Bruce hit something soft, but the impact stole the breath from him. For a heartbeat he was paralyzed, but only a heartbeat. Instinctively, Bruce's superior mind began to collect evidence of his surroundings. There was a repugnant stench, a cross between mildew and rotting food. He supposed he was close to where they dumped their refuse. He didn't think any part of Gotham still held those old refectories.
He'd landed on a pad of some kind, absorbing most of the impact of his long fall. Still, his back had cracked in all the wrong places. The area was dimly lit and Bruce could only see a few feet in front of him.
There was a strange huffing sound, repeated, but not in a cadence, that held a slight reverberation. Rolling, Bruce came off the pad, and struggled to his feet. His knee trembled but held him. His cane was most likely still sitting by the podium, unaffected by the change of events.
Bruce was beginning to understand this opponent, even if he still wasn't sure of the man's motivation. He was a man for double meaning. Bruce had only begun to guess the reason for the trap door when he'd begun his speech. The enemy had called him by name on that vid disc. Both him and Terry. This was as much a trap for him as it was for Terry and he'd sprung it in the hopes of catching the enemy off guard.
Terry had guessed his plan but had been too late to stop it. Now he had to hope that the boy would be able to handle this one on his own.
Above him, he heard a banging and guessed that Terry was already working out a way to join him.
Meanwhile, that huffing sound had not stopped. Tentatively, taking step for step as a child on new legs, Bruce searched blindly into the darkness. Strangely, this was one of the few buildings he'd never been inside the basement, for that's what he guessed this was. But he'd seen blueprints and Bruce's eidetic memory recalled them with perfect clarity.
His first analysis was somewhat correct, though it wasn't quite refuse. This had once been a storage facility and the repugnant smells of food left to rot had baked themselves into the cement walls.
The stench of the past lingering below the opulence of the future.
He hobbled forward, his arms stretched out to warn him of any impending walls. He'd landed near the east wall and had rolled toward the west. That should give him a length of open space, but he didn't know what could have been brought down here.
The knight in the dark, he moved toward the sound which he decided were tears repressed by fear and a gag.
Bruce's foot hit something and one of the reverberating huffing sounds, raised into a gasp. His hands came lower and touched the fine strands of hair. Getting lower, he continued to let his fingers produce a picture. Do the smoothness of the skin, Bruce guessed it was either a child or a woman.
His fingers brushed fabric and found the gag. "I'm going to remove this," he mewled in a low voice. "Don't make a sound."
Just as he brought his gnarled fingers to the knot at the back, he was surprised by the sound of footsteps. The woman before him, this time he was sure by the way she struggled to pull herself inward, began to cry again.
Light flickered on and Bruce fought against the sudden blare of light, his wrinkled eyes lining further by the unexpected onslaught.
When they had adjusted, he felt a pang of fear, instantly converted to anger, as two of the GCPD brought in an unconscious Barbara. "What have you done to her?"
"She just needed a nap," one of them said. They dragged her, feet bumping against the stained cement and dropped her on the pad Bruce had landed on.
"Who are you? What is the meaning of this?" Bruce snapped, doing his best to leap to his feet.
"Shut up, you old dreg," the other hissed, bringing his police issue up and leveling it at a kill zone on Bruce's chest. "You won't live long enough to talk to the boss if you don't."
Bruce would have to wait, keep an ever watchful eye out. Already he was taking stock of the room, forming an escape plan, contingencies, and alternatives. He didn't know how long Terry could be, he could be fighting their mysterious enemy right now.
His piercing blue eyes came back to the woman he'd been attempting to rescue. Her husband was with her, a man who was obviously doing his best to protect the woman and the little boy between them. The boy's blue eyes were tear stained, with black hair. He was about eight-years-old. The significance was not lost on Bruce.
Once again he was reminded that this attack was as much for him as it was for Terry.
But why? What was the motivation?
"Who are you?" Terry's voice instantly deepened, darkened, turned back into that gnarled reflection of the night streets.
Where most of the criminals in Gotham would cringe at that voice, feel their stomach's tighten in a mass of unease, the man before him chuckled. "I wonder how close it is to the original? Did you practice or did it come naturally?"
Terry narrowed his eyes and glared, dark as his voice.
"Not a man for talk, are you?" The silence was deafening. "Good."
Terry shrugged. "I've actually been told I talk too much."
"By whom? The old man? By now you must know the truth."
"What truth is that?"
"You aren't him. You're inferior. Whatever you do...whatever leaps you take will always fall short to what he did."
Terry inched back, feigning to be struck, to be hurt by the words of man who knew nothing about him. If he could get to the podium, he could snatch Bruce's cane and use it for a distraction. He'd left the briefcase with the batsuit back where he'd been sitting.
He needed a break, a space to get the case and pull a batarang. He hated not having something in his hands. He hated this waiting.
"Yeah, well who is?" he questioned. "The man can't crack a smile to save his life. But you know what the difference between me and the old man is?" He took the last step back, his fingers clasping around the cane. "He can't do this."
Terry hurled the cane and flung his body backwards, flying over to land in a pile of jumbled chairs. He flung them aside, kicking those that weren't easily swept away, and snatched up the briefcase.
He tore it open and snatched a batarang. Swinging around, he identified his target and stood poised, waiting for the man to make his move.
"You're showmanship is comparable though."
"Where is he? Where is the Commissioner? I'm not going to ask twice."
The man, the shrouded opponent, raised his hands, taking up the cane. He strained his muscles and the wood splintered and then separated all together. "Your threats don't impress me."
"Ah, and I thought that I was getting better at it," Terry replied in a feigned pout.
"Terry, Terry. Your days are numbered. Be prepared to be replaced."
There was a puff of smoke and the enemy was gone. Though there was the echo of laughter. It was the laughter that dug at the pit of your stomach. "Come and get me Batman."
Dana looked through the cloud with Mary by her side. "Where is he?" Max was herding them back, away further and further from the country club. Dana tried to fight against her, but the crowd was in Max's favor. "We have to go back for Terry, Max."
Mary wanted to be right along with her son's girlfriend, but she remembered the promise Terry had extracted from her earlier today. Somehow he'd anticipated this. She didn't know how or why, but he had. And he had wanted to keep her and Matt safe.
It frightened her.
Often she'd realized that due to his money Bruce Wayne was a target. It was only now that Mary saw that Terry had been made one to by association. And she wondered what it was the old man offered Terry to earn such devotion.
"Mom," Matt broke into her thoughts. "Batman will come," he assured her, the innocence of youth still shining bright in his blue eyes. "He came for me. He'll come for Terry."
"I certainly hope so, Matt. I certainly hope so."
Terry knew he was being played with.
Nevertheless, he took the time allotted by the enemy to slip into the batsuit. He knew that most of the high tech still wasn't functional, but he didn't care. He needed to fall into the persona, to be the Bat.
With the recent patch work, the suit was snug again, but it didn't have the tension that the electronic shield held. He could move easier then before, it was like wearing a second skin. He took the mask and slide it over his handsome features.
"Time to get to work."
Bruce was worried.
If his plan worked, he could get the boy and his parents out unharmed. But Barbara was still unconscious. Though there were decades between now and the time they'd been lovers, she carried a piece of his heart.
He dreaded the moment where escape would present itself and he would be forced to leave her. He hated not knowing this new opponent as well as he wanted.
There was too much shrouded in shadow, in mystery.
That was where he was supposed to dwell. Someone had intruded on his turf without permission and he wanted to twist it. He wanted to use the darkness for evil.
There was the sound of a door swishing open and closed. Footsteps followed, strangely heavy. As though each step took effort. He catalogued this discovery.
And then the man, his face cloaked away from vision, appeared.
Bruce had decided to remain standing, even though his right leg trembled continuously and only held him under his stubborn will. He straightened now, as best as his aging bones could hold him.
"Release these people," he demanded without preamble. "They're nothing to you."
"Oh, but they mean something to you," the deep voice responded. "And that's what matters."
"You can do anything you want with me. Let them go. Now!" he barked.
"Always so proud," the man said, his voice amused, almost pleased. "Someone needs to break you. Shatter his legs. Make him fall."
