Crest Residence, Gotham City
10:33 p.m, November 29
The party in the Crest residence had so far been a blast. Many important guests from all over the city including actors and other kinds of celebrities made a show with some friends they brought along with them. Steady lights illuminated brightly throughout the Crest Manor halls and living rooms. The Saint Arcadia celebration was already poving to be a great success.
His four mercenaries were here even, all dressed in black tuxedos to fit in with the crowd. Though they were dressed to party, it wasn't what they were here for. As of tonight, these men were being paid to watch over the crowds for any potential assassins.
Allie had carefully hidden several C4 explosive packages on the front yard, as well as the roofs and other areas that Damien would not come across during the duration of the evening. Damien had his suspicions that Batman might even drop in uninvited. If that were to ever happen, the men were meant to be prepared.
Crest shared conversations with several of the guests who were already talking amongst themselves. He did as much as he could to keep his mind off Batman. For the special function he was clad in a black Zurgoni suit, a silk tie that matched his coat perfectly, and a pair of expensive Gurami black leather shoes that were only recently repolished.
"So what do you think of stem cell research?" asked on of the guests. He was a rather popular plastic surgeon from Stanford University with the name Bill Zullinger. His ties with popular celebrities were followed by his job. He was 42 years of age, and lived in a condo not far from the city itself with several mistresses of his own.
"Well," Damien took a sip of his Hennessy brand Cognac. "Tell me what you think. Should a guy be armless for the rest of his life simply because some old religious fart who lives in a church thinks so?"
Damien recieved mixed comments for his reply. From among some of the men, he was commended and praised, while some of the few women who were bound by their husbands showed signs of distaste and utter repugnance.
"That is not a nice thing to say Damien," came one of the housewives dressed in a sky blue dress, a pair of shoes and a handbag that matched the color of their dress perfectly. On her were three necklaces and an an earing on each ear composed of diamonds. Her husband, the man around her arms, told her in whisper to shut up, but she simply pulled away from him and moved closer to Damien.
"Hey," she called him. "That was a cowardly thing for a coward like you to say."
Damien kept a smile on his face and tried his best not to lash out in public.
"You are a catholic?" he presumed.
"Yes."
Damien looked at her face and saw something about her that simply bothered him. She displayed no sense of independance or any level of sophistication. The jwelry around her face told him that. She was reliant on men, and forever expected to be. She was the complete opposite of Dina.
"No wonder," he concluded and walked away from her in silence. She scoffed, but was silenced by her husband who took her in his arms and told her quietly not to embarass him, and that she could cost him his job if she continued mouthing off. She kept to herself.
He walked to the bar counter and ordered another Cognac. He sipped it, and decided to stay at the bar among the nameless crowd.
Someone must have told a hilarious joke because only a few seconds after, some man from among the guests started laughing incoherently, his voice stood out from among the rest. Seconds passed by, and now the guests were staring at him in a perturbed manner. He seemed to be unable to stop, and he kept on getting louder and louder. Some of the bandmembers playing at the party took a pause because of the interruption, and stood up to have a look. The man kept going on. One nearby audience informed him publicly to leave the building until he felt well, but the man went ignored. The man continued cracking up and showed no signs of stopping until he abruptly hit the ground on his head and died.
Nearby guests surveyed the man and several asked themselves aloud, "Is he dead?" "What was wrong with him?" They stared at him, almost as if studying him, except their eyes were cold with fear.
Soon after, another person from among the crowd started laughing maniacally. Then a woman, and another. Laughter filled the Crest residence.
Buckham noticed the irregular laughs of the crowd and knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. The guests surrounding him excluding his three mates were for some odd reason laughing their heads off seeming no end. Bucham pulled his Colt from under his tuxedo as did his men. He held it low in two hands and started walking around the crowds looking for anyone who might stand out. Some of the guests noticed the gun and even pointed at it, but they went on ahead cracking themselves up.
"Sir," Buckham called for Damien.
Damien, who still sat in the counter of his residence, was only now begining to grasp the horror of what was going on. Even the bartender who was standing in front of him, had something to laugh about. And in front of him laying on the counter he noticed something that he hadn't noticed before. A playing card laid on its back. He flipped it on its face, and the card was a joker.
"God dammit," he gasped and unsheathed a black Desert Eagle. Looking at the bartender who had no other reaction to his weapon than a loud crazy laugh, Damien aimed the barrel at him and pulled the trigger.
"Buckham! You can see these people! I want you to kill them all! Grab the guns in my office and finish every single one of them!"
Damien couldn't see the man or his crew, but knew he heard him. Because a few moments after he ordered Buckham, repetitive gunfire from a few MP5's blared across the halls. Soon all the guests were dead on the floor, except Damien and the four men acompanying him.
"What the hell caused all of this?" Inglund thought aloud. Nobody answered. To everyone else it seemed obvious enough.
The flat screen television hooked onto the center of the room, which had been on the entire night was only now audible due to the dead silence that filled the room.
Damien peered at the screen and noticed a familliar face. A smiling face that could have been the only cause of this nightmare.
The news reporter for the local Gotham News was scared out of his mind. The camera broadcasted a live report on a terrible occurence down at Elverson Street. Vehicles lined up on the straight road were blazing with orange fire. A man in a purple suit was the only prescence among these vehicles, one hand holding a basket full of unlit molotov cocktails and the other an old World War 2 fully automatic MP40. As he shot blindly into the air, bursts of hot ammunition lit the gun's barrel with a light that lasted for as long as he squeezed the trigger. A collection of dead bodies lay on the sidewalks, some searing with blood, some with fire dancing on their backs.
Jim Belush was just as afraid as his cameraman to do the report so they kept their distance as far away from the scene as possible without missing out on anything.
"Reporter James Belush here speaking to you the public on something horrible going on here in Elverson Street." He blocked out his emotions with much success and was able to report casually despite the situation. It was the first time he had ever seen a dead body in his life, so being on the frontlines of the scene made him feel uneasy and mentally disturbed.
"It appears that "The Joker", or Jack Napier as is his real name, previously escaped from the Arkham Asylum once more and has now caused yet another massacre here on Elverson Street. Cars are on fire, along with..." He stopped himself after taking another glance at a corpse. It was a two year old child lying motionless on the cold streets of Gotham. Its tiny body was clothed in a little T shirt that just matched its size, a pair of long jeans, and small tennis shoes. "Along with innocent victims. There are people lying on the streets, some lit on fire, some just sprayed with bullets. There are tons of dead civillians here Gotham. It ranges from children as small as two years old to adults of any age. God this is a nightmare", he wished he hadn't said. The thirty year old pacifist reporter was losing his cool.
"When are the police coming here? is the question that we should be asking. Where are they in this time of great need? And most importantly, is that dark knight hero going to ever show his face again? Is Gotham truly safe without his prescense?"
James Belush could no longer hold back. Gotham, a city in constant trouble, constant run-ins with tragedy, and constant misery, was never going to be safe again if their hero could no longer protect them. He dropped tears on the ground, making no effort to wipe it off his face. He lifted his head faced into the camera and pleaded, "Where is he? I'snt he coming?"
Those would have to suffice as his final words. His report was cut short by a pale-skinned homicidal maniac who found the reporter and his cameraman only too soon. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha" the maniac's
voice echoed before the live video feed to the city went dead.
Wayne Manor, Gotham City
10:48 p.m
Bruce Wayne much like his father was a man of strong determination. There was little difference between the two only that their times were different and so were their methods. But neither men turned their backs on their loved ones. If their entire legacy had to die in the name of protecting a single harmless citizen from danger, they would glady trade their lives. Bruce had never betrayed his father or the ideals that he held so dearly, and he was not going to start tonight.
Even if a man as ruthless and powerful as Damien wasn't going to stop it. Not on terms. He was just a man after all, and nothing more. He would be nothing more than yet another obstacle on the field.
But Damien was a powerful man possibly even capable of destroying Bruce completely. And no matter what he managed to convinced himself of day after day, Damien was not just an obstacle. As of now he was a defining moment.
Elverson Road, Gotham City
11:02 p.m
Inglund placed himself on the ledge of a rooftop of an old restaurant just on top of the Elverson Road. His eyes were focused on the reticule, which caught a pale skinned criminal straight in its sight. Because the scene was bleak, the mercenary had to adjust a nightvision lens on his sniper's scope which emmitted a visible light of green coloring his view.
"Do you have the target on sight?" crackled the radio standing on the ledge beside him. He grabbed the Motorola and spoke into it.
"Affirmitive."
"Fire when ready," came Buckham.
Inglund inhaled two breaths of air. "Roger. Over and out."
He kept The Joker on sight despite his constant prancing on the roads and over his dead victims. Inglund once having the perfect aim for a headshot, put his index finger on the trigger. He kept his sniper rifle steady and motionless, then slowly pulled back the trigger.
But suddenly he lost sight of the target. Bright flashes of light circled around The Joker followed by smoke. The light transferred into Inglund's nightvision goggles spewed out a blinding white flash of light into direct contact with his eyes.
"Aaah!" shouted the man. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and unknowingly moved his legs away from the ledge of the roof. Inglund walked backwards still blind by the flash on his eyes. Suddenly, his back came into contact with a rigid obstacle. 'A wall,' was his initial thought. But as he turned around, he was proven wrong.
"Holy hell," he whispered. "Not you." Then his voice grew louder. "Not youuuu!"
Damien waited in the van with Buckham. They both caught the last response on Inglund's radio.
"Damn. It's him," Damien thought aloud. Buckham needed no clarification.
"Get them both down. Kill him and Napier."
Dru walked up the stairs leading into the rooftop with a sharpened blade in hand. This time for sure he was going to get Batman.
A swift kick on the rooftop entrance door sent it ajar. There was a man there waiting as if he had been expecting him. He had horns on his head, a pitch dark body, and a black crusader's cape that covered the mid section of his torso to the bottom of his body. Dru touched the tip of his blade lightly, it was sharp enough.
"You're still here?" asked Batman in a manner blunt and expressionless that it seemed as a statement and not a question.
The ninja made no verbal response. He raised his arms high into the air and held it that way, clutching tightly onto his katana.
Batman unsheathed his hands from under his cape and placed them seven inches east from his head. In his grip was a hilt with a blade more curved and slightly longer than Dru's katana hanging in the air. The sword was an ancient Japanese Tachi. A silver polished sword with 78 centimeters in blade length.
Dru gave no warning. Immediately he sprinted towards Batman with every bit of confidence in him to finally get the job done. Upon reaching the blade's radius, Batman used his offensive weapon to deflect Drus incoming swing. He did so successfully three times before deciding to take his turn. Batman swung 45 degrees down but his enemy managed to strafe away on the left. While Batman was retrieving back his arms Dru threw a powerful slice that had enough strength and agility to have finished him off had his sword not been there to avert the assail. But Batman though able to stop the slash suffered a strong resistance on his grip. The hit nearly sent him straight off balance. However, Dru sent a second and a third assail on Batman, both of which did send him off balance.
The ninja was much more skilled in the use of a sword. If Batman wanted any edge against him, he would have to change the rules.
Batman was forced into taking backwards steps until he arrived at the roof ledge. He peered down for half a second and returned back focus to the resilient swordsman, continuing his defensive stance for as long as he could. For every four swings he managed to deflect, he made two of his own, all of which the swordsman had little trouble dispersing. Things were not looking favorably for the dark knight.
The fumes broadcasted to the Joker brought forth a pleasant warmth. But he forgot the feeling not so long ago, as that fammiliar feeling of cold and emptiness once more surfaced in his blood. He was still unsure of the sender of the pack of flares around him, but had his idea. He eyed the rooftops observantly but saw nothing to his satisfaction.
Suddenly, he heard something light and small roll towards him. At first he dismissed the thought thinking it to be a diversion of some sort, but curiosity eventually got the good of him. He turned his head to the location of the sound, and caught sight of a green oval shaped grenade with a pin missing.
"Oh shit!" He turned around to ensue a sprint, but the grenade went off too soon for any of his movements to have mattered. A discharge of shrapnel pellets burst open and the psychomaniac who prided himself for all the different colors he wore was now engulfed in the bright yellow color of flame.
Allie got up from her cover which was one a yellow taxi cab placed on the left lane of Elverson Road. She held her Berretta in front of her in case anything wrong was to occur. Slowly but surely, she took a few steps around the taxi cab and searched for the body of The Joker. To her surprise, he wasn't where he was only a few seconds ago prior to when she threw the grenade. This alone sent shivers down her spine. But the man couldn't have gone far. The grenade was too close to have allowed him to live. It just wasn't possible. Survival was just not possible.
She took a few more cautionary steps from the roads and toward the sidewalk. Allie came across corpses everywhere, all of which began to emmit a rotting sensation. She held her breath and tried to breathe in as least as possible. Then she came upon a corpse that struck a ring. Though not much could be seen of the body due in part to the fact that it was turned on its back still burning fresh, Allie could make out bits of the purple coat which was a fammilliar trademark of Jack. It was the only thing of The Joker that remained the most intact. The face, hair, legs and arms were completely burned black. Allie felt relieved after confirming The Joker's death.
She turned around to head back. Allie gave one last look at the roasting Joker and commented, "Cook well you green psychotic bitch," and delivered a powerful kick at the burning body. It turned on its front and the flames shifted their position.
But there was one revealed detail from the body that she managed to catch only now. Allie's eyes widened in horror.
The man with the purple coat had a golden ring that remained intact on his burned finger. Jack Napier never wore a ring. Not tonight at least when he was shooting up Elverson Road. Jack Napier was still alive.
Allie gasped and made an effort to raise back her gun to shoulder length. But her arms were forced down by a presense that had without warning showed clear from behind. She struggled to move but had no success. The arm that held her hands down was now wrapped around her entire body.
The man behind her was incandescent and torrid. Smoke rised off from his whole body into the cold air.
"Oh I'll cook well my dear," he whispered into Allie's ear. "Don't you worry about that." He let go of his right arm and held her with his left. Before she had the chance to make any other move, Joker snatched the Beretta away from her and pointed the tip of the gun on her head. "Cook well my pretty". Without any remorse or a moment of hesitation, Joker pulled the trigger. Gunfire barked loud right in front of her ear, and sent her to the long sleep.
Jack dropped her lifeless body down on the ground and didn't look back. He surveyed the building rooftops surounding him for any sign of The Batman.
And there he was. On the ledge on top of the closed restaurant. Except at the moment he seemed distracted. There was someone else already on the scene.
Dru was close to having his success. If this kept going on the way it did, victory would be inevitable.
Batman, realizing that his sword was of no use against the master swordsman, took a few steps back and lunged it at his enemy. Dru dodged the heavy steel and ran towards his adversary to make perfect use of his given opportunity.
Batman with his hand on his utility harness and stood perfectly still. Dru motioned himself for a direct stab on the chest and referred all his strength to his arms. When he got close enough, he propelled the blade forward to the dark knight.
The dark knight made a strafe move away from the stab and allowed the ninja to stubbornly deliver himself to him. When he approached close enough, Batman slapped him on the face with a glass vial of chloroform on his palm. The dose was just about strong enough to put down a tiger. It would no doubt put the mercenary out for a while.
Dru took in the chemical unaware of what it was, and suddenly lost his will to fight. His mind lost focus and the world around him turned into a mysterious motion blur. He stopped from fighting and sheepishly moved about with no predictable pattern. Soon after, he fell face down on the ground benumbed, unable to make another move.
Batman looked down on Elverson Road to determine if Jack was still down. From the view, it seemed like he was long gone already.
"Damn," he whispered to himself.
Footstps approached in tremendous speed from behind. "Damn is right you bastard." Batman rotated himself to catch the man charging at him. It was the chief mercenary running towards him with an eight inch long combat knife at hand. "I'll kill you you bastard!" Batman grabbed his knife arm with one hand and his chest with another. He mustered enough strength to fend him off, knocking him out would not be a difficult task.
Unfortunately two loud gunshots took that chance away from him. Buckham was hit twice from behind, the bullets never left his body. "Oh God..." He fell down from Batman's hold and died.
Batman raised his head and met the eyes of The Joker. He decided not to move as of yet for The Joker had a Beretta pointed straight at his face.
"Ha ha. I knew you'd come. I knew believe me that you would never quit." Joker kept the weapon aimed at Batman and strolled towards him.
"People like you and me oh hoh hoh. We never stop what we do. No crazy maniac with a gun ordering us around stops us from doing what it is we do. Damien Crest can't stop us, but he'll sure as hell try. But you know what, in the end, we all win. Every single one of our kind. We beat all the rest of society Batman. That is why we're even alive and why we have the potential to rule the world. Crest is a fool, even you agree. He is trying to persecute us all. Kill everything that makes Gotham."
"You're not what makes Gotham!" declared Batman.
But Joker went on. "My friend. I make up Gotham just as much as you make Gotham. We are all part of the same team whether you admit it or not. To Gotham, to Damien, to all the people living all across the country. It's a good thing you're still around."
"I will stop you once and for all Jack," promised Batman.
Jack puffed. "How many times do you think I have heard that same speech coming from you? I'll tell you. Too many times that I lost my count. You say that, you promise that, and yet here I am. Here I walk in the fringes of society free to cause whatever kinds of hell that pleases my most darkest desires."
"Does that include another bullet on the head?" interrupted a voice coming from behind. Damien entered the scene with a black coated Desert Eagle pointed at The Joker's head.
"Ahhh, our little friend Damien Crest," welcomed Joker. "I am so glad that you could finally join us. You see, The Batman and I were just talking about how much of a disruption you have been for us and how much we would love to see you wiped off the map."
Damien snickered. "I'm sure you two would love that. But you see right now I have the gun. And besides, you honestly think that it will end with me? Without me, Gotham has no way of getting at progression. You two clouns and all the other freaks that are.." he cut himself off. "Were" he announced proudly, "At Arkham Asylum have done nothing but cost us lives and money."
"Damien," came Batman. "This isn't the way that things should be. You have just destroyed every little image of hope and redemption that there ever was in Gotham. You've turned the city into a tyranny under your rule."
"And look at all the good things that I have managed to do with that. If I had the power to slaughter every single person holed up in prison I would. And Gotham would be a much happier and acomplished place. I am doing what is right for the people. I am moving them forward."
"You'll never convince me of that."
"Well I don't have to."
"Batman," Joker called out. "Together, lets kill him. We can do it easy. And no one will have to know."
"No." Batman rejected the idea without even considering it.
"I won't tell anyone," Joker insisted. "We won't tell anyone. You and I both know that he is here to destroy both of us. We are allies in this thing fighting people like him. Together, you and me, together we can win this war as allies."
Batman shifted his head to The Joker. "No".
A dissapointed Jack Napier scoffed. "Well then I guess I'll just have to do this entire thing all by myself."
Without wasting a second, Joker pulled the trigger still aimed at Batman. The bullet sent a straight shot into his chest, slowed down but not prevented by his kevlar biweave armor plating.
Damien fearing that he would inevitably be Joker's next target, emptied an entire round on the clown before he could fire a single shot at him.
Batman was on the ground, struggling to get up. Damien replaced his empty magazine with a fresh load and made his way to the still living Batman.
Batman couldn't find the strength to move himself off the ground. The bullet lodged inside him was burning hard and all the more draining his blood. As he saw the man in black, he felt completely helpless. Damien won the battle. The only thing left to do was to accept it. Gotham City would be torn apart from everything that it should have been and human morality would be nothing more than a liability. Crimes against humanity would become a thing of the past. Batman was going to die.
Damien raised the weapon.
Bruce closed his eyes with no more qualms or arguments. Destiny was approaching, and it finally made sense.
He cocked the hammer.
This would be a good way to die.
"I'm glad that things ended this way," said Damien. He took in a breath of air and smiled at the thought. Everything would go the way he wanted, and all he had to do was kill off one more obstacle. Damien squeezed the trigger. 'After this,' he mused. 'Everything will go just right. Goodnight friend.'
But Jack Napier suddenly got up and grabbed Damien by the coat and dragged his body away.
"If I don't get my dreams, neither do you."
Jack brought them closer to the ledge of the rooftop. Each men wrestled each other to break free. Jack shoved Damien off his chest for a second and managed to get his legs past the ledge of the roof. It was victory shortlived, for Damien grabbed the man on his arm and pulled him down with him. They both shared the fall.
Batman, shivering, reached into his radio and dialed for Alfred.
"Alfred," he transmitted. "Get me out of here. And I'll need a medic."
The month was nearly out. Just one more day to go. Everything was going to change for Bruce, for Gotham, and for everyone in it. Bruce took his short earned rest. Things would only get harder from here on out.