Coalition

Chapter Ten: Der Wahnsinn

'We first make our habits, and then our habits make us' John Dryden

Flash sighed miserably. There was a book he once saw in a shop and he thought for a long time about buying it as a birthday present for Batman before he realised that no one actually knew when Batman's birthday was. It was a book entitled, 'Gotham: 1001 Reasons Why It Sucks'. He figured that Batman may see the humorous side to it; either that or when the Flash's birthday came around, he'd be getting a technologically modified coffee machine – a coffee machine modified in such a way as to have a much higher chance of spraying thermonuclear liquid in his face.

It was whilst thinking about this book that Flash came to the conclusion that the one thing he hated most about Gotham were the two bickering would-be-politicians with whom he was in the same room as. Liz, a budding British psychologist, was arguing with Ed, the security guard, about the complexities and frequent stupidities of the British and American political system. Flash had heard his name at several points in the conversation but had chosen to pretend he was reading the instructions of the rogue coffee machine.

"Are you actually reading that?" asked Tom who wheeled himself over on the magnificent spinny-chair upon which he had parked himself for most of the evening.

"What do you think?" retorted Flash, with slightly more aggression than he had intended.

"I don't know," replied Tom simply, "That's why I asked."

"Sorry," he apologised, "No, I'm not reading it."

"Can't blame you for being crabby," responded Tom, "I never imagined you could argue about the role of the judiciary for an hour without running out of things to say."

"No, no," replied Flash, "Life's too cruel for that."

"Couldn't agree with you more."

"AS IF!" screamed Liz, "You can't seriously be suggesting that Britain is a juristocracy! Parliamentary sovereignty prevents any supposed higher authority from making decisions because the government can just overturn it! If anything, America is a juristocracy!"

"But now you're failing to realise that they can only declare something unconstitutional if it's taken to the courts," snapped Ed, "It happens a lot less often than your stupid education system likes to suggest it does!"

Tom and Flash exchanged identical expressions. Despite the superhero's face being mostly covered up by his bright red mask, Tom could easily translate from his deeply lifeless, bored eyes that he would soon die of boredom unless they escaped the nest of political jargon soon. It was a short two seconds later that Tom asked the question that would change their lives forever, "You wanna go for a walk?"

"Would I ever?" declared Flash, leaping to his feet with a sudden and quite expected jolt of energy before showing himself out of the door. Tom followed at a much slower pace and found himself surrounded by a visible red blur. Liz and Ed completely failed to notice the exit of the two elder males, even if they were older by only a couple of years.

Once outside the room, Tom pushed the door to as though it contained within it some form of torture so profoundly terrible that the large steel reinforced door may not have been able to hold it back. The two sighed huge flurries of relief as they walked down the corridor, immensely happy to have escaped the terrible series of events that may have occurred to them if they had stayed in the room to listen to the dreadfully laborious political debate.

***

Chattering calmly above his black pointy ears, the Batman groggily forced himself to his feet. His hands aided this movement by pushing up from the jagged-padded rock face behind him. Once on his feet, he limped over slowly to the silent silhouette whose name he knew through familiarity. The floodlights used to light up the cave-room glared down upon all of its four-many corners and crevices. A distinctly uncommon smile of relief, warmth and happiness sat upon the Bat's face.

"Welcome back," were the spoken words but, as the poison in his veins realised the sudden advantage they had, extra, more familiarised words were added to the statement, "Master Wayne, I trust you found your way back alright?"

"Yeah, thanks," he replied, nodding dumbly; his neck not functioning quite as fluidly as it normally would have. Within the cave-room, a table had appeared. He assured himself that it had always been there, in its sterile stainless silver way, but his mind briefly imagined a door opening and it being wheeled in by concerning characters. He ignored the dream-like thought and sat himself on the table, "Not doing too well though."

"Really?" asked an unfamiliar voice before the toxin leapt to cover the tracks, "Well, let's see what we can do about that then. What exactly happened?"

"Lots of cuts, lots of bruises, two broken ribs, possible internal bleeding, poisoned… twice," the Batman paused, "Doesn't sound too bad when I say it out loud."

"It's only going to get worse," began the twisted terror as the trusted voice took over, "If you don't let me treat it."

"Yeah, okay," said the Batman before lying himself down on the table, taking a deep breath and smiling slightly, "No anaesthetic?"

"No," laughed the insidious croak until the softer voice relieved it, "The last supply we ordered hasn't come in yet."

"Oh well," sighed the Batman, "I'm sure I can cope."

"I'm going to tie you down," it said, another continued, "Sir, so you don't hurt your good self."

"Or you," nodded Batman, allowing himself a rare chuckle, "Fine."

Briefly, foreign voices echoed around the room:

"I can't believe it! Who'd 've thought Batsy trusted anyone this much!"

"Intriguing, I wonder who it could be."

"I didn't know he had friends."

"As if Stirk is having it this easy!"

"It's my toxin you know, it's still in him. It'll be reacting with Stirk's ability and completely lowering his mental defences. He might actually get himself killed unless Stirk screws this up."

"He will. He always screws stuff up. Can't help himself."

Briefly, the blue orbs lit up in temporary horror. His brain automatically kicked into gear, fighting off the toxin but a new force had entered the battle and the cerebral mass in his skull was too weak and confused to fight off the both of them. Thus, his brain succumbed and returned itself to the relative safety of the dark, dank cave. Above him, Alfred smiled and lifted his scalpel. A scalpel of uncommon and dangerous size and shape.

Batman frowned, "Alfred?"

Stirk smirked.

***

"Soooo," began the Flash as the two walked down the sterile white yet Gothic and dark halls, "What's there to do around here?"

"Apart from drink coffee and talk?" asked Tom, "Nothing until the inmates get back."

Flash paused mid-corridor and turned to pear-shaped security guard. The curiosity was evident in his eyes. The area in which they stood was the rather empty Maximum Security Wing which had fallen into its rather common Mid-Max Security levels with the cells only having their steel reinforced metal and electrical current to keep the few inmates that were in Arkham Asylum inside their cells.

"What do you do when they're here?" asked the Flash.

"Exactly the same thing." he replied.

"Oh." stated the Flash, evidently downhearted. Clearly he was expecting to hear some sort of outrageous gossip or news that the security team actually had a hidden top-secret underground basement in which they had a bar and a pool table and every wondrous gaming console on the market. The news that none such cellar existed seemed to tear Flash's heart from his chest.

A silence then befell the two as they walked down the corridor. Their footsteps were deadened by the white sterile walls but within the high ceiling above them, each footfall echoed with terrific vibrations that shuddered throughout the visible Gothic architecture of the building. The silence was as scary as the sirens, Tom had informed the superhero. He had told him that when the sirens go off, at least you hear familiar screaming and shouting. When there aren't any sirens and someone's loose, no one gets the chance to shout and scream.

"BZZZ! SCREECH!"

Flash's hands, without his permission, leapt from his side to cover his ears as the roar of ringing bombarded his mind. The sound was so loud it was physically causing him pain and so his body convulsed and doubled over in response. Tom, terrified that something altogether more worse was happening, ran over to help the red-clad hero to the floor. Flash gritted his teeth; he became quickly aware that it was a radio feed coming from the Batman. It chose, he observed, pretty awful times to send messages.

"Are you sure that's a scalpel?" asked a familiarly deep voice.

"I can't believe he can't hear us!" wailed the clown, "That toxin of yours really is good stuff!"

"Thanks for noticing." drilled the reply sarcastically.

"So, is it true what they say about Stirk?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

"Depends on what you've heard." was the given reply.

"That he eats people's hearts."

"Oh, yeah, that's true."

"Well, what're we gonna do if he eats the Bat's heart?"

"He won't," snapped the Clown, "He'll work it out."

"Alfred, that's not a scalpel!" shouted the Batman, "Seriously, drop that thing!"

"I don't know, he sounds pretty convinced to me."

"He'll work it out." responded the Devil.

"ALFRED!" he cried out desperately, "ARGH!"

"BZZZ! SCREECH!"

The Flash looked up sharply, fear was so clear within his eyes that Tom found himself expressing the very same fear despite having no knowledge of what it was. The superhero leapt to his feet and started pacing like a madman on fire. All Tom could do was watch and listen to half of the panicked conversation which the Flash immediately started having over the radio.

"Did everyone get that feed?" asked Superman.

Before a reply could come, a frantic Alfred leapt onto the radio frequency, "J'onn! J'onn! Please, you have to tell him it's not me! Please. He has to know it isn't me. Please. Help him. Rescuing him won't mean a thing if you can't save his mind."

There was a brief pause. The panic in Alfred's voice was concerning the entire group. They had never known him so worried. They had been severely disconcerted by the butler's earlier outbursts of uncommon behaviour but pleading and begging was certainly beyond anything they had ever known him do before. The concern was enough to put the reply off for an agonising two seconds.

"Of course." replied the Martian.

The conversation ended there as Alfred could be heard to walk quickly away from the terminal, as though a sudden grief had taken hold of him. The Flash sighed and bit his bottom lip, holding it tight between his powerful white sets of teeth. He didn't know what to think as his mind raced between the possibilities of the many things he could think. Concern, fear and confusion bled from him with so much potency that even Tom noticed it.

"Flash?" asked Tom, "Are you okay?"

"No," he replied, "No, I'm not."

The two walked along the corridor. Flash allowed Tom to place a hand of reassurance on his left shoulder. Flash's legs, visibly, were uncomfortable and odd in their movements and his entire frame was wobbling frantically in a desperate attempt to stay in a straight line. These attempts failed dismally on all accounts and so it was up to Tom's right hand to prevent the dazed superhero. There was a silence for a while as they walked along the corridor to the staff room. Or at least, there was until Tom's curiosity overtook him.

"What happened?" he asked, "This has got something to do with the Batman hasn't it?"

The Flash paused and turned to the insightful forty-something man. His eyes seemed slightly lost at what to do. It was as though the pendulum in his mind was swinging from telling Tom everything to telling him to 'get bent'. The pendulum eventually fell on the less aggressive option and remained there as the Flash paused to get his thoughts together, scrambled as they were by concern for his missing teammate.

"You have to promise not to tell anyone," stated Flash, "We'll know if you do."

Tom made a brief 'cross my heart' gesture.

"Batman went missing a while ago," explained the Flash solemnly and seriously, "The major inmates who escaped formed a coalition. They have him captive somewhere. We had fourteen hours to find him."

"How many have you got left?" he asked.

"Four."

"That's more than enough time!" exclaimed Tom.

"We've been looking for him for ten hours, trying to track him down through the clues he left in advance," responded the Flash, "So far we've only uncovered two."

Tom paused, "He's the Batman, he'll be fine. He's tough as titanium, that one."

***

His body exploded from the inside, bombarded by a sudden wave of pain and terror that he hadn't experienced for a very long time. Tears erupted from his eyes as the blue orbs darted about madly. His mouth was emitting a roar of such emotion that it was impossible to tell whether it was the pain from the wound or the pain of betrayal that had caused it. All of his muscles tensed suddenly and he tore one arm free of its restraints, whacking the trusted-disguised butler away.

Somehow this free hand, fumbling about as it was, managed to free his other bound limbs. His mouth slammed shut, causing his teeth to quietly sound their discontent, as he leapt off the table. He soon found himself leaning against a padded-wall-computer-terminal. His entire body was shaking. Weariness was beginning to eat away at him almost as fast as the fear and sting of betrayal could. He looked down sharply, ignoring the fact that the non-butler had arisen and was infuriated by the attack.

A brown handle sticking out of his chest was the only signal that something had perforated it. Surrounded by a thick sea of damaged black armour, the deadly silver blade had found little trouble in burrowing its way into his skin. The attack had been sudden, terrifying and shockingly aggressive. The knife had been plunged into his chest as one would fling a hammer at a wall in an attempt to obliterate it. It was vicious beyond compare and it had missed his vital organs by centimetres. Blood was welling up against the silver snake as though trying to fight it out.

With little care for the consequences, he pulled out the knife, screaming as he did. It hurt worse than the poison in some respects but at least he could think. At least he could form sentences in his head. He flinged the knife into the recesses of the cave-room and began to collapse into the wall-terminal. He looked at the wound and his gloved hand clasped it as a bloody fountain emerged from the confines of the black oceanic suit. Already, his loss of blood was becoming a significant and very deadly concern. A human, after all, only has eight pints of blood.

He raised his head and looked at the ceiling as his body slumped to the floor, decorating it with a puddle of the delicate reddish liquid that managed to shoot through the spaces in between his fingers. His breathing became laboured and his eyes began to blur and decorate themselves with bleary golden light. In the distance, he could see the assailant-Alfred approaching and picking up the bloody weapon as they did so. Fear overtaking mind, he tried to crawl backwards further into the terminal-wall only to find that there was no where to run to.

And now, he observed fearfully, No one to run to.

"Batman, Batman…"

His mind immediately tried to fight off what he thought was a mental attack. Though, as time passed and the voice kept repeating his name, he realised that the voice was a familiar one. One he could listen to, but not one he could trust. With Alfred gone there was no one left he could even think about trusting. He slowly lowered his mental defences but closed his eyes to do so. A fatal mistake.

"ARGH!" he screamed.

The sliver of silver had tried to pierce his heart by slithering underneath his ribs. The Bat's black gloved hand had leapt from the wound to the hand of Alfred and pushed the hand back. Alfred had stumbled backwards and fallen, his face coated in blood from the wound Batman had stopped trying to protect in order to save his own life. Blood began to seep slowly from the newly created wound beneath the left hand side of his rib cage. He allowed his hands to fall to his side as the red river seemed to flow out indefinitely, causing his mind to slowly attempt to drift away into a sleep which he may very well never awake from.

"Batman, Bruce, listen to me, please."

"J'onn!" cried out a pained, sore and broken voice, "Help me!"

"We will, we'll find you," replied the Martian whose voice expressed a deep concern that the Bat was too terrified to try and recognise, "I promise. But you must listen to me. That's not Alfred."

"What?" he asked, in a suddenly hushed voice, watching with bleary eyes as his assassin approached once more, "I don't understand!"

"Alfred's in the cave."

"I know!! I am too!"

"No you're not! It's the Scarecrow's fear toxin. It's whoever that inmate is in there with you! Please, you must focus. You're losing blood quickly and that man in there is dangerous. You have to snap out of it or we might not find you in time."

"J'onn!" he cried, "I… I don't know what's happening! Please!"

"You're a strong man, Bruce," said J'onn, unable to find the right response to the Batman's pleas, "You'll find a way."

"J'onn!" he shouted, feeling the mental connection wane, "Don't go!"

"I can smell it," said the hideous voice, attracting the Dark Knight's attention, "You reek of it."

The illusion faded. The white room returned, accompanied by a familiar villain.

"Cornelius Stirk?" asked Batman.

"All that adrenalin, that norepinephrine," sang Stirk wildly, "I can smell it on you!"

Beneath him, a puddle of thick, red sticky coagulated blood attempted to stick itself upon his powerful armour. His hands were covered in the blobby warm mess and in the distance he could see the madman approach with the knife once more. Frowning with a fury he had not felt for a long long time, he leapt to his feet. Blood spurted out uncontrollably from his savagely deep wounds and he launched his foot into Stirk's chin, knocking him unconscious with a single brutal blow.

The blow unbalanced him and sent him into the ground at the same speed as his assailant who was carried out of the room faster than he cared to notice. He lay on the floor, resting and allowed his wounds to bleed, gently applying pressure to ease the ferocity with which he was loosing blood. Though, a handy side effect of the blood loss was that he had managed to rid himself of a sufficient amount of the toxin so as for it to have no effect whatsoever. All he had to worry about from that point on was blood loss.

That and the very strange man who had just entered the room.

A/N: Many people were intrigued by my choice of Stirk. I hope this chapter has changed people's views about the villain because he's an interesting one that gets barely any limelight.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time. Sorry about the wait for this chapter. It was half-term so I was chilling and preparing for my AS exams.