The end of the sewer tunnel was finally in sight, lit by the rising moon. He rushed for it and jumped into the river, splashing upstream. He had heard the explosions while going through Gotham; all hell was about to break loose, perhaps even at that moment. But he needed to get the necessary items to be able to help.
Ten minutes later, he recognized the terrain around Wayne Manor's property. A large electrified fence, however, now stood in front of him. Anderson clearly meant for no one to enter the premises. Still, though, there was an easy out: the branch of an oak extended out over the fence nearby. He climbed the tree, squirmed out on the limb, and dropped safely to the ground on the other side. The cliff up to Wayne Manor-with the Batcave on the other side-now loomed ahead of him. There was now another setback in front of him: numerous security cameras on the cliff face all around him, zooming around in every direction. He dropped to his knees and crawled through the bushes. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a back entrance to the caverns not far from here. As long as Anderson hadn't mined it, he probably would be able to get inside that way.
Sure enough, he could see the crack in the wall ahead of him now. He waited until the nearest cameras to it started moving in the opposite direction from the opening, then rose up and dove through it. He crawled slowly through the dark corridor, hearing the imposters' voices in the distance. "...don't get it, Batman; how could they know we were setting up Catwoman's lair there?" the fake Robin was saying.
"They must have gotten through to someone we hired to work with her, Robin, and gotten the information out of her, those devilish fiends," the fake Batman muttered, "No matter, we can just find another woman to be Catwoman going forward. Alfred," he announced now to the man who was now filling in for the real Alfred, whom he suspected was probably still on the property somewhere, given he hadn't been brought to the detention facility with he himself, "Once we take care of this, scour the city for a woman who look as close to the previous Catwoman as possible; we'll need to set up another one to use..."
"Sir, if I may ask, I have some concerns about the Bat chemicals used in the process," the imposter Alfred said softly, "Considering the original Catwoman's suicide, and that two out of three of the last Mr. Freezes also took their lives after getting..."
"Alfred," the fake Batman said firmly, "The good people of Gotham expect to see me going against Catwoman. There are millions of women in this city; any of them can fit the bill easily. Now the nature of our relationship forbids me to order you to do this; however, I strongly advise you to follow through."
"If you insist, sir," the replacement Alfred conceded, not sounding all that happy about it. He crawled further through the tunnel, and now reached a hole in the rock overlooking the center of the Batcave, where he could see the imposters below, standing near their "Bat Computer." "I should mention also, sir," the would-be butler continued hesitantly, "The prisoners down in the Bat Dungeons have been getting harder to deal with. Mr. Fox in particular has been going on a hunger strike to try and force better conditions..."
"Then let him starve, Alfred," his employee cut him off sharply, "His life means nothing to me."
"Sir, if anyone were to find out we were doing this to the prisoners..."
"Alfred," the fake Batman spun towards him again, "I released the female prisoners into Batgirl's custody in the interests of mercy. That is as much as those filthy, wretched lice deserve. No food for any of them until..."
The sound of a phone ringing echoed through the cave. Holding up his hand, the fake Batman strode out of his sight range. "Yes, Commissioner?" he could be heard inquiring.
"Batman, come quickly; chaos and confusion in Gotham!" the fake Gordon declared in an overly dramatic voice, "Four massive explosions rang out in the city in the last fifteen minutes; dozens of people are dead!"
There was a pause down in the cave. "Are...you...sure...Commissioner?" the imposter said slowly, "You know as well as I do that murder does not exist in Gotham City and never will as long as I hold sway over it."
"I...I didn't want to believe it either, Batman, but my officers witnessed it with their own eyes! They were much too violent to be natural explosions! And now, I'm getting reports of clowns running loose in the streets and inciting riots in some precincts...!"
"Clowns, Commissioner? You must...be...mistaken. That is too...absurd to be real...the reports must be caused by hysteria. Have your men examined the scenes of the explosions?"
"Yes, and a riddle was left at the scene of the biggest explosion, Batman. Strange, though, the Riddler usually doesn't deal in explosives..."
"What did the riddle say, Commissioner?" the imposter cut him off.
"It said, 'What do you get when you take acid on a merry-go-round?' Do you know what that means, Batman?"
There was momentary silence before the fake Batman declared, "I have...a strong hunch, Commissioner. Robin and I will take care of it. You and Chief O'Hara stay safe in Police Headquarters for now; if what you say is true, it would be too dangerous for you and the rest of the Gotham City police on the streets right now."
"But, how are we supposed to handle the rioting from inside Police Headquarters, Batman?"
"Again, Commissioner, Robin and I will take care of it, so don't worry."
"Well, you know best about everything, Batman," the fake Gordon quickly conceded without a fight, "I'll call my darling daughter Barbara and get her to safety in Police Headquarters as soon as possible. Then I'll call Bill at Dozier Films and have him send out the camera crew for..."
"No Commissioner, I'll have to request no camera crews for this mission," the fake Batman told him firmly, "Owing to the apparent gravity of the situation, it would be best not to endanger anyone else's lives. You just stay safe in Police Headquarters for now; I'll keep in touch. Oh, and Commissioner, be prepared to give a declaration of martial law if I were to call you and ask for it, just in case."
"Martial law, Batman? Isn't that rather extreme?"
"Do...you...trust...me...Commissioner!?"
"Of course, of course I trust you, Batman, more than I even trust myself," the fake commissioner said quickly.
"Good. One last thing, Commissioner: go on television at the Police Headquarters studio and tell the public not to worry. Murder and terrorism do not exist in Gotham City, and we can't let dangerous rumors start circulating, or those vicious criminals might get ideas. Our parade will go on this evening as scheduled, I guarantee it. I'll keep in touch, Commissioner."
He could be heard hanging up. "OK, we're free and clear, Robin," he told his sidekick.
"What about the riddle, Batman?" the youth asked.
"Very simple, Robin: 'acid on a merry-go-round' very obviously means the Riddler-the first Riddler, no doubt, and all of the initial versions of the villains-are holed up at the Axis Chemicals plant. So that's where we have to go ourselves, after we get a squad of paramilitaries for backup."
"Sir, I have reservations about bringing those gentlemen with their heavy firearms into the city proper and instituting martial law without..." the fake Alfred tried to protest.
"Alfred," his boss said with sharp coldness, "Desperate times call for desperate measures. And so you know, I can find another butler and sidekick just as easily. Have I made myself clear!?"
"Yes, very clear," the would-be butler muttered, sounding disgusted.
"Very good. Let's go, Robin; we have a parade waiting for us this evening, and nothing should interfere with it," the fake Batman told his sidekick. Above them in the cavern, he slid down out of sight and waited until the Batmobile had started up and roared away down the tunnel to confront the villains. Now was his time, he knew, to take control of his legacy again.
He rose up into a crouching position and stared down through the hole, waiting for his cue. Once the fake Alfred walked into position below him, he leaped down behind him and grabbed him from behind. "Don't scream, don't fight back," he hissed softly.
"It's you, isn't it?" the imposter butler said softly, almost resigned, "I had a feeling you'd be back eventually. For the record, I did not participate in any of the brainwashing and thefts or anything else they've done. I've grown increasingly disgusted with them, and I would have quit playing Mr. Pennyworth a long time ago if I wasn't worried for my family..."
"All right, tell me two things: where's my suit, and where are the prisoners?"
"Your suit's in his personal office," the fake Alfred pointed into the corner at a door, with a sign above it ever so helpfully labeled BRUCE'S PRIVATE OFFICE-NO ADMITTANCE. He rolled his eyes; Anderson's attempts to insult the population's intelligence apparently knew no bounds. "Wait here," he warned the fake butler, "And if you're tricking me, it's going to be painful."
"No tricks, I swear; I just want to go back to being a regular actor like I once was," his prisoner muttered. He pushed the man against the wall, then strode over to the door and kicked it open. Sure enough, his suit-the full, tactical Batman suit-was encased in glass on the back wall. He kicked the glass in and yanked the suit off its moorings. He slammed the door shut again for privacy, then started suiting up. It took five minutes, but soon, Batman had returned. He inhaled deeply, glad to be back.
The first order of business, he reasoned, was get evidence against Anderson that would hold up in court. Thus, he pulled a camera from the utility belt and threw open the drawers of Anderson's desk. Immediately, a partially opened file caught his attention: one with a picture of the imposter Commissioner Gordon-for all the times he'd been forced to watch the staged adventures of his replacement in the black site, he wouldn't mistake him for anyone. He examined the file carefully, taking in Anderson's notes on the man:
HAMILTON NEALE
AGE: 61
OCCUPATION: CAREER BUREAUCRAT IN GOTHAM PARKS DEPARTMENT
PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS: EXTREMELY GULLIBLE, WILL BELIEVE PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING HE IS TOLD, INCAPABLE OF COMPLEX THOUGHT PROCESS, WILL NOT TAKE CHARGE OF ANY SITUATION WITHOUT GUIDANCE
VERDICT: PERFECT CANDIDATE TO BE NEW COMMISSIONER GORDON; WILL REQUIRE ONLY MINIMAL INJECTIONS. CONSIDERING THE ABOVE, KEEP IN POSITION PERMANENTLY, AS HE WOULD DO ABOSLUTELY ANYTHING ROBIN AND I TELL HIM WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT. FIND WAYS TO KEEP INJECTING HIM WITH BAT DRUGS SUBTLY AT REGULAR INTERVALS.
Another file, featuring another all too familiar face, read:
OFFICER REPPTON STAFFORD
AGE: 55
OCCUPATION: CAREER POLICE OFFICER, GOTHAM P.D.
PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS: EXTREMELY AMBITIOUS, DESPITE LOW ARREST RECORD OVER CAREER; HAS AGITATED FOR PROMOTION TO HIGH POSITIONS IN DEPARTMENT DESPITE LACK OF CAUSE FOR IT. RUMORED TO HAVE TAKEN MONEY FROM MOB TO ENRICH HIMSELF FROM TIME TO TIME, PERHAPS EXPLAINING POOR POLICE WORK. DESPITE THIS, ALSO SHOWN TO BE EXTREMELY GULLIBLE AND COULD BE LED TO BELIEVE ANYTHING
VERDICT: BEST TO HAVE ADDITIONAL PERSON AT TOP BESIDES GORDON TO ENSURE WE STAY IN POSITION OF POWER. STAFFORD FITS BILL IN THAT REGARD, SO REWORK CITY CHARTER TO CREATE POSITION OF POLICE CHIEF TO SERVE DIRECTLY UNDER COMMISSIONER DESPITE REDUNCY AND GIVE HIM NEW IDENTITY AFTER INJECTIONS (O'CONNOR? O'REILLY? O'HARA?).
Nodding, he photographed the files repeatedly. This would convict the two of them along with the fake Batman and Robin if the prosecutors played their cards right. Another item in the desk caught his attention: an envelope labeled BATGIRL LETTER. He pulled it out and opened it up. Typed on the paper inside was the words:
Dear "Batman" and Robin:"
I'll come straight to the point of this letter: I know your secret identities. They were all too easy to figure out. My little rescue job was my introduction to you, to let you know that I'm here, and I'd better be taken seriously. I want in on your scheme as a full partner, with an equal share of the loot, or Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson's little secrets will be secret no more. You will never find out my own identity; it is too well hidden. So the next time you draw up a crime, I'll be there, and I'll expect to be part of the planning from here on, or else I'll take everything going forward.
Kindest personal regards,
Batgirl
Underneath this, however, was scrawled, in large red letters, CAN ONLY POSSIBLY BE BARBARA GORDON. MUST KEEP KNOWLEDGE OF HER IDENTITY SECRET FROM EVEN ROBIN TO KEEP THE COMISSIONER SAFE AND SECURE, AS ALL DEPENDS ON HIM REMAINING AS COMISSIONER AT ALL COSTS. THIS INFORMATION CAN BE USED TO COUNTER-BLACKMAIL BARBARA AND PERHAPS FORCE HER OUT OF THE GAME IF SHE GETS TOO GREEDY. He nodded grimly. There was indeed no honor among thieves; the "Terrific Trio" had all been blackmailing each other behind the scenes the whole time. He quickly photographed the letter as well, then strode back out of the office. He could handle the rest of the damning evidence later, he reasoned, after he had rescued the prisoners. "All right," he growled to the fake Alfred, "Show me the dungeons..."
"I should have guessed," he muttered two minutes later, rounding the corner. Despite being well underground, and thus no need for signs, the detention area was clearly marked BAT DUNGEON. Loud groans rang out from inside numerous cells, many familiar. He strode up to the nearest one. "Alfred Pennyworth," he said softly to his real butler, seated on the bench in the back. Alfred looked up and grinned softly. "Well it's about bloody time," he declared, "I was wondering when you'd get back here."
"I was detained. Jim Gordon, Lucius Fox," he addressed two more very familiar faces in the adjoining cells.
"Good to see you," the former also broke into a grin, "This city needs you more than ever now..."
"I know. Unlock them, all of them, now," he ordered the imposter Alfred.
"Of course," the faker hefted his keys and unlocked the cell doors. It was then, however, that a gun cocked behind them. "Don't let them out, Al," warned the elderly woman who'd been masquerading on TV as Robin's aunt, who was leveling a shotgun at him.
"Margaret, it's over," the fake Alfred said, exasperated, "Holding people prisoner down here and shooting people up with mind control drugs wasn't part of the plan..."
"I'm somebody here, not the nobody I once was, and I'm not giving that up for anything!" she roared, "I'm not going back to anonymity!"
"Margaret, he only brought you on to keep himself and Gervis from looking homosexual together! You had no tangible parts in their plots unless they had you kidnapped; how is that...!?"
"Shut up, Al, and lock them back up!" she ordered, cocking the gun.
"No," he swung Gordon's cell door open. In a flash, the true commissioner leaped out and tackled her to the ground, pulling the gun out of her hands. "All right, Margaret Sinclair, you're under arrest for kidnapping and conspiracy, plus whatever other charges we find applicable after a thorough investigation," he warned her, waving her up at gunpoint, "You have the right to remain silent..."
"You'll never stop us," she taunted him, "They have the city fully under their control, and you'll be seen as the enemy no matter what you do!"
"Maybe, but you're going to jail regardless. Inside," Gordon maneuvered her into the cell he'd been locked in, took the keys from the fake Alfred, and re-locked the door. "Al Knapp, you're also charged with kidnapping and conspiracy..." he dragged the fake Alfred into another cell. The real Alfred sided up alongside his boss. "So glad you made it home, Master Bruce," he whispered softly in his former ward's ear.
"Good to be back, Alfred," he whispered back. "Anyone know where the mind control device for the city is?" he asked the other prisoners, many former Gotham cops that had been supplanted by untrained actors for the television show, with the militias doing the actual policing in the city now, he knew.
"I think it's down at the other end of the dungeon," a cop pointed to the end of the hall, "That other Batman was always saying that whatever was behind the door should always be kept running at full power."
"I see," he strode down the hall. Sure enough, the door at the other end was helpfully labeled CONTROL ROOM FOR BAT REALITY SHAPER. He kicked this door open as well, and found himself staring up at a gigantic piece of machinery-also clearly labeled BAT REALITY SHAPER-KEEP AT FULL POWER AT ALL TIMES-that rose up very high towards the top of the cavern, with a giant rotating Box at the top visible above ground. "Fox," he called to the Wayne Enterprises industrial genius and waved him over. "How does this thing turn off?" he asked him.
"To be honest, Batman, I'm not sure; I never got a clear look at the thing before now," Fox confessed, staring up at the machinery, "I certainly didn't build anything like this. It's probably a very complex shutdown procedure, and with that Box involved, who knows if it's safe..."
"Well, there's a quick and easy possibility," he noticed the reality shaper's cord plugged into the wall nearby. In a flash, he grabbed the heavy cord and yanked it out of its outlet with a shower of sparks. With a loud groan, the reality shaper died down, the Box atop coming to a stop. "That'll rain on their parade," he mumbled in satisfaction.
Miles away in the heart of Gotham City, the fake Batmobile lurched to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street as the city abruptly changed around them from a bright, colorful city to the decaying, gray broken down city that it truly was. "Holy zoning, Batman, what just happened!?" the fake Robin exclaimed, glancing around, "Gotham's gone grim!"
"I see, Robin. That ruthless other Batman must have infiltrated the Batcave and shut off the Bat Reality Shaper," the fake Batman deduced with a glare, "But, not to worry, for I have prepared for this exact situation if it were to occur," he dug a strange contraption out of his own utility belt, "The Automatic Bat Reality Shaper Restarter should get it going again, even if the fiend unplugged it."
He typed in a set of commands to the device. Seconds later, the distorted happy Gotham reappeared around them. "Gosh, Batman, that's amazing," the youth said, awed, "You really do think of everything."
"That, Robin, is one of the benefits of being the perfect human beings that we are," his partner declared, driving off again, "And now, on to our mission of stopping those other interloping fiends..."
"You see? You can't stop him! That reality shaper's staying on no matter what you do!" Sinclair taunted him in the Batcave, gesturing at the reality shaper and Box now improbably running again despite being unplugged from the wall.
"I haven't tried everything yet," he snarled back at her. He glanced up at the giant device again. "OK then," he said darkly, "Maybe he can turn it back on even when there seems to be no way he can, but if it explodes into pieces, even he can't do anything..."
He strode out of the room and waved Alfred over. "There's explosives in the arsenal, right?" he asked his butler.
"Should be," Alfred nodded, "Are you thinking what I think you are...?"
"We have no other choice but to blow it up, Alfred," he told him.
"Very well, sir," Alfred nodded, bustling off. A few minutes later, he returned with a large crate with an explosives warning on it. "What are you doing!?" Sinclair looked worried now, "You can't do that...!"
"Sure I can. Ha ha," he taunted her right back. He took the box from Alfred, carried it into the power room, dumped the contents to the floor next to the reality shaper, and inserted a fuse into one stick of dynamite. "Match," he called to Alfred.
"Match," Alfred struck one and handed it to him. "Don't!" Sinclair could be heard screaming to him, "I'm warning you...!"
"Come on, move, lady," Gordon snapped, dragging her and the fake Alfred away from the area. The Batman turned back to the machine and ignited the fuse, which started burning rapidly towards the explosives. "Move," he told Alfred, slamming the room's door closed. The two of them raced back down the tunnel to the main Batcave and raced towards the waterfall. "Five," he glanced backwards, "four, three, two, one..."
A colossal explosion rang out, followed by numerous equally thunderous explosions signaling the final destruction of the reality shaper. Thunderous crashes rang out, hinting the device was imploding and crashing down into the Batcave; indeed, a tremendous burst of flame shot out of the hole, making everyone nearby cry out in horror. "That's it for his fake reality," he nodded with a triumphant grim, "Let's see him turn on a pile of wreckage."
He looked around for Gordon, noticing the commissioner trudging towards another room nearby helpfully labeled BAT LABORATORY: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. He whisked towards him and glanced over Gordon's shoulder. "I guess this is where he made his magic, so to speak?" he mused, noticing an operating table in the middle of the room and several shelves labeled BAT CHEMICALS and SPARE BAT BOXES.
"Yep," Gordon nodded grimly, "They'd grab random people off the streets and lock them up down in the dungeons with all of us, then drag them in here and experiment on them to make them mind controlled maniacs who'd fit whatever theme they wanted for his stupid TV show. Problem is, not everyone took to the drugs well; two previous Mr. Freezes committed suicide, and the third and most recent one had to be stopped from doing the same. Fox," he called over the Wayne Enterprises engineer, "You recognize any of this stuff? Looks like something that would be right up your alley."
Fox bustled over and opened several cabinets. "Yes I do," he nodded softly, "Bill Anderson had access to all of this as a Wayne Enterprises employee. Earle had been selling these chemicals and the early prototype of the Box to the CIA for secret projects for a couple of years. I filed a formal protest against it given I had serious reservations over what all of these things could do to a person's mind, and eventually the project was shut down, but we never disposed of the surplus. So Anderson got a hold of it and used it for all the wrong reasons."
"Bill Anderson was never on our radar before. Tell me more about him," Gordon grilled him.
"Always kind of kept to himself. Something seemed off, though. So I asked around before everything went to hell. Had a brutal past: grew up dirt poor, parents were drug addicts. He was put up for adoption, then was abused by his foster parents. Seemed obsessed with you though, Batman," he turned to him, "Maybe that's why he decided to take your place..."
"It makes sense," he nodded softly, "Since he grew up in a hellish world, he decided to create a perfect world, one where he was me, and he was a god who always won. His show was his stage, to try and convince people, after using that huge Box to warp their reality, that he was an infallible god."
"Which leads to another problem," Fox examined a vial of chemicals solemnly, "Prolonged exposure to these types of chemicals have been known to drive a person mad. He's been at this for three years now; there's got to be long term permanent damage to his brain by now. He probably thinks he is the real Batman now."
"That's a problem, yeah," he agreed, "But don't worry, I'll stop him-after I save all the other prisoners I've heard were taken out of here."
"Do you know where to look? They didn't give any hints that I heard when they took them away...?" Gordon frowned.
"I have a strong hunch, Jim," he told him. Barbara Gordon was all the hint he needed at the moment. "In the meantime, gather all the evidence you can in here, then get all the cops you can and prepare to move into Gotham to try and reclaim control. But be careful; there might be paramilitaries and criminal gangs to deal with."
He bustled off towards Alfred, who had been standing near the elevator down into the cave, guarding it from anyone who might have dared to look up and get a hint as to the Batcave's location. "Where's the Tumbler, Alfred?" he asked.
"Bricked up behind that wall, sir," Alfred pointed to a large mass of rocks that was clearly blocking something behind the far wall.
"OK, I'll blast it out too," he started towards the armory.
"If I may say so, sir," Alfred spoke up again, "For all the crimes this Bill Anderson may have committed, if he's fighting his more dangerous earlier creations now, perhaps he could use a saving at the moment himself."
"If I have time, Alfred," he said stoically, "His prisoners come first. His fate's in his own hands till then."
"Stand at your positions two blocks away, Commander," the fake Batman was saying on the phone in his Batmobile at the moment, parked outside the Axis Chemicals plant, "I will signal you if there's any trouble. No survivors if you have to storm the plant, then dispose of the bodies. Nobody must ever know that any of these people exist anymore. Understood?"
"Understood; we will await your command," came the replay. The would-be Caper Crusader hung up. "All right, Robin," he grimly told his sidekick, "Lock and load Bat Machine Guns."
"Are you sure this is necessary, Batman...?" the youth asked hesitantly.
"Robin," his boss cut him off sternly, "These criminals are a threat to our very continued existence. If they are allowed to live, we will be doomed. Every one of them must die, without exceptions. Is that clear?"
"Gosh Batman, when you put it that way, sure," the boy nodded, "All right, I guess I'm ready."
"All right, Bat Hooks at the ready, let's make our entrance quietly," the fake Batman declared, shoving two large machine guns into his utility belt. His sidekick did the same. The two of them leaped from their Batmobile and scaled the unguarded Axis fence. They rushed the Axis building, came to a stop by the front gate, and tossed their Bat Hooks up. Once they had caught, the two would-be crime fighters starting climbing slowly up the side of the building. Foot by foot, the got closer to an open window on the third floor...
When suddenly, a pair of huge, muscular green hands seized the ropes just as they neared the window. "INNNNN!" yelled the fake Bane, yanking the ropes hand and thus sending the two of them flying in through the window. They sailed through the air and crashed down hard on the first floor. "I don't understand it, Robin; there should have been a catwalk there to break our fall!" the fake Batman complained, stumbling to his feet.
"Oh, we took it out knowing you'd probably come in that way," the Riddler's voice rang out over the loudspeaker in the dark, "In the meantime, riddle me this, riddle me that: who's afraid of the big fake Bat?"
"You filthy criminals! Show yourselves, now, and face your destiny!" the fake Batman threatened, drawing his machine guns.
"Well, if you insist," the Riddler conceded. The lights blazed on, revealing the two supposed heroes were surrounded by dozens of heavily armed goons on higher catwalks. And hanging from the ceiling above them...
"Holy piƱatas, Batman!" Robin exclaimed, pointing in shock at the ceiling, "It's all the supervillains in Gotham...and they're all dead!"
Indeed, numerous people in crazy costumes hung by their necks from the ceiling of the factory, hideous grins on their faces. "Joker...Penguin...King Tut...the Mad Hatter...Louie the Lilac...the Minstrel...all dead...!" the boy gasped again.
"Yes, it's amazing how happy my new and improved Smilex can make everyone who uses it," snickered the original Joker's voice over the intercom, followed by a maniacal laugh. He and the other lead villains now strode into sight on the catwalk directly in front of the would-be heroes. "But we figured you weren't going to use most of them again, so we figured we'd put them out of their misery for you," the clown prince of crime continued with another laugh.
"Robin, finish them!" the fake Caped Crusader ordered, raising his machine guns upwards.
"Don't bring those guns in here! You need to chill out!" Mr. Freeze stepped forward on the catwalk, aimed an ice cannon at the two of them, and fired. A stream of blue energy shot down and froze the Dynamic Duo's guns in ice. Freeze fired next at the floor, freezing their feet in place. "Holy glaciers! Can't move!" Robin lamented, trying in futility to pull his feet loose.
"I don't know why everything has to be holy with you, boy," Two Face snarled, now riding with his co-conspirators in an elevator down to the ground floor, "But rest assured, you'll get good and holey when we get through with you."
"You fiends! Threatening to harm a mere boy!? I don't know how you escaped from your prison, but I vow here and now that I will send you back there for good!" the fake Batman threatened.
"Yeah, yeah, we've heard all that before. But we don't have time for cheap talk. Let them have it," the Penguin ordered all the goons. All of them opened fire at once, sending both figures toppling down face first to the floor. "All too easy," the birdman snickered, "All right, let's get out of here and..."
The poodle in the arms of a nearby circus performer suddenly started barking. The Penguin and his associates spun back, and jumped in shock to see the would-be crime fighters rising back up, seemingly unharmed. "Foolish criminals," the fake Batman told them almost mockingly, "Did you not think that the very first thing we would have done was make our costumes bulletproof when we decided to become crime fighters? No matter how much ammunition you expend, you cannot kill us-I wouldn't think of that either," he warned the Joker, who now leveled his pistol at his head, "This cowl is bulletproof as well."
"I see," the Joker nodded softly, "Good thinking there, Batsy. Except for one miniscule little problem: Robin's not wearing a cowl..."
And with that, he pivoted and shot the youth right in his unprotected head. "Robin! Old chum!" the fake Batman cried, falling down to his sidekick's level, "Please stay with me...!"
"Batman..." the would-be Robin gasped softly, "...avenge me. Lift...high...the noble...banner...of justice...and...avenge me..."
He went still and silent. "Robin!? Robin!?" the fake Batman shook him wildly. "Only one chance," he mumbled frantically, digging through his utility belt, "The Bat Life Restorer! It'll bring you back with one gulp...!"
He pulled a large vial out of the belt, one conveniently labeled BAT LIFE RESTORER, and struggled with the stopper...but his efforts proved moot when the Penguin fired his umbrella at it, shattering it and spilling its contents uselessly all over the floor. "Uh uh, no deux ex machinas allowed around here!" he snarled.
"Filthy...wretched...inhuman...monster!" the would-be superhero raged in cold fury, rising to his feet, "Letting a mere child die in cold blood! Well you-all of you-have just thrown your lives away...!"
The villains, however, laughed in derision at this. "There is nothing funny about this at all!" he thundered, "I made you, and I'll destroy you just as easily...!"
"And that's why we're angry!" Catwoman snarled, silencing him with a whip crack to the face, "You had no right to shove us away like trash for imposters! We have more than they ever could! Well, now we're back, and we took care of them," she gestured up at the dead, grinning second generation villains, "And now we're taking care of you, and Gotham!"
"How dare you talk to me like...!" the fake Batman raged again, but was cut off this time as Freeze fired his ice cannon at him once more, freezing him completely from head to toe in ice. "I told you to chill out!" he shouted, pushing the frozen crime fighter down on his back, "If you're so great, let's see you get out of there in the next eleven minutes."
"Which is a pretty stupid and arbitrary deadline if you ask me, Napier," the Penguin muttered in the Joker's ear.
"His idea, Oswald, not mine," the Joker reminded him, pointing at the frozen fake Batman. "Anyway, ladies and gentlemen," he turned to all the goons, "Now that our main foes are out of the way, I feel in a celebratory mood. And since the dearly deceased wished to have a parade tonight to burnish their egos, I say, why let down the populace here in Gotham?"
He waved at an organ grinder by the rear of the floor, who pulled a rope that dropped a large curtain, revealing seven large floats lined up. "Bob," the Joker gestured to his top goon, who obligingly unrolled a large red ribbon in front of his boss, handing off the other end to a large bald goon. "And now," he hefted a gigantic pair of scissors, "Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a parade!"
He snipped through the ribbon, which triggered another colossal explosion up the street in the process, a blast accentuated by numerous militiamen screaming in agony. "Everyone, to your floats!" he instructed the gangs, who raced for numerous floats nearby, "Bob, Lawrence, Lenny, Donald, Dennis, Clarence, you're riding with me," he told several of his lead goons standing nearby, "We're going to make this a night to remember!"
