Standing on the roof of a downtown Gotham building, three hundred feet in the air on a breezy and damp spring night, the dark figure looked down at the city. His cloak rippled around him, as sharp eyes scanned for any traces of the person he was after. The sound of a shot in the distance made him snap his head around, listening intently, while the wind moaned past, until he relaxed a little. Such things were the normal night sounds of this place, and by the looks of it the police were already handling it. At the moment he had more dangerous people to go after.
Making a decision, the man pulled a small device from his belt, aiming and firing it with the ease of long practice and hardly looking as he did. Whipping out with a whine, the weighted line shot a hundred feet across the street and wrapped around the base of a flagpole, a mechanism on the end locking it in place. The line gun itself, anchored to the harness built into his costume, easily took his weight as he leaped off the building and dropped, his plummet converted into horizontal motion moments later.
Swinging out and down, he reached the end of the line and arced upwards again, his path nicely calculated to aim him at another high vantage point a couple of hundred yards away. At the right point he pressed a control which had the effect of making the end of the line release and retract at high speed into his mechanism, allowing him a couple of seconds of free flight in which he repositioned his body to let him land neatly in the desired place.
Again, he took up a watching position, looking and listening. A high-tech pair of electronic binoculars were brought into play, scanning the entire area.
The process repeated over and over, with only a couple of interruptions when a criminal made the mistake of pursuing his trade a little too close. Eventually, at nearly 4AM, he gave up for the night.
There was no sign of his quarry, and he decided that this was a waste of further effort.
He'd try again tomorrow. Even he needed to rest on occasion, as people close to him repeatedly pointed out, and he was certain that the evil clown would show up sooner or later. The bastard always did, normally surrounded by bodies and laughing about it.
Angry, tired, and concerned about what his arch-enemy's next move would be, Batman headed for his hidden vehicle and was soon racing through darkened streets inside a technological wonder, various late night witnesses looking up at the by-now familiar sound of a nearly silent machine zipping past. Some smiled, some scowled, some merely shook their heads and got back to what they were doing.
"…lum last night, in a straight-jacket which was tied to a lamp post. A note found at the scene reportedly explained that the Joker had been caught red-handed in the process of setting up some form of nerve gas weapon although the target is currently undisclosed, and sources tell us that with the note was a USB storage device with time-stamped video recordings of the entire operation. Police are being unusually uncooperative with the press about what these videos revealed, an unofficial spokesman telling our reporter off the record that he would have nightmares for weeks, and he wasn't the one the people involved were going after."
"Commissioner Gordon stated at the time that the Joker was currently comatose, although uninjured, and would be questioned when he regained consciousness. That apparently occurred some twenty-five minutes ago, a contact inside the asylum telling us that he immediately began screaming wildly and had to be sedated again. Our information is that he was mumbling over and over the words 'I'll be good, don't let her get me.' One can only guess what that might mean, although it would seem that the multiple mass-murderer may finally have met his match."
"There is no word of the involvement of Batman in this capture of the most wanted individual in the city, if not the state. We will continue to follow this unfolding story as the day goes on. This is Kate Jackson for Gotham Morning News, reporting live from..."
Bruce stood in his bedroom with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, half-gaping at the TV mounted on the wall which he'd turned on as he normally did to catch up with the news. Numbly switching channels with the remote he saw that the same basic story was playing on every local station, and was also on CNN.
"What the hell?" he mumbled around the toothbrush.
"I take it that this is unexpected news, Master Bruce," Alfred commented as he appeared in the doorway, an expression on his face that was hard to interpret. Bruce looked at him, then back at the TV, feeling that the remark was a serious understatement at a minimum.
"Just a little," he finally said, pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth. "Who did this?"
"I have no idea, sir," the old family retainer replied, moving to the closet and opening it to begin laying out a suit on the bed. "Although I will admit to being rather pleased. As I expect most people will be, that ghastly man has been a thorn in the side of the city for years. Perhaps he'll finally stay put."
He looked up for a moment. "You have an appointment at the bank in an hour, sir. I would suggest that breakfast would be the next order of the day. It is ready in the dining room."
Bruce looked at him, then the TV, then the remote he was still holding. Eventually he prodded the off button and put the device down, before going into the bathroom to rinse his mouth and shave.
He had a lot of questions and no answers, not a position he enjoyed being in. It looked like he was going to have to pay a visit to an old friend tonight.
"Who did it?"
Jim Gordon suppressed the twitch towards his service weapon, merely sighing slightly at the sound of a familiar gravelly voice. "Would it kill you to knock for once?" he growled, turning to see a caped-and-cowled figure taller than he was step out of the shadows of his office. "That's really starting to get old fast."
The shadowed eyes simply watched him, even though he got a faint impression that there was a slight amusement in them, not that anyone else could likely pick up on it. They'd known each other for nearly three years now, as much as you could call this weird relationship 'knowing' someone, and while he trusted the man in the costume with his life, he still found him annoying at times.
"I assume that you're referring to the Joker's capture," he added as he sat behind his desk. Batman merely nodded once. "We don't know."
"What happened?"
"More or less what the news has been reporting all day. He was unconscious in a straight-jacket, strapped to a lamp post outside the main entrance to Arkham Asylum at approximately five AM this morning. Not a mark on him, so the assumption is that he was drugged, although so far forensics haven't been able to determine what drug was used. Nothing normal, certainly, all the toxin screens came back negative." Jim pulled a folder out of a drawer, opening it and flipping through to the relevant report, which he handed over as the vigilante walked closer. He waited for Batman to read it, then hand it back, his eyes thoughtful behind the mask.
"The only evidence was a puncture mark on the back of his neck, which the examiner says might be from some form of dart. Since no one could determine what, if anything, had been administered to him all they could safely do was wait for it to wear off. That happened around ten this morning. When he woke up, he looked wildly around like he was expecting to see something horrible, and screamed like the devil himself was after him. Made the orderlies nearly crap themselves, I was told."
Jim half-smiled, shrugging. "Can't find it in me to care, I have to admit. Something or someone scared the shit out of the bastard. They had to shove enough tranquilizers into him to drop a horse before he'd shut up. At the moment he's rocking back and forth in his padded room saying 'Don't let her get me' over and over. I can't help thinking that he's not a problem any more."
"It could be an act. The man is insane, but he's brilliant as well." Batman sounded, to Jim's ears, puzzled and worried.
"That I know all too well. He's escaped enough times to make it clear. But… I don't know, this time, there's something different." He shook his head. "I can't explain why. The man's… broken." Raising an eyebrow at his visitor, he asked, "I assume you had nothing to do with it?"
After a few seconds, Batman slowly shook his head. "No. I've been looking for him for more than two weeks. No sign, until today."
"Wonderful." Gordon sighed. "So we have someone else running around taking down super-villains. This city is going to be the death of me yet."
"The report said that there was other evidence found with him."
"There was. Two USB sticks, one containing video, one with a large amount of other data. Taped to a note that was stuck to him. The note said..." He flipped through the folder, looking for the photocopy. Finding it, he read, "'Try to keep him away from people this time. If I have to come back and do it for you, I'll make it permanent. Have a nice day.' It was signed with the letter 'S'."
He handed the copy to the other man, who read it for himself. "No fingerprints, DNA traces, or any other evidence that the lab can find so far," he added.
"I have other resources, I might have better luck."
"Possibly. When they're finished with it, I may be able to arrange something."
"What was the video?"
"Disturbing."
The masked face looked at him. He looked back.
"Very disturbing." Picking up a remote control, he aimed it at the large flat-screen TV mounted on the other side of the room, turning it on, then put the remote down and poked around on his computer for a few seconds. They watched the large monitor as a very high quality recording began playing.
Jim shivered a little as he watched. It still affected him on a gut level, watching the various minions of the Joker running and shooting while screaming like little girls, all the time hearing something, several somethings, laughing and talking to each other in a completely alien language. The recording changed viewpoints several times, apparently shot from body worn cameras of some form. What the bodies that were wearing them actually were wasn't clear, aside from glimpses of what appeared to be scaled arms with taloned fingers that came into view every now and then. He was oddly glad that he couldn't make out more.
The voices were bad enough.
When the recording finished, he tapped a key, then turned the screen off again. "There was a note with the video file that said that it was shot in a particular warehouse on the edge of the city, where the rest of his minions were. We found sixty-three people, all unconscious and restrained, again with no injuries at all."
"Sixty-three people?" The rough voice had a definite note of shock.
"Yes. And enough weapons to fight a small war. Not to mention over two tons of what the lab says is a new variant of that fucking Smilex shit he likes, along with something they're pretty sure is an even more potent neurotoxin of some sort. The Pentagon got very interested when we put out a discreet request for an external expert, they're rushing an entire team here tomorrow morning. The documents on the USB stick and in the warehouse show that he was planning some sort of attack on several schools in the city. God alone knows why."
There was silence in the office for a while, only broken by the sound of them breathing.
"I see."
"Any idea who it was?"
"I..." Jim could swear that the super-hero actually swallowed. "… may have a possibility in mind."
"Want to share it with me?"
Batman seemed very thoughtful. "Not at the moment."
With a nod, Jim leaned back in his chair, regarding his visitor. "Well, whatever or whoever did it, they made some friends today, as well as freaking out a lot of people. The number of innocents that bastard has killed… I'm just glad someone took him down. If it sticks for good, so much the better. We'll never be able to prosecute him properly, he's not fit to stand trial, unfortunately, but if he stays put that'll do as far as I'm concerned."
With a slight nod, his visitor glanced at the now-dark monitor again, seeming to Jim both curious and just a touch apprehensive. Eventually he replied, "Thank you for the information."
"You're welcome. If you find out who it was, shake their hand for me."
His desk phone rang, causing him to look at it. When he looked back, the man was gone, leaving only an open window. He shook his head, almost amused. "How the hell does he do that?" he muttered, picking up the handset and putting it to his ear. "Gordon."
Bruce glared at the city below him, thinking dark thoughts. In the last four weeks he'd made a lot of inquiries in a wide variety of places, but had come up empty on any more information on the people Lucius had warned him about. He was certain that they were the ones who had captured the Joker, who was still in a completely cowed state in the city asylum, so terrified he screamed if they turned the lights off. None of his men were quite so badly off, but they were definitely afraid of the dark these days.
On the one hand he was pleased that the most dangerous man he'd so far faced was apparently finally in a position he was unlikely to be able to cause further trouble from. On the other hand, the way that this had happened worried him. He knew nothing about these mysterious reptile people from another world, aside from what Lucius had told him that night. He hadn't wanted to ask for more details, for a number of reasons. At least one of them being that he wasn't sure the man would actually tell him and he didn't want to risk their relationship. Lucius was a friend, but he had a very serious ability to not betray a trust, which Bruce wasn't certain would work in his favor in this case.
Visiting a number of people who might be expected to know things that weren't common knowledge had produced some odd effects. Most of them had looked at him like he was crazy when he'd tried to find out more information, apparently completely unaware of the subject of his interest. One or two of them had suddenly seemed very worried, glancing around carefully, then told him that it wasn't a line of inquiry that should be pursued further. No amount of looming or offers of compensation had swayed them.
In the not too distant past he might have resorted to more… effective… means of persuasion, but after that night… No, he felt it had been an experience he didn't want to repeat, so he was being a lot more careful these days. It had taken a few weeks of careful reflection but he came to the conclusion that he had indeed been getting carried away, so on the whole it was probably a good thing.
Pity it had left him with some very odd dreams for a while. Not to mention the requirement to have a very large footprint discreetly filled in and seeded over.
Even now he wasn't entirely certain that it had been real, but there was enough evidence that he wasn't going to dismiss it.
All that being true, though, he still had a burning need to find out what or who was running around Gotham dealing with the worst of the worst. The Penguin had very abruptly gone entirely inactive, word on the street being that he'd decided overnight to retire and go somewhere else. No one had seen the Scarecrow, who had escaped from Arkham six months ago, for over two weeks. There was a rumor that he'd left the country and said he was never coming back.
And Two-face had calmly walked up to a mental institution and asked politely if he could be treated for a whole range of psychiatric conditions, please, and by the way here is a list of all the crimes I've committed.
Commissioner Gordon was still pleased about that one.
Bruce wasn't quite so sure, since he didn't have a clue what had happened to any of them.
Hearing a scream nearby, he whirled, then started moving. Moments later he was looking down into an alley where two men with pistols were menacing a young woman. Deciding that his ruminations could be shelved for the moment he snapped out a throwing line, wrapping it around a handy fire escape, then slid down it to land silently behind the two muggers. Grabbing one by the shoulder he spun the man around, hitting him with two precisely calculated strikes on nerves in his neck, then even as his first opponent dropped limply to the ground, ducked.
The other man had shown commendably quick reactions and appallingly bad judgment simultaneously, spinning around at the sound of the blows and raising his weapon, before firing half a dozen shots. The bullets whined and pinged around the alley, making the woman who had been attacked scream again, then run for it.
"You!" the mugger shouted, firing again. Bruce leaned sideways as the round barely missed him, although even it if had hit the relatively low-velocity 9mm bullet would have bounced off his armor, then kicked out.
"Me," he growled. "Bad mistake." The man fired again, missed again, then pulled the trigger one final time.
The gun merely clicked.
Smiling grimly, Bruce moved in for the takedown. Moments later the second mugger was unconscious beside the first.
"Nice moves, mate," a British-accented voice said out of the darkness further down the alley. Despite iron control, Bruce twitched violently having had no idea there was anyone there. He whipped around in a defensive pose, staring into the shadows.
A match scraped across the brickwork and ignited, the flare of yellow light illuminating a face he knew as the new arrival lit a cigarette with it, then flicked it to the ground.
"Constantine."
"Got it in one. Been a while. Having fun?"
"What do you want?" Bruce snapped. "Every time you turn up, trouble follows you."
The blond man pushed his hat back with a finger, then took a drag on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly. He inspected Bruce closely. "Funny coming from you." He glanced down at the two muggers, who were breathing steadily, but not likely to wake up soon. "You're asking a lot of questions recently."
After a short pause, Bruce replied, "I need to know some answers."
"You sure you really do?" The man facing him tipped his head quizzically, the red glow from the cigarette in his mouth barely showing his eyes. "Trust me, you'd sleep better if you didn't know. I know I would."
"Trust you?" Bruce snorted. "With your reputation I'd have to be a fool to do so."
Constantine shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "Suit yourself."
They stared at each other for a few seconds. "Who are the Family?"
"Your worst nightmare or your best friends, possibly at the same time."
"Very helpful."
"I thought so. Took me ages to think that line up." The other man smirked at him.
"Where do they come from?"
"Somewhere else. Parallel world sort of thing, as far as I know. Don't ask me how they do it. Magic and tech way past anything I know about, or anyone else."
"Magic." Bruce said the word with distaste.
"Yeah. Not like anything you've ever seen." The blond shrugged again. "Don't bother trying to figure it out. You won't."
"You seem sure."
"I am. Asked around, got told a few things. Things that make me wish I'd kept my bloody gob shut, to be honest. By people you wouldn't believe for that matter." He took another drag on the cigarette. "One thing everyone agrees on. Don't fuck with the Family."
His voice was very serious.
"They're… weird. And more dangerous than you could possibly imagine, if you manage to provoke them enough."
"What do they want here?"
"Dunno. Trade, probably. That's what I'm told they do. I guess they're cleaning up a bit to make that easier, or maybe they just didn't like some of the local arseholes. Leave them alone, they'll leave you alone, and they'll probably be gone soon anyway. Honest, mate, you'd be better off just forgetting about it. Go deal with the other crazies around this damn place and stop asking questions no one has answers to. Or would tell you if they did."
Bruce examined the man he'd run into a few times before, always in very unsettling circumstances. Trouble did indeed follow him around like a close friend, or possibly it was the other way. He didn't trust him further than he could throw him but at the same time he definitely knew a lot about the paranormal, something Bruce himself tried to stay away from whenever possible. He was much more comfortable with technology than magic, even though he knew damn well it existed.
The 'answers' he'd received matched more or less with what Lucius had said. He wasn't happy about it, he didn't like things he couldn't explain or prepare for, but he was also certain that he wasn't going to get anything more useful from the damn man. Constantine was a pain in the ass at the best of times.
With an internal sigh he said, "Are you planning on being in Gotham long?" Implying by his tone of voice that the answer he'd prefer was 'No.'
The man grinned at him, puffing the last of his tobacco down to the filter, then flipping the butt into a puddle where it went out with a hiss. "Nah. Got someone to see, then I'm off. Problem down south in a swamp, I need to talk to a few people." He glanced at the muggers, one of whom was stirring. "Your boy there's waking up. Better kick him in the head or something."
Bruce looked down as well, to check if the man was going to be trouble. When he looked up there was no sign of the other person, only a trace of tobacco smoke hanging in the air. He checked all around him, not seeing any signs of where he'd gone. Taking a step towards the total blackness at the back of the alley, the most likely exit route, he stopped dead when he heard a faint sound that was reminiscent of something a lot larger than a human moving slightly.
Something with scales…
After a moment's uneasy thought, he turned back to his captives and bent down, slinging the groaning one over a shoulder. Grabbing the other one's left leg with his free hand, he headed in the other direction, intending to put them somewhere the cops would find them, call it in, then go somewhere some distance from whatever had made that quiet noise.
He was paranoid, intensely curious, more than a little cautious, but not an idiot. Alfred was right, some things were best left alone for now. One day he might revisit the issue but at the moment he had other things that he should probably concentrate on.