanging words. Gordon began pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing

"…Maroni… still missing since last night."

"And still missing."

Gordon forcibly exhaled. Not again… this canNOT happen again.

"What I wanna know is, what was Combs doing when the van disappeared?"

"Combs' men were driving the van, sir."

"I see…"

Dalton sighed. "And I thought with the advent of Dent's work and martyrdom, we could reduce corruption."

"Corruption is an old word, lieutenant, and every person, cop or not, is given a chance to bite the apple. Combs and his men, they're just like the others. Cops want better pay, to fight for a greater ideal… or don't even know what they want. They turn. My guess is as good as yours as to why COMBS in particular took Maroni."

"Maroni still has power."

"That's right...

"...spread the word to your people. Contact Combs's families, and the families of his men; friends, whomever they know who can tell us where they are. We need Maroni back as soon as possible. Maroni is a top priority, you understand lieutenant?"

"Yessir. If word is on the street, I'll assign some men to find out."

"Okay; then tell those guys to be careful."

"Yessir."

"And keep me updated on the hunt of the Jokers; if we can find who's running the operation--"

"Sir, I..."

"...What?"

"Well…"

"…well what?"

"…Maroni, top priority?"

"Yes?"

"I'm merely saying... shouldn't we still focus on capturing the Batman?"

"That has never been out of the focus. But we still need Maroni. The mob is stone cold with him in our custody. Anyone could take the seat from him. Let's hope Combs isn't running the business, and cannot get Maroni's secret out, but the SOONER we find them we'll know."

"…yessir."

Gordon nodded. "Alright. Well, get right on it then."

Dalton "Yessir"'d and then left the office.

Gordon took a breath, and exhaled. He took off his glasses and laid them on the desk, glaring at the papers that became larger in the lens of his seeing glass. The office, still his. He chose to stay at MCU.

He promised the people he would take down the Batman personally, and said he could only do it if he worked on the ground, with MCU, his people.

In fact, the newsreporter inquired as to why the Batman wasn't at the Hotel.

Gordon couldn't answer. He still could not answer. He, too, wondered where Batman was that night.

Jokers popping up... terrorism. Maroni kidnapped... possible mob insurrection.

At least I get to pinch her cheek. Seeing her react will make me smile.

He knew he was a hero. He always knew.

Heroes do good work. They actually do things because they are smart enough to accomplish them.

Dumb people cannot be heroes.

It just didn't work that way.

Eddy was sitting in his office, pondering the next crossword.

Five letters… accidental fish—

"Fluke." He wrote it down in the crossword puzzle.

Smart. As usual.

Having graduated from Gotham Uni, Eddy got hired by Wayne Enterprises and got placed in Harbor Divisions, an attachment to R&D in the development of better computers. Eddy's office was always messy, even though everyones' offices were messy. His was messier. He was always working on something, even non-work related.

He acquired that custom of always doing something when working for the carnival, during his summers while at Gotham U. He abhorred standing around all day doing nothing. So he always brought a notebook. Initially he drew pictures because he liked art, but, soon felt he had no artistic ability.

At least, with pictures and that other shmindlidingly.

Instead he made up stories.

He liked making stories. Especially ones where the audience couldn't understand the ending.

The ending was very important. All themes collide and mesh, all conflicts come to an end (or some, depending on whether a sequel is wanted), a CLASH! Boom, heroes win, villains get punished.

Though after a while of writing, Edward got pressured for time.

So he wrote shorter stories, and he liked to call them 'Nygmatic Riddles.'

And the first riddle he ever cracked, he used it a lot to fool visitors to the carnival into paying more for the ride. Yes, back to high school... Mr. Bronze, his high school English teacher, gave his class a riddle. If anyone got it right, it would be a stepping stone into attaining a scholarship to GU. Almost everyone didn't care because it was a really hard riddle.

But Edward did. And he answered it.

And it's a damn good thing no one ever found out I cheated.

Knock knock on his door.

"Heya, Eddy…" Kyle's voice drifted.

Eddy wheeled around in his chair, facing Kyle, his co-worker, who leaned on the door.

"Hey hey, Kyle XY!" he replied, cheerfully. Always cheerful, always excited. Everyone in school hated his optimistic nature. So, Eddy chose not to deal with those people. Ever. Unless they were dumb enough to be coerced.

"Yeah, 'eeeyyyy, Eddy," Kyle said, walking in. "How're the numbers looking?"

"Oh! Well, let's take a gandy, shall we…" Eddy span around to face his computer.

Kyle chuckled, picking up one of Eddy's toys from the desk. "Y'know, you're quite the star around here, eh?"

Eddy chuckled. "Well, can't be a hard-worker and NOT do hard work, eh?"

Kyle then put the toy down and glanced at Eddy's screen. "Did you even DO the report, Ed?"

"YES, I DID…!" Eddy murmured tensely yet jokingly as he closed out his web access and opened up his documents.

"You're slacking on the job, Eddy!" Kyle laughed.

"Am notttttt."

"Come on, Eddy, you didn't do your work and you're trynna cover it up."

Eddy turned around suddenly. "Am not, Kyle, now HUSH." he sighed. "The last thing I need is another 'Edward, please explain to me your lethargy, please.'" Roll of the eyes and a scoff, he turned back to his computer and finally found the shortcut to the file he needed. "Things I'd like to do to get Bob off of me…"

"Like getting him fired? Eh, dun think the head honcho would like ya getting one of his subordinates fired."

"Ya know what I like?"

"Hmm, do tell."

Eddy grinned, stopped searching and turned to Kyle. "...I like... candy, but it's for my beak. I should train my brain, but my eyes are strained. Money's a gateway, I'm not any younger: call me dumb or call me plainer. Who am I?"

Kyle blinked. Thought for a few seconds...

Eddy grinned even wider.

"...college kid?"

"Bingo," said Eddy. Then back to his computer. "AH! Here we are," Eddy said, emphatically tapping the screen for Kyle to see.

Kyle looked, studied… and nodded. "Alright. Good, Ed, ya got it."

"Aaaaas usual: I DO!" Eddy laughed.

"So do explain to me your lethargy; why dontcha just tell Bob you got it done and move onto his next assignment?"

"BECAUSE…" Eddy turned it down to a whisper. He wanted to say it: no, not now. And he couldn't even tell Kyle.

Kyle started to get interested. "'cause what?"

"I'm…" oh he just had to! "I'm doing a little side project."

"What is it?"

"…it's…" what to do, what to do… think!

"Heya, Ed," in came Rebecca. "You, uh, are needed on the floor."

Eddy checked his watch.

Yep. Time.

A nervous smile. "Coming, Becca."

Becca left. Kyle looked at Ed, grinning. "Mmm, things I'd do for a degree like yours."

Ed shrugged, closing his files and standing up, stretching at the same time. "Things everyone wants to do, eh?" he then looked upon his desk, and looked at the next clue:

Not a flying rat.

Ed grinned. Easy.

"Bat." He wrote.

"Well… anyone could answer the crosswords, Nygma."

Ed just shrugged. "Well: everyone wants something."

And then they left his office for the meeting on the floor.

This would be his chance… his ONE chance. Perhaps he could tell Bruce Wayne his project?