It had been three weeks, and the Joker was still loose in his city.
The sky was burning, but to his unspoken gratitude it was only the fire of the dying sun as another day fell weary into it's grave. He looked out over the city. The buildings, proud against the blazing backdrop on the sunset. The unmistakable landmarks that turned a simple silhouette into a skyline, the unforgettable shadow of the city of Gotham against the sun.
But the city was quiet. Not because the day was drawing to an end. Some called New York the city that never slept. Well, if that was the case, then Gotham was the city that slept through the day after the night before.. if only to muster up the energy of for the night yet to come. No, this wasn't the quiet of city set for slumber. This was the quiet of an animal when it is cornered, as it eyes it pursuer and gauges it's chances for survival. This was the kind of quiet that children became when they heard a noise on the stairs, or the creaking of floorboards in the dead of night. For in truth, terror does scream or gibber or howl. Terror is a very quiet thing.
Jim Gordon looked out over his city, and knew why it was afraid.
It had been three weeks, and the Joker was still loose.
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"It's a ruse Alfred, a bluff. If I'm going to save Gotham I've got to leave it at the mercy of the Joker."
Bruce Wayne stood in the centre of the Batcave, half clad in the uniform of the Batman. He pulled his gauntlets on and secured them with straps inside the narrow cuffs. Behind, Alfred waited dutifully with the cape and cowl of the Bat in his hands.
"I've just got to trust that Gordon and his men can handle the Joker.."
"And in the meantime Sir", interjected Alfred, "I presume that you have a plan"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. Since the first day after his parent's death, he couldn't remember a day when he hadn't had a plan. He remembered watching the sunrise that morning over the dark peaks that were the skyscrapers of Gotham. He remembered his stinging, tear reddened eyes. He remembered the silence in the house that was no longer warm with the souls of his parents. He remembered waking up and realizing that the world was harsh and brutal and unfair and wrong. He remembered the plan and the plans since.
"Yes Alfred" he said, taking the heavy leather cowl and cape in his hands, "I have a plan".
Bruce pulled the cowl over his head. The cape unfurled almost soundlessly to the floor. Alfred could no more repress the shiver that ran down his spine now then he could the first time that Bruce had stepped out in front of him wearing that uniform. The first time that Bruce had stopped being Bruce before his very eyes and had become something else. Become Batman.
"I'll be calling in an expert" said Batman.
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In contrast with it's stark concrete corridors, steel doors and heavy locks, the administrative wing of Arkham Asylum was a tribute to Victorian opulence, and the office of Arkham's chief resident psychiatrist, Dr Lucent, was no exception. A thick green carpet swathed the floor, while the walls were bedecked with certificates, portraits, and carefully chosen racks of books.
Batman leant over the heavy red wood desk, his gloved hands planted firmly on it's green leather top. Rain water dripped from the nose of his cowl and splattered on the papers that Lucent had pulled jealously away from the Dark Knight as he leant towards him. In the light of the small brass desk lamp, Batman's shadow crept up the walls like the creeping tendrils of early morning mist. His eyes burnt with fury, the fury that compelled him to his nightly patrols. The same fury that now compelled him to tear this asylum, and everything it stood for, down.
"You're telling me what?" growled the Batman.
"Jonathan Crane is no longer a patient of this hospital", Lucent shuffled the papers into a neater pile and tried to brush the droplets of water off without smudging the ink. "He is, in fact, a respected member of the faculty"
"You've letting that psychopath practice medicine?
"Jonathan has been cured. The methods that we developed together have returned to him his sanity, and we have high hopes for many of the other patient's here"
Batman pulled back from Lucent and away from the desk. His cape swirled, and for a moment plunged the room into darkness as it obscured the light from the desk lamp. Lucent gasped, and when light once more filled the room the Batman was behind him, his hand on Lucent's shoulder and his mouth at his ear.
"Show me." he whispered.
The office of Professor Jonathan Crane was no less opulent than that of his custodian and patron Dr.Lucent. It's owner however, was far more prepared for the arrival of Batman. He was already on his feet as Batman barged into the room, his caped flaring out behind him like the wings of the mythic bat the city believed him to be. Right now he didn't need the urban legend behind him. He was fire and anger and fury and darkness - cloaked and hooded in black leather.
"Ah.. the Dark Knight" he cooed as Batman closed the distance between them.
"Tell me what you've done to him!" ordered the Batman, levelling his finger at Dr.Lucent. "What was it this time Crane? More fear gas? Have you got Lucent so terrified he's giving you free run of the asylum for your sick little games and experiments?"
"Quite the opposite" replied Crane. Despite the looming figure of the Batman he seemed completely relaxed. He leant back against the broad desk which dominated the room and crossed his arms across his chest. "The only person who has been exposed to any fear gas in Arkham.. is me"
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There are times when all the computers, forensics and science in the world aren't worth anything. Sometimes the tables are turned and all the deductions you've made turn out to be wrong and there are no more clues to follow. Sometimes being a detective is all about one thing.. legwork.
Nowhere was safe from his search. Batman relentlessly searched the city, a fearsome shadow that prowled across it's rooftops in the long night. Batman searched for the Answer. Crane had confessed that he had been using fear gas to control himself, to make himself sane, by developing a morbid and persistent terror of the wrongs he might commit against society. In a very real way he had become afraid of the world itself, and how it might judge him. Although he denied it, Batman could see the signs of his handiwork on other inmates of Arkham as well. The same inmates who would normally have jeered and cursed at him as he was led down the long concrete corridor back to his cell were instead cowed in his presence. they huddled in the corners of their cells as they heard his voice drift down the corridor; squeezed their eyes tight shut as his footsteps passed the their doors. In an attempt to bring sanity to the maddened masses of Arkham, and finally prove his own theories on the nature and powers of fear, Crane had shown them all their own inner demons. But men and monsters might know there innermost fears as well as they know themselves, and bringing them into the harsh light of day does not dampen them or make them any more real. The thing that scared the murderous lunatics of Arkham as Crane was led, head hung low, back to his briefly vacant cell, was Crane himself. The man who could control the fear that paralyzed them even now.
Despite the fact that Batman had discovered Crane "at large", it did not answer the many questions posed by The Answer. Somehow he had gotten hold of Crane's fear gas and had created a virus from it, a virus that no threatened to engulf Gotham City.
Batman had seen the result of the virus; firstly the bodies of a group of small time criminals who tore themselves apart when the virus caused them hallucinate their worst fears, nightmares so vivid that they had literally scared the men to death. The second example was the police forensics expert who, exposed to the virus while examining the previous victims, had become so terrified by the stories of the hellish lives of orphans in Peru that he had taken a TV show audience hostage and killed the very man who had first brought the images to mind - the TV evangelist Buddy Doyle.
Batman had seen the pattern almost immediately, and his brief meeting with the Answer had confirmed some of his suspicions, and heightened his own worst fears; but none of these things were deductions. He had been too late to save any of these people. This was just case history now. To be remembered, as fuel for the hunt if nothing more, but worthless to him now. None it contained the clues that he needed. Clues to the location of the Answer, to what his plans were, what his next move would be. In the jet black night of Gotham City, the Batman hunted.
But with every place he searched, he fell further and further behind his prey. He left a trail of victims for the Dark Knight to follow that criss-crossed the city four times over. He finds them everywhere. Shivering, wretched, howling their terror at the smiling moon. Paralyzed by waking nightmares more vivid than the dull gray-brown reality of their lives, their minds ravaged mercilessly by the their darkest, deepest subconscious horrors. Each and every one a victim of the Answer and his fear virus. With very new discovery he falls a step behind, fails to see the pattern. With every new discovery he must fight hard to save another life. Gripped by fear, the everyday dangers of the world play little part in the Answer's victims lives. He finds them face down in overflowing baths, or sat in kitchens filled with gas from unlit stoves. He finds them in the middle of the highway, the lights of the oncoming cars little more than fireflies in the night in comparison to the gleaming eyes of the night born fiends that haunt the shattered souls that roam the city now.
With every step, every discovery Batman fears that there is no pattern. That the virus is simply spreading on the warm winds of Gotham. The threat of the virus has come to fruition, and what had been a contagion has become a plague. in the first rays of sunlight of a new day in Gotham, the screams of the haunted mingle with the wails of sirens of Gotham's finest, until only Batman can still tell them apart.
His city, his city gripped by panic.
His failure.
His greatest fear...
The sky was burning, but to his unspoken gratitude it was only the fire of the dying sun as another day fell weary into it's grave. He looked out over the city. The buildings, proud against the blazing backdrop on the sunset. The unmistakable landmarks that turned a simple silhouette into a skyline, the unforgettable shadow of the city of Gotham against the sun.
But the city was quiet. Not because the day was drawing to an end. Some called New York the city that never slept. Well, if that was the case, then Gotham was the city that slept through the day after the night before.. if only to muster up the energy of for the night yet to come. No, this wasn't the quiet of city set for slumber. This was the quiet of an animal when it is cornered, as it eyes it pursuer and gauges it's chances for survival. This was the kind of quiet that children became when they heard a noise on the stairs, or the creaking of floorboards in the dead of night. For in truth, terror does scream or gibber or howl. Terror is a very quiet thing.
Jim Gordon looked out over his city, and knew why it was afraid.
It had been three weeks, and the Joker was still loose.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"It's a ruse Alfred, a bluff. If I'm going to save Gotham I've got to leave it at the mercy of the Joker."
Bruce Wayne stood in the centre of the Batcave, half clad in the uniform of the Batman. He pulled his gauntlets on and secured them with straps inside the narrow cuffs. Behind, Alfred waited dutifully with the cape and cowl of the Bat in his hands.
"I've just got to trust that Gordon and his men can handle the Joker.."
"And in the meantime Sir", interjected Alfred, "I presume that you have a plan"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. Since the first day after his parent's death, he couldn't remember a day when he hadn't had a plan. He remembered watching the sunrise that morning over the dark peaks that were the skyscrapers of Gotham. He remembered his stinging, tear reddened eyes. He remembered the silence in the house that was no longer warm with the souls of his parents. He remembered waking up and realizing that the world was harsh and brutal and unfair and wrong. He remembered the plan and the plans since.
"Yes Alfred" he said, taking the heavy leather cowl and cape in his hands, "I have a plan".
Bruce pulled the cowl over his head. The cape unfurled almost soundlessly to the floor. Alfred could no more repress the shiver that ran down his spine now then he could the first time that Bruce had stepped out in front of him wearing that uniform. The first time that Bruce had stopped being Bruce before his very eyes and had become something else. Become Batman.
"I'll be calling in an expert" said Batman.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In contrast with it's stark concrete corridors, steel doors and heavy locks, the administrative wing of Arkham Asylum was a tribute to Victorian opulence, and the office of Arkham's chief resident psychiatrist, Dr Lucent, was no exception. A thick green carpet swathed the floor, while the walls were bedecked with certificates, portraits, and carefully chosen racks of books.
Batman leant over the heavy red wood desk, his gloved hands planted firmly on it's green leather top. Rain water dripped from the nose of his cowl and splattered on the papers that Lucent had pulled jealously away from the Dark Knight as he leant towards him. In the light of the small brass desk lamp, Batman's shadow crept up the walls like the creeping tendrils of early morning mist. His eyes burnt with fury, the fury that compelled him to his nightly patrols. The same fury that now compelled him to tear this asylum, and everything it stood for, down.
"You're telling me what?" growled the Batman.
"Jonathan Crane is no longer a patient of this hospital", Lucent shuffled the papers into a neater pile and tried to brush the droplets of water off without smudging the ink. "He is, in fact, a respected member of the faculty"
"You've letting that psychopath practice medicine?
"Jonathan has been cured. The methods that we developed together have returned to him his sanity, and we have high hopes for many of the other patient's here"
Batman pulled back from Lucent and away from the desk. His cape swirled, and for a moment plunged the room into darkness as it obscured the light from the desk lamp. Lucent gasped, and when light once more filled the room the Batman was behind him, his hand on Lucent's shoulder and his mouth at his ear.
"Show me." he whispered.
The office of Professor Jonathan Crane was no less opulent than that of his custodian and patron Dr.Lucent. It's owner however, was far more prepared for the arrival of Batman. He was already on his feet as Batman barged into the room, his caped flaring out behind him like the wings of the mythic bat the city believed him to be. Right now he didn't need the urban legend behind him. He was fire and anger and fury and darkness - cloaked and hooded in black leather.
"Ah.. the Dark Knight" he cooed as Batman closed the distance between them.
"Tell me what you've done to him!" ordered the Batman, levelling his finger at Dr.Lucent. "What was it this time Crane? More fear gas? Have you got Lucent so terrified he's giving you free run of the asylum for your sick little games and experiments?"
"Quite the opposite" replied Crane. Despite the looming figure of the Batman he seemed completely relaxed. He leant back against the broad desk which dominated the room and crossed his arms across his chest. "The only person who has been exposed to any fear gas in Arkham.. is me"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are times when all the computers, forensics and science in the world aren't worth anything. Sometimes the tables are turned and all the deductions you've made turn out to be wrong and there are no more clues to follow. Sometimes being a detective is all about one thing.. legwork.
Nowhere was safe from his search. Batman relentlessly searched the city, a fearsome shadow that prowled across it's rooftops in the long night. Batman searched for the Answer. Crane had confessed that he had been using fear gas to control himself, to make himself sane, by developing a morbid and persistent terror of the wrongs he might commit against society. In a very real way he had become afraid of the world itself, and how it might judge him. Although he denied it, Batman could see the signs of his handiwork on other inmates of Arkham as well. The same inmates who would normally have jeered and cursed at him as he was led down the long concrete corridor back to his cell were instead cowed in his presence. they huddled in the corners of their cells as they heard his voice drift down the corridor; squeezed their eyes tight shut as his footsteps passed the their doors. In an attempt to bring sanity to the maddened masses of Arkham, and finally prove his own theories on the nature and powers of fear, Crane had shown them all their own inner demons. But men and monsters might know there innermost fears as well as they know themselves, and bringing them into the harsh light of day does not dampen them or make them any more real. The thing that scared the murderous lunatics of Arkham as Crane was led, head hung low, back to his briefly vacant cell, was Crane himself. The man who could control the fear that paralyzed them even now.
Despite the fact that Batman had discovered Crane "at large", it did not answer the many questions posed by The Answer. Somehow he had gotten hold of Crane's fear gas and had created a virus from it, a virus that no threatened to engulf Gotham City.
Batman had seen the result of the virus; firstly the bodies of a group of small time criminals who tore themselves apart when the virus caused them hallucinate their worst fears, nightmares so vivid that they had literally scared the men to death. The second example was the police forensics expert who, exposed to the virus while examining the previous victims, had become so terrified by the stories of the hellish lives of orphans in Peru that he had taken a TV show audience hostage and killed the very man who had first brought the images to mind - the TV evangelist Buddy Doyle.
Batman had seen the pattern almost immediately, and his brief meeting with the Answer had confirmed some of his suspicions, and heightened his own worst fears; but none of these things were deductions. He had been too late to save any of these people. This was just case history now. To be remembered, as fuel for the hunt if nothing more, but worthless to him now. None it contained the clues that he needed. Clues to the location of the Answer, to what his plans were, what his next move would be. In the jet black night of Gotham City, the Batman hunted.
But with every place he searched, he fell further and further behind his prey. He left a trail of victims for the Dark Knight to follow that criss-crossed the city four times over. He finds them everywhere. Shivering, wretched, howling their terror at the smiling moon. Paralyzed by waking nightmares more vivid than the dull gray-brown reality of their lives, their minds ravaged mercilessly by the their darkest, deepest subconscious horrors. Each and every one a victim of the Answer and his fear virus. With very new discovery he falls a step behind, fails to see the pattern. With every new discovery he must fight hard to save another life. Gripped by fear, the everyday dangers of the world play little part in the Answer's victims lives. He finds them face down in overflowing baths, or sat in kitchens filled with gas from unlit stoves. He finds them in the middle of the highway, the lights of the oncoming cars little more than fireflies in the night in comparison to the gleaming eyes of the night born fiends that haunt the shattered souls that roam the city now.
With every step, every discovery Batman fears that there is no pattern. That the virus is simply spreading on the warm winds of Gotham. The threat of the virus has come to fruition, and what had been a contagion has become a plague. in the first rays of sunlight of a new day in Gotham, the screams of the haunted mingle with the wails of sirens of Gotham's finest, until only Batman can still tell them apart.
His city, his city gripped by panic.
His failure.
His greatest fear...
