Act II, Scene VII
Clark Kent's eyes open. We see through them for a moment, into a blurred world of greys and blacks, slowly resolving itself into focus, before going back to a shot of Clark until we realise we're looking at him lying flat on his back. He's back in his Clark civilian outfit again, including the suit and glasses, although the suit is rumpled and the glasses askew. He reaches up to fix them and slowly begins to sit up and take in his surroundings.
He's surrounded on both sides by the walls of a very claustrophobic alleyway. Garbage litters the surface. A dumpster at the far end is jam-packed with trash and flies circle its offerings endlessly. Far above his head, washing lines are strung across the alley, with clothing of all shapes and sizes hung out to dry. A head belonging to a little girl, no more than six years old, is poking out of a small window looking down at Clark with mild interest. Her mother's head pokes out above it and speaks to the girl's head sternly, before both heads retreat back inside again.
Clark sees all this and struggles to comprehend it. He gets to his feet…and falls on his ass. We go back inside his head again, and although it's not blurry anymore, we notice that only when Clark actually puts the glasses over his eyes does his vision approximate that of normal; when he removes them or lifts them up as if to unleash heat vision, his sight is far from perfect. Clark takes off the glasses and examines them, extremely puzzled.
More carefully this time, he gets to his feet, steadying himself against the nearby wall to ensure a successful operation this time. He winces and clutches a hand to his temple, and we see a blinding flash of what it must have looked like from the inside of the Red Sun booth; searing pain, red light, and a quick shot of Clark as Superman screaming in agony as the source of his superpowers was ripped from every cell in his body.
Cut back to present time, in the alley. Clark leans against the wall for support. He puts the glasses back on, looks to the end of the alleyway he's in, and begins to walk toward it, if a trifle unsteadily. As he gets to the end of the alley, he realises where he is. In Gotham City. Slap bang in the middle of the Narrows, the most deprived area of the city, a rabbit warren of low-class housing and poverty-stricken neighbourhoods separated from the rest of the city by bridge. Crowds of people are filing past. There's a marketplace about fifty feet away to the south.
One man, middle-aged and carrying a few shopping bags of goods, notices Clark, leaning against the alley wall. He comes over.
NARROWS MAN: Hey buddy, you all right?
CLARK: It's so quiet.
The citizen of the Narrows looks around him. The street they're standing in is packed with life, noisy, busy. He looks at Clark and frowns, taking a half-step back and noting Clark's dishevelled appearance.
NARROWS MAN: Seems pretty vivid to me, pal. Look. Want my advice? You come down here wearing a suit like that, even if it has seen bettter days, you're only telling people you probably got a wallet stuffed with cash on you. Lose the suit or finish your business here pretty quick if you don't want a real bad day.
He walks on. Clark stares after him, trying to process what's going on.
CLARK: I need help. Lois…oh God, Lois…
Clark ducks back into the cover afforded by the alley. He looks upwards, hunches down, springs…
…and lands back on his feet about a second later, having done what could charitably be described as a bunny hop. Nothing more.
He rummages in his pockets, turns them out. Nothing in any of them. He opens a few of his shirt buttons. Nothing but bare skin beneath. No Superman costume.
CLARK: No. No…
He runs back out of the alley again, straight into the throng of people walking to and fro the little market. Spying a woman in her mid-twenties talking on a cellphone with two children walking with her, he goes to her, wide-eyed.
CLARK: Please, miss. You have to help me. I need to make a call-
Quick as a wink, the girl has fished in her bag and produced a small flickknife. She thumbs the blade so it springs up and eyeballs Clark, moving her children behind her. The daughter, no more than four years old, looks out from behind her mother with eyes like saucers, full of wary fear.
WOMAN: You're one of them fear-gas leftover nut jobs, right? Well back the hell off. You hear me? Back the hell off from me and my kids.
MAN #1: You heard the lady.
He's joined by two other men. Clark spreads his hands wide as the three men form a moving wall of threat moving toward him.
CLARK: Guys, please. I woke up in an alley. I have no idea how I got here. My girlfriend has been kidnapped, and I have to get to her. I have to save her. And to do that I have to get out of here. I need a phone-
MAN #2: (to the woman) You got him pinned. Fear gas nut job.
MAN #3: Girlfriend kidnapped. Right. Just like my dog got eaten by the croc in the sewer.
They laugh.
MAN #1: (snorts)Shirt ain't even buttoned up right on that fancy suit. C'mon fella. Leave the girl alone and go back to whatever padded cell you escaped out of.
CLARK: I swear, I'm not crazy! I'm just asking for your help-
He takes a step forward, motioning to the cellphone the woman carries. She moves, slashing, and suddenly Clark is sporting a cut on his hand. He looks down at his hand in wonder, automatically clutching it with his other hand, and at the blood seeping through from the cut, turning his fingers red, seeping into the white fabric of his shirt sleeves.
CLARK: (amazed)I'm bleeding. I…it hurts.
The woman takes her children and hurries on, sending one fearful glance back in Clark's direction. The three men who came to her aid exchange glances and then advance on Clark once more.
MAN #1: What do you think?
MAN #2: Escapee. Definitely.
MAN #1: We can't leave him out here.
MAN #3: So let's take him home.
Clark looks up at the three men and behind them, the shape of Arkham Asylum suddenly looms into focus. He realises what they mean.
CLARK: (desperately, backing away)My name is Clark Kent. I'm an investigative reporter for a major metropolitan newspaper-!
MAN #1: (soothingly)Sure you are.
MAN #2: And I'm the long-lost prince of Atlantis.
MAN #3: C'mon fella. We'll get you to people who can help you.
Clark weighs up his options for about a second longer, then turns tail and runs for all he's worth, with all three in close pursuit. The guys are shouting to the crowd in general - words like 'escapee!' and 'fear gas!', words which cause some of the market crowd to abandon what they were doing and join in the task at hand of bringing Clark down.
He's rugby-tackled to the ground by one man coming at him from the side. Clark smashes to the pavement below, going through a fruit and vegetable stall, sending the contents flying. His torso and head impact the ground in slow-mo and we can see the reverberations and how much pain they cause him.
TACKLING MAN: I gottim! I gottim!
Clark kicks him in the face.
The tackler abruptly howls in pain and lets go, and Clark is on his feet before the three original pursuers can reach him. He dodges left and right as more and more people join in the chase, and in trying to wriggle free through the far side of the market and to the relative safety of a less busy adjoining street, he fails to notice a fist arcing towards him until it's too late-
The fist smashes into his face, knocking off his glasses, destroying them. He is sent sprawling to the deck. Once there, he raises his hands to his face and comes away with them covered in blood. Clark Kent blinks through tears of pain in his fear-filled eyes as shadows fall upon him from above.
There's no escape from this one.
Kicks begin to rain down on him, the rugby-tackling man Clark kicked in the face the first to strike, revenge in his eyes. Clark blocks the first few kicks as best he can but is unable to fend off the others, and soon loses the strength even for that, unable to do anything but simply curl up into a foetal ball as the beating continues.
After another few blows land, one man - one of the original three - holds up a hand.
MAN #1: That's enough!
The subduing stops.
MAN #1: We ain't animals. Maybe he ain't either.
We cut to Clark being carried through the front doors of Arkham Asylum. The receptionist looks up from her desk and gasps in shock as she sees the state of the man being dragged in before her. The three men deposit him unceremoniously on a couch to the side of the reception area, even as the receptionist runs out from behind her station and over to Clark, who has slumped on the couch, barely conscious, blood trickling from his nose.
MAN #1: Another one of your guests. This loon almost assaulted a young mother.
MAN #3: You clowns should take this off (indicating the front doors) install a goddamn revolving one and be done with it.
RECEPTIONIST: Hey! Hey! You can't just leave him here!
MAN #2: Yeah? Watch us.
And with that, the three men simply walk out, leaving Clark alone with the receptionist. She gingerly leans over him and takes a look at him, wrinkling her nose in disgust at what she sees; the filthy suit, the blood. Sighing, she presses a button on the wall.
RECEPTIONIST: Security? We have a UA down here. Possible escapee. Do a rounds check willya? And get someone from Admissions down here. Cleanup.
CLARK: (weakly) Phone…I need...phone...
RECEPTIONIST: Yeah, all in good time.
Security arrives. Clark is bundled into a chair and we see flashes of his wounds being dabbed as he seems to flit in and out of consciousness, head lifting and falling, until he comes to properly, now dressed in a standard issue gown, his suit gone, facing a doctor.
The doctor, elderly, hook-nosed, peers over old-fashioned glasses disapprovingly at his new admission.
DOCTOR: Mmm. You like assaulting young women?
Clark comes to somewhat at the sound of the doctor's voice. His head lifts and we see his face is already beginning to puff up from the beating he received. He tries to focus on the doctor before him, looking through short-sighted eyes swollen with bruising.
CLARK: What? What are you talking a-owww…
He touches his body, his midriff, his ribs. Pulls aside the gown and stares down at the bluish-black bruises that are blooming all over him as if he can't comprehend what is happening.
DOCTOR: Three Narrows locals brought you in on a citizen's arrest. After Crane's mass breakout a few years back, the police started avoiding this place altogether. Figured it was a lost cause I suppose. (snorts)Can't say as I blame them. So now it's just the locals policing themselves. And the Bat. He helps, sometimes.
CLARK: (grunting, through the pain)Oh, yeah. He's a real hero.
DOCTOR: We checked the files, and you're not a previous guest of ours, that much we know. So who are you?
CLARK: My name is Clark Kent. I'm a reporter for the Daily Planet.
DOCTOR: Can anyone prove that?
CLARK: (exasperated)Find me a copy! I wrote the front page lead two days ago!
DOCTOR: We don't have newspapers on the premises. We try not to remind the inmates of the world outside.
CLARK: What about the staff?
DOCTOR: Inmates, staff. Stay here long enough, you'll start to struggle to tell the difference. (mutters)Trust me.
CLARK: Lois…(he clutches his head, in pain) …God, Lois - I have to get out of here. I have to make a phone call. Please. Someone close to me is in danger.
DOCTOR: Calm yourself.
CLARK: (slams his fists on the table, despite the pain this obviously causes him) I don't have time for calm! The woman I love has been kidnapped, I'm powerless with no memory of how I got here, my son is alone in Gotham GOD-DAMNED City - and you're telling me to calm down?! I'm not crazy! I know my rights! I want to make a phone call! NOW!
DOCTOR: Very well.
He presses a button on the desk.
DOCTOR: Dr. Quinzel? Can you come in here please?
The door to the room opens and in steps a young woman wearing the white overcoat of a doctor. She is pretty, young, blonde, wearing fashionable glasses. She seems annoyed to be called, however, and glares at Clark.
DR. QUINZEL: Will this take long? I have to get back to-
DOCTOR: Harley…I don't want to hear it. He'll still be there. He's not going anywhere, please God.
DR. QUINZEL: His review board-
DOCTOR: Is due in one hundred and fourteen years. Wish him luck from me, won'tcha? Now, take this gentleman to the secure phone and let him make his phone call, and then place him in the holding pen until we can check his identity with GCPD. Get someone down to identify him if possible, but I've assessed him and believe him when he says he's not crazy.
He glances at Clark. There's a haunted expression on his face as he speaks.
DOCTOR: I don't doubt you think you've been treated shabbily, and for that, I'm sorry. But you don't know what we get in here. Trust me when I say we have to be sure.
He stands and gestures Clark toward Dr. Quinzel. Clark gets up, limping, pain evident on his face from the bruises all over his body received at the marketplace brawl.
We cut to Clark being led by Dr. Quinzel down a corridor toward a room containing a telephone. Clark passes rooms containing various inmates as he goes. A hand reaches out through a grille and tries to brush him. He jerks away, alarmed.
VOICE: You reek of fear…
DR. QUINZEL: (slapping the hand away) Enough, Crane! One more and your outside privileges are revoked for another week! Understood?
She gets no reply. She rolls her eyes at Clark, turns on her heels (four-inch, killer) and strides off again. Clark struggles to keep up.
CLARK: Was that-? Jonathan Crane?
DR. QUINZEL: (dismissively)Yes. Hopeless case. He'll be here the rest of his days. Some of our inmates don't have the imagination to change. And some…
She pauses just as she's about to open the door to the room containing the phone. There's a faraway look in her eyes; she's almost misty-eyed in fact.
DR. QUINZEL: …well. Some are altogether different. Some people simply shouldn't be here at all.
CLARK: (darkly) Yeah? Tell me about it.
He slams the door shut and begins dialling a number on the phone.
Act II, Scene VIII
Commissioner James Gordon is getting out of his car, parked in front of his house. He closes the car door, then remembers something and jogs back to the car. He returns a second later with a rather small and meek bunch of flowers, which he hides behind his back. He walks to the front door and is about to put his key in the lock to open it when it opens ahead of him to reveal Barbara Gordon, his wife.
GORDON: I'm sorry I'm-
BARBARA: Forget it. I know.
GORDON: I brought-
He brings the flowers around meekly. Barbara smiles briefly, takes them from him, and then her smile broadens. Her husband sees this and frowns, but can't help a smile surfacing on his face too. We get the distinct impression Commissioner James Gordon hasn't seen his wife smile like that in far too long.
GORDON: What is it?
We cut to inside. James, Gordon's son, is brushing his teeth. His father sneaks a look around the top of the staircase at him, and then jogs back down to talk to his wife.
GORDON: Did you get a name?
BARBARA: Jason White. He's Lois Lane's son.
GORDON: Lane? She was involved in that helicopter incident this morning at Wayne Tower, she and Clark Kent and that rich idiot Wayne.
BARBARA: (horrified) Oh-! Was she-
GORDON: No, no, she's fine. Superman came and…(he motions with his arms above his head) you know…did his Superman thing, I guess.
BARBARA: What is it?
GORDON: Hmm.
BARBARA: I know that face, James. I know that look. Is something bothering you?
GORDON: No. (off his wife's look) No, Bar. But hey, I mean…that's great, huh? About Jason? Maybe now we won't have to pull James from that school.
BARBARA: Jason's only going to be here for as long as his parents are working the Batman story, so James told me.
GORDON: Well, we can (he shrugs) who knows, we can arrange something.
BARBARA: (dryly)Just don't call it a play date, whatever you do.
Husband and wife look at each other for a long moment and then, quite impulsively, come together for a long embrace. There are tears in Barbara's eyes.
GORDON: I'm sorry. I've been…
BARBARA: Sssh. No-one should have to keep the secrets you do, James. No one. You're the most principled man I've ever known and I'm so, so proud of you, okay?
Jim Gordon nods, visibly emotional himself. He kisses his wife, on the forehead and then on the lips. When they break apart, he puts a foot on the first stair.
GORDON: First time I've been home early enough to tuck them in in 13 days.
BARBARA: You count?
GORDON: (surprised) Never realised until now.
He moves to set off upstairs - and his cellphone buzzes for attention. Barbara bites her lip and turns away in frustration. Gordon hesitates, looking at Barbara helplessly, and it's only when she turns back and nods that he brings the phone out, steps away from the stairs and into their living room, and answers the call.
GORDON: Jim Gordon?
Upstairs, coming out of the bathroom, little James Gordon hears his father's voice from below. He pads down a few of the stairs quietly, and listens to the conversation going on between his mother and father:
GORDON: (to Barbara) I've gotta go.
BARBARA: What is it?
GORDON: A man claiming to be Clark Kent is being held in Arkham Asylum. Got the hell beaten outta him by some Narrows gang.
BARBARA: (gasps) What?!
GORDON: Kent's claiming that Lois Lane has been kidnapped by - get this - Lex Luthor.
Hearing all this, horrified, Little James vaults the stairs two at a time, bursting into the living room, where his father is just finishing replacing his coat around his shoulders.
JAMES: Lois Lane! That's Jason's Mom! Dad, we have to help her!
BARBARA: James! You shouldn't be-
JAMES: Mom, he's my friend! He...(he falters) he...helped me today. Dad, please!
GORDON: We'll help Clark and Lois, James. That's what we do. I have to go. Kent came to see me a few nights ago. If it really is him at Arkham, I'll know. Getting him out of there is the first step to finding Jason's Mom, okay?
JAMES: Okay. Be careful, Dad.
Jim Gordon smiles down at his son, and reaches out a hand to clasp his wife's hand in his for a moment, before he's off out the front door and back into his car once more.
JAMES: Mom…if Clark is in Arkham, and Lois is missing, who picked Jason up from school?
Barbara Gordon absorbs this.
Act II, Scene IX
Jason White is in the office of the school. The headmistress is on the phone.
HEADMISTRESS: Yes. Yes thank you.
She replaces the phone in its cradle and looks at Jason with as much empathy as she can muster, preparing to deliver the bad news. She doesn't even get to formulate the first word, however, because before she can begin-
JASON: How can Clark be in Arkham? Why can't he just get outta there? And how can no-one know where my Mom is half an hour after she was almost in a helicopter crash? And how, how, can Superman rescue CLARK???
The headmistress stares at him, agape, obviously wondering how he knows all of this.
JASON: I have to get to Clark. Now. How quick will the police get here?
HEADMISTRESS: (dazed)Whu…how did-
JASON: (to himself) May as well wait. I don't even know where Arkham is…
We cut to outside the school. Jason stands there with the headmistress beside him. A police cruiser pulls up. Jason is inside almost before it's come to a complete stop. He's brimming with intent. The two officers in front exchange a glance.
JASON: Arkham! Go!
OFFICER #1: Uh, kid. We have instructions to take you someplace safe. That kinda rules out Arkham.
The car sets off.
OFFICER #2: Yeah, and the entire Narrows.
JASON: I'll protect you, don't worry.
The cops exchange another glance.
JASON: I have to get to Clark. Something's wrong. Clark shouldn't need rescuing. Well. Okay he did. One time. But I saw him from like a thousand feet up. And this time I know where he is, and he might know what happened to my Mom, so we gotta-
OFFICER #1: Kid. Listen to me. I'm sorry, really I am. I know you're worried about your Mom but there's no way on this Earth we're taking you to Arkham, okay? Now sit tight. We got a place for you to stay.
We cut to the police car pulling to a stop outside of Jim Gordon's house. Barbara and James are outside waiting. Jason, though glad to see a familiar face, is still frustrated at not getting his own way. He gets out of the car and watches Barbara exchange words with the officers. The car parks outside and the officers settle in, obviously intending to guard the house and by extension, Jason.
JAMES: Hey. I heard about your Mom, man. I'm…I'm sorry.
JASON: (frustrated)Thanks. But I need to get to Arkham. I can help.
BARBARA: (arriving on the scene, and kneeling down to Jason) Oh honey, that's so brave of you but really, my Jim is the best cop in Gotham and he's gone to get Clark. You come inside with James. You can stay right here until this is all straightened out, okay?
JAMES: She's right. My Dad is the best.
JASON: (thunderstruck) Dad! My Dad…! (to Barbara) Can I call him? My real Dad, I mean. He's in LA. Somebody ought to tell him about Mom.
BARBARA: Of course, hun. You come inside and you can call him right away. And try not to worry. I'm sure your Mom will turn up safe and sound.
They move inside the house. Barbara ushers Jason to the living area and the phone. James hangs beside his friend, concern evident on his face. Jason picks up the phone and begins to dial with the receiver in his hand.
JAMES: Yeah. I mean, that Luthor guy is prob'ly-
There is a crunching sound, and then silence. Barbara and James are both staring at a patch of living room rug that now contains the shattered remains of a phone receiver, ground into pieces at a reflexive motion of Jason's hand.
JASON: Luthor? Lex Luthor has my Mom?
BARBARA: (uncomfortable) I…I don't know…my husband mentioned that Clark had said he thought that Lex Luthor was involved…I'm sorry, we didn't…
Jason stands there for a moment.
JASON: (quietly)No.
And then, slowly, he crumples to his knees, beginning to sob, huge whooping sobs that shake his entire body.
JASON: No…oh no, oh no, oh please no…it's my fault, it's all my fault, my Mom is gone and it's all my fault, she's dead and it's all my fault-!
He keeps sobbing, interspersing each sob with a repetition of the word 'no' over and over again. Barbara Gordon pauses only for a second before she swoops in, hugging him fiercely, Jason's chin on her shoulder. James Gordon looks on, helplessly.
Jason's eyes open.
JASON: I should have let him die.
His eyes are angry. They're also red.
A lance of red light sears out from his eyes, striking the living room window. It explodes outward, the curtains ablaze.
Barbara Gordon shrieks in terror. James scampers to the other side of the room, throwing his hands up over his face.
Jason sinks to his knees, his eyes now closed again. He forces himself to take several deep breaths. The fire begins to spread to the walls. He opens his eyes again, the red glow gone.
BARBARA: Jason, come on! We have to get out of here!
She grabs him but he won't budge. Instead he gets up, walks to the shattered remains of the window and, with Barbara and James watching, begins to blow on the flames. He blows until he goes red in the face. At first it seems to have no effect, but after a few seconds the fire chokes and dies, Jason's supercooled breath starving it of oxygen.
As the final part of the flame dies, Jason turns, breathing heavily with the exertion. He faces a flabbergasted mother and son. Nobody seems to know quite what to say. Jason looks at his new friend.
JASON: Believe me now?
Act II, Scene X
Arkham Asylum's reception area. Clark Kent is shouldering his suit jacket with some discomfort, each turn of his arm causing him fresh pain. When he's completed the manoeuvre, Jim Gordon is standing in reception.
GORDON: Good God. It is you, Kent.
CLARK: What's left of me.
GORDON: What the hell happened to you?
CLARK: Had a disagreement with some colourful local characters. Before that, I don't know. I woke up in the Narrows three hours ago.
We cut to Gordon signing a release form for the receptionist. She smiles at him and at Clark.
RECEPTIONIST: Have a nice day, sir.
Battered and bruised, Clark Kent can only muster a thousand-watt glare in response. He and Gordon exit the building and head toward Gordon's car, Clark limping and wincing.
GORDON: Why didn't Luthor kidnap you along with Lois?
CLARK: I don't know.
They get inside.
GORDON: I've got officers combing the city for him now. We've contacted Metropolis PD and they're doing the same. No response on her cell and nothing in your apartment.
CLARK: And Jason? He's been picked up? He's safe?
The car sets off.
GORDON: He's with my wife. He goes to school with my son, James. Made quite an impression on him in one day. Good kid.
CLARK: He's the best. I want to go to him, please. Now.
GORDON: (grimaces)I was hoping to take you to the station. You're the only lead we have on Lois…
CLARK: After I see Jason, you can take me there. Please. He'll want to see me.
GORDON: Okay. You got it.
The car pulls off into a different lane, taking an exit ramp.
CLARK: Plus, I might not be the only lead we have.
GORDON: I'm listening.
CLARK: Well, the way I see it, of the three of us involved in that helicopter accident earlier, Lois is missing, I was abducted and abandoned…
GORDON: (ahead of him) So is Wayne next on Luthor's list.
CLARK: Or he may know something. (Impatiently)Is this, uh, is this as fast as we can go?
GORDON: We're doing ninety in a fifty zone. What speed are you used to, Kent? (getting radio) Ramirez, this is Gordon. Come in.
We cut to Gotham Central. Ramirez sits at her desk, surrounded by papers. There's a newspaper cutting on the wall of the Gotham Tribune's article about Batman killing Dent. His dead eyes stare out over the office.
RAMIREZ: (thumbing the radio) Ramirez here, Commissioner.
We go back to Gordon's car.
GORDON: Get a black-and-white up to Wayne Manor. See if the man of the house is safe and sound. Check WayneCorp too - that guy Fox seems to be his eyes and ears. Find Bruce Wayne.
RAMIREZ: (V/O) Roger that, Commissioner. I'm on it.
GORDON: We'll know soon enough if Wayne's involved.
Clark stares out of the window at Gotham City flashing past.
CLARK: Yeah. We'll know.
We go back to Gotham Central. Ramirez sits hunched over the desk. Her eyes keep flitting to the picture of Dent on the wall as she sits in the darkness.