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. I would like to thank Cmar for beta-reading this chapter and the previous few chapters and all the reviewers. They are all greatly appreciated. All reviews welcome.

Chapter Eighteen – Hostile Takeover

Robin was with Tank in front of several screens of green numbers. The numbers were dropping down the screen like rain.

"How do you even know what these numbers are?"

"I've been working on this for years. Believe me, I know." Tank pointed a grubby finger at the screen. "See that? That's you and Bruce fighting the agents and the Joker."

Tim peered at the screen. Try as he might he could only see green numbers. "It's still in code?"

"You're not looking at it properly."

Suddenly, without the numbers seeming to make any change in form or nature, he could see what was happening. He could see Bruce and himself fighting. Bruce seemed to blur as he dodged the bullets. He force fed the Joker a pill and was shot at his moment of triumph; then the numbers seemed to flicker as the Joker started to fade from existence and a hole seemed to open in the numbers as he was forcibly ejected from the system. At the same time, Batman died. Tim grimaced as he forced himself to watch it again.

"What are you watching?"

He turned around to see Bruce. "Bruce. I thought you were still asleep."

"You know me, a bit of a night owl. What are you two doing?"

He peered at the screen. "Oh, I recognise that scene! There I am. Handsome as ever. Ooh! That had to hurt. Why are you replaying this? Are you going to include it in Batman's greatest hits?"

"Just trying to find out what happened to the Joker. I mean he is here, but not here, if you get me?"

Bruce stared at Tim. He held the stare for several seconds and then started smiling. "Don't worry about Jokey-boy. Have fun. I'm going to bed."

Tim stared at Bruce as he walked off. Even his walk seemed wrong somehow. Bruce walked tall, he didn't slouch. There was something wrong and he knew it but he couldn't prove it.

The screen was again showing the fight. "Can you change the angle of the view?"

"Sure." Tank's fingers flickered as he typed on the keyboard.

"Change it to a thirty degree angle." He looked at the screen. "Zoom in thirty percent." He pointed at the screen. "What's that?" Just at the time Bruce was shot, a black shadow raced away from his body.

"I dunno. Never seen any code like that before." He started typing again. "Just a sec. Let me change the time frame. Follow that sucker."

The screen view shifted. This time the view was from an alley. "Freeze frame it."

He looked at the screen. The shadow seemed almost human, like a ghost. It looked like a soul had been ripped from a body.

"Zoom in on it forty-five percent." The face took up the whole screen. Even in code form it was obvious who it was. Bruce Wayne.

"Woah! This is getting too surreal. If that thing is Bruce, then who is that walking and talking here?"

"The Joker."

"How?"

Tim rubbed his head in confusion. "I'm no expert, but if the Joker was not in his body at the time he got given the tracker program, maybe he just hijacked Bruce's body as the nearest convenient vessel."

"What about Bruce? He was shot; he should have died."

"Inside the Matrix or outside the Matrix, Bruce has a habit of not doing what he should do."

"We've got to get him back."

Gotham. Some ideas cannot die. Even when they are ripped from their bodies they still exist. The Matrix was a place where body and soul are not attached. The soul can wander around even if the body has died or is removed from the system. The Matrix was a mass of numbers, algorithms and equations. Some would argue the human soul was just the same, a mass of conflicting ideas and equations. If a soul is strong enough it can shape the Matrix to its will. Bruce Wayne was a very strong soul…

A criminal had just broken into a flat in downtown Gotham. He smiled to himself in the darkness. Using a torch just encouraged Gotham's vigilantes. He used night vision goggles. He took an old cutthroat razor out of his pocket and swished the air in front of him experimentally. He craved his fifteen minutes of fame. Cut-throat Bill, that's what he wanted to be called. Not much of a nickname, but it would do for him. He just needed to cut some throats. In front of him he heard the sound of a toilet flushing and the shape of a woman appeared as a silhouette in front of him. He had never been deemed evil enough to be placed in Arkham. That was something he was determined to change.

He heard a noise behind him and he looked around. His night vision showed the world in a sea of green. There was nothing there, just the window he had quietly levered open, and the curtain. He looked to the front and nearly fell over in shock.

It was a demon. It had to be. The creature in front of him was shadowed in a black cloak. Its face was a mass of teeth and its eyes were red slits.

"Crriiimmmiiinnnaaallll!" it hissed.

The woman in her flat screamed at this and slammed her door shut.

The man swiped his razor at the creature in front of him; the demon grabbed his arm and took the razor from him. His belt caught on the chair behind him and when the creature picked him up his trousers ripped off him. One-handed, the creature picked him up and leapt out of the flat to the ground five stories below.

Cut-throat Bill passed out in shock…

When he woke up he was tied upside down to a lamppost and two very annoyed looking police officers were looking at ways to get him down. There was also a journalist below taking a picture. He might not get to Arkham but he would get his fifteen minutes of fame as a half naked man tied to a lamppost.

Tim was talking to Morpheus.

"We've got to lock up Bruce and go back to Gotham."

"No."

"You don't understand. That person," Tim pointed through the door, "is not Bruce. That's the Joker."

"The Joker? Impossible."

"It's not impossible. I don't know how but he has possessed Bruce somehow."

"We do not have frontier justice in Zion. We have rules. Regulations. If he is the Joker he will stand trial before the Council."

Tim laughed. "The Joker will not wait around while you convene a trial. We have to stop him now and bring back Bruce."

"I do have certain legislative powers I am able to use in my own ship. We will lock the Joker, or Bruce, or whoever he is up and then go into the Matrix to find out what has happened to Bruce."

The door opened and 'Bruce' walked in. "Do my little ears deceive me or are you plotting behind my back?" He put a hand melodramatically to his head and said. "Et tu Tim! So falls Bruce!"

Morpheus turned to him. "We just need to confine you until we find out what is happening here." He got a gun from a shoulder holster and pointed it at the Joker. Trinity did the same.

There was a silence. A long silence. The Joker finally grinned at them. "Why not. Lead on, Macduff."

"You go first," said Morpheus.

'Bruce' walked in front of them. "Where am I going?"

Morpheus opened a door in front of them and there was Mortive, still chained to the wall.

"Hello Harley," said the Joker, grinning. "Looks like we'll be prison buddies for a while. Where do we want me?" He put hands together and waggled his eyebrows at Trinity. "Do you want to tie me up, deary?"

Trinity attached the chain round the Joker's wrists and pulled them tight, eliciting a wince from him. He gave her an evil stare.

They slammed the door behind them and then they walked back onto the main deck. Alfred, looking very shaky and pale, was there now as well.

"Master Timothy, it is so good to see you again."

"You too, Alfred."

"Where is Master Bruce?"

"Still in the Matrix. Long story." He turned to Tank. "Okay, can you plug us back in? Trin, Morph. You two with me?"

"I think a return to the Matrix is reprehensible. We have no idea if Bruce even exists in a form where he can be returned to his body or even if it is possible."

Trinity said, "I'm with you."

Tank was looking at the screen. "There is some weird stuff going on in Gotham at the moment…"

Tim walked up to the screen. "What kind of stuff?"

"Look at the code here. It's Bruce, I think, but he seems to have changed. He is changing even as I watch. His form is starting to dissolve around the edges."

"How long do you think we have?"

"No idea. Two hours. Three, tops. Then there will be nothing left of Bruce at all."

"We're going in there."

"I'm going with you," said Alfred.

"You are not trained. You are not ready to enter the Matrix."

"I don't care, sir. With the greatest of respect, I've known Master Bruce longer than any of you. If he is losing his humanity he might not recognise you. I feel sure he would recognise me."

"We don't have time for this," said Tim, "he's in."

They all sat down on the chairs and Tank plugged them in.

"Well," said the Joker, rattling his chains like a ghost, "this is a turn-up, Harley."

"I told you, it is Mortive," she said. "Was this part of your plan?"

"They could never be prison guards." He reached into a pocket and brought out a small metal splinter. "They didn't even strip search me. That is the only bit of Arkham I enjoy. Ooohh!" He put the splinter into the lock of the padlock and started wiggling it around. "Locks have not improved in the past two hundred years. What happened to the retina scans? What happened to the fingerprint scans? Not even a good old fashioned DNA test?" There was a small click sound and the padlock fell to the ground.

"Aren't you going to release me?"

"You sound just like Harley. I love it when you beg."

In seconds the Joker had released Mortive from her chains as well. The Joker minced up to the door and waggled the door handle. He then peered at the keypad next to it. "Nuts! A combination lock."

"What now?" said Mortive, rubbing her wrists where the chains had been.

The Joker covered his eyes with one hand and with the other tapped out a six-digit code. There was a beeping sound and the door clicked open.

"How did you do that?"

"My charming personality, that and the fact I have eyes. Tank kindly let me in to see you before. I just looked over his shoulder."

"Let's go."

"Patience, Harley, patience." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Morphy, Trinny and Timmy should be plugged in very soon. We need to kill, maim, or destroy our way around this place, plug ourselves in, and hand Morphy-boy to Smithy and Browny. Are you with me Harley?"

"I'm with you. At least until we get my grandparents back."

A phone was ringing in an office block. The desk was empty. The phone was an empty cubicle in a sea of office workers. Without there being any discernible change, four people were there. One moment the cubicle was empty. Next moment it wasn't.

Alfred, Tim, Morpheus and Trinity were standing there, all in black leather and sunglasses. Morpheus walked up to the phone and picked it up.

"We're in."