Batman and the associated characters are owned by DC and the Matrix and its characters are owned by Larry and Andy Wachowski. This is set before the original Matrix film. With thanks to all my reviews and comments so far. All reviews welcome.

Chapter Ten – Hostile Takeover

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes to see red. He was totally surrounded by red. In front of him he can see his arms floating. They are pale and white. Almost like a ghost's. Strangely thin. No muscles bulging there. The muscles he had spent a lifetime honing. No network of fine scars covering his arms. Once he could have said where every scar came from. Every break. Every contusion. Every twist. Now his arms are like a baby's. He looks about him at his body. Metal tubes are sticking out of his body. He realised he has a metal tube sticking out of his mouth. He ripped it out and realised he can't breathe!

Bruce tried to stand up. The surface of the container he is in bent like plastic. His once strong arms flail weakly at the surface. He still can't breathe. He put his back against it and pressed the container until it broke under the pressure. The strange red substance glooped out and he can breathe again. He started madly pulling all the metal tubes of his body. He turned around and realised a whole row of metal tubes are grafted in his back. He tries to pull them out but can't.

He is bald and naked, his bodycovered in red gel. He felt light-headed and sick. He started to look about him. Bruce started to realise that this is first time he has truly seen what is about him. He looked down. He is standing in an oval capsule of clear alloy filled with red gelatine, the surface of which has started to congeal.

He looked at his arms. The cables in his arms are plugged into outlets that appear to be grafted to his flesh. He is an experienced escapologist but there is nothing he can do with them.

He felt the weight of another cable and reached to the back of his head where he found an enormous coaxial plugged and locked into the base of his skull. He tried to pull it out but it would be easier to pull off his arm.

To either side he sees other tube-shaped pods filled with red gelatine; beneath the wax-like surface, pale and motionless he sees other people. Some of them are twitching like they are dreaming. Some are old, some are young, and there are some men some women. They are all plugged into the system.

Fanning out in a circle, there are more. All connected to a centre core, each capsule like a red, dimly glowing petal attached to a black metal stem.

Above him, level after, level, the stem rises seemingly forever. He moves to the foot of the capsule and looks out. He is used to jumping off skyscrapers hundreds of feet high. This is so high it makes even him dizzy. Towers of glowing petals spiral up to incomprehensible heights, disappearing down into a dim murk like an bottomless pit.

Below him, a petal detaches from the stem, bearing away the body of an old man like an automated barge even as a new pod rises up and plugs itself into the empty space.

Inside the new capsule, its surface more translucent and pinkish in colour, Bruce sees a small baby. Even at that age it has "plugs" running down his spine. Cables snake towards the baby and the system plugs the baby into the system and a new life is born into the system.

A machine drops down in front of Bruce. Bruce tries to take a step back but can't because of all the cables running down his back. The machine is like a giant insect. It is almost organic in its construct. The machine emits a black beam that washes over Bruce. He hears a spinning sound at the back of his neck and a series of unlocking sounds as the cables all disconnect from him and whip back into their casings. A hole opens under him and Bruce is sucked away down a long black tube…

In Arkham Asylum, Alfred was looking rather worriedly at the other inmates. He knew a lot about all of them. Master Bruce was always out trying to put them back into this place. He knew all their foibles. He knew all their sick habits. Somehow knowing all of this did not make meeting them in person any better. He felt a sick feeling in the base of his stomach. He was scared of this place. Scared of the people. Scared of what happened to Master Bruce. Scared of what might happen to him. Master Bruce, who was big and strong, often returned with cuts and bruises after encounters with these people and a look in his eyes that showed, despite how he tried to hide it, the horrors he had seen. Alfred was small and weak. What chance did he have?

Trying to avoid attention, he scurried to the queue for lunch. He picked up a tray and looked about him. On the side were several balconies and on each one a guard was standing with a shotgun looking down at them. He recognised one of the guards as the Joker. For some reason no one else seemed to know who he was. The guards didn't recognise him as anyone out of the ordinary and the inmates just treated him as another guard, albeit one with a makeup fetish and a rather non-standard purple guard's uniform.

Alfred followed the line and was given - well, he could only assume it was food. He wouldn't even feed the local wildlife what he had on his plate. This offended his delicate sensibilities. He knew he shouldn't, but he thought he might as well ask.

"Excuse me, sir."

"What is it?" said the person who was serving the food. Alfred recognised him as Cornelius Stirk. A madman who distilled poisons from the bodies of his victims. And he was serving food? This place was a madhouse!

"This food," he pushed the plate with one hand on his tray, "could really benefit from a few minor embellishments."

"Like what?"

Alfred was going to suggest a bin but he didn't think it would go down well. "A little bit of thyme, some cinnamon, maybe even some ginger. It just needs something to bring out the overall texture."

"Just eat it and go." There was a queue building up behind Alfred. Judging by the growls they were more interested in the food than haute cuisine. With a sigh, Alfred picked up his tray and looked around for a table.

Alfred chose an empty table and tried to sit down without being noticed. No chance of that. Three people sat down next to him. He looked up. Judging by the man with the viciously scarred face this was Two-Face. Next to him, but without his hat, was the Scarecrow, Professor Crane, and to his left… Alfred found it hard to suppress a shudder. The scars on his arms were a give away and his eyes were like a shark's. Zsasz, the killer who scratched himself with a knife for every kill he had. Without even wanting to, he found himself wondering whom all the scars belonged to. Which lives he had scratched into his skin as an everlasting reminder to himself.

Alfred tried to start eating.

"We don't think our new friend is very talkative." Said Two-Face.

"Perhaps I should add a new scratch," said Zsasz. "I haven't killed anyone in a long while."

"What is your name, sir?" said Professor Crane.

"Alfred," said Alfred, looking around him in fear.

"Alfred. Good. You seem like an educated man, Alfred. Perhaps you and I can discuss the works of Alfred Korzybski and Carl Jung. Most of the oafs here only use a book for, how can I put this delicately, the paulalum cella."

"Paulalum cella?" said Alfred. "The smallest… Oh dear. The lavatory. Yes indeed."

"Just Alfred?" said Two-Face, looking confused. "Your name is just Alfred?"

"No," said Alfred, thinking. "Two-Axe, Mad Alfred, the hat, the third."

"The third? The third?" said Two-face. "I've never heard of you. What happened to the other two?"

"Eerrm," said Alfred, still trying to think. "I killed them!"

The tension round the table was palpably reduced. Killing people was something they could all relate to. Two-Face grinned at Alfred. "What happened to you?"

"Batman caught me, gosh darn it. That nasty rapscallion is a right bounder and no mistake. A real cad!"

The others were looking confused at this.

"A nasty piece of work! A rotter!"

They were still looking confused.

"He's the law. He's nasty!"

That they could understand.

A huge shadow loomed over the table. Alfred looked up in fear. Bane. Nearly eight foot of unbridled fury and muscle. Bane picked up Alfred by the collar and brought him up to his face. "I smell a prison grass!" he hissed. "I break all grasses and grind their bones to dust beneath my feet!"

Bruce is plummeting uncontrollably down a smooth pipe. Bits of congealed gelatine clog the pipe. He tries to control his fall but where once his body was his to control, it seems weak and lifeless. He feels as helpless as a newborn baby. The pipe ends and he flies out into a sea of waste. His lungs fill with gelatine and he starts to drown. He tries to struggle to the surface but his arms are no longer strong. His legs no longer know how to kick.

Just when he is ready to give up on life a metal tube wraps around his body and he is lifted up out of the sea and towards a trapdoor on a metal craft above him.

Inside the hovercraft the metal grab drops Bruce and he falls onto the floor. Before he passes out he sees Morpheus, Trinity and some other people standing around him. Morpheus and Trinity are wearing plain drab clothes. They are bereft of their stylish leather garments and sunglasses. Just before he passes out he hears Morpheus say…

"Welcome to the real world, Bruce."