The Dark Knight of Tomorrow
Chapter 9
Batcave
After securing the scene where the Mutant Leader made his final stand, Batman had left and dispatched a few cells of the splintered gang. All in all, he had a very productive night.
He never mentioned to any of the gang members he dispatched that it was their former boss or current boss, depending on which gang the vigilante went after, that the defeated man ratted on them.
Batman only needed him to think he did so he could crush his spirit. How long it lasted depended on the idiot.
Batman returned to his cavern for medical assistance. His injuries too burdensome to continue patrol any further.
At the infirmary, Woodhouse had stripped the younger man of his ruined armor, his upper body exposed. As soon as Logan's sweat coated skin was hit by air, Woodhouse instantly grimaced. The younger man's upper body was covered in dark purple bruises around his torso.
The scent of smoke and the man's ruined cape filled both men's nostrils.
Logan's left bicep was red. While his armor was built to protect him from gunfire and blades, it also had heat resistance. Unfortunately, the suit had limits. Explaining Logan's first-degree burns. His cape took most of the damage as it allowed him to glide, including a kevlar coating on the outside plus another coating of heat resistance.
It was the reason his injuries were minimal.
"Honestly, sir. If you are trying to kill yourself there are much less violent ways," Woodhouse chided. He started to tape up his charge's ribs, a grunt escaping the younger man as he secured the wrappings.
"You have a cracked rib," the man noted.
"I noticed," Logan grunted, a grimace painted on his face. His torso felt tight as Woodhouse carried out his duty. Breathing was not very pleasant at the moment.
"And you have minor first-degree burns," the butler glanced at Logan's red bicep. "You're armor took most of the damage."
"Barely a sunburn," the billionaire dismissed.
Circular bruises were forming along his body as the bullets he took earlier were beginning to haunt him for his actions.
Ice packs were wrapped around his bicep, cooling the heated flesh. In moments, the heated flesh was numb from the cold.
"Honestly, sir, are you suicidal?"
"I need them to fear me. Their hesitation will be my greatest asset in the field. If they think I'm unbeatable then they will think twice before doing something stupid."
Woodhouse narrowed his eyes in skepticism. He held his tongue as he removed the ice pack and applied to ointment for the burns.
"A lot of people died tonight," the younger man's voice was heavy. A sense of disappointment? Failure? Anger?
"You can't be everywhere, sir," the older man reasoned.
"I need to be better," Logan affirmed. "I need my ear to the ground. The Mutants are nearly extinct. I just need to keep applying the pressure to get rid of them."
"Someone will take their place. The Jokerz are out there as well," the older man reminded the man of the other gang in Gotham.
"Children with poor perception of role models and teenaged rebellion," Logan rejected with disgust. "The Mutants have high level weapons. They used a signal jammer for their ambush tonight. Disrupted police radios denying calls for backup," Logan informed the other man, who finished treating him. "I need to look into where they got it."
The white-haired man doubted Logan was even addressing him. He seemed to be talking aloud rather than asking for anyone else's input.
"Perhaps Commissioner Reagan could provide some assistance?" he suggested. Logan had hopped off the gurney within the infirmary and strode over to his workstation to study the signal jammer he had left there when he returned home.
He momentarily considered approaching the police commissioner about the ambush but seeing as how the man had not informed him of the prisoner transfer, he had doubts about going to him.
"Will you be needing anything else?" the older man inquired, putting the medical supplies away.
"No," a succinct reply was given, as Logan was more focused on the jammer than anything else.
The old man left without another word expressed.
GCPD- Precinct 54
Cops called it the 'box' when they performed interrogations within the interrogation room. Detective Reagan had one of the suspects from last night in the box, sweating him for information.
"We've got you on gun charges. Attempted murder. Murder. And murder of several police officers," he rattled off to the young mutant, who was only sixteen years old. Naturally, he had a parent present and legal representation.
"My son would never do such a thing!" the gang member's mother interjected heartily. She could not fathom that her sweet boy could do such a thing.
Although, the son was not helping his case as he was expressionless as Reagan hounded him for information.
The defense attorney started to earn their hourly rate, "Let's get the DA down here."
"There will be no deals!" Danny glared at the teen, and though he saw the little dreg smirk a bit. Reagan thought smirking would be painful as the kid was sporting a blackeye. "We have him dead to rights. You're looking at life in prison," he stared the kid down, heat in his voice as he lost brothers and sisters last night. And it was all thanks to these dirtbags.
The hot-headed detective took a breath, "You have one chance and one chance only," he earned the kid's attention, finally. "You have Officer Thompson's blood on your shoe. You were there when he died," he surmised. "You even had his service weapon on you. You were there! But you didn't kill him. You are too tall. The person who killed him was shorter. Give me a name," he growled. "Or you get to see how nice Blackgate Prison is."
Finally getting some fear into the shmuck, the kid started to talk, "I'm a minor. I go to juvey. I've seen the cop shows," he acted self-assured.
The detective was eager to prove him wrong. "The DA will be charging you as an adult."
"Name. Now." He bit out.
The teen gulped nervously. His attorney intervened provided some cries for help by the mother. "What can we do? I'm sure we can make a deal. My client tells you about the Mutants. Names, addresses. He spills everything in exchange for leniency," they proposed.
"How's life in prison? Welcome to the adult world, kid," he taunted as he left them to consider the offer.
Danny left the room to grab a coffee. He saw his partner returning from the hospital. A bandage on her head. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at home?" He worriedly strode over to her, who sat at her desk.
"Paperwork," she simply said, head in the files.
"That can wait. Or I can do it for you," he suggested, shutting the open file. He got a displeasured glare from the woman thanks to that action.
"Reagan, I'm fine," she sighed. The woman was not about to be sidelined for something as mild as a concussion.
"Did the Lieutenant order you to come back in?" the man asked. He knew Lieutenant Allen was a hard ass but not to the point where he ordered those under his command to work while they were injured.
"No," she replied. "I came in on my own. What are I supposed to do at home? Sleep?" she proposed incredulously. "Can't do that with a concussion." She opened of the file that was recently closed and resumed writing.
Ignoring her partner's weary sigh, as he left her, making his way back to the interrogation room.
He entered, the three inside jolting in their seats. "So, are you speaking or are we taking our chances with a jury?"
"I'm no rat!"
The detective gave the teen an unexpressed stare.
"We want to speak to the DA," the defense attorney demanded.
The rugged looking man shrugged, "Fine. But like I said, he's not getting out of prison until the end of the century," he continued to instill fear of the situation into the deluded lad.
GCPD Headquarters-Commissioner Reagan's Office
The police commissioner sat behind his desk going over the reports of the Mutant Leader's transfer to Blackgate Prison until trial.
A lot of his officers were injured or dead. He knew the possibility of the gang retaliation to retrieve their leader was feasible. But he believed his officers could handle it. There should not have been any leaks. Unless there were some cops on the take? He couldn't even think of the possibility at the moment.
He had to meet with over a dozen families to offer his condolences for the dead.
Reports indicated the gang had military hardware, similar to what the Regime soldiers or the Acolytes used. Someone was supplying them weapons. The aging man already had his department on top of it.
His officers were ambushed, and someone was going to answer for it. He swore all avenues would be exhausted to find the ones responsible.
The only silver-lining of this whole tragedy was they had a lead on Officer Thompson's murder. It was a kid for God's sakes. The Mutants were recruiting kids. Currently, the suspect was being questioned last he heard.
Interrogator was Detective Reagan. The father in him was worried on how his son was doing. While the cop in him was proud on how Detective Reagan was handling himself.
There were also accounts of Batman on scene. He had been instrumental in ending the carnage. The mustached man had already made up his mind regarding the vigilante. He could not continue playing this game anymore.
Suddenly, a knock on his door was heard. He turned his head just in time to see Baker enter. "Sorry, sir. But your father's here," she informed him.
"Send him in," her boss commanded. He noticed his father enter readily. Henry Reagan, former police commissioner, following Jim Gordon's death. Man was one of the finest police officers Frank had ever known.
The white-haired man came in with a pleasant smile. "Hello, Francis. How are things?" He asked taking a seat in front of his son.
"Busy, Pop," the mustached man replied. He glanced at Baker, "That will be all," he received a nod as the woman shut the door giving the men privacy.
"Well, I brought you some food," the older man raised the white plastic bag. "I figured you hadn't eaten yet."
"I haven't," dark-haired man answered guardedly.
The two adjourned to the leather couch with a coffee table and a pair of chairs to have their meal. They ate in silence for a few moments, before Frank realized why his father was in his officer to begin with.
"Let's hear it," he stated, reluctant for what came next.
"Hear what?" the older man acted ignorant.
"I know you are not here just to make sure I eat," the man deduced. "Something else is going on. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Son. I am more worried about you," Henry responded with genuine concern.
"I'm fine."
"Sure, you are," the older man scoffed. "I heard Danny had an eventful night," the man went about getting to the reason of his visit.
"He's fine," Frank gave a curt reply.
"I know. I just spoke with him. How about you?"
"Me? I'm fine." Frank replied in a controlled manner. He was unsure on why his father was inquiring about his state. He was not involved in the attack.
The white-haired man exhaled before he bit into his food. "I'm talking about how you are feeling and what's going through your mind." The older man saw understanding in his son's eyes.
"It hasn't been that long since we lost Joe," he brought up with sorrowful recollection. "I'm sure the first thing in your mind was 'did I lose someone else'?"
Frank brow furrowed as he contemplated his father's thoughts. He admitted he lives with that fear everyday as both his sons were in law enforcement. And after they had lost Joe, the reality of losing his other sons hit hard. He was still processing the lose of one child, he didn't know if he could lose any more of his children.
An exhaled of air left him before he confirmed. "Yes, it had crossed my mind, Pop." A sullen silence formed in the office as the two men didn't speak for a while.
"I miss him," Frank admitted somberly. He missed his son so much it hurt.
"We all do, Francis," Henry placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder offering solace.
Gotham Gazette
The office was in uproar as multiple reporters were racing by one another. Everyone eager to finish their story and get to the next one. Especially, after last night's explosive incident between the police and the Mutant's.
One reporter in particular was in a journalism rut. She had not gotten any good stories in months. Honestly, she was worrying about her job. She had been a reporter for the Gazette for about a year now.
"Summer!" Hank, the editor of the Gotham Gazette hollered, searching for the redhead.
Summer Gleeson looked up from her computer as Hank approached her, looking as disgruntled as usual.
"Yes, Hank," her voice sounded fearful. Was this where he fired her?
"Look here, Gleeson. Our usual crime beat reporter's out with the flu. Time to step up," he told her. "I need you to look into this new gang called the Sons."
"I'm not use to the crime beat. Let alone gangs, Hank," the red-haired woman tried to refuse.
The man gave her a look of displeasure, "It's either that or pack up your desk," he gave her an ultimatum. He immediately saw the young woman pale upon hearing his threat.
She swallowed, "Alright," she agreed unenthusiastically.
"Get to work," he rudely told her before returning to his office.
A groan escaped her as the reporter put her head into her arms, resting atop her desk. Where do I start? She thought to herself as things got worse.
Burnside
Outside a safe neighborhood located in Burnside, a monstrous creature hung from an adjacent building towering over an apartment complex.
The creature peered through the window as it stared at the last living connection to the one it loved. Red eyes narrow before transforming into a stare of agony. It noticed how happy the adults were in the apartment. They were having dinner together. Something they did together every Thursday. They would chat and hear what the other had been up to.
The man was strong and lean, perfectly healthy. While the woman was equal in health, success, and beautiful. The creature saw their parents in them. The man brown-haired, while the woman was blonde, so much like her mother.
The brown furred creature's heart wrenched inside as it longed for their mother to be alive once more. Anger surged inside as it desired that things had been different. If it could go back in time and to things differently. Be there instead of where it was for so long.
Seeing the pair were alive, safe, and secure, the red-eyed creature saw no reason to confront the grown adults. It had lost so much time with them; it saw no reason to dredge up the past. A vague sense of lost wormed its way into the creature's heart. Regret of missing out on their lives, wounded its heart.
The beast leapt off the ledge, its mighty wings flapping as it flew through the night sky.
Those people it was looking into were Rebecca and Aaron Langstrom, children of the late Francine Langstrom.
The creature was Kirk Langstrom. His children have long since severed contact with their father. They had received word that their father escaped prison, but they did not care. They wanted nothing to do with him.
All that was left for Kirk was Man-Bat and its work.
The Narrows
Summer tentatively walked the streets of the bad neighborhood. Crime rates and poverty were high in the area. It was almost as bad as Crime Alley.
It was a good thing she took those self-defense classes. And always kept mace in her purse.
It seemed to be her lucky night when she noticed a group of young men leaving an abandoned and condemned building. All dressed in blue and gray outfits and a black bat painted on their faces.
The Sons.
Excited that after hours of searching, Summer followed the group as they went into an alley.
At first, she took tentative steps, hiding against a wall, her head peaking out to see if the coast was clear. She noticed departing shadows down the alley. Her footfalls quiet as she took slow and steady steps, watching out for any litter. As she neared the end of the alley she hustled as to not lose complete track of them.
When she reached the end of the alley three men popped out of nowhere, flinching Summer recoiled, a strangled gasp in her throat.
"Why are you following us?" the lead Son demanded. His eyes peering through her as he towered over her.
Swallowing, "I'm a reporter," she said quickly. "I'm not a cop," she reassured. She pulled out her credentials for further convincing.
The lead one took it from her, provoking a yelp from the redhead. His eyes examined the pass, his brown eyes darting from the pass to the woman checking for any inconsistences.
Satisfied, he handed it back to her. Almost politely, she could add.
She took it back and returned it to her purse. "Why are you following us?" he repeated. His tone neutral.
Summoning her courage before the no doubt killer, she replied, "Like I said, I'm a reporter. I want to get your side—your story. Why do you call yourselves the Sons?" she asked inquisitively. "Why wear that?" she pointed to the black face paint shaped in a bat.
The leader turned his head to his friends. All having a private conversation with each other. The anticipation of their answer caused the woman to get antsy. She had a feeling everything could turn bad at a moment's notice.
Eventually, the leader turned back to the woman. "Where do we start?"
Instantly, Summer brightened up. Turning on the recorder on her phone, she responded, "The beginning."
Crown Point
The convenience store was a nice place in a rundown neighborhood. Crown Point was a neighborhood that was home to decent folk, only for the city to abandon them. The area was the inner districts of the Bowery, home to minorities and the destitute.
But the people who truly lived there were decent, it was the other kind of residents that made the area dangerous.
The glass window shattered as a metallic rack was tossed out of the store. Darkness enclosing the store as it was closing time.
Mutants, or the last dregs of the gang that had loyalty to their leader were still causing havoc. "Cash. Now." One Mutant demanded. A shotgun pointed directly at the cashier's head. He had been running his store close to thirty years now, inherited from his father.
The cashier's hands shot up, shaky as the weapon was dangerously close to his face.
"Okay, okay!" he stammered as on hand went to opening the register.
"Hurry up!"
"I'm trying," the man said frantically.
Behind the one in charge of the robbery, were two other Mutants wearing the trademark red visors. One was knocking over shelves, goods crashing to the floor, ruined. They gained some twisted sense of glee for ruining the owner's livelihood.
The other was munching on a candy bar. Witnessing it, the ringleader snapped at the eating one. "What are you doing?!"
"What?" the eating one uttered. "I'm hungry," he shrugged.
A grimace of disgust was sent his way but was ignored and the guy continued to eat.
The ringleader turned back to the owner, his hand shaking as he held the money out to him. "It's all I have. It's been a slow couple of weeks."
He sneered, "Three-hundred buck? That's all you got?! I know you got more, old man! Where is it?! You must have some safe in the back somewhere?!" He shoved the shotgun further into the man's face. The cool steel of the barrel pressing into his cheek.
The older man gulped nervously. "Please, that's keeping the roof over my family's head," he pleaded.
"I want it!"
"Please the police should be here any minute," the older man reasoned, hoping to get them to leave for fear of arrest.
Instead, the ringleader scoffed. "Police? Please, like we're scared of those pigs."
"How about a different animal?"
A dark, almost raspy voice arrived. A chill running down everyone's spine.
The ringleader along with his compatriots whipped to the direction of the voice, seeing a pair of white eyes borrowing into them with malice within.
Challenging them to face him.
"It's the Bat!" the former eating Mutant exclaimed, firing several rounds at the man crouched atop of a metallic shelf.
Like a phantom, Batman leapt off the shelf, his cape giving him the appearance of something otherworldly. Hiding behind one of the shelves as they wasted ammo.
The other gang man ran down the aisle hoping to catch the vigilante off guard. Only to find nothing there. "What the hell?" he murmured to himself. He whipped his head around searching for any sign of the caped freak.
While the men holding him up were distracted, the owner hid behind the counter, praying everything would end soon.
The one holding the shotgun started barking orders. Telling the other two to box the Batman in. One went to one end of the store, while the other man went down the other end of the store. The ringleader chose to go straight down the middle of the five-aisle store.
They each carefully strode down their respective aisle as their eyes were glued forward. Unsuspectingly, Batman was crouched low, as he had previously hidden behind the end of an aisle just as the gang members began to move, only then proceeding. He walked while crouched slowly, before he snuck up behind the one with the shotgun. His footfalls silent as he moved. Once he was close enough, Batman stood up, his strong hands grabbed the shotgun while simultaneously smothering the man's mouth, the gun pressing against his throat as the chokehold rendered him unconscious in seconds.
Slowly, the dark clad man released the unconscious man, being delicate enough to ensure no sound was made when he hit the floor.
He turned left, immediately, crouching lowly as he followed the Mutant that had followed down the similar path. Just as the gun toting man was about to turn the corner, Batman grabbed him in a chokehold ending his threat before he could fire a shot.
As he released him, the final Mutant noticed the vigilante in action.
"Hey!"
Alarmed, Batman's head shot up, seeing just in time as the gun was trained on him. His hand went to his belt pulling out a batarang just in time for the pale man to get a shot off, missing the vigilante by inches.
A low angled batarang painfully collided with the pale man's chin, as it was one of the blunt projectiles' incapable of severe physical damage.
Only stunned, Batman deemed the gang member a threat. And decided to rectify that immediately. He tackled the man to the ground, a vise-like grip on his wrist as the gun was aimed away from the vigilante.
A right jab to the face ended the threat.
The storeowner gingerly peaked over the counter to see that the fight was over. He paled when he saw the tall figure of blackness staring back at him.
He feared for his life when a voice put him at ease.
"Sir, if you would call this in and press charges against them." It said before diving through the broken window and then vanishing.
"S-Sure," he stammered, reaching for the phone.
These were one of the few last remains of the Mutant Gang. Batman had previously eradicated the other groups to the point of them being divisible. No longer under the same banner as previously. They were all out for their own now, with nothing in common but violence and money.
The police can handle the smaller groups now as they are no longer an army.
GCPD Headquarters
It took about a day before Batman went to the GCPD building, sensing something was amiss with Commissioner Reagan. The signal had not been used at all. Normally, that would not have perturbed the dark clad man, as the two met only when it was necessary such as sharing information or informing the other about something the other needed to know.
But he had an odd feeling. Something had changed.
A lack of cooperation.
Batman turned the signal on and waited in the shadows. It took about five minutes for Reagan to race up the staircase and exit the roof access door.
"Who…?"
His head whipped to the living shadow that glided along the roof, sneaking up behind the older man.
"Oh," Frank relaxed. "It's you." His tone was indifferent by the vigilante's appearance. He seemed more reluctant to see him. Guarded.
Something had changed.
"You haven't been forthcoming," Batman's raspy voice broke the silence.
Frank did not respond immediately, taking the time to turn off the signal. Erasing the bat from the night sky.
"Neither have you," the older man slowly said. Turning to the dark clad man, betrayal smoldered in his eyes.
A mild tilt of his head demonstrated Batman had no idea as to what the older man was alluding to. "The fight at the junkyard. You used my own voice to command my men to fallback. Usurping control of the city's law enforcement to further your own ends. Do you deny it?" Reagan for all his strength managed to keep his emotions in check. Although, his voice was strained as he had half a mind to arrest the vigilante.
The dark man almost seemed torn by the question. But he answered nevertheless, "No."
His answer caused the mustached man to shake his head in frustration.
Batman felt some semblance of regret for his prior actions. "Perhaps, I should have handled that matter differently," he offered.
"Yes, you should have," the older man heated retorted.
"You withheld information about the transfer from me. People died," Batman turned the accusatory tables on the police commissioner.
Indignantly, Reagan rebuked, "It was a police matter. Your part in it was over," he stated firmly.
White lenses narrowed in disapproval, only to have a scowl directed his way as well.
"Do we have a problem?" Batman curtly inquired, already feeling that they do.
"Yes," Frank answered tightly. "Look, I'm a man of law and order. There is the law and the ones that break it. And you are one of them."
Batman scowled at the older man. "You came to me. Remember?"
"On the mayor's order," Frank defended. "I was—am on the fence with you," he admitted.
Silence hung over the two men as neither considered their next few words.
The police commissioner took a breath before amending, "Look, don't get me wrong. I am forever grateful for what you have done for me and my family. Hell, the world. I am! But…" he exhaled deeply as his brow furrowed further, unable to get the next words out. Like he said, he owed the man his life and his daughter's life, he was not ungrateful.
But he couldn't go on like this anymore. He was tired of being torn in two different directions. And learning of the vigilante's past actions cinched it.
"I can't trust you," he accused. "You went over my head. Commandeered my command. That I cannot overlook," he told him sternly.
To Frank the dark clad man appeared almost hurt by his words as if he held the older man in higher regard than previously thought.
"I… erred," he admitted after several moments. He looked like he was fighting to get the words out. As if an apology was very difficult to admit to, for him, at least.
Frank sighed, "You did," he concurred.
Batman understood the other man's view. And he agreed with the older man. He screwed up. He was trying too hard and going too fast. There were several ways for him to have handled the situation differently, but he did not think of them.
He was young, strong, and trying to prove something by going it alone. He was learning, slowly but surely, he was learning.
He did not trust easily. Or anyone for that matter. He never had. He honestly believed he could do it all on his own, no matter who told him differently.
But he had come to consider the police commissioner a wayward ally that was dependable.
Now that was done.
"I can't do this anymore. I am not Jim Gordon. I'm sure you and he had reasons to form your alliance but I'm not him," he shook his head. "This is where I get off."
Batman listened silently, as his cape enveloped his body.
"While I won't waste time and dwindling resources on chasing you, I won't protect you either," he forewarned. "A lot of people are home with their families thanks to your efforts, I won't undermine that. "My officers won't actively pursue you but if they see you they will arrest you," the man informed the other. His tone adamant and undeterred.
Batman realized that this partnership was just dissolved, and he could not help but unconsciously feel a sense of loss due to it. He understood the man's position and how he had taken advantage of a teetering trust.
Frank had done all he could for Batman. As far as he was concerned, they were even. A breeze flew by causing the man to shut his eyes for protection and when he opened them, he realized he was alone on the roof.
For a split second, he, too, felt a sense of loss by this dissolution.
NEXT: Things get worse!
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