Batman and the associated characters are owned by DC. With grateful thanks for cmar for beta reading this chapter. All reviews welcome!

Chapter Three - Batman – Time of the Wolf

Alfred's voice echoed around the inside of the Batmobile, his voice given a tinny quality by the speakers.

"The name Alex Slade first appears on the records thirty-seven years ago. He was born to a Mr Brian Slade and Mrs Zoe Slade in Gotham State Hospital at 3:37 am. No respecter of time evidently. The poor little mite was pronounced dead at 3:41 according to the death certificate. It appears that Alex Slade is an assumed name."

"That would make sense…"

"Anyway, Oracle decided to do a bit of digging for any curious incidents before that…"

Batman sighed inwardly. Alfred with his air for the dramatic was saving his trump card till last.

"Seventeen years ago Ciardarn Killach disappeared in a conflagration that also destroyed Chawley Hall in Oxfordshire, England. Killach is an old Celtic name and the house and land has been in the Killach family since 1066 when the Normans invaded the country. The land and its villages were given to the Killach family by William the Conquerer himself for helping to subdue the area. What a Celtic family was doing helping the Normans, Lord alone knows."

"So he's part of an old family; my family came over on the Mayflower with the Pilgrim Fathers."

"My family came over on the Titanic," said Robin. "They had to swim the last bit."

Alfred and Batman ignored this last comment. "This is where it gets interesting, sir. Oracle has done some delving into the archives and it seems that this part of Oxfordshire has had a history of gruesome murders stretching back hundreds of years."

"Define gruesome," said Robin.

"Ripped apart."

"That's gruesome."

In the background an alarm sounded. "Forgive me sir; there is someone at the main gate."

"Check the camera first."

There was a brief silence. "It appears to be an old lady. Probably distributing religious pamphlets. I will just send her on her way, sir."

"Be careful."

There was a studied silence. Just enough to suggest the suggestion was foolish but not enough to be marked as rudeness. "Of course, sir."


The outside of the apartment block was a bleak concrete grey. Rust was weeping from the iron reinforcements in the wall making it look like the building was bleeding. At the bottom of the building was the burnt out and dilapidated stores that had once been there to "bring a sense of community to this beautiful dwelling." Puddles formed on the sidewalk below the block and several ferns and a small oak tree had burst through the concrete causing more and more cracks in the façade.

A man, with possibly one of Gotham's hardest jobs, and a young couple, picked through the rubbish and detritus on the street. He was an overeager rental agent showing a couple around the building.

"Don't let the outside of this place put you off," he said, waving his clipboard about. "The building is a gorgeous pre-war with high ceilings (11 feet), floor to ceiling windows with silk curtains, hardwood floors, large living room and great closet space. Did I tell you the price? Just $600 a month and a prime location." The whole building seemed to shake as a subway train rumbled underneath. Small clouds of dust erupted from cracks in the building. "Close to subway lines, very convenient. Ignore those white painted lines on the sidewalk that look like dead people. It's just kids having a laugh."

"I suppose these bullet holes are kids having a laugh as well?" she said, feeling inside a bullet hole in the side of the building.

He chuckled. "You know what kids are like. We can negotiate on the price?"

"I don't think you need to; we're really not…"

"Woah, woah! Don't say something you'll regret here! Take a look inside this place first; it'll blow you away."

"The ad says it has ambient nightlife?" said the girl picking up what looked suspiciously like the Scarecrow's mask off the ground.

"And it does, it does," effused the agent. There was the sound of gunfire in the distance and a loud scream that quickly gave way to loud painful sobs. He winced a bit at this. There was another bang and the sobs stopped. He smiled again. "You've got a nightclub right on the floor under you. Do you like hip hop?"

"No."

"Well that's fine, they play garage and funk on Monday and Tuesday nights." Still smiling, they walked up some stairs that some local artist had tried improving. It was just unfortunate he had such a limited vocabulary of four letter words.

"This place smells like someone has…"

"Yes, yes, that'll be the sewage works next door, but on the plus side you'll see an awful lot of birds round here! Are you bird watchers?"

"Why birds?"

"They are attracted by the flies. Do you like flies?" he asked hopefully.

"No," said the girl. "We're really not interested in…"

"Just see the apartment first."

"Why did the last tenant leave?"

"A good question, a great question indeed. What do you think of the elevators? Don't you like the way the artist has cleverly infused his work with the numbers of local prostitutes?"

"Why did he leave then?"

"And what about this hall carpet. Your own home-grown mushrooms." The girl bent down to eat one but the estate agent paled and stopped her. "I wouldn't do that; my colleague tried one of those last week. But she has sent us a lovely postcard from Arkham Asylum, although she did misspell decapitate three times and we don't know what she used for ink but it was red. That reminds me I really need to change the locks on my apartment."

"Why did the last tenant leave then?

He sighed and stopped. "Well he didn't exactly leave; we just thought he wouldn't be coming back."

"Why's that?"

"Well, the police found him in Gotham plaza."

"What, wandering around?"

"Well, not really, since he had been nailed to a park bench, but he did seem quite happy since his face had a really big smile on it. It's just a shame his head was so far from his body…" He sighed a bit at this. "Anyway he used to sell jokes so he might have a few of his things left in the apartment. To be honest we haven't checked it out yet."

He pulled out a key ring with about forty keys on it and tried several before he found the right one. He had slight trouble pushing the door open with all the free papers and mail there and what looked suspiciously like a dead cat. "This is the hallway."

"Cough, cough." A voice came echoing down the hallway. "Oh no, we have guests and I have absolutely nothing in. Harley, my dear, do check the wine cellar. There's a good girl."

"We don't have a cellar, Puddin'"

A shadow of a man in a wide brimmed hat appeared on the hall wall. One hand was holding a gun. "I knew we should have changed the locks when we moved in, Harley. Didn't I tell you to change the locks?"

"Sorry, Puddin'."

"Wrong apartment, apologies," said the agent, looking paler than the Joker if that was possible. "We'll just be going."

There was a series of three shots in quick succession followed by a three thump sounds of bodies hitting the damp carpet. "Harley."

A young woman dressed in a jester's outfit walked in behind the Joker. "Yes?"

"Don't bother about the wine."

"Does this mean we have to move again, honey?"

Another tall man was behind the Joker. "I'm so sorry about the interruption Mr Slade, or can I call you Alec?"

"Just Slade will do."

"Please tell me why I didn't just kill you when you smashed your way through the window. Regular little vigilante aren't you? Are you and Bats bosom buddies?"

"I've heard you're good at distractions; I want to hire your services."

The Joker pulled out a buzzer. "EEEEEEEE! Wrong answer! Nobody hires me, buddy, I work for myself." He pointed the gun right between Slade's eyes. "I've been wanting to redecorate this apartment since we moved into this dump. I wonder what colour your brains are?"

Slade fixed the Joker with cold blue eyes and calmly got out a cigarette. He swept the match up the peeling wall and it fizzled into life. He lit the cigarette and inhaled the blue smoke.

"Horrible habit," said the Joker. "It'll be the death of you."

"I doubt it, now do we have an agreement?"

"I don't need your money." The Joker looked at a briefcase on the table in the middle of the room. Rows and rows of pictures of Benjamin Franklin looked up at him from the battered brown brief case. "Although that is a lot of moolah… Why don't I just kill you?"

"Half now, half when the job is done."

The Joker lowered his gun and grimaced. "Very traditional."

Harley walked up behind the Joker and gently stroked his back. "You know the authorities have frozen your assets, honey?"

"Not nearly as much fun as it sounds."

"We've only got the clothes we are standing in."

"And they're practically walking off by themselves."

Slade smiled. "I've even brought you a few toys…" He indicated a rucksack in the corner.

The Joker gave a cherubic smile. "Oh Daddy, you shouldn't have! I've been wanting a train set for years, ever since I accidentally blew up Gotham's."

"Puddin', that wasn't an accident."

"Yes it was, I was aiming for the ferry." He put his hands in the rucksack and pulled out several items. "You've made this old clown very happy; you want a distraction you'll get one in spades!"


Langley was bathed in a full moon. Outside the building were several fountains and lakes and even a small golf course for its agents to unwind. Its gym and pool were second to none and it even had a large room nicknamed 'the theatre' where they created buildings and rooms of known enemies so they could practice storming rooms and buildings.

In the early evening Langley was normally winding down. It was never totally quiet since the world never sleeps and its agents were busy 24/7. This evening it was busier than it was normally. Porter Truss, the head of the CIA, was in a foul mood and made sure his staff knew it.

He was talking to the Director of Operations by satellite phone. The Director was currently in Europe talking to the heads of Interpol and MI6. "I want to know how the hell he got back to America. Why didn't he show up on the radar?"

"This man has had over twenty identities that we know of, sir," the voice crackled back over the intercom. "We doubt that he even knows himself who he is; we don't even know how old he is."

"What the hell is he doing back in Gotham?"

"You've got the report on what happened fifteen years ago?"

"Answer the question, dammit!" He had a copy of the old report in front of him. The project to scan all the old files from microfiche to a huge NAS (Network Attached Storage) drive was still in its infancy and he had to get someone to trawl this old file from the archives.

"We don't know, sir. At the time we thought he was dead." The voice at the other end paused a moment. "Hoped he was dead. I mean how could he survive that?"

"Why is he back?"

"I would say two reasons, sir. Firstly revenge. He's already killed two of the boys responsible for the incident in the first place; there is just Bruce Wayne left. That playboy might have danced his last jig. Secondly they are starting the research again. You know what they said about those creatures having a telepathic link? They wanted some hokum of putting one of them into a submarine, putting Slade into a cell and monitoring his brainwaves and then burning the one in the submarine. I dunno, two burns for left one for right sort of thing. They heal up pretty much instantly anyway. That way the submarine could communicate underwater without traceable radio waves. Ridiculous idea now but at the time they wanted to get one up on the Ruskies."

"Jeez. Who would want to be in a tin can with one of those creatures? Even tied down."

"There you have the initial problem. Anyway, they are researching again in Gotham. It seems they want the original back again. They've still got a couple that survived apparently."

"Where are they researching?"

"A private company just outside Gotham has the rights for military research. The guards have been equipped with silver bullets."

"Won't that kill him?"

There was a chuckling sound from the other end of a phone from a man happy that an ocean divided them. "It'll slow him down, might even knock him out, but it won't kill him. Believe me, it was tried when they originally caught him, but it does weaken them though. Gives them a severe allergic reaction."

"Why aren't there more of them? Don't you turn into a werewolf if you get bitten by one?"

"A werewolf doesn't stop at one bite. They are some kind of immortal shape shifters, there are not many left in the world."

"Turn into a wolf at full moon sort of thing?"

"Yeah, something about the light waves from the full moon will force a change, but they can change any time they want it seems, or certainly Alec Slade can."

"And now he's loose in Gotham?"

"Yeah."

"God help those people."


The Batmobile was out of the confines of the city now and speeding back to Wayne Manor. Various sensors around the manor confirmed that no-one was in the area and that nothing was watching and a green light came on on the dashboard. Unexpectedly a beep sound came from the car and a small screen flickered into life and some data appeared on the screen. This part of Gotham was currently being scanned by a GDF-486 American spy satellite. His car utilised stealth technology; it should not be possible to be seen. Even so…

He pressed a button and a Wayne Corp satellite, used ostensibly for a communications network being set up in Mexico, sent a concentrated pulse of gamma radiation to the area above Gotham city, interfering with the electronics of every satellite above Gotham for a minute. This had the dual effect of hiding him from satellite surveillance and preventing over 200,000 Gothamites from seeing the last minute of a WWF Pro wrestling contest.

He pressed a button and a narrow entrance opened in the hillside for just a few brief seconds.

Seconds later they were parked up in the cave and the hood of the car hissed open and they climbed out of the car.

Where was Alfred?

There was the computer station with the black high backed chair. A portable heater next to the chair was pumping out hot air and, looking out of place, were a mug of steaming tea and a half eaten shortbread biscuit on a small blue china plate.

"Alfred?"

"Where is he?" asked Robin.

A cold feeling came over Batman. "I don't know." He felt the mug. It was still warm. There was no sign of a struggle or any specks of blood. From his experience werewolves were messy eaters. "I don't think it's been here though."

"You still haven't told me what's after you?"

"Long story."

"Got all night."

Batman looked at the computer. "Computer. Where is Alfred?"

"Mr Pennyworth is currently in the second reception room."

Several shots echoed through the house and reverberated through the cave.

"How many others are up there?"

The computer's soulless voice continued. "There are currently fifteen armoured men in the house. When Mr Pennyworth went to the gate the security system was deactivated. They conform to the specifications of Team Luthor."

"Who are Team Luthor and what are they doing here?" asked Robin.

"They are part of Lex Luthor's personal army. They are equipped with titanium-shielded armour that can defend against anything up to an armour piercing shell. They also have an inbuilt oxygen supply so gas is useless against them. Their standard weaponry is laser guided explosive bullets but they have been known to carry a variety of military hardware. They can fly and are fast and lethal."

"Million dollar question. What are they doing in your house?"

Batman gave a grim smile. "Let's go and ask them. We'll enter the house via the garden. We don't want to give away too many secrets."


The paper was peeling from the walls of the apartment. The bodies of the three murdered victims were collapsed in the hallway. Flies, never far from this part of Gotham, were starting to gather. A bare bulb illuminated the Joker and Harlequin. The harsh light put the Joker's eyes into black shadows giving his face a skull like look.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Mr J?" asked Harlequin.

"I'm thinking about jelly, what are you thinking?"

"If Slade has all this money why don't we just kill him and take it all?"

"Harley, you know why I love you?"

"No."

"Neither do I. But your plan is suitably meritorious. However he has given us a bag of goodies. It would be rude not to use them. Let's go and paint the town purple," his voice dropped an octave, "and the streets red."

Harley shivered and giggled. "I love it when you talk violence!" She tapped him on his long nose and smiled.


Alfred could see his face reflected in the metal visor of the man standing in front of him. When he went to talk to the lady outside, obviously a stooge of these people, fifteen armoured men dropped out of the sky and surrounded him. He was carried with impressive speed back to the manor. The armoured man's eyes glinted red for a moment as he conducted a thermal sweep of the house. "Where is Bruce Wayne?"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," said Alfred. "I can't offer you a tea and scone, can I?"

The armoured man pushed Alfred into a chair. The man's voice had a metallic sound to it as the speakers in the suit converted his voice into that of an automaton. "Alpha squad. Conduct a sweep of the house. Find Wayne, now."

Four heavily armoured men turned around and started conducting a search of the house.

The man in front of Alfred pressed a button on his wrist. "Sir, this is Philips, we have secured the house. As expected, Pennyworth is here. No sign of Wayne though."

A voice came through the intercom. Alfred struggled to hear it. "He has to be there. Satellite imagery showed him turn up four hours ago from Gotham after a meeting with Wayne Corp executives. We have no record of him leaving the Manor. Caution should be observed. The Batman was spotted in the area recently. We had a glitch on the satellite soon afterwards and we are now trying to track him down again."

Philips put his wrist communicator down. "Caution, people, we might have a visitor soon. Maintain a thermal scan on the outside. Beta squad, prepare the incendiary devices, get ready to torch this place. Gamma squad, remember your training, if Batman appears kill him."

Alfred got to his feet. "You can't do that!"

"Watch us." Philips was confident and shoved Alfred back into the chair. They had conducted over thirty possible computer simulations of a fight against any of the Batclan. Originally, in the computer simulations, Batman had got the better of them. The computer version was programmed with all of Batman's known methods. The past fifteen simulations they had conducted in this very scenario had ended with Batman dead in fifteen seconds. They had the weaponry, they had the training and more importantly they were practically invulnerable in their armour. This would be a walk in the park.

A bell chimed throughout the house. "What's that?" asked Philips.

"Door bell," said Alfred, getting to his feet. "I'll get it."

"It's a trap," hissed one of Philips' men.

"I'll get the door." Even converted through the speakers there was a nervous sound that wasn't there before.

"Fine," said Alfred, and sat back down with studied ease.

Philips shook his head. "You get it."

"Make up your mind," said Alfred and winced a bit as he got to his feet. "At my age my knees aren't what they were."

The bell chimed again. "Gamma squad take point." With a surprising silence considering the heavy armour they were covered in, five armoured men surrounded the door. After a few more seconds thought he said, "You stay there, old man, I'll get this."

The door was a huge old oak door with black metal pins in it. It was originally a castle door taken from a welsh castle. The black spikes in it were designed to blunt any axes that took a shining to it. It was so old and had been coated with tar so many times it had the texture of rock and was about as tough as granite. It was only a clever system of hinges and pulleys that enabled Alfred to open the door so easily.

Philips grasped the metal door handle with his armoured glove, leaving imprints in the iron, and opened the door, pointing his gun out into the garden. There was nothing there but blackness. His vision suddenly clicked and showed the garden as a thermal image. The trees and plants were a deep blue colour but the statues and garden path were still a slight orange colour as the heat they had gathered through the day dissipated out. There was another click and the vision changed to electrical signals generated by animals and humans. A small movement caught his eye and his on board computer immediately zoomed in on it and showed what it was in a screen in front of his eyes. The words Western Pipistrelle scrolled across his vision. Just a bat.

Nothing there. He gestured to one of his men to walk outside. The man took one step out of the house and was suddenly whisked up into the air at incredible speed. Philips grimaced and took a step back. He grabbed a Schermuly flare from his utility belt and fired it into the air with a shooshing sound.

The blackness of the night was given an eerie red glow as the flare, hissing and sizzling, slowly descended on its small parachute. The bright light cast part of the garden into murky shadows. Several statues of fanciful creatures could be seen dotted about the garden.

Philips could hear the small whirring sound of his servomotors in his suit as he took a step outside. His breathing suddenly sounded eerily noisy in his ears. His suit's onboard computer started scanning the area and a small glowing map of the area appeared in front of his eyes. Red dots showed his men.

BANG!

The man who had been whisked away landed with a terrific thud, his armour ringing like a bell as he landed on the paving slabs, in front of him. He wasn't moving.

"Alpha squad," he hissed into his communicator. "He's outside, probably on the roof. Use your rocket boots to maintain a distance from the ground. Find him and kill him. He's on the roof." By the time he said that, he was wrong.


At the top of the house Batman let himself into a third floor window. He knew that the catch to that window had rusted away. Robin silently followed behind him. This was one of the guest rooms on the top floor. Now dustsheets covered the furniture. This was one of a dozen guest rooms that had not been used in years. Originally his grandfather had held huge hunts on the estate, and every weekend the house had been abuzz with activity and laughter. Now it was full of Luthor's killers.

Batman crept out of the room to the central balcony that ran round the main staircase that led to the front door. He stopped and listened. He could hear slight creaks and whispers below. The floor beneath his feet erupted as a shell tore through the floorboards sending clouds of dust and splinters into the air. They'd seen him on infrared. Robin cartwheeled back and Batman leapt over the balcony, twisting in mid air as they tried to get a lock on him. He landed in the middle of a circle of armoured men. They stopped firing when they realised they would be shooting at each other.

Batman threw a few ampoules of something on the ground and a liquid spread silken-like over the carpet.

Philips smiled beneath his metal mask. "You're that big shot Batman, aren't you? You might be a big man on the streets of Gotham, but here and now you're just meat. Take a look at what's going to rip your head off, boy." He aimed a huge gun at Batman's head.

In a blur Batman grabbed the gun and kicked one of the armoured men in the head. Careless of their own safety, some of the men started shooting at him. The bullets bounced off the other men with huge sparks and ripped huge holes in the walls of Wayne Manor.

They were heavily armoured.

He didn't need to hold back.

The man he had kicked in the head fell to the ground in a daze, his head had bounced around inside his steel helmet and concussed him. One of the steel suited men punched at him. Servo motors gave his arm the force of a pile-driver. These people could punch through reinforced concrete. Batman threw a line round two of the armoured men. They had prepared for this and sent a huge electric shock through their armour. Unfortunately for them Batman had connected them together. Blue lightning coursed over their armour and they fell down unconscious, smoke starting to appear through their visors.

Philips laughed at this and tried to punch him. It was then he realised that he was stuck to the floor by the liquid the Batman had thrown on the ground. Batman kicked him viciously in the head, which bounced his head in his helmet and stunned him. He then sent a line to the chandelier, which he had specially reinforced for just an eventuality and a motor in his belt rocketed him to the ceiling. The two Team Luthor men still on their feet shot at Batman. The chandelier disintegrated in a shower of glass and fragments sending Batman sprawling onto the gallery at the top of the stairs.

Bullets started chewing up the staircase towards him.

BOOM!

An explosion below sent the armoured men still standing below sprawling. He had left an explosive batarang behind. However, a specially designed one of his own creation. The firing had stopped. He crawled to the edge and looked down and they were all covered in a sticky web like substance that rapidly hardened to the texture of concrete.

There was a flash of lightning and Batman looked out the top floor window to see the guns of Alpha squad (hovering with their rocket boots) shooting their weapons at him through the glass…