Alfred stood still as a statue as the elevator hummed on its way down. Worry nagged at his mind. The master was out of bed. Escaping death by a hair's width, Bruce was sure to go out once more and seek it out yet again.
The elevator clanked in place and the door slid back. He set off at a brisk pace and soon caught sight of the lord of the manor, sitting at his gigantic computer. On one screen the television droned away.
The armor might look impenetrable and proud, but the unmasked face proved his mortality. There were bags under his eyes and his skin was pale as a sheet, the color accentuated by the bright glow from the screen. He looked positively vampiric.
The butler's approach went ignored. He stared over the younger man's shoulder for a few moments before taking the initiative.
"Feeling better, Master Bruce?" his hesitant voice broke the silence.
The master did not reply, merely tapped on the keyboard. A new image popped up on the screen. It was a picture of a expressionless woman in a lab coat, with red hair and blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses.
"From what I can gather, this is who we're dealing with. Dr. Pamela Isley. Worked for Wayne Enterprises, went missing under suspicious circumstances a few years ago. Expert on poisons"
Another click and another image. This time a middle-aged man in a tux.
"Nathan Redville. Stabbed to death not long ago. No traces of poison, but I've still got a feeling it's her doing. Dozens of neighbors, all showed signs of being drugged. Substance unknown. Redville's bodyguard vanished. Whereabouts unknown. I looked into Redville's past. Seems he was one of many responsible for a environmentally questionable deal. And guess what? He was the sole survivor of the meeting that sealed the deal. A few weeks before, all his partners died. Food poisoning."
He pointed to the screen showing the news. A caption at the bottom read: Black Death Watch. The image was of a hospital, showing worried families waiting in the reception.
"Her work. The police report states all the plague-bearers were homeless men. Much of the homeless populace vanished days before. I had a run-in with one of them while snooping around as Matches Malone. Said he'd seen something strange. A green woman."
Another click and a police report popped onto the screen.
"And here is where I finally ran into her. When the police got there, they found blood smears on the floor. They got DNA out of it. It belonged to Joe Maddock. One of the Joker's old henchmen. Last I heard of them, the group was still together, doing small jobs for various people, living off of their employer's reputation."
He leaned back in his chair.
"But I don't know why he was killed. He doesn't fit into the scheme. Assassination of businessmen, all-out terrorism, then suddenly a few low-level criminals are murdered? What's the pattern?"
A tense silence reigned in the cave, broken only by the screeching of the bats. Alfred coughed uncomfortably. Bruce was always determined, but now he looked like he wanted to burn the screen to cinders with his eyes.
"Wait. What if it wasn't her idea? There was someone else there."
A photo of a cheery blonde woman filled the screen.
"Harleen Quinzel. She was there. Meeting with the Joker's men. The leader's dead. And now she presumably leads them. I don't know how she met Isley, but one thing's certain. She wants to break him out again."
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
The ride was silent, apart from Renee's nervous fingers tapping the dashboard. Bullock kept his eyes on the road. He had no idea what to do.
"We ain't bein' paid enough."
She looked over at him with a ghost of a smile.
"No. We're not."
He opened his mouth but couldn't say anything. Instead he watched the people they whizzed by. Just walking around, doing normal stuff. Shaken by the terrorists, but staying sane. They had no idea.
The car crawled on, along with the silence. Bullock took off his hat. The heat was stuffing, even though it was almost midnight.
"Get a load of that guy."
Bullock slowed down and got out of the car, Montoya reluctantly following. Standing at the foot of a statue of some old Wayne was a man clad in a red monk's robe and hood. A dozen people were crowded around him.
"We're all doomed! This is the price we pay for corruption! For making Gotham a den of sin!"
Bullock tapped a man in the audience on the shoulder.
"Who is this clown?"
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"Called himself the Monk. Dunno what he wants."
The red-clad man kept on preaching.
"The Green rains death upon this city! You think it's over? It has barely begun! The earth itself rejects you!"
Bullock turned around with a frown on his face. Looked like the kook had heard the rumors.
"Blah, blah, blah. Lunatic. Let's get outta here."
They got back in the car and kept on driving. Montoya had a far-away look in her eyes. The silence became even more jarring. Bullock turned on the radio.
"…and so the death toll rises to nearly 8000. Hospitals in the Gotham area are overflowing, but doctor's are optimistic that the recovery rate…"
He shut it off again with a scowl. He needed a drink. Or three.
A short while later they were walking up the steps to the station. They were met with dozens of curious faces when they entered. Apparently they'd heard. Bullock walked over to Stephens.
"So what's goin' on?"
Stephens looked confused.
"We got more calls about those…things. SWAT's dealing with it. Apparently one of them is being shipped for examination. Gordon's probably gonna make his statement in a few hours."
He ran a hand over the scar on his neck before continuing.
"Is it actually…y'know. Is it real?"
Bullock walked away. He couldn't take it much longer. He needed to get home, drink a gallon of vodka. Needed to forget.
The burly man barreled through the door without looking ahead. The unfortunate soul on the other side was thrown back, tumbling down the steps. Bullock ran down after him, cursing loudly. The other man came to a stop in the middle of the steps, his hands scraped and his hat crushed under him. He started crying.
"Aw, geez, Rand, I'm sorry,"
The man looked up, tears flowing freely down his face.
"I-I killed them."
Bullock couldn't move. He couldn't think either. The look in Randall's eyes was pure desperation.
"I killed them!"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
She stuck her head out, peering up and down the corridor. No sign of the orderlies. She ran a hand through her hair. What was going on?
"Don't just stand there. The people have need of you, Joan."
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the closeness of his voice. She spun around, mustering all the authority she could into her voice.
"Get back, Ed…"
He stood there with that familiar grin, amusement in his eyes. He held up the useless handcuffs with one outstretched finger. She'd never thought of him as physically intimidating, but he was still taller than her. And feeling him looking down at her was definitely uncomfortable.
She gave a tiny squeak before jumping out the door and trying to slam it in his face. He put his hands against the door and slowly pushed it open, nearly knocking her against the wall in the process.
"Come now, Joan. You know I'd never hurt you."
She didn't like this one bit. She doubted he'd hurt her, but that knowledge did not alleviate her fears. And if the asylum was compromised, he might escape. She darted a quick look down the corridor. There was an alarm not far down.
"You know me, or close enough. We're going to find out what's going on. Of course, if the opportunity for escape presents itself, I'll take it.," he leaned against the wall with one hand in a classic bully stance, his face uncomfortably close, "If not, I'll help out."
She drew a few shuddering breaths before answering.
"That doesn't make much sense, Edward. Help out with what?"
"Details, details. I'm simply offering to escort you through the dark corridors of a lunatic asylum."
He finally stepped back and she felt as if a weight had been lifted.
"And what if I refuse?"
He leaned his back against the wall opposite and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Then I'll be forced to leave you here. Someone has to help the poor orderlies, after all."
She thought it over and simultaneously tried to calm herself down. Maybe if she went back inside and waited for him to leave, she could reach the alarm after he'd left. Unlikely, but possible.
"I suppose I can't stop you. But I'd rather stay here."
He shrugged and pulled forth a set of keys, swinging them around by the chain.
"Your choice, of course."
He slowly walked away as he spun the keys, whistling as he went.
She stared at the closed door, then patted her now empty pocket. She stared down both directions of the dark hallway before following after him, gnashing her teeth.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Everything went quiet at the door. None of them moved. The officers started whispering frantically.
"Shit! How'd he find us?"
"Don't matter. It's him, it's gotta be him."
"Don't just stand there, call for backup!"
"I'm doin' it, I'm doin' it!"
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Where are those fucking gas-masks?"
He ran off into the next room while the other fiddled with his phone. Emily stared out the window. The night was dark.
"This is Robson!" the cop hissed at his phone. "He's here! We need backup now!"
Something ran past the window. Emily stopped breathing, the cop dropped his phone and pulled out his gun. Everything went silent again, except for the indistinguishable din from the phone.
The other one returned, throwing a mask at Robson and kneeling down to fasten one on her.
"You called it in yet?"
His voice was slightly muffled by the mask on his face.
"Yeah. Yeah, they're on their way. Should we retreat to the second floor?"
They seemed calmer now, safe in their masks. Emily did not calm down. It couldn't be this easy.
"I say we kill him. What is he without his gas? Just a skinny little psychologist."
The sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen. The cops rushed in and Emily peaked around the corner.
"He's not inside. No way."
"But what do we do? No way we're goin' anywhere near that window. Let's just wait for back-up."
The tone in the other cop's voice suggested he wanted to do otherwise, but he didn't push it.
"Alright. We'll wait him out."
Another window shattered in the next room and the cops darted over to it.
"Let's just get to the second floor. There's no way we can keep watch over all the windows. He's gettin' in sooner or later. Plenty of ways in here, but only the stairs if he wants to come up."
"Ok, let's just get the chick and go."
They tore her to her feet and ran up the stairs, throwing a table down as a shield at the top, hiding behind it with guns at the ready. Everything was quiet downstairs.
"And now we wait. No way he's gettin' up here."
The front door slowly creaked open downstairs. The cops exchanged glances.
"What's he doin'?"
"Just shut up and wait."
A few moments passed. There was no sound apart from their heavy breathing and the open door occasionally bumping against the wall.
"Where's back-up?"
"Just stay calm. We're on top of this."
A loud and unforgiving noise came from Robson's front pocket. He flinched before taking out his phone.
"It's the guys. Or their phone at least."
He let it ring for a few more moments before answering.
"Would you like to see your friends?"
It was spoken in a whisper, but they all heard it. The voice alone sent shivers up and down her spine.
"Fuck you, creep."
He shut off the phone.
"Let that son of a bitch come. I'm gonna blow his head off."
The other cop said nothing. More tense moments passed. Robson's face was drenched in cold sweat.
Footsteps sounded from downstairs. They were slow and heavy, drawing closer to the stairs. Both cops raised their weapons. Someone stepped into view.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with wide blue eyes and blond hair pulled back by an unseen hand, a sickle resting against his exposed neck. He trembled visibly.
"I need you to walk up, John. Your friends are there. They are your only hope."
The man started his slow and awkward journey up the stairs, the Scarecrow following in his footsteps.
"Let the officer go!" Robson shouted, his voice cracking slightly.
The Scarecrow didn't answer. They continued slowly up the stairs, one step at a time. Nearly nothing was visible of Scarecrow behind the bigger man, only a hint of his leg whenever they took another step.
"Come on, John! You're a freakin' bodybuilder, man! You can beat him to a pulp before he can even touch you with that rusty sickle!"
John's eyes settled on Robson's.
"N-no. The s-s-shadows are too deep. He'll eat me."
The Scarecrow chuckled. They took another step.
Robson stood up, stepped over the fallen table and rushed at them.
"You're dead, you little creep!"
The Scarecrow's hand shot out from behind his shield and Robson fell with a gasp. The other cop jumped slightly and raised his gun. The hand jerked again and he too fell. Emily could see something sticking out from his neck.
Scarecrow stood still as Robson pulled the dart out of his leg.
"What the hell?"
He shakily got to his feet.
"Stand still. Or he dies."
"You gonna kill him with that? No way."
"It's laced with toxin. Another dose would be fatal."
Robson didn't know what to do. He kept his gun aimed at John, but his hand wasn't steady. He made no move to attack or step back up.
The Scarecrow reared his ugly head and Robson fainted. John was pushed down the stairs and alone stood Scarecrow. He stared straight at Emily, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. The sickle remained in his hand.
"Are you ready?"
Emily stopped breathing.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Harleen Quinzel felt good right about now. Maybe it was her upcoming reunion with her lover. Maybe it was the wind blowing through her tassels. Maybe it was the fact she was riding the shiniest convertible she'd ever had. Maybe it was the awesome song on the radio.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was the big, shiny M-16 resting by her arm and the crate of grenades in the passenger seat.
Yep, life was sweet.
A loud bang rang over the purr of the engine as her bubblegum popped.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Giovanni let himself sink into the plush leather seat. He deserved some comfort, after a whole day of dealing with that madman. He gave the two bodyguards a glance. They hadn't acknowledged him yet, apart from the one who let him in.
He was seated in an uncomfortably dark room in a dark and ugly compound in the Narrows. But unappealing as it might look from the outside, on the inside it was lavishly furnished. The walls were decked with hunting trophies, the furniture was the most expensive you could find today and the staff all wore expensive suits. Even if their influence had diminished, the mob was still the most powerful institution in Gotham. Only Bruce Wayne and Oswald Cobblepot could rival the boss in extravagance.
He cleared his throat and looked at the man on the other side of the desk. The new leader of the families sat with one leg crossed over the other, puffing away on a fat cigar and one hand clasping a glass of brandy. He was clad in a gray suit, blending with the smoke hanging thick about him.
"Speak," the boss began. His voice was deep and smooth. Giovanni always felt there was a hint of malice to it.
"He's workin' on it as we speak. It took me a while ta negotiate the terms with him, but he finally agreed to the regular fee. He'll probably be done later tonight, so all we can do is wait."
A short silence followed and the boss kept puffing away.
"Have you seen the news?"
Giovanni took a while to answer, trying to keep a frown of confusion registering on his face.
"Yeah?"
The boss leaned back in his chair.
"Almost 8000 dead, they say."
He finished the brandy in one sip before continuing.
"It really does seem like this city's going to hell, doesn't it?"
Giovanni felt those cold, calculating eyes on him. He missed Sal. Even if the new leader had taken the mob to new heights, Sal had at least shown a hint of respect.
"I guess it does. But we'll take care of those loonies. Things'll quiet down again."
"No."
The reply had a note of anger to it, but it dissipated as he went on.
"No. No, they won't. It will only escalate. That's why we'll seize this opportunity. The police have their hands full. The Batman has stayed quiet for the last few days. Our enemies won't be expecting it. It's time to attack, Giovanni."
He couldn't answer right away, the madness of it silencing him.
"But, sir, shouldn't we focus on the threat at hand? These are dangerous people and they're gunning for us. We can't just ignore that."
The boss leaned forward and stared at him. That unmoving face stared at Giovanni as he spoke.
"You're too cautious. You don't see. We're warriors, Giovanni. And from the dawn of time, warriors have been as gods on earth. In ancient times they were exempt from mundane occupations, beneficiaries of the sacrifices of grain and gold, they reigned over the other castes and classes. The warrior is the Mercury of mortality, a divine messenger of Death."
Giovanni could not answer. This was insane.
"The whole existence of warriors is involved with the mystery and glory of death, along with a exalted status in society. We who deal in death are raised above the masses. The power is ours. We need but take it."
He was starting to sweat. The bodyguards still showed no sign of interest. This man was insane. Absolutely insane.
"Are you sure, sir? We're already at war with the loonies, is it really wise to attack the other organizations?"
"Fortune favors the audacious, Giovanni."
He chuckled and looked at his watch.
"I've already told the others. We start tonight. Hours from now the streets will run red. We'll wash our foes away in a tide of blood. We will regain our rightful place. We will rebuild Carmine's empire. We will be the last standing."
Giovanni nervously ran a hand through his graying hair. This could not end well.
"You look scared. Don't worry, your branch won't be needed until tomorrow night. You won't be on the frontlines either. Unless, of course, your operation is attacked. Then you'll have to prove your worth."
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Floyd stepped out of the car, she and her servants following suit.
"This is the place."
They'd gone back to the park. She'd brought out a dozen bums. Armed to the teeth, fueled by anger and what seemed to be adoration. The not-quite-women with the tattered backs were still with them. He wasn't sure what troubled him more, all these strange people or her casual attitude around them. He was starting to doubt she was really human.
She hadn't changed her clothes, but it seemed like she'd stacked up on vines. Every time her dress fluttered in the breeze, he could see some of the vines slowly slithering over her skin.
"Do you remember which building?", she asked as she toyed with the blow-gun hanging from her neck.
"Yeah. It's the only normal looking house. Relatively."
She crooked a finger at her followers and set off. The walk was silent, a slight breeze keeping the heat from being stuffing. It was already past midnight, but still the heat lingered. He stared at his feet as he trudged on.
He used to think the freaks were a good thing. There was a certain flair to them. Guys like the Joker and the Riddler. They had style.
But these people were just unnerving. People who didn't really notice you, spoke down to you when they did. Who surrounded themselves with servants who didn't look at all healthy in the mind. Who had no plans, at least none that could be understood by a normal person. He still had no idea what she wanted, but money wasn't high on that list.
"Is that the one you were talking about?"
He looked up.
"Yeah."
None of the brain-dead guards were there. No light was on inside. They walked up to the building.
She pushed open the door. There was a slight creak but no sign or sound of life from inside. She waved her hand and the bums rushed in. She followed at a leisurely pace. Floyd went after her, but the tramps stayed outside the door.
Floyd stepped into the living room with her. The bums went through the house loudly, rushing hither and thither. She inspected the long table and the cups and discs. It seemed like he hadn't cleaned up after his little tea party.
The bums all rushed into the room and stood at the ready. She slowly moved her head to look at him, a patient smile on her face.
"There's other places in the park. Maybe he's interrogating him somewhere else."
She hummed slightly in response and walked back out. Everyone followed. They set off for the next building in sight. The house of horrors.
"Seems as good a bet as any, right?", he asked nervously. The silence was starting to drive him mad.
She didn't answer. They kept walking.
Soon, they had reached the house. She went in first this time, followed by Floyd and the bums. The women came inside but stayed by the door as the rest of the group moved onward.
"Hmm. If he's here, he's seen us," she pointed at a camera in the corner of the ceiling. "All the more reason to remove him."
Every room they went through had one. There were also speakers scattered around the house, but no voice reached their ears. They carried on. Still there was no one in sight.
Finally they reached a heavy looking door, behind which lay stone steps leading down.
"A dark cellar. That does sound promising. If he's in this park at all, he must be down there."
They all walked down the stairs and entered in the same order as before. The cellar was as silent as the rest of the building, but much darker. The only thing Floyd could really see was a thick curtain hanging in front of them. The bums went to work pulling it away. They were met with the sight of a big glass tube. And in that tube was a person. A catatonic-looking person.
She signaled for her men to draw back the next curtain. Then the next and the next. In a short while the room was filled with a cacophony of screams. He could barely hear her voice.
"What on earth is this?"
The people were all going crazy, beating against the glass, screaming themselves hoarse. One cage was covered in blood. Floyd felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Who the hell was this guy? And what the hell had Floyd ever done to deserve this?
The bums finally showed a real emotion. Fear. They kept glancing at her and then back at the screamers. She massaged her temple as she glanced round the room.
After listening to the unbearable noise for a few moments more, she turned away with a look of disgust in her eyes. They all followed.
"He's gone. I'll just have to meet him some other day," she muttered half to him, half to herself as they escaped the horrible noise.
They stepped outside only to be met with a blinding light shining into their eyes.
"Freeze! This is the GCPD! You are surrounded! Get down on the ground with your arms above your head!"
He could see her fists clench and barely heard her muttering.
"I've had just about enough of this."
XXXXXXXXXXX
The Mad Hatter hummed to himself merrily as he tinkered with one of his devices. He was alone in the cellar, apart from the lowly worm bound to a chair in the middle of the sterile room.
Outside and above his pawns waited with baited breath, keeping watch. It would not do if someone were to barge in and ruin the process. Would not do at all.
He walked gingerly over to his newest project, each tap of his shiny shoes against the grimy stone echoing loudly in the windowless room. It was hard to tell if the chair's occupant was conscious or merely writhing in pain while sleeping. Matter it did not.
He tilted his hat back and put on his concentrated yet friendly face. Rudeness was always unhelpful, regardless the circumstances. He prodded the fruits of the mob's labors, dotted all over the skin.
"Infantile," he muttered under his breath.
Thankfully the card was now in the hands of an expert. No more clumsy antics, befuddling incompetence no more. Merely a beautiful instrument of truth.
He placed the hat on the head, careful lest he crumple it.
"Now then. Yes. Let us open the mind."
XXXXXXXXXX
AN: Some tiny threads wrapped up here. Have to admit I' d almost completely forgot about Mr. Redville. Kinda fell into the shadow of the 8000 dead people thing. Really should have tried figuring out just how high the death toll was before I went on with it. Feels just a tad much. Oh, well, they're fictional people anyway. And if she really wants to destroy civilization, it really does suggest quite a lot of casualties if she makes any progress. Still, sheesh.
Hold tight is a song with Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. If you've seen Death Proof you may remember it.
The scar on Stephens' neck is from TDK. He's the guy who Joker takes hostage. It involves something being held against his neck, broken glass if I remember correctly. Ergo, scar.
The mob boss's speech about "messenger of Death" and things in that vein is taken almost straight from a book called "The Military Occult Complex". That paragraph comes in the introduction and it just screamed "Madman's monologue!" at me.
I really have to make this up to Harley sometime. Apart from the next chapter, she's almost always a side note. At least she gets to be a ray of sunshine. And when all is said and done, what more can we ask of in life?
The Monk serves absolutely no purpose. I just felt the urge to give him a cameo. He was Batman's first foe, I believe, and a vampire to boot. So here he is, knowing more than he should. I added the statue of some old Wayne because I always get the feeling, both in comics and movies, that Gotham would be nothing without the family. Remember that conversation from BB?"Did you build this train dad?" -"Dramatic dialogue, son. We're saints." Then the part with some ancestor having helped free slaves. And that is why I felt Gotham needed a statue. Of a Wayne.
Please excuse the officers' foul language. They're under a lot of stress.
Sadly, we must opt for a line of X's to signal the end of scenes. I miss my line breaks. If anyone has an inkling as to why they seem to be out of favor on the site, do tell me.