Coalition

Chapter Four: Die Macht

'Obedience

Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth

makes slaves of men and of the human frame

A mechanised automation' Percy Bysshe Shelley

The guards were nice enough. Surprisingly. They knew how to have a good time and yet none of them ever took the piss out of the inmates. Must be fear or something, I guess, he observed. Flash had settled in quickly, the island was far larger than he had ever imagined it to be. He had heard many, many stories about the size of the island but very little could prepare him for the actual thing.

The island used to be an area of Gotham but as the population of the criminally insane increased exponentially, so did Arkham Asylum. There wasn't much of an argument to prevent the eviction of residents: it was either them or madmen running loose in the streets of Gotham. It was a move that was met with international disagreement but Gotham didn't really care; the international community did not fully understand just how dangerous the insane of the city were.

The island itself was split into three significant sections: Arkham, Arkham East and Arkham West. Each area had two or so buildings of significance that held all the authority of the Gothic era within its old and confrontational architecture. It was within the central section that Flash was mostly situated. He dove from one side to the other occasionally to check up on the news but there was very little happening and so very little to protect the coffee machines from his violent wrath.

"Those machines don't like you." observed a plump, middle-aged security guard whose name was Tom.

"You should see the one back at the Watchtower," explained Flash, "Sprayed nuke-hot coffee in my face. Twice."

"Hahaha!" laughed a thinner, younger guard who had introduced himself as Ed, "Guess they really don't like you!"

"Have you ever tried tea?" asked a young, 'ginger' English student, "Has higher levels of caffeine than coffee."

"You're kidding me?" asked Flash, refusing to believe that he had been fighting coffee machines half his life when there was a more pacifistic beverage that would have the desired effect in larger quantities than coffee.

"Yes," replied the English doctor whose name was Liz, "But it does taste better."

"Why're you over here anyway?" asked Flash, unable to restrain his curiosity, or his flirting nerve, anymore, "Gotham's hardly a Caribbean getaway."

"Gap year," replied Liz, "I'm training to be a psychologist. Figured Arkham Asylum would be the best way to pick up experience."

"Got way more than you expected then, eh?" asked Tom, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah," she replied, "Wasn't expecting a break-out on my first day."

"Happens a lot," explained Ed, "Can't get the funding."

A silence fell on the small group. They had been crowded into a small room whose dimensions were of such insignificant proportions that the Flash didn't even bother to consider thinking about them. There was a massive terminal, which took up the entire wall of the most eastern side. Above the terminal were hundreds of miniscule televisions which each relayed footage from the cameras situated around Arkham. The tiny tellies relayed in particular images in the, now mostly empty, maximum security cells.

"What're you doing here?" asked Liz, whose startling blue eyes pierced Flash's own, "I thought you'd be off saving some baby in a flat-fire."

"No stereotypes in England?" asked Ed, chuckling slightly at his own political jab.

"So?" asked Liz, ignoring Ed.

"Bats sent me here." stated Flash, forgetting that no one knew of Batman's predicament other than Commissioner Gordon, Alfred and the Justice League.

"Bats?" asked Liz, unaware of the Batman's unfortunately commonly-used nickname, "Bats sent you over here?"

"The Batman," explained Tom, "The more insane inmates abbreviate his name to Bats, the Bat or B-man."

"Why would he send you here?" asked Liz.

"He's scary, I'm not," explained Flash, "Besides, I'm the fastest man alive, an island this big is no problem for me to cover. He clearly trusts in my abilities to stop anymore inmates breaking out."

"Then why were you so miserable when you arrived?" asked Tom, wittily.

"I'm gonna get a coffee." stated Flash before walking out of the room, completely forgetting that tea would have been a safer and less hot option.

***

"You have to hand it to 'im boys and gals," began the Joker callously, garish in his purple suit, "He can dodge."

"You didn't fight this well last time," snapped Bane who landed a ferocious two handed blow onto Batman's broad back, firing him into the floor and toward the shattered shards of the sandy-brown chair, "What changed?"

"He didn't dodge that one." observed the Scarecrow simply.

"He could have." stated another, from whose mouth echoed a feminine voice.

"Could have, should have, would have," retorted the Joker, "Fact is, Bats never has any 'could haves', 'should haves' or 'would haves'. He's getting tired."

"Well?" roared Bane, whose massive and inconceivable bulk blocked out all of the light from Batman's vision. The Bat was too busy looking up, expecting a punch or assault from the arms. He had not been expecting Bane's tree-trunk-thick legs to propel him through the air into the wall as though he were a ball. He picked himself up and glared slightly.

"Ooh," cooed the female voice, "He's limping."

Batman held his left chest. Two ribs had been broken clean in two. Potentially, he could be bleeding internally or at least be in the process of starting to. He looked up at the aggressor. Bane was a tall man in his own right, containing within his tanned muscular frame a powerfully lethal strength of his own, but with the venom, things got a whole lot worse.

The liquid, whose colour seemed to change within the iridescent light that peered through the gaps where Bane's frame did not blot it out, pumped furiously into the man's veins whenever Bane felt he required it. With the venom, his strength increased tenfold, his height increased and his bulk became ridiculous. In situations in which Bane had his venom, Batman needed his stamina and strength to outmanoeuvre and out-speed his opponent.

The other problem with Bane was that he was smart. He had orchestrated several Arkham break-outs in his time, several from the inside without the use of armament. He could analyse fighting ability and moves as well as Batman himself could in his exhausted condition. Bane's countering ability was increased only by Batman's distinct lack of strength. Zsasz on his own could be dealt with. Killer Croc on his own was not so bad. Even Bane, on his own, wasn't such an awful dilemma. All three in succession was definitely bad.

"He's usually a lot better at dodging," stated the Penguin, "Even when he's physically exhausted. The wounds Zsasz inflicted must have taken more of a toll than we had previously surmised."

"Penguin's right, Batman," spat Bane, whose phlegm fired towards Batman in an unpleasant fashion. Bane's eyes, analytical, cold and violent, peered through the white and black mask and stared at his weakened foe, "You're not doing very well. You may very well collapse before I can even land another blow on you."

"What'll you do if he dies, Mistah Jay?" asked Harley in her annoyingly singy-songy way.

"He won't." assured Joker.

"What if he does though?" asked Harley, pressing the buttons only an idiot, mainly Harley, would press.

"Yes," droned a boring and curious voice, "I would also like to inquire as to what you would do if he dies before he gets to you?"

"Oh," said the Joker, "He won't. I know him. He won't. He may be dying when he gets to me but he certainly won't be dead. Ooh, Pengy, how long has it been?"

"Well," explained the Penguin, "Killer Croc had one hour and twenty minutes. So it's been three hours and a half since he woke up. Two hours and a half since the 'torture' began."

"… Are we including the first hour as part of the torture?" asked another voice.

"Yeah, the torture of waiting for the first part of the violence to begin!" cried the Joker.

"So, if everyone has an hour each from now on, there will be precisely fourteen hours of torture." said the voice, thinking out loud.

"That's the plan!" cackled the Joker, somehow ignorant of the irony of his statement with regards to past statements made i.e. the ones about him trying to show people how pointless plans are. Not that the Joker ever cared about being contradictory. If it were a job, the Joker would have embodied it.

"Couple of broken ribs," panted the Batman after exhuming a couple of millilitres of blood from his mouth, "Won't stop me beating you down."

"Now we're talking!" exclaimed Bane, meaning his statement in both the literal and figurative sense. Literal as they had actually exchanged words, hence talking, and figuratively as Bane was quite happy about Batman finally finding his inner desire to fight.

"You said he was good at dodging," observed yet another voice, "Let's see how good he is with two broken ribs impairing his movement."

***

Flash was beginning to think that Bats didn't like him. In fact, the thought had occurred to him several times before but he never seemed to act upon his theory. The fact Batman had placed him on Arkham Island raised a few questions. It was clear that his speed would be an advantage; allowing him to get from one side of the island to the other a lot faster than his Justice League colleagues – much to Superman's silent annoyance. However, not a single clue had turned up yet and he was beginning to wonder if there were any.

"So why did the Batman send you here?" asked Liz, far too curious for Flash's liking, "Not to keep an eye on empty cells, surely?"

"Can't tell you that," replied Flash proudly, "Official League Business."

The phrase 'Official League Business' had, in the past, been abbreviated to OLB as it was simply a habit of humans to shorten words. In fact, in the groups who were in constant contact with the League, most of the terms had been shortened to acronyms or nicknames. Even Batman, to his disgust, had been abbreviated to B. However, as Arkham was only ever in regular contact with Batman, such words would have only raised confusion.

"Of course," said Liz, "I forgot you Americans are all into the 'classified' stuff."

"And you're not in England?" asked James, determined to get as many criticisms in as he could physically manage.

"Freedom of Information Act," retorted Liz, "MP's expenses. If anything is classified, it's only because the media hasn't found a journalist with the balls."

"I hate politics." groaned Flash.

"Don't we all?" agreed Tom who was annoyed at the political spat between James and Liz. It was quite obvious they were flirting. They weren't even trying to hide it. What an interesting date those two would have. They'd end up scaring away all the potential customers with their boring conversation about the political affairs of Great Britain and the United States of America.

Flash sighed, blotting the dull argument out of his mind. Instead, his eyes shifted to the tiny tellies above his head. Without his permission, his body leant forward, his entire soul focusing on one, single screen. The pictures shifted every so often, each telly being responsible for four different cameras. It was on the third picture that Flash's body stiffened and his mind screamed through his mouth, "STOP!"

The other three in the room leapt slightly. Tom turned around to stare at Flash, his eyebrows falling into a deeply contorted confusion, "Stop what?"

"That picture there!" exclaimed Flash pointing at the telly which had grabbed his attention, "Stop it on the third camera."

Tom obeyed and the third camera relayed patiently its image to the onlookers who watched, furiously trying to focus their eyes to what the Flash had seen. None of them could though. Flash could. He could tell immediately that it was a loop, a loop with a message written in plain text that flashed up every five seconds. To Flash's light-speed eyes, the message could be seen and read, but to the inexperienced human eyes of the trio, there was nothing miraculous or special to behold.

"What're we looking at?" asked Tom.

"Uh," began the Flash before remembering that no one was to know of Batman's capture, "Nothing. I have to go, thought I saw a shadow in the picture. I'll check it out. You guys can carry on doing… whatever it is you were doing."

Flash shot out of the room before anyone could voice their disapproval. A grin a mile wide stretched upon his face. The message, a message only he could have seen, was sent by Batman. Bats hadn't placed him on the island because he wanted him out of the way: he put him on the island so he could unravel the clues that were tailored to him. The message had told him to, "Race to the highest point of Arkham and look east."

Bats trusted him. Flash smiled, but in his haste, forgot to inform the rest of the League of his discovery. Each of the paths Batman had set for the League, had specifically tailored clues. Only the League member on that particular path would be able to decipher them. The League had little more than six hours to rectify the situation before finding the clues and locating Batman within the time limit became impossible.

***

"You narrowly missed that," stated Bane, clicking the bones in his fists for no reason other than his own pleasure. The sound, through no fault of his own in his weakened condition, caused Batman to flinch ever so slightly and so Bane found the action quite an amusing one, "Next time you won't be so lucky."

Batman was now too tired to reply. He had been too tired to reply before but had found his mouth moving anyway, much to his disapproval. After all, this was the man who found it difficult to relax if his left eyelid blinked without his knowledge, or so people had been led to believe. Batman sighed and allowed his body a delicate and deep intake of breath. The consumption of oxygen was received gratefully.

One fist shot towards the Bat's head whilst the other, under the cover of the first, aimed for his stomach. The first one missed but the second once brushed the Bat's arm as he dove out of the way. On contact with the floor, he rolled but the damage to his arm was more severe than he thought and it screamed out in a perfectly synchronised cry, timing itself to the yells produced by the damaged tissue around by his broken ribs.

Slower, he told himself, I need to think slower and move faster.

It was a task easier said than done but that did not discourage the almighty black creature from trying. Bane strode forward and clasped his hands together, attempting to connect them with the skull between the ears of the black cowl. Batman side-stepped, doggedly and gracefully dodging the blow but missing the second, which slammed into his side as he tried to move out of its path. Flying into the wall once more, the two broken ribs cried out in discontent.

"You've got slower," stated Bane, "Much slower."

Blood trickled down from the left hand corner of his mouth as his lips had no longer sought to contain the iron waters due to the tongue's understandable disgust. His sharp blue eyes glared at his attacked with an intensity only the man to whom they belonged could manage. He forced himself to his feet, despite their complaints, and slammed his left fist into his right palm aggressively. Though this was taken as a sign of fight-continuation to Bane, it was in fact, the Bat testing the strength of his punch and the test results were not promising considering who the attacked was.

Dodging is not helping, he rationalised, It's not even helping me withhold what little strength I have. I need to hit him with everything I have in one go and hope he goes down.

Reserving no strength whatsoever, Batman steadied himself on his feet as Bane charged forwards. His first fist flew wide and the black mass was able to dive underneath it and land a solid punch on the rock-hard abs of the tanned fighting machine. The second attack was an assault by the knee which the Bat side-stepped away from before elbowing the bottom rib of Bane's left side. A third attack was unleashed from Bane's entire arm which swung down from the air to thump Batman who stood by his left side. Batman leapt out of the way and kicked Bane's calf with all the strength he could muster at the speed with which he required it.

Bane's left side buckled slightly, his calf falling towards the ground due to the pressure placed on it by Batman's carefully chosen attack. With Bane temporarily distracted, Batman punched, with all that remained of his rapidly diminishing strength, the back of Bane's head. However, Bane felt the attack and it was not enough to throw him into the deep, dark realms of unconsciousness. Two trunks grabbed Batman and launched him forward. Before his mind could register what had happened, Batman had been pinned to the ground by Bane.

"Not so dangerous now," began Bane, "Are you?"

"I don't know," spluttered the Bat, launching a clump of his bloody spit into Bane's left eye, "Odds still seem stacked in my favour."

Bane's left hand released pressure on Batman's arm to wipe the blood from the eye that belonged to the same side. This release in pressure caused Batman to move and the movement was detected by Bane who applied more pressure and leant forward. From here, Batman prayed he had a hard head and launched his own into Bane's. Bane's eyes widened and he, thankfully, fell backwards into unconsciousness. Batman smiled and got to his feet. His assailant had been defeated.

Shit. cursed Batman, allowing himself a swearword. Dizziness filled his head as he shot to his feet. Everything went black. His feet fell under him. His mind struggled to attend to the many complaints of his injuries. Taste, much to the satisfaction of his taste-buds, vanished. Smell sank away into nothingness and sound soon followed, leaving with the echoing, familiar and sickening laughter he had awoken to.

He had been so determined to defeat Bane, that trying to not fall unconscious was a matter that had simply not occurred to his sleepy mind until sound had vanished. His mind fought ferociously against the grey tides of sleep. His battle was strong but the current was stronger and it swept him away with it: forcing his still battling mind into the darkness of unconsciousness, an all too familiar realm.

***

Flash's feet pounded the earth at speeds no human could ever comprehend. He moved so fast that the ground hadn't even time to stir up dust. Since finding the first clue, he had been on a roll; discovering clue after clue after clue. So far, he'd found four and the third clue had told him there were precisely fifty. With his speed, and current progress, fifty would be no problem.

However, he was in such a rush that he didn't contact the League and his mind kept drifting away. Batman had been gone for five hours. What was happening to him, was he okay? Flash knew for a fact that being captured by the Big Bads of his own town wouldn't be good news but the fact was, and Flash was not afraid to admit it, Gotham was home to genuine psychopaths and at that very moment, Bats was at their mercy.

"Hang in there, Bats." ordered Flash as he shot towards the next clue.

A/N: I've had two comments now asking about the Robin, Nightwing and co. I wasn't originally planning to write them in but if people want me to, I'm sure I can manage it.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed! Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks again for reading.