Chapter Seven
'This is amazing'.
It took Terry awhile to get used to the batsuit, clumsily extending its wings and accidentally setting off the booster jetpack installed on the bottom of his feet. That accident sent him flying through the air over several buildings before crash landing on one a rooftop. The fall didn't hurt at all like he'd expect it to. The suit was shielding him somehow.
Recovering his balance he got back to his feet and looked out over the city. With the suit he had been able to- literally, fly to the busier side of Gotham.
He didn't know how long it would take before the old man found out. And when he did he didn't want to think about how he'd react.
Just live it up while you've got it.
He spent the next few minutes jumping and leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Most of the time he was able to jump right across, feeling the batsuit do the work as he landed softly on the next ledge. He was getting used to this. And when it came to the wider gaps between the buildings, he'd use the wings and fly across.
It took three gaps to adjust to the batwings, and before long he was using them as a semi-pro, flying through the air and landing softly back down on the roof.
It had been such a rush that Terry nearly forgot why he was out there and what he was wearing. He had to stop and remind himself.
But it felt so cool. And for a brief couple of minutes he had been able to forget the pain, forget his father's death.
He stopped on one rooftop and started searching the suit for anything useful- a rope? Batarangs? Hell, even a can opener would've sufficed, but there was nothing. He silently cursed himself for not looking around the batcave longer for ammunition of any kind. After all, why would Bruce stock up the suit when he wasn't going to plan on using it anytime soon?
Forgetting the ammunition Terry continued along the rooftops for awhile, just enjoying his newfound freedom. Up here he could do anything, say anything and be anything he wanted.
Loud sirens knocked him out of his daydreaming.
He stopped to look over the edge. Far down below he could see police cars sliding to a stop in front of the Gotham Museum just across the street. It was one of the largest buildings in the whole city and widely known for its government displays on its history.
He watched as police swarmed the building, guns cocked. Behind them the Commissioner stepped out of her car, raising a walkie-talkie to her ear.
"Large and dangerous, has about thirty sticks of explosives with him. Need bomb squad here ASAP. Bring back-up."
Terry didn't know how he was able to hear her. He doubted he would've been able to hear her even if he had been standing right next to her, but here he was more than thirty stories high and he heard her. Just barely.
He stood there, trying to figure out what to do. Should he call Bruce and tell him? Find the bomb squad? Go down there and assist?
No way. He was the Batman now. And he was going to do something about it himself.
Trying to ignore the 'this is stupid' remarks floating through his head, he extended the wings and ignited the blasters, sending him up in the air and over the gap below. For a brief moment he felt the familiar sense of nothingness as he soared through the air. Then he started falling back down and he landed on the museum roof. He felt a sense of accomplishment as he closed the wings and started across the roof toward the glass opening in the center.
Down far below he could see a large man standing the center, shouting something he couldn't hear. He had bombs strapped all over him. Terry's eyes widened. What kind of sicko is this?
He couldn't hear what he was saying. Pressing his hands gently against the glass he tried leaning over, looking for an opening.
And suddenly he could everything going on below, like as if he was there himself.
He released the glass in surprise and the sounds disappeared. He hesitated, thinking, then pressed his fingers up against the glass again.
"Somebody's got to stop the madness!"
It didn't take long to realize what was going on. There were microphone chips- or whatever- installed into the fingerprints of the batsuit.
Shway.
Setting that aside briefly, he started looking for a way to get inside.
Barbara Gordon took her position toward the front of the line, gun in one hand, megaphone in the other. She was standing in the doorway.
Across the room, surrounded by display cases, was Mad Stan. He was grinning maniacally and had several sticks of dynamite sewn to his clothes.
Mad Stan. How fitting.
"We have you surrounded!" she shouted into the megaphone, "stop this now or we will be forced to take action!"
Mad Stan laughed and started yelling again. His voice was powerful and carried around the room, echoing off the walls. "Go ahead and shoot! You think I care? Blow up the building yourself! Blow it all up!"
She hesitated. They were going to have to do something soon and she didn't know how to reason with someone like this. Not when they already had the dynamite and could blow themselves up- and the entire building- in just a few seconds.
"The entire political system is corrupt!" He screamed, the veins popping from his neck. He was still grinning. "Blow it all up!"
Barbara sighed, turning back to her enforcers. "There's only one thing we can do."
"We can't fire," one of the officers objected, "we'll ignite one of the bombs."
She nodded. "I know. But what else can we do? If we just stay here he'll blow it up any second."
"Somebody's got to stop the madness!" Mad Stan continued screaming, pacing the room. "I'm going to stop it! I'm going to blow it all up!"
He continued yelling. She turned back to him and was about to speak into the megaphone again when something happened.
A black blur flew through the air, colliding with Mad Stan from behind. Mad Stan cried out in surprise and fell forward, the bomb trigger sliding from his hand across the room toward Barbara Gordon.
"Someone, go for it!" she yelled, and several police officers entered the room, diving for the trigger. She didn't pay attention. She was too absorbed in watching whatever was going on with Mad Stan.
A black figure darted around him, punching and kicking, sending the psychopath across the room. His attacks were far too powerful to be from any normal human being.
Then she recognized the sharp pointy ears and the bat design embalmed on the figure's chest.
No. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.
Then Mad Stan got up and sent the bat across the room, hard enough to literally slam him Ithrough/I the wall.
Oh man did that hurt.
Terry could feel the wall collide with him and break away from the force of the throw. He hit the ground hard enough to send the air gushing out of his lungs, and he gasped for breath.
What just happened?
He had been fighting Mad Stan, careful enough not to ignite the bombs, when Mad Stan turned and actually slammed him through the wall.
"Someone trying to be the hero?" Mad Stan gushed loudly, approaching the hole in the wall. "I say we blow you up too!"
Get up Terry. Get up.
Mad Stan started running toward him, his mouth open in a wide grin, his eyes wide. Terry leapt up, grabbing the wall for support and flipping over him, landing back on the ground.
Mad Stan cried out in surprise and turned around angrily. Terry wasted no time pelting him, swing his arms and sending back onto the floor. It was surprising how effective his blows were. It wasn't just him fighting. It was the suit as well.
Toward the entrance he could hear the police shifting, trying to figure out whether or not they should fire or just wait it out. They had no idea what was going on.
"Blow this," he commented, his voice lower than he had intended, and gave him an upercut that sent him flying. Mad Stan hit the ground.
Terry grinned despite himself, feeling flushed from the fight. He felt good. He never felt so good in his entire life. It made everything go away and he could feel himself getting pumped up.
But it wasn't over.
To his utter amazement, Mad Stan was getting back to his feet. Terry stared at him, eyes wide. How much could this guy take? No way could someone stand the blow he had just given him.
He stood there waiting as Mad Stan got to his feet, glowering at the dark figure. He took a menacing step forward, reaching up to one of the grenades attached to his suit.
Uh oh.
Mad Stan threw the grenade and Batman dived to the side. The grenade hit one of the display cases of George Washington, and the entire set blew up. Flames spread across the room, heat filling the room.
Mad Stan started laughing maniacally again, too distracted to look at the explosion then to notice Terry sneaking up behind him.
Terry spun him around and gave him a mean right hook, sending Mad Stan back to the floor. He stood there, waiting for him to get back up, but he didn't.
He was knocked out cold.
Terry couldn't believe it. He stood there, staring at Mad Stan feeling the power building throughout his body. He had done it. He had stopped him.
Police started swarming, followed by the Fire Department, sending water hoses toward the flames. He looked around, bewildered at first, then realized he had to get out of there.
"Stop!" He heard a woman's voice ring out just as he took off, powering his jet packed boots and extending the wings. He looked down to see the Commissioner watching him lift off to the opening above.
She didn't look happy at all.
Terry couldn't possibly feel any better as he soared through the sky, feeling his entire body flushed from the battle. He had done it. He had actually done some good.
Batman was back in business.
It took him awhile to get over that excitement, leaping the rooftops and going deeper toward the older part of town.
Then he got down to the business he had intended to do from the beginning.
He had a good idea of where the Jokerz hideout was. And he was going to take care of them once and for long.
When Bruce Wayne reached the cave, his worst fears had come true.
The display case holding the latest model of the Batsuit was empty.
He sighed deeply, then descended the stairs for the computer.
"Computer," he said in a gruff voice. The computer whirred to action, its screens flashing, lights coming on.
He seated himself in his chair, Ace lying down beside him. He sat there for a moment in silence, then began a city-search of the Batsuit.
"You Doyle, watcha doin back there?"
"Counting up the profit Tanner, shaddap will ya?"
Tanner made a face, turning away from the TV screen to watch Doyle. He was seated at the table they had set up in the middle of the abandoned building. In front of him lay a whole pile of credits. Other Jokerz filled the area, idly watching TV, sleeping, or doing something or other in the corner. Doyle didn't care.
"Look Doyle, if I find one of Power's credits missing I'll kill ya myself, you here?" Tanner got up from the couch. "That's not your creds!"
"Chill Tanner." Doyle shoved the remaining credits back into the bag. "But what are we supposed to do with it?"
"Go shopping," Tanner snapped, snatching the bag away. He tugged his purple suit straight, running a hand through his dyed-green hair.
Terry crouched in the darkness, watching them from the corner. He literally hung off the ceiling just around the corner bend, listening to them. He kept his fingers outstretched slightly to pick their voices up easier. He could pick up every word being said.
"Does Powers want us to do anything else?" A third Joker spoke up.
"I don't know. Just told us to take care of that one guy. That's all I know." Doyle was reaching into his pockets.
"Yeah. Who was that guy anyway?"
The third Joker shrugged. "What do I care?"
Terry felt his stomach fold. He swallowed hard.
"I took his wallet," Doyle said, taking it out of his pocket. "We've got two-hundred creds worth here and an ID card. Worked for the Agicutal-"
"'Agricultural' you idiot," Tanner said, swiping the wallet away. "Who cares? Just some old guy. Who cares about him?"
He turned to go back to the television set, but something stopped him. A gigantic force rammed into him from behind and he went stumbling, crying out in surprise. At that moment all the Jokerz jumped to their feet, yelling in surprise.
Terry dropped down on the ground, tucking his father's wallet in his belt. He crouched low in a ready position. The Jokerz were already recovering from their surprise.
"Look!" Tanner exclaimed, spotting the pointy ears atop Terry's head. "We got ourselves a.uh." he hesitated. "Just what -are- you?"
"Your worst nightmare," Terry snarled, swinging his fist. It collided with the Joker's face producing a satisfying snap, and the Joker was on the floor.
Angry yells filled the room and all the other Jokerz moved in for the kill. Terry moved quickly, putting all his anger and pain behind his blows. They weren't nearly as tough to fight as Mad Stan, but because of their numbers they proved to be quite a challenge. He didn't care.
"Terry."
He started. The voice had come from his head. Distracted, he didn't block one of the Jokerz swings and he felt himself fall backward, stumbling.
Where the hell did that voice come from?
Terry leapt up onto the ceiling, feeling the suctions go to work beneath his feet and hands. The voice spoke again.
"Terry."
"Who is this?" Terry demanded, scrambling to give him room away from the Jokerz. The voice was coming through some sort of transmission through the cowl.
"You return that suit Terry. You're stealing. I want it back right now."
Then he recognized him. Bruce Wayne was contacting him somehow. Tanner attacked then and he blocked, dropping down to the ground and swinging his leg. He tripped him effectively sending Tanner crashing back to the ground.
"Sorry," Terry said, "having too much fun."
It came out a little more casual than he had expected, but he had to admit that this was fun. He was having fun.
"The suit is not yours you bring it back now!"
The Jokerz bombarded him then and Terry had to move extra fast to get them all off him. "Sorry, a little busy right now."
Bruce Wayne didn't seem to care. His voice was a consistent annoyance as Terry tried to concentrate on the fight at hand.
"I'm serious. Bring the suit back. I don't care what you're doing right now."
Terry didn't answer, he continued fighting, making a move for the door. More and more Jokerz kept coming and he was beginning to realize it was a losing battle without aid.
Bruce sat before the computer console, thinking. He eyed the button beside him, opened and ready for activating. He had installed it in case anyone bad had gotten to the suit. All he had to do was press the button and the costume would freeze.
But Terry might get hurt.
He frowned. But that was the choice Terry made when he stole the suit. And Bruce wanted it back.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the button.
Terry was actually making some progress. Only a few Jokerz were left standing and all he had to do was-
Oh no.
The suit became stiff suddenly and he nearly fell off balance. He couldn't move. The suit wouldn't bend with his movement, it remained as stiff as a board.
"No," he said, his mouth moving as far as the cowl would let him, "don't do this to me!"
He didn't know how he was doing it, but Bruce Wayne had done this. Somehow he had done something and now he couldn't move.
The Jokerz grinned maniacally at him when they noticed he wasn't moving. Terry's eyes widened with terror as they attacked, kicking and punching. Losing balance he hit the floor on his back. Sharp pains erupted from his sides as they kicked and punched him. He tried to move to stop them but he couldn't. He was helpless.
"Bruce," he pleaded, "help me, don't do this-"
But Bruce didn't do anything. He couldn't move.
'This is amazing'.
It took Terry awhile to get used to the batsuit, clumsily extending its wings and accidentally setting off the booster jetpack installed on the bottom of his feet. That accident sent him flying through the air over several buildings before crash landing on one a rooftop. The fall didn't hurt at all like he'd expect it to. The suit was shielding him somehow.
Recovering his balance he got back to his feet and looked out over the city. With the suit he had been able to- literally, fly to the busier side of Gotham.
He didn't know how long it would take before the old man found out. And when he did he didn't want to think about how he'd react.
Just live it up while you've got it.
He spent the next few minutes jumping and leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Most of the time he was able to jump right across, feeling the batsuit do the work as he landed softly on the next ledge. He was getting used to this. And when it came to the wider gaps between the buildings, he'd use the wings and fly across.
It took three gaps to adjust to the batwings, and before long he was using them as a semi-pro, flying through the air and landing softly back down on the roof.
It had been such a rush that Terry nearly forgot why he was out there and what he was wearing. He had to stop and remind himself.
But it felt so cool. And for a brief couple of minutes he had been able to forget the pain, forget his father's death.
He stopped on one rooftop and started searching the suit for anything useful- a rope? Batarangs? Hell, even a can opener would've sufficed, but there was nothing. He silently cursed himself for not looking around the batcave longer for ammunition of any kind. After all, why would Bruce stock up the suit when he wasn't going to plan on using it anytime soon?
Forgetting the ammunition Terry continued along the rooftops for awhile, just enjoying his newfound freedom. Up here he could do anything, say anything and be anything he wanted.
Loud sirens knocked him out of his daydreaming.
He stopped to look over the edge. Far down below he could see police cars sliding to a stop in front of the Gotham Museum just across the street. It was one of the largest buildings in the whole city and widely known for its government displays on its history.
He watched as police swarmed the building, guns cocked. Behind them the Commissioner stepped out of her car, raising a walkie-talkie to her ear.
"Large and dangerous, has about thirty sticks of explosives with him. Need bomb squad here ASAP. Bring back-up."
Terry didn't know how he was able to hear her. He doubted he would've been able to hear her even if he had been standing right next to her, but here he was more than thirty stories high and he heard her. Just barely.
He stood there, trying to figure out what to do. Should he call Bruce and tell him? Find the bomb squad? Go down there and assist?
No way. He was the Batman now. And he was going to do something about it himself.
Trying to ignore the 'this is stupid' remarks floating through his head, he extended the wings and ignited the blasters, sending him up in the air and over the gap below. For a brief moment he felt the familiar sense of nothingness as he soared through the air. Then he started falling back down and he landed on the museum roof. He felt a sense of accomplishment as he closed the wings and started across the roof toward the glass opening in the center.
Down far below he could see a large man standing the center, shouting something he couldn't hear. He had bombs strapped all over him. Terry's eyes widened. What kind of sicko is this?
He couldn't hear what he was saying. Pressing his hands gently against the glass he tried leaning over, looking for an opening.
And suddenly he could everything going on below, like as if he was there himself.
He released the glass in surprise and the sounds disappeared. He hesitated, thinking, then pressed his fingers up against the glass again.
"Somebody's got to stop the madness!"
It didn't take long to realize what was going on. There were microphone chips- or whatever- installed into the fingerprints of the batsuit.
Shway.
Setting that aside briefly, he started looking for a way to get inside.
Barbara Gordon took her position toward the front of the line, gun in one hand, megaphone in the other. She was standing in the doorway.
Across the room, surrounded by display cases, was Mad Stan. He was grinning maniacally and had several sticks of dynamite sewn to his clothes.
Mad Stan. How fitting.
"We have you surrounded!" she shouted into the megaphone, "stop this now or we will be forced to take action!"
Mad Stan laughed and started yelling again. His voice was powerful and carried around the room, echoing off the walls. "Go ahead and shoot! You think I care? Blow up the building yourself! Blow it all up!"
She hesitated. They were going to have to do something soon and she didn't know how to reason with someone like this. Not when they already had the dynamite and could blow themselves up- and the entire building- in just a few seconds.
"The entire political system is corrupt!" He screamed, the veins popping from his neck. He was still grinning. "Blow it all up!"
Barbara sighed, turning back to her enforcers. "There's only one thing we can do."
"We can't fire," one of the officers objected, "we'll ignite one of the bombs."
She nodded. "I know. But what else can we do? If we just stay here he'll blow it up any second."
"Somebody's got to stop the madness!" Mad Stan continued screaming, pacing the room. "I'm going to stop it! I'm going to blow it all up!"
He continued yelling. She turned back to him and was about to speak into the megaphone again when something happened.
A black blur flew through the air, colliding with Mad Stan from behind. Mad Stan cried out in surprise and fell forward, the bomb trigger sliding from his hand across the room toward Barbara Gordon.
"Someone, go for it!" she yelled, and several police officers entered the room, diving for the trigger. She didn't pay attention. She was too absorbed in watching whatever was going on with Mad Stan.
A black figure darted around him, punching and kicking, sending the psychopath across the room. His attacks were far too powerful to be from any normal human being.
Then she recognized the sharp pointy ears and the bat design embalmed on the figure's chest.
No. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.
Then Mad Stan got up and sent the bat across the room, hard enough to literally slam him Ithrough/I the wall.
Oh man did that hurt.
Terry could feel the wall collide with him and break away from the force of the throw. He hit the ground hard enough to send the air gushing out of his lungs, and he gasped for breath.
What just happened?
He had been fighting Mad Stan, careful enough not to ignite the bombs, when Mad Stan turned and actually slammed him through the wall.
"Someone trying to be the hero?" Mad Stan gushed loudly, approaching the hole in the wall. "I say we blow you up too!"
Get up Terry. Get up.
Mad Stan started running toward him, his mouth open in a wide grin, his eyes wide. Terry leapt up, grabbing the wall for support and flipping over him, landing back on the ground.
Mad Stan cried out in surprise and turned around angrily. Terry wasted no time pelting him, swing his arms and sending back onto the floor. It was surprising how effective his blows were. It wasn't just him fighting. It was the suit as well.
Toward the entrance he could hear the police shifting, trying to figure out whether or not they should fire or just wait it out. They had no idea what was going on.
"Blow this," he commented, his voice lower than he had intended, and gave him an upercut that sent him flying. Mad Stan hit the ground.
Terry grinned despite himself, feeling flushed from the fight. He felt good. He never felt so good in his entire life. It made everything go away and he could feel himself getting pumped up.
But it wasn't over.
To his utter amazement, Mad Stan was getting back to his feet. Terry stared at him, eyes wide. How much could this guy take? No way could someone stand the blow he had just given him.
He stood there waiting as Mad Stan got to his feet, glowering at the dark figure. He took a menacing step forward, reaching up to one of the grenades attached to his suit.
Uh oh.
Mad Stan threw the grenade and Batman dived to the side. The grenade hit one of the display cases of George Washington, and the entire set blew up. Flames spread across the room, heat filling the room.
Mad Stan started laughing maniacally again, too distracted to look at the explosion then to notice Terry sneaking up behind him.
Terry spun him around and gave him a mean right hook, sending Mad Stan back to the floor. He stood there, waiting for him to get back up, but he didn't.
He was knocked out cold.
Terry couldn't believe it. He stood there, staring at Mad Stan feeling the power building throughout his body. He had done it. He had stopped him.
Police started swarming, followed by the Fire Department, sending water hoses toward the flames. He looked around, bewildered at first, then realized he had to get out of there.
"Stop!" He heard a woman's voice ring out just as he took off, powering his jet packed boots and extending the wings. He looked down to see the Commissioner watching him lift off to the opening above.
She didn't look happy at all.
Terry couldn't possibly feel any better as he soared through the sky, feeling his entire body flushed from the battle. He had done it. He had actually done some good.
Batman was back in business.
It took him awhile to get over that excitement, leaping the rooftops and going deeper toward the older part of town.
Then he got down to the business he had intended to do from the beginning.
He had a good idea of where the Jokerz hideout was. And he was going to take care of them once and for long.
When Bruce Wayne reached the cave, his worst fears had come true.
The display case holding the latest model of the Batsuit was empty.
He sighed deeply, then descended the stairs for the computer.
"Computer," he said in a gruff voice. The computer whirred to action, its screens flashing, lights coming on.
He seated himself in his chair, Ace lying down beside him. He sat there for a moment in silence, then began a city-search of the Batsuit.
"You Doyle, watcha doin back there?"
"Counting up the profit Tanner, shaddap will ya?"
Tanner made a face, turning away from the TV screen to watch Doyle. He was seated at the table they had set up in the middle of the abandoned building. In front of him lay a whole pile of credits. Other Jokerz filled the area, idly watching TV, sleeping, or doing something or other in the corner. Doyle didn't care.
"Look Doyle, if I find one of Power's credits missing I'll kill ya myself, you here?" Tanner got up from the couch. "That's not your creds!"
"Chill Tanner." Doyle shoved the remaining credits back into the bag. "But what are we supposed to do with it?"
"Go shopping," Tanner snapped, snatching the bag away. He tugged his purple suit straight, running a hand through his dyed-green hair.
Terry crouched in the darkness, watching them from the corner. He literally hung off the ceiling just around the corner bend, listening to them. He kept his fingers outstretched slightly to pick their voices up easier. He could pick up every word being said.
"Does Powers want us to do anything else?" A third Joker spoke up.
"I don't know. Just told us to take care of that one guy. That's all I know." Doyle was reaching into his pockets.
"Yeah. Who was that guy anyway?"
The third Joker shrugged. "What do I care?"
Terry felt his stomach fold. He swallowed hard.
"I took his wallet," Doyle said, taking it out of his pocket. "We've got two-hundred creds worth here and an ID card. Worked for the Agicutal-"
"'Agricultural' you idiot," Tanner said, swiping the wallet away. "Who cares? Just some old guy. Who cares about him?"
He turned to go back to the television set, but something stopped him. A gigantic force rammed into him from behind and he went stumbling, crying out in surprise. At that moment all the Jokerz jumped to their feet, yelling in surprise.
Terry dropped down on the ground, tucking his father's wallet in his belt. He crouched low in a ready position. The Jokerz were already recovering from their surprise.
"Look!" Tanner exclaimed, spotting the pointy ears atop Terry's head. "We got ourselves a.uh." he hesitated. "Just what -are- you?"
"Your worst nightmare," Terry snarled, swinging his fist. It collided with the Joker's face producing a satisfying snap, and the Joker was on the floor.
Angry yells filled the room and all the other Jokerz moved in for the kill. Terry moved quickly, putting all his anger and pain behind his blows. They weren't nearly as tough to fight as Mad Stan, but because of their numbers they proved to be quite a challenge. He didn't care.
"Terry."
He started. The voice had come from his head. Distracted, he didn't block one of the Jokerz swings and he felt himself fall backward, stumbling.
Where the hell did that voice come from?
Terry leapt up onto the ceiling, feeling the suctions go to work beneath his feet and hands. The voice spoke again.
"Terry."
"Who is this?" Terry demanded, scrambling to give him room away from the Jokerz. The voice was coming through some sort of transmission through the cowl.
"You return that suit Terry. You're stealing. I want it back right now."
Then he recognized him. Bruce Wayne was contacting him somehow. Tanner attacked then and he blocked, dropping down to the ground and swinging his leg. He tripped him effectively sending Tanner crashing back to the ground.
"Sorry," Terry said, "having too much fun."
It came out a little more casual than he had expected, but he had to admit that this was fun. He was having fun.
"The suit is not yours you bring it back now!"
The Jokerz bombarded him then and Terry had to move extra fast to get them all off him. "Sorry, a little busy right now."
Bruce Wayne didn't seem to care. His voice was a consistent annoyance as Terry tried to concentrate on the fight at hand.
"I'm serious. Bring the suit back. I don't care what you're doing right now."
Terry didn't answer, he continued fighting, making a move for the door. More and more Jokerz kept coming and he was beginning to realize it was a losing battle without aid.
Bruce sat before the computer console, thinking. He eyed the button beside him, opened and ready for activating. He had installed it in case anyone bad had gotten to the suit. All he had to do was press the button and the costume would freeze.
But Terry might get hurt.
He frowned. But that was the choice Terry made when he stole the suit. And Bruce wanted it back.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the button.
Terry was actually making some progress. Only a few Jokerz were left standing and all he had to do was-
Oh no.
The suit became stiff suddenly and he nearly fell off balance. He couldn't move. The suit wouldn't bend with his movement, it remained as stiff as a board.
"No," he said, his mouth moving as far as the cowl would let him, "don't do this to me!"
He didn't know how he was doing it, but Bruce Wayne had done this. Somehow he had done something and now he couldn't move.
The Jokerz grinned maniacally at him when they noticed he wasn't moving. Terry's eyes widened with terror as they attacked, kicking and punching. Losing balance he hit the floor on his back. Sharp pains erupted from his sides as they kicked and punched him. He tried to move to stop them but he couldn't. He was helpless.
"Bruce," he pleaded, "help me, don't do this-"
But Bruce didn't do anything. He couldn't move.