The Search
Bruce woke up at the sound of a gunshot. His body was slumped against a brick wall which appeared to be in an alley way. With a look of pure exhaustion upon his face, he rose for the glass-covered ground gently. Bruce examined himself briefly: first his hands, which were blistered and painted with blood. Then his clothes: a ripped cashmere suit, the sleeves ripped and the tie sagging a little. He limped over to a newly formed puddle caused by the building rain clouds and stared into it.
Bruce's eyes were sunken and heavy, a long scratch stretching the length of his face. His lip was swollen, blood spattered on his upper lip. He sighed slowly, recalling the events of the previous night. He had been looking for Jeremiah - but seemed to have run into a little trouble along the way. Crossing into Barbra Kean's territory was a mistake.
Don't let this drag you down, Bruce, he thought as rain began to fall from the sky violently, Jeremiah is still out there, and whatsmore, so is Jerome. With those psychos on the loose Gotham will turn into a big top circus tent sooner than I can count to ten...
His mouth stretched into an imperfect lineas his head lifted up to the sky, if only... if only Dad was still here, none of this would have ever happened. Jerome would be locked away in Arkham, and Jeremiah would never have been sprayed with that fear gas.
Bruce shook his head and scowled. "No, there's nothing I can do now. Except continue with what he dreamed of Gotham becoming." he stared ahead. "And I can start by finding Jeremiah Valeska."
Meanwhile, somewhere to in the North of Gotham, Jerome Valeska had come out of hiding. The docks were close, the acrid scent of the river was in the air. He walked out of the Shadows and stood in the rain, head in the air and breathing in the damp air, arms stretched out with gloved hands.
Jerome let out maniacal laugh as the rain followed the lines of his scars before falling onto the floor. "Ahaha...!" he wiped the tears from his eyes and interlocked his hands behind his back. "Jeremiah, you really do crack me up sometimes... blowing up the bridges and whatnot, sounds like something I'd do! Well, at least I know that fear stuff works, I'll have to make Crane cook up a new batch..."
With a grin, he set off in the centre of the road, leaping into the oily rain water collecting in potholes.
There was a loud shattering sound from above. Bruce's head shot to the source, finding a bullet hole had punctured a window on the second floor of a building. Gripping the pistol from the inside of his jacket, he leapt to one side and listened.
Voices were muffled inside, but it sounded like two middle-aged men.
"Get to it, Cr-"
"Wh... alright, alright...! I'll fix up another batch."
Bruce leaned closer to an open door beside him, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. The two of them sounded quite familiar...
"...but I'll need time. Without those scientists, the production of fear gas will be much slower than preferred."
"I don't have time, Crane!" the voice snapped. "I need this batch ready by tomorrow night, other wise there'll be a hole in your skull the size of ya fist."
Bruce pulled himself to the wall suddenly as the owners of the voices stepped out onto the street. Jerome Valeska spun around and wagged a finger at Jonathan Crane.
"I better be able ta rely on you, Scarecrow," he smiled, his scars creasing. "I got big plans for this stuff, big plans..."
He patted a barrel Jonathan had wheeled outside and turned in the opposite direction. Bruce flinched as the pistol fell from his hand and onto the floor. Jerome's eyes darted around as he pulled a scalpel from the inner pocket of his coat. He took one step to the side and crept along the perimeter of the building, his hand trailing the wall. Stopping suddenly at the side of the alley where Bruce was hiding, Jerome sighed through smiling lips.
He shook his head. "Probably a rat, this city's full of rats... human and animal." Jerome gave Crane a high-pitched giggle before spinning around and walking away from the scene. "Don't forget, tomorrow night!"
Bruce let out a strangled breath, placing his pistol back where it belonged. That was close, he thought as Crane pushed the barrel around a corner.
"Tomorrow night, tomorrow night, tomorrow night..." Crane chanted, lifting the barrel up a step into the house next door.
Fiddling with the mobile phone he took from his pocket, Bruce dialed a number and put it to his ear.
"Hello...? Bruce, is that you?" said a voice from the other line.
"Jim! Jim, you gotta listen to me... it's Jerome, he's-"
"Slow down, I can't hear you as it is, something is messing with the signal..."
He put his hand on the wall next to him. "It's Jerome, he's working with Scarecrow to produce more of that fear gas. I think it's the same stuff that he sent to Jeremiah..." Bruce sighed. "I don't know how much time we have until he uses it, but Crane has to make sure the batch is ready by tomorrow night."
Are you sure about this, Bruce?" Jim asked.
"Jim, I'm at the same house Crane is brewing this stuff in. I just saw him and Jerome talking together! Somethings going on, and if we don't stop it who knows what they'll do!"
"Alright, where exactly are you, Bruce? I'm coming to get you..."
"I'm at 274, Barber Street in the Narrows..." Bruce replied. "But be careful, Jim, Jerome is out there somewhere and the chances are you'll run into him..."
"Don't worry about me, I have Harvey. Besides, if we do run into that clown I won't miss a second time..."
The sound of a gun loading crackled through the speaker before Jim hung up.
Author's Note:
I hope you're enjoying reading so far! Sorry about the shortness of the chapters (I usually write longer ones in my other fics), but I hope it's enough to keep you satisfied until the next part. I'd love to see some comments appearing over the next few chapters, it would be appreciated, but don't feel pressured into doing so :)
Look out for new chapters, and, if you haven't already, follow me so you can get alerted of any updates! :)