DesertedMirage Says: Thank you, dispatcher652, for reviewing. :)
"The boy knows about us, now. Something has to change."
My father gazed down wearily at the desktop, rolling a pen between his fingertips.
"You know that he won't stop until he reaches the bottom of it, and the only way to take care of him is to get rid of him, once and for all," Zeke continued, pausing in his pacing of the space before my father's desk. "Christopher, you've been putting this off for two years, now."
My father's jaw shifted. He was fully aware of the fact that he had a decision to make, and part of him knew that this problem would resurface eventually. As long as Batman was alive, the agency was in danger of being exposed and shut down.
Yet still…
"It was just one mission foiled, Zeke," my father gave an attempt to sound undaunted.
Zeke snorted. "One mission that will lead to many more, I'm sure."
"As long as India doesn't know that it's Terry, it's not an immediate concern," swiftly cut my father, looking up at him severely. "We can make up for the money lost on that mission--"
"But how much longer do you really expect her to buy the notion that it's just another person hired by Wayne to be Batman, Chris?"
My dad rolled his tongue over his teeth, dropping the pen. He rubbed his forehead, twisting his chair. He had been hoping this discussion would never arise, banking on the fact that I was safe with him at the agency and no longer a foe. The original plan to kill his daughter's best friend was never an easy one to agree to, but it did have my life attached to it. Now, however, the threat didn't seem quite as strong. But my dad knew that something had to be done eventually. Terry wasn't to be thrown off of my trail that easily.
"You have to kill Batman," pressed Zeke as my father hung his head in his hands. "Imagine what you'd have on your hands if he found your daughter," he dangled the ultimatum.
My dad sighed slowly, looking out at the mirror-like Gotham Lake. When he spoke, his voice was level and determined.
"He won't."
"I want to add more radiation protection to the suit," Terry explained quickly.
Bruce turned in his chair, facing Terry, who was striding into the cave, fresh from school.
"You didn't exactly tell me what happened last night when you decided to go out without first notifying me." Bruce noted unappreciatively.
Terry parked his bag beside his desk, which was angled to the Batcomputer. His elbow locked from stiffness for a moment, still sore from the injuries sustained in the parking garage fight with the guardian angels.
Bruce sat, closely watching him, waiting for an answer. "I had to learn from the news of the random death on the south side of town, since you neglected to mention it to me."
Terry turned his back on his mentor, sitting in the swivel chair with a silent sigh. He opened his laptop and began his research for the day.
"Two others were found dead in the Rawls Pharmaceutical parking garage. The article said the deaths were believed to be linked."
This time, Terry responded, "It was nothing new. Just the same old murders. I can't stop every crime, you know." His words were short and laced with curtness.
Bruce's brow lowered at Terry's attitude. "You haven't exactly been upfront with me, McGinnis. Have you forgotten that you work for me?" He delivered the question more-so as fact than inquiry.
Terry shuffled through the search engine, unable to concentrate on what he was reading due to the anger surging through his veins.
"I'm Batman now, remember?"
Bruce overlooked the rude declaration. "What are you investigating every day?"
Terry refused to give the answer and trap himself, knowing Bruce already knew that he was searching for me. He had kept it as much to himself as possible because he couldn't bear being told he was behaving "unreasonably." No, he wanted to secure his efforts quietly, and then prove everyone wrong…prove his own lingering doubts and fears wrong. There was no room for debate. Either he was going to find me or he wasn't. Terry didn't yet trust the former Batman enough to share this sentiment-driven determination, even with all of the proof he had discovered.
Yet even so, Terry also knew that he was furtively hoping that Bruce would support him. Bruce was, after all, the man he emulated and looked up to.
Bruce sighed when silence met his statement. He returned to his own research. "Well, tonight there is going to be a crime that you'll have to stop. There's going to be an assassination attempt on the owner of Gotham Proscenium Theater. Seems as though he's been involving himself in the underworld and a hit's been placed on his life," Bruce paused, intentionally selecting his words. "Look for a group lurking in the shadows, some might be undercover. But they won't be difficult to spot once they're in costume; they'll be dressed like you, only with angel emblems on their suits."
Terry, who had been listening with half an ear, removed his eyes from his screen. He turned to look at Bruce, but the old man had shifted back to the Batcomputer.
He must have known all along…
Terry merely stared at the floor, feeling the gratitude swelling in his chest.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"As much as I can with an assassination about to take place."
Axis' low snicker arose from the darkness on my left. His hand had been daringly positioned atop mine on the velvet armrest separating our seats, but he moved it now to straighten his flawless bow-tie.
"Just think of it as a Phantom of The Opera mission," he encouraged softly.
"You're just saying that because we're watching Phantom of The Opera," I returned with a playful smile, smoothing my mint-green, satin gown.
"No," he defended slowly. "I was not being corny."
"Yes, you were."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I happen to know that you're a fan of Phantom of The Opera."
A pause.
"And because it's playing on the stage right before you and nothing else came to mind," I eventually added.
Axis shrugged with a small smile.
Our focus returned to the stage below our box. Christine, the enchanted, victimized heroine, was being lured into the Phantom's underground lair. I had never seen the play, only the movie version which had been recreated at least three times in the past thirty years. My favorite remake had always been the one from the beginning of the millennium, the one that Dana, Blade, Chelsea and I used to drool over at the dollar theater.
The Phantom was singing in his commandingly earthy, operatic tone. The sea of candles on the stage flickered and lapped, their reflections rippling in the water illusion on the stage floor. The Phantom took Christine's hand and helped her out of the boat, then swirled off his cloak in one beautiful motion.
I breathed an involuntary sigh. Axis chuckled at my side.
"My argument stands."
I cast him a smile.
"Guilty as charged," I admitted.
Gotham Proscenium Theater. An old, nineteenth century Broadway theater which had recently been renovated to its original splendor. Tonight was the grand opening, and our objective was to watch the play as civilians, then exit during the final act to change into costume. Murphy, another agent sitting a few boxes away, would back us up by sneaking into the owner's private box, then lead him off to the kill. Luna was staked-out in a hallway beyond the lobby, away from the watchful eyes of the ushers.
Axis coughed, shifting in his seat as he consulted his program. I glanced over, knowing he was waiting for the "Point of No Return" scene, where the Phantom would be trapped. I felt a rushing in my stomach. This was my first undercover mission involving an assassination. I should have felt shame, and not just nervousness. But the serum's grip on me remained firm.
Terry rolled his shoulders in his tux, trying to find a more comfortable sitting position in the firm theater seat. Now that the overly friendly and flirty young woman sitting next to him had left for the restroom, he was free to prop his elbow on the armrest between them. He had only been semi-watching the opera on the stage, and trying not to seem too much of a jerk to his talkative neighbor. But he had a mission to foil, and his eyes were peeled for any suspicious activity, for a signal to suit up and intercept the angel perpetrators. He wanted to save the theater's owner from being murdered, but also to gather more information from the association he was believing to be linked to me.
Terry yawned despite his anxiousness, sinking lower into the chair. Before he could lean over the balcony railing and scan the audience for the umpteenth time, the girl had returned to the vacant seat and resumed her chatter.
The musical progressed, and the final act arrived. Axis watched calmly, sitting still as a stone. When the actors began to construct their plan to ambush the Phantom by using Christine as bait, I felt a hand touch mine again. I looked over at Axis. He smiled very shortly.
"Stay here and wait for the signal," he whispered casually, and he was gone, closing the door of our box behind him.
I scooted forward uneasily, wondering what had happened to cause him to leave before our cue. Had something gone wrong? And how would he have known? I hadn't seen him receive any messages.
I released a shaky sigh, wishing he had taken me with him.
The best thing to do is stay here.
My eyes failed to remain on the stage, instead gliding over the heads below, the veiled faces in the boxes and balconies across from ours.
I tapped my foot, my thin heel pressing into the floor. Finally, when the frenetic strings from the orchestra pit began to elevate my heart-rate, I abandoned my program and stood to leave.
As I moved down the hallway leading to one of the bathrooms, I kept my eyes on the radar on my wristwatch. Axis' signal had been circling somewhere near the backstage area of the main theater.
The building had two performance halls, the one which had been renovated and where the play was taking place, and another one which was still in the remodeling process. The older hall was behind the refurbished one, a mirror-version. They were separated by a gigantic wall made up entirely of a two-way mirror. The older theater could see into the remodeled one, across the stage and into the audience, while the new one saw only a wall.
I tracked his signal, sneaking unnoticed by the light flow of crowd and staff members. Soon I was beyond the span of remodeled area, and was met with a barricade. A construction sign warned not to go any farther. Ignoring it, I stepped over the metal beams, being careful not to trip in my heels or snag my dress.
The music from the opera in the main hall was beginning to echo into the distance, but I could hear the first slinking notes of "The Point of No Return." My pace quickened. That was our cue.
The stretch of hallways here was darker, lit only by weak yellow construction lamps from above. My eyes roamed the dust-caked, shredded posters of past performances clinging to the dark, wooden walls. The floor was creaky and uneven, layered with dirt and cobwebs. I stumbled on a few overturned construction tools and cones, noticing the footprints on the grimy floorboards--two pairs of them.
Someone led Axis here…
Finally, I withdrew a penlight from my bag when I came upon a dead end. Squinting in the near-darkness, I shone the light on a sign nailed to a door on the left.
DO NOT ENTER.
I smirked, then reached for the knob, but not before feeling the wooden planks beneath my feet. Someone had obviously ripped them from the door, someone strong.
Inside was a mass of open, stifled space. The air was dry and musty, smelling of rotted cedar and dead flowers. Knowing that I could easily be walking into a trap, I readied my handgun and trained my light around me.
An expansive, seemingly endless, black floor, encased in decades of dust. It spread to tall walls carrying dilapidated beams and wooden stage props, and just ahead of me, a cloud of heavy curtains framing a hazy mirror. Through it, I could barely see the other stage, the actors and lights. This must have been the two-way mirror separating the two stages. As I stepped forward, gliding my light along the floor, I suddenly spotted something on the ground. A few yards ahead, someone was sprawled, unconscious.
Feeling the panic before I could think clearly, I rushed forward.
"Axis!" I shook his shoulders, seeing the blood trickling down his swollen jaw.
He let out a groan, but before I could make another move, a thud echoed a few feet away. I looked up, gun in hand.
The music escalated from a hum to a sudden burst of organs and strings. Silhouetted against the clouded light from the mirror, a figure with pointy, bat-like ears rose from a crouching position.