What Makes a Man?
Chapter 10
It was surreal...how it all fell into place. Batman had no sooner given up his cowl than found himself back on the street, seeking out the one who had stolen his mantle from him. The one who ripped more than flesh when he tore through Batman's senses- with the blinding pain and the pungeant stench. Laughing at the man who had been forced to the ground beneath him, sprawled humiliatingly over the asphalt- the sting of which still registered in Bruce's mind.
But not now.
Batman was standing face to face with Nells Kalinsky, otherwise known as Sweet Satan, the drug dealer and pimp responsible for numerous atrocities commited in the South Side district of Gotham city. Batman had been praying for a moment like this. It was sweet retribution. His turn to show Kalinsky just how powerful he truly was.
Batman lunged at him, ready to swing a punch. But suddenly, he found himself back within Kalinsky's grip, and all the force in the world could not break it. He flinched as the dark-haired man leant down towards his face, putrid heat crushing against his ear as Kalinsky whispered.
"Hello darling. I missed you."
Nooooooooo!
Bruce woke with a start. His breath came in rapid pants, but slowed down as his surroundings became clearer. He flopped back against his pillows and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief. Only a dream.
But still...it was terrifyingly realistic. He rolled over, and winced as his chest hit the mattress. His chest was beginning to worry him. It had been several months, and although he wasn't so certain at first, it had become clearer to him that there was a level of swelling going on there that wasn't going away. It was becoming a real concern. Actually, a lot of things had. It was another thing to add to his growing list of health issues. From a mysterious stomach bug that lasted weeks- only recently abated- to the chest issues- and in recent weeks, a disconcerting sensation he could only describe as butterflies, only- without the acompanying sense of nervousness.
It was worrying enough for him to begin taking blood samples as he began to screen himself for sexually transmitted diseases and other conditions.
Gotham City Police Department
The sergeant stood to attention before Commisioner Gordon, trying his best to maintain his compsure as the latter man gave him what was so far, the most strenuous and painful verbal strip-down of his entire career. No, make that life.
"I'm REALLY struggling to understand how the equipment got away while you were supposedly in the room with it the whole time!" Gordon exclaimed.
He was referring, of course, to the brand-new DNA Materials Trace program that had just been installed at the GCPD. It had taken months for their's to arrive. It was going to be the key between detaining criminals and letting them go. One induvidual's DNA could be traced everywhere he or she had come into contact with one of the input pads, which were clear patches of varying size created from advanced touchpad technology. Practically invisible to the eye and intangible to the touch. The program itself was similar to the fingerprint database, only it held genetic information, and the input pads could also be distributed throughout the city. This would mean worlds of good when tracing a criminal.
If only they still had the equipment.
"It wasn't my fault!" Yelled the sergeant in response to his interrogation.
"Oh?" Replied Gordon, menacingly. "Then whose is it?"
"The clown girl!" He said. "She came in and bashed me over the head with a rubber chicken! It must've had something heavy in it- but when I came to- and I swear it was barely ten seconds- the stuff was gone!"
"And how did she KNOW it was there?"
But the sergeant could not answer. Gordon didn't know if it was because he was defending himself or someone else, or that he genuinely didn't know. What he did know was that the equipment was now in the hands of Harley Quinn, and whatever made it to her hands also made it to the Joker's.
And that was not a pleasant thought at all.
The Ha-Hacienda
Harley was highly intrigued by the equipment. She recalled the days, years ago now, when she had been a college student sitting in her science lectures learning about genetics, DNA and how it all came down to blood. The moment she had learned about this particular piece of technology she had wanted it for herself. Well, not true entirely. She had wanted to please the Joker. However, he had been less then impressed when she brought it home. The smile was quickly wiped from her face. But that was ok, she thought, as she held a hand to her hot bruised cheek. He just didn't get it yet. He would when she brought the Batman home.
Yes. That was the precise reason she had been so deeply interested in the DNA trace technology. She smiled to herself as she pictured her triumphant return to the hideout- a knocked-out Batman gift-wrapped in a pretty red bow for her favorite clown of crime!
She opened a small plastic case sitting on the table and pulled out a small synthetic skin-patch. It was transparent-barely visible. She only knew it was there because the moment she touched it (gloved hand, of course) the machine began to make noise. Upon the screen, where the program would normally be decoding the information and storing the DNA data, it only read "Input Error. Non Organic Entry" and instead began listing the components of her glove. She squeaked in surprise and immediately pulled the tab off, tapping the "cancel" button at the same time. She made a mental note to make new gloves.
She smiled again as she looked at the tab, now lying back on the table. All they needed was to stick the pad on the old Dork Knight, and wherever he went, they would gladly follow.
It was so easy! Enough to make her laugh.
Wayne Manor/The Batcave
Dick was sitting on one of the swivel chairs, perfectly still. He looked down at his lap-at the black cowl that was sitting there, clenched firmly in his fist. The knuckles of which had gone white with the intensity of his grip. He relaxed them slightly.
"Dick..." Bruce was sitting down on another chair in front of Dick. His face was grim. Almost pained, but determined.
"I...I don't know, Bruce." Answered Dick. "I've done so much with Nightwing..."
"Its just until something more permanent is sorted out. You won't be Batman forever..."
Dick took a deep intake of breath and sighed. He understood the significance of what Bruce asked. It was important that the symbol of Batman did not disappear from Gotham. It was a symbol that struck fear into the hearts of criminals. Urban legend to many, but revered nonetheless. Batman had to continue, even if Bruce did not.
"...does this mean you don't think you're coming back?" He asked, not daring to look up at the man who had inspired him for so many years.
"I don't think so."
Dick sighed.
"I'll do it- but just...temporarily."
Bruce looked relieved. Dick hadn't realised just how much tension the former Batman was experiencing over it. He knew that there was something that was stopping him from taking on Gotham's worst, but that it was not the end of his vow. His vow would never die- and Dick admired that. He could only hope that Batma- no, just Bruce now. He could only hope that Bruce did not expect to fulfil his vows through Dick till the end. Dick wanted to help, desperately so, but he did not want to give himself up to do it forever. He was not Bruce. If that did happen- well. Dick knew what would happen. A repeat of what lead him to become Nightwing in the first place.
No, for now, he was wearing Batman's mask, but that was as far as it would go. He would not become Batman. Batman was the man before him. No level of retirement- or...God forbid... mortality- would ever stop that. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Batman was Bruce Wayne. Not the Bruce Wayne that everyone else saw, of course- the partying billionaire palyboy with more girls than brains. That Bruce Wayne was just as much a mask- if not more so- than the Dick held in his hands at that moment.
He stood to leave, and none too soon. It was that moment precisely that the ring of the Batphone alerted both of them. Bruce decided he'd pick it up one last time.
"Commissioner?- Don't get exited. Batman will be there shortly."
Bruce paused to hear the response from the other end of the line.
"Gotham needs Batman. Nightwing will be taking that role from now on..." Another pause. "Yes, I have made up my mind. This is goodbye, commissioner."
Then he hung up. Dick looked from Bruce to the mask he held in his own hands and then back up to Bruce.
"This is it then."
And he left.
A/N
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