HI! DUDE, I'M ALIIIIIVE! BOOOYA:D Yup, I'm updating. Please don't hurt me, I did the best I could…and please don't hurt me once you read this chapter… Oh heck, on second thought, hurt me if you wish. Without further ado, read on to what lies ahead.
Batman tore through the marble halls, breathing heavy; not from exertion, but from fear. According to Crane, Alfred's body had already begun to shut down. Even if he could stop the poison, the old man would never be the same. Damaged, for the rest of his life.
Much to his surprise, Alfred was still in the same position that Crane had shown him from. There was a green tinge to his care-worn skin and tremors shook his body. Bruce's stomach clenched tightly at the sight, guilt and fear coursing through his veins. All his fault.
Stooping low, he scooped up Alfred easily, arms wrapped firmly around him to stifle the shaking. There was only one person who could save him…
Fox.
Crane stepped up to the computer, licking a drop of blood from his lip absently as he brought up the security cameras with the touch of a button. His trademark smirk crept onto his face as he watched Batman carry Alfred out of the manor, climbing into the Rolls and laying him on the backseat. He was taking him to Wayne Enterprises, no doubt. To develop an antidote, and heroically rescue his adopted father, effectively saving the day. Another miraculous win for Batman.
A cold and short-lived chuckle escaped his slightly parted lips. The Dark Knight was in for a little surprise.
Pale fingers darted across the keys, pulling up window after window with surprising ease. Hacking was an ability that was in his best interest to master, all things considered. Many a shady Arkham experiment had been funded by a little borrowed money from various companies…Wayne Enterprises included. This time was slightly different, as he was hacking into his own establishment.
Shockingly, they had changed the password in the eight years since he was instituted. Good, he would hate to have it too easy… After all, what was the point of life without a challenge or two?
Scarecrow's pointed tongue was caught between his teeth as he brought up the list of Arkham's patients. With every name he read, his lips twitched upward a little more; so incredibly easy, yet so brilliant. With these things on the loose, Gotham wouldn't stand a chance, and the Caped Crusader would have no time to interfere with any of his plans. "Now…" he muttered, twisting his way through the database until he located the security settings. It wouldn't be as easy as pushing a "shutdown now" button, but ridiculously close. He sat back in the swivel chair, folding his arms in his lap and sighing contentedly.
"Time to see what the Dark Knight can do."
Bruce propped Alfred up on the back seat, tucking a spare blanket securely around the butler's shivering body. With a deep frown and a painful knot in his stomach, Bruce wiped the thin stream of reddening fluid from Alfred's chin. He just hoped that Fox could help him.
When he arrived at Wayne Manor, he parked in the underground garage, locking the car twice, just to be sure. With one last look at Alfred and a tug on his suit jacket, Bruce climbed onto the elevator and rocketed upward to Fox's floor.
Bruce Wayne threaded his way through the midday bustle, ignoring everyone that tried to get his attention, avoiding any attempts to stop him. He heard absolutely nothing until he was pushing open the door to Fox's office.
"So, you finally decided to come to work, Mr. Wayne." The elder man's tone was kind, though he pretended to be stern. "Thought you had decided to spend the day cave—"
Fox stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Bruce's face. Instantly serious, he gripped the younger man's shoulder firmly. "What happened?"
Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but choked on the words. He was out of breath, small trickles of sweat running down his forehead as panic pulsed inside him. He was trained to handle these conditions without caving, yet that didn't seem to apply now. Now he couldn't control himself. "Fox…I need your help, I…" He swallowed hard, pushing the wet locks back from his face. "I need an antidote. Crane's back."
Fox's mouth opened slightly as he reached for his glasses and slipped them on. "Is he still using the inhalant?"
Bruce shook his head, fighting to control the urge to tear his way back down to the garage. "No, injected poison. Fast acting."
The man's mouth set in a grim line as he ran a rough hand through what hair he had. "Where?"
Bruce jerked his head as though to wake himself to action, then turned on his heel, finally allowing himself to race back the way he had come. Alfred…
It took a fair amount of time, but now Dr. Jonathon (?) Crane sat triumphantly before the massive computer screen, fingers interlaced, smile in place.
All security—every camera, every lock, every code—was offline; irreparably so. The prisoner's were waling free at this very moment. True, that part was nothing special; it had been done before. What was truly beautiful about Crane's simple action was that, this time, the convicts creeping out into the unsuspecting city were not just petty criminals, they were the handful of people in this world that hated Batman the most. The Dark Knight had defeated them individually, but together? Impossible.
A cold, quiet laugh hit the stone walls and echoed eerily as Scarecrow contemplated the horror he had just releases. Gotham was finished, and, with any luck…
Bruce Wayne was as well.
Bruce heard the old man push open the door, but he didn't turn around, choosing instead to watch as Rachel drove away, confusion and pity clouding her usually cheerful face. She had no idea…he could never explain it, and she would never understand even if he could.
"I thought I might prepare your supper."
Bruce brushed the suggestion away as nothing, barely having heard it in the first place. He felt the words, accumulated over the past days, pushing to escape his throat, but at the same time something held them back. Try as he might, he couldn't say anything.
A hint of disappointment and sorrow leaked into Alfred's quiet reply. "Very well." He was leaving…
"Alfred," Bruce choked, finally finding his voice and turning to face him. Alfred froze, and the words tumbled out.
"It was my fault, Alfred. I made them leave the theater. If I hadn't gotten scared…" They tasted bitter on his tongue, but he'd rather they were leaving than buried and hurting somewhere in his chest. Half of him wanted someone, anyone, to tell him they weren't true.
Alfred took the few steps necessary to bring him to Bruce's side. He hushed him gently, placing an arm on his shoulder. "It was nothing you did. It was him, and him alone. Do you understand?" he asked gently, tilting Bruce's head up until their eyes were level.
Struggling against escaping tears, Bruce nodded slowly. He felt better… The belief in the words wasn't completely there, but somehow, knowing that he wasn't alone was enough to ease the lump in his throat. He had someone. Alfred.
"This way!" Bruce yelled over his shoulder as he all but sprinted toward the parked car, Fox hot on his heels. It couldn't be too late…he still had time…
Jerking the door open, his mouth ran without his knowledge. "Alfred, I'm here, I have the—"
The words died painfully in his throat, a rasping gasp wrenching itself from his body as his eyes fell on the pale, still face. Paralyzed, he watched through a fog as Fox slipped alongside him, taking the suddenly frail man's wrist gently, thumb at the base of the palm. A sigh, brought up deep from the soul…then Fox looked at him, almost apologetically…
Bruce Wayne stumbled away from the car, breathing halted and mind numbed in disbelief. Alfred was gone.
I know what you're thinking, but this really isn't a cliffhanger. I gave you the answer, and it's not going to change. As for the poor quality of the chapter…I'm sorry. I'm going through a long painful dry spell, so this might be the last you see of me for quite some time. -Dusty
