"Ok, give it a try," Bruce said as he finished nailing down one last line of cabling. Alfred stared up at Bruce who was hanging from a stalactite of the cave under the Wayne ground, and then turned to flip the switch on the generator to his side. It hummed and buzzed and suddenly a row of lights Bruce had installed lit up.
"Charming," Alfred said as he gazed up at the bats which had seemed to be agitated by the lights. "Well, at least you'll have company. What's that over there?" Alfred asked as he pointed to a section of the cave which had beams of metal and columns of bricks.
"That's where I want to wire the power from," Bruce said. "It's an extremely low foundation on the South East wing. My parents told me that my great-great-grandfather had been involved in the Underground Railroad, secretly transporting enslaved people to the north. I'm hoping there's some sort of entrance over there that leads from here to the house. If not, I'll build one, but it would be nice to just upgrade an old one."
"Looks like the rigging is in place for an old service elevator of some sort," Alfred said. Bruce agreed and then headed back to the piles of crates that they had lowered into the cave. Excitedly he began opening them and pulling out their contents which mostly consisted of various things he had already taken from Applied Sciences, as well as various charts, notes, books, and so on.
"Alfred, did you finish my costume?"
"Just this morning, Master Bruce," Alfred said as he began pulling a grey full body suit out of a box. "It's extremely mobile, but I doubt it will keep you very safe from harm."
"Just a prototype Alfred," Bruce said. "I've got some Kevlar body armor in one of these boxes that we can modify in the next few days. Ultimately I'd like to build something much more custom from Kevlar thread and carbon nanotube fibers. We could put sensors in it and tailor it to very specifically work for my body. But that's another project for later. Might be a good idea to get a heavy-armored version in the works too, for situations that might involve a lot of shrapnel and so on." He walked over and looked at the suit. It was grey and black, like a suit worn by speed skaters, only with flack jacket pieces inserted in the chest area. Bruce stared at it, and then took it over to a backpack he had brought with him and began producing a few items from it.
"What's all this?" Alfred asked.
"Combat boots," Bruce said. "For Arctic terrains so they'll be water resistant and durable. We're going to eventually need to customize the footwear for a few things. I'd like them to carry a few pieces of my arsenal, like a blow gun or lock pick. I need it to still follow the basic design of any tactical boots, but they should be made from lightweight rubbers and be much more flexible to allow for full extension when kicking. There's a design in the Applied Sciences warehouse with a slingshot ankle reinforcement system that acts as both armor and as reinforcement for the ankle joint when kicking or landing from high distances. The bottom's can have a flexible split sole design- Alfred, are you taking notes? I already have most of this written down in one of these notebooks. Anyway, we can come up with a unique texture design on the souls for a variety of surfaces. These boots have steel toes, which we should keep. Much more effective when on the offensive.
"Then here are some gauntlets and arm bracers I picked up during my travels. The attachable gloves have been modified with a few things Applied Sciences had laying around. The gloves have been specially treated to be both shock-proof as well as radiation-resistant. I'm thinking we should also work on variations to the design that incorporate fingertip blades, and also have joint armor-reinforcement in the glove, from the wrists and knuckles to the fingers. The gauntlet has blades on it, in the style of some traditional ninja arts. I also added a few little places for storing other tiny arsenal pieces. Oh, there are electrodes in the fingertips here, which are used to send out electrical currents so I can control the structure of the cape. Did you finish the cape?"
"With the suit, Sir," Alfred nodded. "Scalloped bottom edge made to your specifications."
"Excellent," Bruce smiled. "When I run electricity through the glove to the cape, it should open up like a pair of bat wings that can double as both an intimidation tactic but also as a sort of glider apparatus. This is good stuff.
"Oh and here's the utility harness. It can carry the rest of my arsenal. Smoke pellets and stuff like that. It also will carry the grapple-gun and has an attachment for the cables for that. I'm going to look into finding an electronic security system so that it can't be removed from my body by anyone but me, but for now it will do.
"And last but not least, these." He held out a stack of tiny metallic objects with razor edges, cut into the shape of little bats.
"Bat-a-rangs?" Alfred mused.
"Shurikens," Bruce said. "Variants of the Chinese throwing star. Sort of a signature weapon. A personal touch. These ones are fairly crude but we can come up with a whole line of variations. Some with gyroscopes inside that can keep them spinning, maybe even have some remote control involved. I don't know yet. There's a lot of possibilities. But I needed a special weapon, and I know how to use these. Precise, painful, but nonlethal. I won't use guns. I won't take lives. I won't cross over that line like they do. But I won't hold back either… And how about the cowl? Can I see the cowl?"
"Ah, right here, Sir," Alfred said, handing Bruce the cape made of memory cloth, and an attachable cowl made of fabrics he had stretched over a modified helmet. All black, and with a mask attached, cowl covered his entire face except for his mouth and jaw. On the sides there were two points, appearing like horns or ears. Alfred couldn't believe that the boy he had raised was now a grown man asking him to fabricate giant bat costumes. It all sounded so strange, but Bruce had said it was to be something more than mere human. To strike fear into the hearts of criminals.
"A little silly looking up close," Bruce said. "But it will do for now. I'm not sure where I put the modified designs, but when you find them lets go over them together, ok?"
"Very well, Sir."
"Ok," Bruce said as he set up an easel displaying a large chart he had drawn out. "This will have to do until we can get come computers down here. Paper notebooks and charts. Alfred, this is the basic flow of corruption in Gotham. Crime families. Mobs. People and… industries… that are continuing to foster crime in this city."
"It's a pyramid," Alfred said, looking over the chart.
"In a way," Bruce said. "Obviously on the bottom there are a bunch of street gangs and random thugs. Gotham had a huge upsurge in crime during the depression. Create enough hunger and desperation, and everyone becomes a criminal. Not to mention the almost nonexistent middle class in Gotham. Either way, we have a lot of crime, and most of the punks on the street come from the lower class. But then we have a few mob families, upper echelon people, who sort of control what is going on down below. Either by supplying weapons, hiring our muscle, moving illegal money, shipping drugs… you name it. At the bottom, we have the Sionis Crime Family."
"Sionis?" Alfred said. "As in, Sionis Steel Mills?"
"Yes. The Sionis family made their name with the Sionis Steel Mill in the industrial sector of Gotham. They also own, from what I could gather at a recent board meeting at Wayne Enterprises, a fair share of stock in Janus Cosmetics."
"Didn't you know their son?" Alfred asked. "They only live on the other side of the Palisades."
"Roman Sionis. No. He's my age, but I never really knew him. Tommy Elliot did though. They were friends. Either way, Sionis has mob ties, though not very deep. Mostly runs money laundering schemes and corporate buyouts for the more prolific crime families. Kind of a lackey in the business. Probably came into it fairly recently. Maybe borrowed money from someone and decided to join up with his creditors once he'd paid them off."
"It wouldn't surprise me, Sir. The Sionis family has been known to be rather self obsessed and preoccupied with wealth and status. I recall tale that when young Roman was born, a doctor actually dropped the newborn infant but the parents refused to press charges for fear of being caught in a common lawsuit. Your father had told me that around the time of your own birth."
"Gossip Alfred," Bruce said. "Ultimately unimportant. They're low on the criminal food chain. Bottom tier. On the tier above them, however, are three crime families. The Sabatino Crime Family, the Riley Crime Family, and the Odessa Crime Family. Italian, Irish, and Ukrainian. The Sabatinos were the first crime family in Gotham, followed by the Rileys who are arms dealers mostly. They had to come to peace with each other when the other families started moving in during the depression. Competition got too thick. They all run the typical criminal activities you'd expect. But ultimately they are grunts in the grand scheme of things.
It's the tier above them- the second tier –that really has a lot of influence. The Galante Family are Italians. They have a strict hold over most of Gotham's East End with the exception of the Amusement Mile area. Then we have the Maroni Family, also Italian. Tough guy, Maroni. Probably the second most powerful man in Gotham right now. Pretty stereotypical mobster. But unfortunately for him, his family is constantly scrapping with the Dimitrov Family, the final piece of the second tier. Yuri Dimitrov runs them. They usually just call him The Russian. I've actually seen him in person. Sleazy. Prostitutes and drugs look like his main racket."
"Master Bruce, how did you come by all this information?"
"These men are all pretty well-known, Alfred. But the hierarchy was something I had to get from all those reconnaissance missions over the past week or two."
"All those nights dressed as a homeless man?"
"Hey," Bruce scowled. "Matches Malone is a con artist. He's not homeless."
"Bloody well dresses like it."
"Anyway, those are all the main families, and they all operate under the permission of the worst of the worst. The man who runs Gotham and has since the time of the economic downturn."
"Carmine Falcone."
"Correct. They call him The Roman. It's not exactly a unified crime family, but Falcone is the undisputed Mob chieftain here. His people equal all the other families combined, by my estimates. And he makes most of them pay him tribute. Ruthless, cunning, an extremely wealthy. More wealthy than me even. And with far more connection. He virtually runs the city with the entire city council, GCPD, and the mayor all on his payroll. He more or less owns all of he politicians, judges, and lawyers. Falcone floods the streets with crime and drugs, preying on the desperate every single day. Everyone knows who he is and where to find him, but as long as he keeps the bad people rich and the good people scared no one will touch him. And he's pretty careful to cover his tracks. Any evidence connecting him to criminal activity gets wiped away or paid off pretty fast."
"You know," Alfred said. "Carmine Falcone was a friend of your father's."
"I recall," Bruce said somberly. "But he's no friend of mine."
"What's this?" Alfred asked, pointing to a corner of the chart where a name was written that didn't have any lines drawn connecting it to any of the other crime families. "Penguin?"
"Not entirely sure yet," Bruce said. "It looks like there's only one major operation which openly opposes The Roman Empire that Falcone runs. A crime lord who calls himself The Penguin. From what I can tell they primarily deal heavy arms, and are rapidly encroaching on the Odessa's niche. Pretty gutsy to take on the mob. Not even the cops will do it. But as far as I can tell, Penguin is an outlier. It's not a faction that plays a major roll in things, so they can wait."
"Well then what do you intent on doing with this information?"
"I'm going to strike this at the head. Carmine Falcone.
"What about organizations that could be possible allies in your plight, Master Bruce? Police officers and so forth."
"The police are crooked," Bruce said. "Weren't you listening? Gillian Loeb is a personal friend and employee of Faclone. And the guy who heads the SWAT team is as much a thug as any drug dealer… Branden is his name, I think."
"But certainly there are some civil servants you could rely on? This Hero Cop for example. Lieutenant James Gordon from Chicago. How about him?"
"No thank you, Alfred. I work alone."
"Do I not count for anything?"
"You know what I mean, Alfred."
"Oh, Master Wayne, the blueprints for your cowl," Alfred pulled out a sheet of paper showing designs for new cowl, reinforced like a helmet, with the same bat ears and opening for a mouth. The eyes were molded into a permanent scowl, making for a particularly imposing appearance.
"Now, we'd already decided to order the main part of the cowl from Singapore," Alfred said.
"Via dummy corporation," Bruce said.
"Indeed. But I put something thought into this, Master Wayne, and figured, quite separately, we could place an order to a Chinese company for these." He ran his finger over the pointed ears.
"Put it together ourselves."
"Precisely," Alfred said. "I suspect they'll have to be large order to avoid suspicion."
"How large?"
"Say, ten thousand."
"Well at least we'll have spares."
"Indeed."
"In addition to concealing my features and contributing to the imposing appearance," Bruce explained. "We should outfit it to serve a few other purposes. Once I get the mechanism figured out for the security on the utility harness, which I think I'll turn into more of a belt, the cowl can have similar defense mechanisms. Electric shock or stun gas in order to prevent unauthorized removal. That sort of thing. I'd also like to put lenses in the eyes, mirrored with an opaque white surface. Kinda like I'm absent of pupils. Just two white eyes in the dark."
"Lenses? Master Wayne, this sounds more and more ridiculous as you go on."
"No Alfred, this is a good idea," Bruce shot back. "The cowl contains shifting lenses that identify suspect's identities, as well as their weak points through medical records or by reading out quick scans, while simultaneously avoiding the possibility of eye identification. The lenses can have special visions, like infrared sensors, night vision, and ultraviolet vision. We could even link it wirelessly to a computer so that it could help identify clues at crime scenes and other forensics data. It could be really useful. Just need to get Wayne Tech a contract to produce something similar, and we can modify it ourselves.
"As for the ears, one of them will carry a high-gain antenna for an internal comm-link on the left side of the cowl, allowing us to stay in contact with each other. The comm-link can also scan police radios and other communication frequencies. It also carries an inertial navigation unit to keep me in balance, as well as to link the cowl up with a global positioning system.
"The cowl's Kevlar panels will provide a level of protection for my head against firearms. The front of the skull and the sides of the temples should also have small armor inserts to increase the effectiveness of skull strikes and protect from concussive blows."
"You're preparing yourself for an entire war," Alfred said. "What sort of situations are you expecting to get yourself into? Do you have any idea how much all of this will cost?"
"A lot," Bruce said. "But I'm going up against The Roman. Falcone has more men, connections, hiding places, and money than I do. But I can be better equipped. I need every advantage. Now, what time is it?"
"Ten minutes passed nine," Alfred responded.
"Then it's time." Bruce said as he set out what gear he had and carefully put it all on as best he could. The dark body suit, the gloves, gauntlets, boots, and harness.
"Master Bruce," Alfred said. "One more suggestion, if I might. I suggest you find the time to see Leslie Thompkins at some point. She did try her best to fill in for your mother, you know." Bruce ignored the comment. Leslie was a nice woman, but she had always seemed to rub him the wrong way. Maybe it was her endlessly carefree outlook on life, or the philosophies she had tried to instill on him when he was younger. Whatever the reason, the two of them shared a mutual respect, but did not seem to often be on good terms with one another.
Methodically, he wrapped the cape around his body, letting it drape down to the floor. Without saying a word or turning his head, he reached over and picked up the crude cowl that Alfred had made for him.
Alfred watched Bruce, whose back was turned toward him, and felt endless worry welling up in his stomach. And slowly, Bruce slipped the cowl over his head, and turned.
"Oh my-" Alfred exclaimed nearly silently under his breath. There before him stood a being he barely recognized. Tall, large, and black, before him stood the shape of a demonic bat, glaring at him in the darkness.
Alfred had known two Bruce Wayne's in the recent months. A public persona that acted as normal as anybody else, smiling and acting as carefree as he possibly could. And then the private Bruce Wayne, reserved, thoughtful, quiet, and troubled. But this was someone else entirely. It was as if for the first time every Bruce had stripped every one of his walls down and was showing off all of his pain, loneliness, and anger in plain sight. He was literally wearing it all in the open. Even the way he carried himself was different. For the first time since that night his parents died, Bruce was being who he felt he was. He was being true to how he felt. And without a word, he pushed his way beyond Alfred and disappeared in the darkness of the cave.
Perhaps this is going to work after all, Alfred thought to himself. Oh Bruce, what have you become?
The room was lit by the warm, red glow of candles. Soft music played, and Gordon groaned on the floor. He was shirtless, and felt pain shooting through his back and shoulders. But for once, it was a good pain. He laid on his stomach across the floor, with his wife kneeling overhead, massaging his back as best she could.
"You could use a jackhammer on this back Jim," she said. "How's it feeling?"
"It feel great," he responded, trying his best to sound grateful.
It's the first night off I've really been able to enjoy since I got to Gotham, Gordon thought. It's been pretty good for the most part. My daughter is off in her room with strict orders to leave us alone for our date tonight. Barbara made lemon chicken. A special treat for the two of us. And her fingers kneading into my shoulders feels absolutely heavenly. The soft music playing was her idea, but hey, it works.
"Dad!" Barb's voice called as she peaked into the dark room. "Dad, I saw something weird."
"Barb, we told you not to bother us unless it's important," Gordon said.
"I know, but I just saw a monster or something out the window. Honest!"
"Barb."
"Honest! It was a giant bat or something! Just flew across a roof out my window and jumped down into an alleyway. Honest!"
"Well that's great, but tonight's out date night so you have to leave us alone unless it's an emergency, ok?"
"Ugh, ok whatever," Barb groaned. "Goodnight." Gordon could only smile. He liked being a father. And he liked that his daughter looked up to him so much. Even when the "emergency" was a giant bat, it was nice to feel wanted.
The phone rang out.
"Jim, you said you'd unplug it," Barbara grumbled.
"Honey I forgot," Gordon responded. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry, I'll get it," she muttered as she stood up and answered the line. "hello?... Yes Sergeant… Maybe you should call the Gotham zoo… Ok… All right, All right. I'll get him." She turned and looked disappointingly at her husband laying on the floor.
That look, Gordon thought to himself. I hate that look. Why does she have to do that? She knows I don't choose to be interrupted at home. It's not my fault.
"It's Merkel," she said. "Says he needs to talk to you. Says it's something about a giant bat. Don't worry, the chicken will keep…"
The three punks looked up in horror. One screamed, one let his jaw hang open in awe, and the last one dropped the speakers he was carrying. All three of them jumped back an inch or two.
The three thieves stood on a fire escape landing, carrying a load of electronics in their arms when he found them. Bruce was pleased at how frightened they were upon seeing him.
The costume works better than I thought. Better than Alfred thought too. They freeze, stare, and are giving me all the time in the world.
He stepped off the edge of the rooftop above, and with his cape flowing out like two demonic wings, he slammed down onto the fire escape in their midst. And as he landed and let out a growl, suddenly everything went wrong. The guy to his left screamed out for help. On the right, one of them leaned into a fighting position, ready to take Bruce on. But it was the last guy that was the problem. Bruce had pegged him from the roof as being the strongest of the bunch, but he hadn't counted on him being the most frightened. He spat out a few frantic curses, stumbled backwards, and was falling over the railing backwards by the time Bruce had landed among them.
Quickly, in one fluid motion from the crouch he had landed in, Bruce swung up, reaching over the railing, and grabbed the thief by the leg with his right arm, bracing himself against the railing with his left. The thug screamed, dangling upside down from his leg. It was a twelve-story drop at least, and Bruce couldn't help but notice how young he was.
Fifteen. He can't be a year older than fifteen. Just a child.
Suddenly, the one who had been ready to fight took his shot and kicked Bruce on the back of the head. His helmet took a lot of the blow, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
Idiot. He's gonna make me drop his friend. Either he doesn't know or he doesn't care. This has gone all wrong.
Suddenly Bruce felt the world spin around him as the third boy lifted up the television they had been stealing and slammed it down onto Bruce's back. He heard it crack and felt gravity pull it down over his side. As his vision blurred back into focus he could see it falling past the boy he held in his hand and go tumbling down to the street below.
Held on, Bruce thought as he confirmed that he had retained his grip the entire time. Quickly he kicked back into the chest of the one who had landed the television on his head. He groaned and Bruce felt a few of his ribs break with the blow. Then he shifted he weigh back, anchoring himself on the platform, and reached back to grab the boy who was still trying to kick him. He grabbed, and then yanked the boy down, bashing his head on a metal railing. Sighing as the boy stayed down, Bruce painfully pulled the dangling boy back up onto the landing and dropped him flat. He must've blacked out sometime while handing upside down.
Good thing he'd blacked out. If he'd kept thrashing I don't know that I could have held on. Ugh. Lucky. Lucky amateur. This could have been a disaster. Now none of them can offer any information. No matter, I have a few other leads to check tonight.
He'd spent the night going from user, to dealer, to supplier, trying to get to the root of a drug shipment. They'd lead him to these punks, but there were others to hit before the night was through.
Bruce lay in his bed, curled up in the blankets like a child. Alfred had let him sleep as long as he deemed possible, but with the afternoon turning to evening, he didn't think he could let it go much further. He walked over to the large windows of the room, and threw the curtains open. As light strewn in from outside to Bruce's bed, he flinched and complained.
"Bats are nocturnal!"
"Bats may be," Alfred said. "But even for billionaire playboys, three o clock in the afternoon is pushing it. The price for living a double life, I fear. Your theatrics last night made quite an impression." He held a newspaper in his hand, the sight of which caused Bruce to leap out of bed and snatch it from the butlers hand.
DOZENS HOSPITALIZED BY THE BAT-MAN, the front page read in large bold lettering.
"Batman," Bruce smiled. "This is a good start. This is a good start."
"Is it, Master Wayne? It says that this bat-man sent dozens to the hospital, and who knows how many that leaves who hadn't reported it."
"There were only thirty in all."
"Thirty in one night? Bruce, I knew you meant to go around like some masked pulp detective, but I hadn't suspected you intended to bludgeon the entire city out of its wits!"
"Yeah, Alfred? What would you have me do? I got plenty of information. This isn't just a night of me running around and beating people. I'm doing detective work, but I also have to send a message. They need to know, Gotham is no longer a safe haven for criminals. Nobody else will have to watch their parents get shot."
"Very well, then what sort of work did you do beyond leaving trails of human wreckage in your wake?"
"I'm getting leads, trying to link them to Falcone. If we can link Falcone to a ring of crime, we can start getting him prosecuted."
"You said nobody would touch him."
"I have leverage," Bruce muttered.
"Leverage? What? You'll threaten a judge?"
"No, I collected some dirt on some of them a while ago. I've got photos down in the caves of Judge Faden out with his mistress."
"Bruce, this is out of control-"
"Alfred, how? I'm not a child! Fox at the company is letting me do this."
"He doesn't know what he's facilitating!"
"Not yet, but he will. When the time's right."
"And when will that be?"
"I don't know, Alfred! But soon! Look, I'm not afraid of what I am doing. I'm not ashamed. I'm serious. This proves it! One night out there as the bat and I've made the main headline in the paper. Gotham needs something like this, and it's needed it for a very long time. I spent years preparing for this, Alfred. Years. Doctor's spend less time studying. Cops and soldiers spend less time training. And you are both a cop and a soldier. Now I am qualified to do this." He stared at Alfred in the way he had since he was a boy.
"You always were remarkably bright in a debate," Alfred said. "But you often came home with your share of blacked eyes. You're covered in bruises." Bruce looked down at his arms and chest, and Alfred was right.
"Part of the job, I guess," he shrugged as he pulled himself out of bed and immediately launched into a routine of pushups.
"Well, if those are to be the first of many injuries to come it would be wise to find a suitable excuse."
"Polo or something."
"Do you know how to play Polo? Would you have comrades to play with who would vouch for you? Strange injuries, a nonexistent social life. These things beg to question as to what exactly does Bruce Wayne do with all his time and his money."
"What does someone like me do?"
"I don't know. Drive sport cars? Date movie stars? Buy things that aren't for sale?"
"I'm going to a charity ball tonight at the Royal Hotel," Bruce said. "An employee, Norman Madison, has invited me."
"There you are," Alfred said. "That will be a good start. And who knows, Master Wayne? I've said it before. You start pretending to have fun, and maybe you'll even have a little by accident."
"Maybe," Bruce said. "But I won't be there all night. Found out about a shipment of drugs coming in tonight. I need to be there."
"Bruce, how great to see you again," Norman said as Bruce entered the grand ballroom of the Royal Hotel. Paparazzi clamored outside for a shot of what was going on beyond the doorway, but Bruce thought it was hardly anything worth photographing. A massive spread of food, and a bunch of elites standing around gossiping to a serenade of string violins. Ultimately pretty dull.
"What is tonight's event for?" Bruce asked.
"We're raising money for children in Africa," Norman said. "The proceeds will go toward building schools and buying supplies and so forth."
"Do we make many proceeds with a spread like that?" Bruce said, nodding towards the enormous table of food. Norman stuttered, looking as if that were the last thing he had expected Bruce Wayne to say.
"Well, you know, Bruce, you have to spend money to make money."
"Certainly," Bruce said. "I was just curious as to how much we actually will make compared to what is spent."
"Well… I will tell you when it's over," Norman grinned awkwardly. "Now if you'll excuse me." He quickly shuffled off, leaving Bruce standing awkwardly in the throng of wealthy guests.
Great. The only guy here that I know has just run off. It wasn't as if he'd be left alone though. Bruce Wayne was amongst the most famous members of the rich and famous in all of America. As Normal disappeared further and further from view, Bruce found himself more and more swarmed by the partygoers.
Got to get out of here.
Then he heard it. From across the room there were was a man arguing with a server. He was shouting rather indignantly. And he was with a woman.
"Alex, there's no need for that," the woman said.
"Relax, Julie. Don't get yourself all worked up."
"You treated that waitress like she was subhuman."
"You're saying she isn't? Lousy slut probably gets off work and turns tricks in the back of some minivan."
"Give it a rest. Your brain's obvious bent out of shape due to lack of use. I'd like to go home."
"You little shrew! You think I'd leave here, in front of everyone, over your concern for some servant? I should-" He was cut off as Bruce grabbed him firmly on the shoulder.
"You should be on your way, my friend," Bruce spoke gruffly. "While you're able to still walk." Alex shook his shoulder free of Bruce's grip and began walking a way.
"And don't ever call me again, you creep," Julie shouted at him.
"I wouldn't hold your breath waiting, sweetheart," he called back. "Bleeding-heart witch! And you keep your hands to yourself, mate. Or I'll call the cops." Bruce sighed as Alex walked away, letting himself relax.
"Sorry about that, miss," he said. "I hope I didn't intrude."
"Are you kidding? That guy was a bad mistake I don't intend on repeating."
"Glad to hear it. My name is-"
"Oh I know who you are, Mr. Wayne. Everyone knows who you are."
"Well it looks like we're on uneven terms, then. You are?"
"Julie Madison," she said, holding out her hand.
"Madison? Any relation to Norman Madison?"
"There is, yes. He's, uh, my father. Do you know him well?"
"Hardly," Bruce laughed. "Met him once and he about twisted my arm off to get me to come to this thing."
"Not your scene?"
"Oh, it's very much my scene," Bruce lied. "Just haven't really met anyone I've clicked with so far."
"Oh."
"So, tell me, Julie, what uh… what do you do?"
"You've never seen me?" Bruce looked confused. "I'm… I'm a model, actually. Pretty prominent. Or at least, I thought I was."
"No, I'm sure you are," Bruce said. "I've been abroad for a long time, and I guess a lot of the world just sort of… passed by."
"Ever make it as far as Africa?"
"Sure. Even further."
"Oh wow," Julie said. "My mother spent years in Africa. I think she visited every country there. Lots of charity and social work. That's why my dad has a particular eye for these events that benefit causes in Africa."
"Oh," Bruce said. "Well… is she here tonight, or?"
"No, no, mother passed. A long time ago. It's kind of in her memory I suppose."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"
"It's really fine. It was a long time ago and I'm pretty much at peace with it all… You know, Bruce, you're not quite as socially proficient as I might have guessed. You seem nervous."
"Just caught off guard," Bruce said. "The whole thing with your boyfriend."
"Ex. But yeah, ok."
"So, you like modeling then?"
"No not really." Again, Bruce looked entirely caught off guard. "I prefer law, actually. I'm a law student. Modeling is something I got into in high school. What high schooler doesn't want to be supermodel? So I still do it to pay for school and my life, but being a District Attorney is sort of the dream these days."
"District Attorney? I sure read you wrong."
"Ha, what'd you think I was? Just some empty headed socialite? Don't answer that. I know, the chances of being a DA are probably pretty slim… and who would vote for me? Daughter of one of Gotham's wealthy, and a supermodel."
"Do you mind my asking, why a DA?"
"Big topic."
"No, I'm interested. I'll listen."
"It's just this city. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of seeing the desperation… People talk about the depression as if it's history, and it's not. This city is rotting. Things are worse than ever here, and every day there are men like Carmine Falcone, or Salvatore Maroni who fill our streets with more and more garbage- it just makes me sick. I think it's time for somebody to do something about it. And if I can help… well, I guess I'd like to."
"You sound opinionated."
"I am."
"Ah, Bruce," Norman returned, looking much less nervous. "I see you met my daughter. Great girl. Her name is Julie."
"So I've heard," Bruce responded.
"Er… right," Norman stuttered. "Well, can I offer you two a drink? Julie, where's uh… Allan?"
"Alex. And he left. I don't think I'll be seeing him anymore."
"Wait what?" Norman said. "Did something happen? Are you ok?"
"No, dad, I'm fine. Don't worry." Norman snorted.
"Well ok. Drinks?" Bruce and Julie both nodded. Norman snapped his fingers toward a waitress who quickly came over with three cocktails on a tray. Norman and Julie both started into theirs and while Bruce acted like he was occasionally sipping from it, he took special care not to consume any. He had to be operating at full capacity for his later endeavors.
"So what about this bat guy?" Norman scoffed. "You heard of him, Julie?"
"I have."
"And?"
"I think the bat-man is just one good citizen who's been pushed too far by the corruption in this city."
"Oh, and you approve?" Norman laughed.
"He's done something the police have never done."
"You can't take the law into your own hands."
"At least he's getting something done."
"Bruce, help me out here?"
"Well…" Bruce said, trying to look like he found the whole situation entirely ridiculous. "I mean, a guy who dresses up like a bat… clearly has issues."
"But he's made an impact. People are talking, and you have to think that some of the criminal element on the streets is a little frightened now. Might think twice about going out and robbing, or selling drugs, or whatever tonight."
"And now the cops want to bring him in," Norman waved his hands. "What does that tell you?"
"They're jealous. I think the bat-man deserves a medal."
"And a straight jacket to pin it on," Bruce laughed. "All the same, I really have to get going. Lovely party, Norman."
"Oh so soon?" Norman whined.
"Bruce," Julie said.
"Yes?"
"Don't hesitate to call sometime," she smiled, winked, and walked away.
"My daughter," Norman shook his head.
"She's an intelligent young lady," Bruce said. "Goodnight Mr. Madison."
"Night, Bruce." Bruce, however, was not going to go to bed. The night was still young, and there was work to be done.
At the Gotham Shipping yard, a gang of thugs were unloading crates upon crates of unmarked cargo.
"Excuse me," Detective Flass said as he approached the men, holding his badge up. "Let me see what we got here." One of the men looked nervous, wondering if he aught to run, or pull out the knife in his pocket. Flass passed him by, examining the crate and pulled out a shabby plush rabbit toy.
"Just rabbits, officer," one of the men stuttered.
"Just rabbits?" Flass laughed as he ripped it open from its seem revealing a tiny bag filled with drugs. Everyone froze. They could overpower this cop, but was it worth it? Someone would come looking for him surely, and assault on an officer was a worse charge than moving drugs.
"Hahaha," one of the men laughed. "Good one, Flass. Had em going." Flass laughed back and threw the rabbit back into the container.
"Wait, you're-" one of the men who had been nervous was now entirely confused.
"I'm your enforcer tonight," Flass chuckled as he put his badge back into his jacket.
"Haven't seen you at one of these in a while," the man who laughed remarked.
"Haven't been able to," Flass grumbled. "Got saddled with lousy partner for a few months, but we've recently opted to go our separate ways. Working alone for now. Which means I have much more time for these extracurricular jobs."
"Good to have to back, man. Everyone this is Detective Flass. Good man. He'll treat you right as long as you treat him right. Right, Flass?"
"Right." The nervous man shrugged, a bit disgruntled at the fun, which had been had at his expense. Picking up his box, he carried it back to the truck, loaded it, and then headed back to the crate to grab another. Suddenly he felt his feet he yanked out from under his and being pulled into the hair. His head swung down, hitting the cement as his body ascended up into the darkness of the rigging above. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the dark shape of some horrifying creature, hunched over and watching him.
"Hey, where'd Vick go?" One of the men said. "Heard a noise, and now he's gone?"
"The nervous guy?" Flass asked. "Probably tryin to play a joke on us after we got him. Not gonna be too funny though. You don't mess with a green beret."
"I'll go look," another man said. "Yo, Vick? Vick, you there?" Suddenly two of the lights above them exploded, going dark.
"What the!?" One of the jumpier thugs exclaimed. "Vick, this aint funny man."
"What's this?" Flass walked directly underneath one of the lights and picked up a little jagged piece of metal, cut out in the shape of a bat. "This thing hit the light or something?"
"One over here too," someone called from under the other light that had gone out. "Musta come from up-" The man looked up, squinting to see better in the dark. There, above him, hanging upside-down was the massive shape of an enormous bat, hanging from the rigging above and staring at them. The man could barely let out a scream before the enormous bat dropped down from above, pouncing on him and knocking him to the floor.
"Whoa!" Flass shouted, pulling his gun in the time it had taken for the bat to grab his comrade's head and slam it down onto the pavement, knocking him unconscious. The bat suddenly lunged toward him, and he fired, but the bullet seemed to just pass through the shadow's enormous wings like it was nothing. Flass stumbled back in shock as several of the other men ran forward. The bat rose up, standing straight like a man, and then lashed its hands out, and from them flew more of the tiny jagged metal projectiles his hit most of the incoming attack.
"Think it's time to bail!" Flass's friend shouted as he took off into the maze of cargo crates ahead. Flass scrambled to find his gun and quickly followed, only glancing over his shoulder to see the shadow leap down and take on those who had stayed behind. It moved so fast, seemingly knocking people left and right with every movement it made. What was it? There was no time to stop and decide. Flass looked forward again and did not look back.
The bat used its entire body like a weapon, attacking from all ends. No matter how anybody approached the beast, it would lash out and either knock them down, or cut them. It moved through them, as if every attack it made was slingshoting it to the next victim. Skin split and bones cracked as the brawl continued, but it was over in a matter of seconds. Every man scattered like rubble across the pavement, bleeding, unconscious, or moaning in pain as they clutched whichever area the monster's blow had hit. It looked down at them, silently, and glided past them into the maze of crates ahead.
"Wait up!" Flass shouted. His friend frantically moved between the crates like a snake in the grass, whipping his way passed each obstacle.
"No way," the man shouted, but as soon as the words had escaped his mouth, Flass watched as a massive black shape shot by, grabbing his friend and dragging him away. He stopped running, now completely alone. Sweat ran down his brow as he raised his gun up close to him, ready to use it at a moment's notice. The sound of his panting against the silent night was almost deafening.
Suddenly there was a scrape across one of the crates to the left. Flass spun in that direction; his weapon outstretched, but he saw nothing. Silence again. And then suddenly another sound as he saw a shadow move out of the corner of his right eye. He span back around, this time firing three rounds. But when his hand had stopped shaking from the shot, there was nothing there. Slowly he rubbed the sweat from his eyes and started inching his way backwards. A sound rang out again from the direction he was staring and he felt panic seize his entire body.
"Where are you!?" he bellowed, spit flying from his lips as he tried his very best to cover his fear by sounding intimidating. And then he felt it. The warm air of a breath ran along the back of his neck as he felt himself back into something behind him. But before he could even register what he had backed into he heard the creature whisper in a deep, quiet, raspy voice, "Here." Flass screamed, turning around to shoot but it was too late. The bat was behind him, hanging upside-down. Its wings burst open and wrapped there way around Flass who felt his gun get wrenched free of his hand as he became engulfed in darkness. And then he felt his legs fall out from under him, and his stomach lurch up into his throat. Before he could tell what was happening at all, he was dangling from the rigging up above.
"Whoa!" she shouted, looking down and seeing his feet hanging helplessly beneath him, and the twenty foot drop below. However, his fear was nothing compared to when he looked up and saw the face of the monster staring at him. It was the bat-man. The bat-man was standing on the rigging, holding Flass over the edge by the lapels of his jacket.
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" Flass pleaded. The bat-man's expression was frozen in a scowl as he shook Flass and pulled him in close so that they could look each other directly in the eyes. Flass tried to divert his gaze by turning his head, but the bat continued staring.
"I'm not going to kill you," it growled. "I want you to do me a favor."
"What, what? Anything!"
"I want you to tell all your friends about me. Tell them to watch out."
"What are you!?" Flass exclaimed, unsure of if he was in the grips of a monster or a psychopath in a costume. The bat-man shook him one more time and pulled him in extremely close.
"I'm Batman," he roared back, and then without hesitation, Batman flung Flass away from his body. The detective screamed as gravity caught ahold of him and felt himself go into a free fall. But his scream was cut short as his body jerked, and his head snapped out. The fall had suddenly ended, and Flass realized that he was attached so some sort of harness and was now hanging from up above. His neck ached from the whiplash of the line going taught, but he craned it as best he could to look up at his attacker. But Batman was gone. He had moved on.
The next day, Flass showed up to the GCPD building with a neck brace on. Though most of the officers were laughing at him, there was an overall nervous feeling throughout the department at the growing number of attacks from Batman.
"It's not the bat-man," Flass protested. "He's Batman. It's his name!"
"What, he a guy in a costume?" Merkel asked.
"No, it's a girl in a costume," Officer O'hara laughed.
"He's just a lunatic vigilante," Detective Sarah Essen retorted. "And with the number of people he's hospitalized I'd like to organize a massive task force to go out and get him." Gordon liked Detective Essen. She kept to herself mostly. Very hard exterior to her personality. The way her blond hair was always so perfectly done, and her clothes so neatly pressed, she was one of those women who had spent much of her life trying overcompensate for the fact that she was a woman. It was a sexist world, and she wanted everyone to know she had the drive to prove the sexists wrong. She didn't fear her femininity. Gordon liked that. Barbara had always seemed to struggle a bit with those sorts of things, and Gordon rarely knew how to respond. But Sarah wasn't like that. She was strong. She was smart. She was capable. She wasn't as tender as Barbara, which was a drawback, but she was better than most of the other cops on the force. And best of all, she wasn't crooked.
"If we can stop from being hysterical for a moment," Gordon said, sipping his coffee and looking at pictures which had been plastered all over the office walls of eye witness descriptions of Batman. They were all fairly ridiculous, ranging from pictures of demonic monsters, to men wearing capes, to a picture of a business with a bat's head on his shoulders.
"What do we know?" Merkel asked.
"Well," Gordon started as he adjusted his glasses. "Our Batman has apparently committed somewhere around seventy acts of assault in the past week. Maybe a few more from last week. And during this time, I think it's fairly safe to rule that he is operating as a vigilante, like Essen said. During this time, certain patterns of timing and method have emerged. It is clear that he possesses extraordinary physical skill and-"
"Not he," Flass muttered. "Not he. It."
"You have something to contribute Detective Flass?" Gordon groaned.
"He's not human. I'm just telling you he's not human."
"You mean it. Not he," O'hara said snidely. Flass scowled.
"Thank you, Detective Flass," Gordon said, ignoring O'hara's comment. "Anyway, while the vigilante has been careful to remain unpredictable, choosing the neighborhoods for his assaults at random, he consistently operated between the hours of midnight and four in the morning. He's working his way from street level crime to its upper echelons. From junkie mugger to pusher to supplier. And along the way, to any cops that might be helping the whole process along, it seems… Now, Flass. Tell us what you know about Batman. Try not to exaggerated." Flass's scowl only grew, as he glared at the cops surrounding him who all stared at him with humorously amused expressions.
He looks like he's hating this, Gordon thought to himself. That looks is absolutely priceless.
"Well, it's like I said in my report, Lieutenant," Flass began. "I received an anonymous top leading me to an East End cocaine delivery. I was in the process of single-handedly apprehending the felons when I heard giant wings flapping. It flew down from the sky, and its wings were about thirty feet across. It bellowed and hissed- I've never heard anything like that. One of the felons I had not yet disarmed produced a 357 magnum and fired, at point blank range, at the creature. But the bullet passed straight through the creature, like it wasn't there. Other members of the gang tried to fight it but something flew from the creature's hands. Little knives or something… I remember noticing it had claws."
"Claws. Right," one of the cops chuckled. Flass glared at her as if he was challenger her.
"It was little dart things," Flass tried explaining.
"Dart things?"
"It was! He paralyzed the felons, but me he singled out!"
"Yeah right, Flass," O'hara laughed.
"Gentlemen, Gentlemen," Gordon said as he raised his hands trying to calm everyone down. "Please, go on Flass."
I can't seem to stop enjoying Flass going redder and redder. Maybe this Batman isn't so bad.
Just outside of Gotham City, in the countryside which was directly west of Gotham Heights, was the country home escape of Carmine Falcone. It was a mansion, built on a grounds that was very purposefully several miles outside of the city limits. It was a well known retreat for Carmine, who would often use his visits there as an alibi when he had been implicated in anything unpleasant.
It was dark, but the house's warm glow lit up the surrounding field in a way that honestly felt welcoming. One would be hard-pressed to see such a cozy mansion out in the middle of nowhere and assume the owner was a ruthless crime lord.
Cars lined the driveway of the mansion, all housing chauffeurs, half of whom were either passed out from snorting coke while their employers were inside enjoying the dinner party, or were about to.
The costume, the weapons, Batman thought to himself. The hideout. I have it all. It's time to get serious.
Earlier that evening Alfred had bestowed upon Bruce the newest upgrade of the cowl. It was much more solid, fit better, and blended in to the cape far better. This one was even outfitted with the white lenses Bruce had wanted from the beginning. They weren't capable of much other than enhancing the light filtering in for a sort of sub-par night-vision, but it completed the look. He had modified the utility harness into a utility belt of sorts and outfitted it with everything he would need. He had even recently come into the possession of new transportation in the form of an unmarked black vehicle with no make or model, completely equipped with remote control capabilities, compliments of Wayne Tech.
Slowly, keeping to the shadows, Batman crept up to the cars in the driveway and began incapacitating the driver's, one at a time, using a tiny injector to introduce a knockout compound to their bloodstreams.
Chauffer by chauffer, I make my way toward the mansion. Only a few of them are awake. Only half of them are armed. There's a guard with a machine pistol in the yard. Need to get to the outer wall of the banquet hall, set the charges, and cut the power. He slunk off toward the house.
Inside, a massive feast was underway. In attendance were multiple of Gotham's most powerful, and most decedent, all eating under the brilliant light of a set of massive crystal chandeliers.
"Commissioner Loeb," one of the waiters said, holding a handset. "You have an urgent phone call from the Police Department."
"Sure, sure, hand it here," Loeb said as he grabbed the set and put it to his ear. "Hello?... Oh Lieutenant Gordon, what a pleasant surprise… Batman? I am eating, Lieutenant… No I have not filled your requests for personnel yet, I find them ridiculous… Yes Lieutenant, I'm well aware of how many crimes the vigilante is committing, but there are two side to everything, aren't there? Yes there are. And the Batman is having a positive effect on public spirit. Or have you declined to notice the drop in street crime over the past few weeks?... Right, well, I am not exactly in the habit of having to explain myself to my Lieutenants! I hope we understand each other, Gordon… Goodbye."
Lieutenant Gordon, Batman thought, listening in from outside the window as he glued some explosive charges to the side of the wall. I've been hearing his name a lot lately. More often by the day. All the right people seem to hate him. Alright, charges are set.
"Have you seen the Batman Commissioner?" the mayor's wife asked as Loeb handed the phone back to the waiter. "They say he's huge!"
"You shouldn't pry," Carmine Falcone said softly, sipping a martini from the head of the table. Wearing a pristine white suit like always, with his hair perfectly slicked back and his thin pencil mustache similarly groomed to perfection. "Gill has his hands full, these days. We're trusting him to cope with Batman, and with Gordon, on his own."
"And I appreciate that trust," Loeb huffed. "I really do, boys. Good to see you all, by the way. It's been far too long."
"Heck, Gill," a swaggering councilman said as he leaned over the mayor and got in the commissioner's face. "None of us were gonna come close to you until the polls were in on this whole Batman thing. That, and the whole situation with Dent always prosecuting you lately."
"Well I-" Loeb started.
"The councilman is blunt about his concerns," Falcone interrupted. "It's an election year, after all. My organization is likewise concerned, commissioner. Batman is costing us money."
"Two side to everything, friends," Loeb said confidently. "Look at the long term. A few street operators are put out of action, yes. But the people of Gotham City have a hero. They like this Batman guy. He makes em feel safer. And the safer they feel, the fewer questions they ask."
"I don't like stirring things up, Gill," Falcone hissed. "And if it's not Batman, then it's that kid, Harvey Dent. Word is, Dent is pushing Internal Affairs to go after Detective Flass, Gill. Not only would Flass be difficult to replace if that went through, but if he talked-"
"Dent is a problem, you're right about that. He- what the hell?" A window near the head of the table crashed open as a smoke grenade came barreling into the room and bouncing across the table. Falcone immediately lunged to the ground, taking cover, while the rest of the room went up in an absolute panic.
"The lights! What happened to the lights?" the mayor's wife shrieked as the room went entirely dark, filling up with smoke.
"We're all gonna die!" a voice shouted.
"Stay calm," Loeb was gruffly repeating over and over again.
"Where's my guards?" Falcone was shouting, cursing occasionally. Then, amongst the already mounting chaos, the entire wall along the window exploded, filling the room with smoke and debris. People were crying, injured, and screaming. And suddenly, they saw him.
A massive silhouette of black against the nightscape beyond the hole which had been blown in the wall, was the figure of Batman. Entirely enshrouded in darkness except for his two glaring pupil-less white eyes. The room went deafly still as Batman glided into the room and growled out a ghostly warning.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. You have eaten well. You have eaten Gotham's wealth. It's spirit. Your feast is nearly over. From this moment on, none of you are safe." And with that, he threw down a handful of smoke pellets that removed almost all visibility in the room, and slipped back out into the night.
It's liberating. They looked frightened. For all these years, since I was eight years old, I haven't felt like myself. Nothing made sense when my parent's died. Every day was painful. Still is. But now… it all comes so easy. The way I move. The way I think. My voice! Those growls and whispers are not the voice of Bruce Wayne. Bruce died decades ago. I finally know who I am. I'm Batman.
"No excuses, Gordon," Loeb shouted the next day. "You, Essen, Merkel, O'hara, and whoever else you want! That vigilante goes under – instantly – or it's your job! I want him found, you understand?"
"Yes, sir…" Gordon responded dismissively.
Just last night he'd acted like he didn't care. Wonder what changed.