Chapter 4 - Consequences

The paper was fluttering madly in the growing wind as Gotham prepared itself for a rainy night. Low rain clouds hung heavy over the city, their saturated bellies promising a serious downpour. Paul Snadden, eager to get home before the rain hit, nearly didn't stop when his eye caught sight of the paper but after a moment's hesitation, he quickly scooped the paper up and hurried on his way.

As a reporter he knew how scarce 'real' newspapers were – most people didn't bother anymore. Heck, even his own paper had debated the viability of still producing such antiquated editions but since every other paper was still doing it… Paper was expensive, data was cheaper, so it was mostly surprise that promoted him to pick up the paper newspaper and he was even more surprised to find that it was his own paper, The Gotham Star, with the headline he wrote yesterday.

Paul wasn't happy with the headline. The Tribune had beat him to the one he would have preferred. MASKED MENACE sounded so up better than HERO TO ZERO. It was flat, cliché, blasé, ridiculous even, and naturally his editor loved it.

'Run with it my boy, run with it. The plebeians will love it. Zero to Hero… er... Hero to Zero…I like it!'

With a critical eye, Paul scanned the leading story, his story, trying to spot any typos or misprints. The boys in copy had better not have let anything slip through again, not after the 'pubic' affairs fiasco.

"Right, reports of his demise false, masked vigilant back, been hit with the clumsy stick… um… "

It all seemed accurate and what a great story too!

'The masked menace! Man, what a headline, if only Roberts hadn't been so quick off to copy – dreg!'

He had thought it might have been too sensational to call the Batmobile clipping the side of South Tower at Gotham Plaza a near catastrophe but his editor had actually asked him to spice it up a bit more. So the 120 broken windows had become approx. 150 and the 1 million dollars worth of damage had received the vague exaggeration of millions of dollars, which was probably true, as a number of fancy executive type cars had been crushed by the debris.

Paul snorted to himself as he tucked the paper under his arm and walked a little more briskly. He should have mentioned that no one had seen the Batmobile at all since it nearly collided with a shuttle bus during a high speed chase. Seems the Bat was giving his 'ride' a rest and was taking an advanced defensive driving course or something, because there had been no 'sighting' of the car in over a week.

That, fortunately or unfortunately, depending on whether you were a reporter with a juicy story or the mugger with a broken jaw, could not be said for Batman himself. The Dark Knight had put not one, but two crooks in hospital. The first was a mugger who he had decked a little too hard and broken his jaw. The guy was now suing the city. The other, a would be rapist, had been jerked off his feet so roughly he was complaining of whiplash and chronic back pain. Normally the typical complaints and accusations of undue force from apprehended suspects were ignored but when the Bat was already acting so off his game, the complaints were readily lapped up by the press. Paul was certain that come week end, he'd have 20 more such complaints of excessive force – even if Batman hadn't been involved.

Hell, even the cops would be more inclined to believe such claims by then. Batman had royally slagged them off when he crashed through the roof of a major sting operation and all of the bad guys got away and the cops were left with nothing for six months hard work. Not to mention the mayor's police escort that got delayed when a bat boomerang-thing went off right in front of the car and they all thought they were under attack. The mayor had been so pissed that Paul had a direct quote from her calling Batman a 'loose cannon and a danger to the city'. It had been a fantastic end to his story. 'Mayor denounces masked hero.'

Ha!

Paul's happy smugness was instantly cooled as the heavens opened and a torrent of water fell from the sky. Cursing, Paul grabbed the paper and using it as an expensive umbrella ran for his apartment block.

The steady downpour soon turned the paper into useless mush but the words remained, broadcast across the vidnet, safe from the ravages of the weather.

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Trish stared at the small black device in her hand. There was so visible sign that it was working. She had pressed hard in the small depression and had to hope that whatever signal it was supposed to send, was sent. There were no identifying marks or features on the device – it was plain in design and appearance as well as use.

Press and wait, he had said. So she was and had been for a while. She had pressed into it a few more times, just in case but so far, nothing.

The sound of a soft footfall behind her was surprising. If it was him, he was usually so quiet that she had no idea when he arrived until she turned around and just about leapt out of her skin, but maybe it wasn't him…

Patting the squat shape of the switchblade tucked safely away but within easy reach, she casually turned around, prepared to face anyone.

It was him.

He was hunched a little over the roof edge, as if she had caught him mid-step. He sank down into a crouch and waited, his blank white eyes focused solely on her.

Smiling broadly, Trish sauntered towards him and said, "About damn time you got here. I've been trying to find you for days. Where've you been?"

"You have?" he sounded surprised and then said, "What have you got for me?"

She smiled again and drew even closer, and tsked, "I tried all your usual stops in the area, left messages with most of your contacts, you know. I know this," and she held up the small device, "is only for emergencies, but you weren't coming and it is kinda important…"

"Sorry, I've been busy..." again he paused and then said, "I'm here now, what is it?"

Trish's smile was perfect. In her line of work you learnt to smile at everyone and anyone, otherwise you didn't work. So her smile didn't falter but her approach did. Why did he sound so … different? He never made excuses.

Squaring her shoulders and shrugging, Trish took a few more steps towards him, and over the invisible mark he had set her. He didn't say anything, just stared. Another step and he tensed.

Offering her reassuring smile, one reserved for newbies and out of towners, Trish said, "About month ago I heard one of the girl's johns say something about not being able to afford younger ass. That Jade had upped her prices again."

Nothing. He looked completely blank as if … it wasn't something new to him. Mock pouting, she pushed the invisible line and drew even nearer. "You heard this from somewhere else, already?"

He shook his head and stammered, "No… who is Jade?"

He seemed distracted, nervous almost. Trish quickly ran a critical eye over him. He was definitely uncomfortable, and had the same air around him as a …. Newbie! She knew she was dressed for work, hell she was supposed to be working right now and if she didn't know better, she could swear his gaze was fixed on her ample and very visible bosom. It was hard to tell with those expressionless white eyes but still…he had never acted like this before.

Feeling that maybe he was a little lonely, she took another step closer making sure she 'jiggled' nicely. Did he just 'gulp'?

"You know - Jade who used to run the Palace, the one you bust with all those underage kids. Well, obviously it didn't take and she's back."

"Uh huh. I'll … I'll look into it, thanks."

Yeah, definitely lonely and distracted.

Feeling a shiver of excitement, Trish closed the remaining space between them and sighed eloquently, "So, Sugar, same payment as usual or do you want to cash it in for something else?"

He coughed nervously and made as if to draw away but didn't. Slowly, she reached out to touch him and ran a ginger finger down his arm. "So…hard," she smiled. He was frozen, and just stared at her.

Yep, a newbie. Who would have thought?

"Come on, Sugar. Bet there's a hundred girls who'd help you out, and trust me, I'm one of them." She ran her hand over his chest and sighed, "So dark, so mysterious… so alone, right?"

His heart was running a mile a minute but he wasn't backing away. Trying for her most sincere smile, Trish laughed, "We can even keep your mask on, whatever you want honey. Whatever." She pushed as much emphasis as she could into the 'whatever' and watched him swallow nervously.

The kiss was … different. The mask thing made it difficult to feel him but he seemed to know what he was doing. It was a little rough, like kissing someone with a serious beard but still… ok, she was kissing Batman, it was all it needed to be.

He broke the kiss suddenly, flinching as if an electric shock had coursed through him. "Sorry, sorry – no… I've got to go." He stood and stared at her for a moment, before jumping off the building and then zooming off into the night.

Sighing, Trish leant on the wall surrounding the roof and watched the red points of light that marked his flight disappear. So close.

Wondering if she should bother telling the girls about this, Trish stood and said to herself, 'Did he seem shorter or is it just me?'

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Recipient: Mary McGinnis (vidlink account number 75342a2)

From: Principal Marten (Hamilton Hill School)

Cc: Counsellor Towers (Hamilton Hill School)

Subject: Matthew McGinnis

Importance: High and Urgent.

Dear Mrs McGinnis,

It is with a great deal of distress that I find I must write to you with regards to Matthew's behaviour again. Fortunately, he has not been fighting, but within the last 3 weeks he has been tardy on 8 occasions, necessitating two detentions, both of which he has missed. In addition, his teachers report that his attention in class has declined, and that in fact, he is often caught sleeping. This, together with a steady decline in the quality of his work, is a cause for great concern. Mr Towers, our school counsellor, has tried repeatedly to set up an appointment with Matthew, and I have had to resort to pulling him out of class in order to address these issues.

He seems uncomfortable when confronted about his behaviour, but refuses to explain. I must, therefore, bring this to your attention and request an interview with you either this Thursday, or Friday.

This is Matthew's senior year and a vital one for his future prospects. I feel that if we work together, that we may be able to encourage Matthew to straighten himself out.

I look forward to your response.

Yours sincerely

Principal Jean Marten.

Hamilton Hill High School is a duly authorized and constituted public institution of education and falls under the authority of the General Governing Board for Gotham Schools.

This communication contains information which may be confidential, personal and/or privileged. It is for the exclusive use of the intended recipient(s). If are not the intended recipient(s), please note that any distribution, forwarding, copying or use of this communication or the information in it is strictly prohibited. Any personal views expressed in this e-mail are those of the individual sender and Hamilton Hill High School does not endorse or accept responsibility for them. Prior to taking any action based upon this message, you should seek appropriate confirmation of its authenticity.

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"Not your best night, McGinnis, but not your worst. Hit the showers."

Matt stood and stared at Bruce Wayne. The old guy was focused on the computer and hadn't even turned around to speak to him.

Anger had for the past year and half been a constant companion. Matt liked anger. It clarified life's insecurities and just filled you with such… power. That it was fun seeing people back off when you started shouting, was just a bonus. Shouting was good – with everyone except Bruce Wayne. It bounced off him like he had some impassive shield of 'I just don't care.'

But Matt was angry. Angrier than he had ever been in his life. He had tried shouting, tried the silent treatment, tried everything, and still nothing. The anger that he felt now was no longer hot. He no longer burned to get it out. Instead, it lay cold and silent within him and it felt wonderful.

"Go to hell, old man."

His voice was not raised, it barely even disturbed the bats and worked like a dream. Bruce turned around.

"Now what?"

He sounded tired, exasperated almost.

"I'm not doing this any more. You can take your pointy-eared hat and shove it! I'm done."

A raised eyebrow. The stupid, slagging raised eyebrow! Matt hated that eyebrow.

"But you were getting so good."

Sarcasm. That was getting old too.

"Let's face it, old man, I'm crap. And it's over."

"There were no broken bones this week. That's an improvement."

Matt ripped the cowl off and scowled at Bruce, "That's because I damn well didn't go near anyone!"

Again the raised eyebrow.

"She doesn't count!"

Bruce stood, leaning heavily on his cane. "You have to give it more time, Matt. Use the suit properly. It will come."

"Time? TIME! No, old man – I'm done. You won't frigging train me and I don't care if its better that I don't know how to really hurt someone, I need to know something!"

"Terry didn't need any training."

This time the line didn't work and Matt shouted, "I don't give a damn about Terry! Perfect, slagging Terry! I need help, old man and you just sit there and let me make a complete ass of myself … and Batman!"

"I told you that those newspaper articles are part of a smear campaign. Obviously the guy who took down Terry is trying to destroy Batman any way he can. Its not really what people are thinking."

"I don't frigging care what Gotham is thinking! I know what they've seen! I was there! And it's over!"

Bruce smirked softly, "You keep saying that and yet, you are still here. Arguing."

Matt cursed and violently threw the cowl at Bruce. It didn't quite reach him but Matt didn't care. "I'm done being Batman, twip. Don't call me, I won't call you."

And with that, Matt stalked out of the Batcave towards the alcove he usually changed in. Several loud crashes reverberated from the alcove as he vented a little more anger.

Bruce turned back to the computer, a small smile on his face. 'Oh, you'll be back, McGinnis. The bug has got you – you just don't know it.

He didn't turn to watch as Matt emerged and particularly ran to the entrance and disappeared upstairs. There would be no satisfyingly resounding crash as the door closed but Bruce knew Matt wished there would be.

Sitting down, Bruce pulled up the computer screen he had been working on before Matt had arrived. The twip had come back early and if he hadn't been so pissed off, may have actually seen the screen. He would have had to do some serious talking if the twip had but Matt was too angry to notice anything. Just as he should be.

Bruce arced his back and felt his spine crack. The figures in front of him were delightful to behold and brought a full on smile to his old face. The plan was working perfectly and would continue to do so even without the twip.

Just as long as McGinnis never came back.

Fortunately, he had paid damn good money to make sure he didn't.

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The soft beep of the heart monitor pulsed gently, indicating deep, restorative sleep.

Abruptly the pulse was interrupted as the regular rhythm was broken, and a faster pulse could be heard. A silent alarm was triggered, its red light flashing in counterpoint to the more active heart beat.

Fingers twitched and eyelids flickered until two blue eyes peered hazily from beneath. Reflexively muscles tensed against soft restraints and a befogged brain fought to clear away the confusing thoughts and images.

Distantly, Terry heard a clipped voice speak, but the words were scattered, their meaning unclear.

"Damn….. keeps fighting… larger dose…. No…. dangerous…. Just do it."

Blackness began to obscure his limited vision and he tried to shake his head, clear it. Relentlessly the blackness pressed down on him and even as he succumbed, a single voice came through the haze, clear as a bell.

"He's not supposed to wake up."

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Nftw: Ahhh.. the thot plickens.

Reviews will be treated like the precioussss gold that they are and gloated over in the dark.

Chapter 5 is just about ready and will posted by the weekend.