Bats shrieked from above, a squabble having ensued between a handful of Bruce's usual company. It was early in the evening for him to be back already, disturbing their usual schedule, the beating sound of their wings bouncing off the walls verbalising their distain.
Unmasked with black makeup smeared over his eyes, Bruce was closely monitoring the screens in front of him. He was reliving the warehouse, taking those first steps all over again, a second set of eyes on what he had already seen. The crime scene had been somewhat reminiscent of how this had all begun with the previous Mayor. A man slain, tortured, then left to find.
Sleepless nights made the hours a jumbled mess of blood and violence. All too often he couldn't distinguish where Bruce Wayne fit into all of this, his masked antics as vengeance having consumed him. For two years, this... this is all he's known.
The space around him rumbled with the passing of a train somewhere in the underground, tools rattling on a workspace, pieces of his car laid out on any available surface, all while water dripped from the ceiling.
The vehicle had performed well, Bruce able to make notes on improvements for the future. But for now, the engine lay stripped on his floor, a tarp half-heartedly thrown over the back end of the car.
"Don't suppose you're calling it for the night?" Alfred's approach had almost gone unnoticed. Between his thoughts and the reverberating rumblings of the trains, Bruce had nearly not picked up on the elevator's arrival.
"Following up a lead." He didn't pull his eyes away from the screens, too busy rewinding a specific moment, making sure he captured everything, scribbling down notes before moving on.
A mug of something hot was placed on the desk beside him, making Bruce finally look over. Alfred was leaning more on his cane than usual, fresh wounds still healing on his face, though he continued to keep up appearances with a freshly ironed shirt and waistcoat. He had insisted leaving the hospital. As soon as Alfred was on his feet he was back to work.
"Tea." Alfred softly smiled, the white mug billowing steam.
"Thanks." He half mumbled, eyes darting back over to the screen, rewinding what he had missed, leaving the presence of the brew to be instantly forgotten.
The red tinted video of the gruesome scene played out just as he recalled, the same mix of stares watching him, Bruce avoiding eye contact most of the time. He was too busy looking past them, taking every little detail in. To him they were just in his way.
"Good god." Alfred offered his own set of eyes as they watched the battered bruised corpse of the detective being pulled from the water. "Who is he?"
"Detective Kenzie, narcotics division. Was on Falcone's payroll." Bruce paused the recording. the palm of the detective's hand having been unveiled; smudged chain of numbers undiscernible. However, the first three digits had survived the submerge mostly intact, matching the usual formation of a phone number.
With a press of the button the screen was captured, image transferred to another display. Tapping at the keyboard a program began analysing the image, a thousand comparisons being made all at once, the system designed to decipher what remained of the handwriting and estimate what had once been written.
"Looks personal." Alfred continued his observation, recording resumed on the original screen, eyes lingering on the battered face of the dead man.
"Looks like business." Bruce glanced down in thought. "Colson said this was bigger than I could ever imagine. That it's the whole system." The District Attorneys' final words came to him.
"Someone's tying up loose ends." Alfred came to the same conclusion as Bruce and Gordon.
"So, they can swoop in for the spoils…" An idea was forming, strands being connected in Bruce's mind.
"Someone's trying to pick up where Falcone left off?"
"There doing exactly what we're doing." The puzzle was coming together. "Clearing out the rats."
"They're not just tying up loose ends. They're ensuring the empire survives." Alfred came to his own realisation. Resting his cane against the desk he leaned forward in curiosity.
"Not just survive. But thrive." Bruce watched unblinking as the missing numbers on the second screen began to be filled in. "Their cutting loose those who have been outed, making any leads we had come to a dead end."
The state of the warehouse was starting to make more sense now. He was right it had been cleared out. Not because the operation was over, this wasn't vultures taking their pickings from a carcass. It was an attempt to salvage the business.
The number was finalised, Bruce immediately running a search. Another program flashed up on screen, signal towers being used to triangulate the mobile's position. A progression bar on the right-hand side was slowly filling, they both watched with bated breath, completion impatiently anticipated.
The program zoomed in on a section of the city, an address blinked up centre screen.
"The Iceberg Lounge." Alfred read the address out loud.
"Penguin." Bruce shot up from his seat, reaching for his cowl and cape.
The sudden movement however pulled a rib the wrong way, hissing he stumbled against a counter, hand having to stabilise himself.
"Bruce." Alfred contributed a supporting hand on his arm.
Bruce straightened himself without a word, ready to continue like nothing had happened, ignoring his injuries having worked for him so far. However, Alfred's hand kept a firm grip, preventing him from proceeding.
"You really think this is a good idea?" Alfred's combative tone forced Bruce to face the older man, eye contact being made behind the mess of hair, black makeup enhancing the whites of his eyes.
"Let go." They both maintained the stare. Bruce's voice almost frighteningly calm.
"You're so determined to save this city you'll get yourself killed. Then what Bruce? What would've all this have been for?" Alfred gestured with his free hand at the space around them.
"Let go." Bruce's glare was unwavering.
An awkward moment of silence passed between them.
Inevitably, Alfred conceded. Eyes faltering to the ground. Unhanding Bruce in the process.
Now unhindered, Bruce dawned the cowl and cape, adjusting his equipment on his belt and gauntlets before mounting one of his motorcycles.
"Justice." He eventually graced Alfred with a reply.
The ignition was flipped, engine roaring in the open space triggering the bats into a frenzy above as the rear wheel spun on the spot, Bruce flicking the backend round so he took off back down the abandoned rail line.
The motorcycle struggled through some of the deeper areas of flooding, though he made it a fair distance, eventually he had to abandon the vehicle and take to the rooftops. The clouds at this point were ready to burst, rain spitting down periodically, foreshadowing the downpour to come. It was the last thing the flooded city needed.
During his journey Bruce had been left with his unhelpful thoughts. He had cursed himself for not seeing the connection to the Penguin immediately. If anyone was going to try pick up after where Falcone left off, it would be the Penguin. He was neck deep in the drug trade, he was practically running the operation for Falcone. The Penguin would know exactly who needed to be delt with for the operation to slip back out of reach of the GCPD.
Bruce's frustration with himself had just spurred him on, weight of his limbs, soreness of his muscles a problem for another day. He had his lead. His target. And he wasn't about to let anything slip past him.
He had taken too long with the Riddler, missed too much. Bruce had been handed the answer and he still managed to miss the bigger picture. The vehicle bombings could have been prevented. So many lives would have been saved if he had just opened his eyes.
Bruce kneeled on the edge of a rooftop, the Iceberg Lounge ahead of him. From his position he could see the flooding reached halfway up the main door. The front lights were on, dirty yellow flicker above the entrance adorning the night, reflecting in the soft current.
This was odd, the power having been shut off in this area of the city due to the flooding. But then again, Bruce had first-hand experience with the club's electrics, recalling having seen a backup generator.
Scaling the building was the easy part, the train tracks overhead allowing access to a platform above the entrance. From there he kicked in a large circular vent, metal clattering down the opening.
The vent system twisted and turned, narrowing, forcing him into a crouch. He soon came to an end, grille in front looking out into the nightclub from above. Bruce took a moment to scan the area. It was dark like most of the city, only lights above the exits scattered around the edges of the long room.
The vent unlatched easily enough, metal face swinging open. He dropped down, boots clanking a little too loudly on the metal grated floor.
"About time you showed up." Bright lights blinded Bruce, an arm instinctively going up to shield his nocturnal eyes.
There was a soft clapping coming from somewhere in front of him. The sound echoing off the walls of the empty building.
Eventually, his eyes became accustomed to the burning white lights all around him, able to now see the Penguin walking the catwalk on the opposite wall, having most likely emerged from his office that was raised above the main stage below. The stage itself was submerged, the water sitting relatively still, creating a sheen of light on the surface like a mirror.
The Penguin clasped his hands together. Applause concluded.
"I've had time to reflect on a few things." Bruce could see the Penguin's crooked smile even from a distance. "And in that time, I figured out where Falcone went wrong."
"He had too many rats to manage." Bruce's words garnered a chuckle from the disfigured man.
"A problem I'm sure the GCPD can relate to." The Penguin smirked. "Actually, it's much simpler than that... He underestimated you." Something suddenly didn't sit right with Bruce. "You pinned him in a corner. No one's ever done that before."
"Spit it out Penguin." Bruce was becoming impatient, a sense of dread looming from the man's praise.
"You, were his downfall sweetheart!" The Penguin jeered, finding amusement in having to spell it out for him. "And you know what they say. Those who forget the past. Are doomed to repeat it."
The catwalk beneath Bruce's feet gave way in an instant. His arm went up, grapple about to fire when gunshots struck him, grapple never able to find a target. He struck the railing of a walkway below before hitting the cold water hard, cape getting tangled up in his limbs, back striking the ground beneath the darkness. He couldn't help but cry out, and with a mouth full of air escaping his lungs he forced himself to the surface.
Bruce struggled to his feet, coughing up what salty water he had swallowed on accident. The sea met him at his waist, debris beneath making it hard for his boots to find purchase.
"Get 'em boys!" The Penguin called down from above.
The splashing of water unveiled several heavy bodied figures enter the water with him, making their entrance from the raised platforms along the lengthy walls. Upon these lower catwalks, Bruce could now see rows of figures. Each pointing a gun at him.
They had been waiting for him.
In the final moment of calm, Bruce could hear the spatting of rain in the distance, heavens shedding a tear as gunfire rained down upon him. Out in the open the best he could do was raise his arm in defence of his face and head. He felt the sting of each bullet like it had pierced his flesh, sparks flying with each connection. Bruce attempted to flee, to run in any direction, but a fist clocked him from the side.
He almost went down immediately, fortunately able to keep his feet under him he dodged the next wild swing, head dipping just in time. The water restricted his movements, normal nimble aptitude in combat taken from him.
Before he knew it, he was surrounded and without a second to gather his wits they were on him. After another dodge, Bruce planted his fist between a man's eyes sending him plummeting into the grasp of the ocean. This generated shouts from above, bullets then skittering across his back.
Bruce was on the defensive, the men surrounding him in the water each taking turns at a swing. At first, he dodged, parried, using their ferocious momentum to out manoeuvre them, but whenever he managed to gain distance from his attackers in the water, bullets would assault him from above.
Bruce caught the arm of a flying fist, pulling the man in he pinned his arm behind his back, Bruce's own arm wrapping around his neck. Instantly bullets riddled the human shield. Bruce unable to carry the dead weight dropped the corpse, feeding it to the hungry waters.
The Penguin's brutes didn't relent at the sight of their fallen brother. Some even sneering in excitement. There was a crazy look in their eyes, one Bruce had seen in frequent users of Drops.
Bruce landed his fair share of blows, taking out a few that couldn't get the upper hand on him one on one. But Bruce was outnumbered, hands grabbed at him, a knee finding his chest. And just like that his vision went white for a moment. That searing pain he had briefly experienced before returning with a vengeance.
The next thing he knew he was underwater, multiple hands pinning him there.
He kicked out, every muscle in his body fighting, straining to get him up from beneath the cold darkness. Muffled cheers and laughter sounded beyond the barrier of water. Trapped beneath the deep, black creeping at the edges of his vision. The pain in his chest made it impossible to hold his breath, murky water slipping into his lungs.
An emptiness started to fill Bruce's mind.
Limbs beginning to give up the fight for freedom.
Authors Notes
Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! I love Bruce and Alfred's relationship in the movie and I was left just wanting more :P As promised another chapter tomorrow!
