Issue 9

The Second Robin

Batman had never meant to train a second Robin. Things were peaceful in Gotham, so peaceful that Dick Grayson had spread his wings in Bludhaven, calling himself Nightwing. Barbara was semi-retired. Batman patrolled Gotham's streets alone, more of a formality than anything else. Apart from petty crimes here and there, nothing happened in Gotham anymore.

Then came the crimewave. In a single night, fifteen mobsters were gunned down. The next night, another twelve. Then Papa Bertinelli – the last of the old-time bosses – was strung up on his front porch in broad daylight. A single word was spray-painted on the door of his mansion.

"Bane".

The new boss had claimed Gotham as his own, plunging the city – and Batman – into another underworld war. Night after night hunting, trying to learn Bane's identity, his location, his minions. He was getting close when Arkham's gates opened, setting the city on fire all over again.

The night that he put the last inmate back in Arkham, Batman practically crawled back to his cave. He was exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained. But when he arrived in the Bat-Cave, he found the monster, Bane, waiting for him. He had been unable to find Bane's hiding place, but Bane had found his. Laying on the floor afterward, broken, unable to move even to crawl out of the sticky puddle of his own blood. He had looked up at the ceiling of the Bat-Cave and asked himself, "Why?"

Nothing in the world was worth that kind of pain. He'd thought it was what he wanted, thought he could make a difference. As long as he was king of Gotham, no kid would ever lose their parents because of a lowlife mugger. But he wasn't king of Gotham. He realized he never had been, he was only fooling himself. Crime had continued, the gangs had learned to work around him. And then Bane had broken him. He couldn't protect anyone.

He only knew one thing at that point: he would never bring someone else into this life. He had already dragged Dick into this, but no one else. Never again.

. . . .

Time freezes for a moment. The laughing Predator in the black and gold armor looks directly at Batman. The laughter of David Cain from the iron mask of a killing machine.

And the red triangle – like crosshairs – sits on Robin's chest. The newblood Predator slices the air viciously with his wrist-blade. There's a hum, like an electronic device. Then time starts moving again.

Batman darts forward, throwing down a smoke grenade and grabbing Robin by the shoulder. The newblood's cannon goes off, a blue burst of energy tearing through the air. Robin is hit in the chest; he staggers backward, gasping for breath. His eyes go dark before he even hits the ground.

Batman roars like a wounded animal, as if the blast had torn through his own chest. He seizes his protégé, lifting him to a seated position, desperately trying to drag him to safety. Green Arrow is right beside him, yelling to be heard over Batman's cries.

"He's dead! Bruce, he's dead!"

He tears the Dark Knight away, still protesting. Bane clambers over debris, scrambling for the exit. Green Arrow drags Batman back through the tunnel. And Robin's eyes stare without seeing as they leave his corpse behind.

Through the haze of the smoke grenade, the newblood Predator – Robin's killer – fires again.

A burst of heat and pain like an exploding star tears through Green Arrow's arm. A gasp of pain and horror; then he looks down. His arm lays on the floor of the tunnel, leaving only a cauterized stump attached to his shoulder. He feels disconnected, too stunned to even scream. He's vaguely aware of the Predator coming closer.

Then a giant hand pulls him upward. Batman tumbles after him, gasping on all fours in the tall jungle grass. What nightmare, what hell is this?

. . . .

Alfred did everything he could, but no field medic could repair a broken spine or cure full-body paralysis. Meanwhile Bane and his army had raged through Gotham, solidifying their control, daring any of the gangs Batman had cowed to stand up against them. A few did, and their fates made the city's headlines. But what frightened Alfred more than the physical damage Bruce had taken, more than the carnage left in the wake of Bane's gang, was the fact that Bruce seemed totally indifferent to all of it.

Batman was dead, and Bruce Wayne had no desire to live on without him.

Drastic steps had to be taken. Against his employer's wishes, Alfred sent Nightwing to London to find the one person who could heal the Dark Knight's body. Then he sent Batgirl to Tibet to find the only person who could teach him to fight again. And, finally, he turned on the Bat-Computer to find a replacement for Batman in the meantime.

Green Arrow would have been willing to step in and help, but Alfred didn't trust the hooded Assassin who had staked his claim in Starling City. And Superman seemed like overkill. Going through Batman's files, Alfred saw only one candidate he thought was a viable option: born into an ancient order of mystical assassins, codename Azrael had resisted his murderous programming to aid Batman in a couple previous adventures, even wearing the cowl once before when the Dark Knight was abducted by foreign arms dealers.

Jean-Paul Valley arrived in Gotham the next day. Alfred had expected Bruce to react in some way to his replacement, but he simply agreed to let Azrael wear the cowl and then ignored both the new Batman and his old butler. Azrael had seemed to understand, however, and got started right away on modifying and enhancing the suit. Bruce had told him to avoid Bane at all costs, but Valley realized that would not be an option once he stepped out of the cave in the uniform of the Dark Knight. A showdown with the new king of Gotham was inevitable.

. . . .

Deathstroke, Katana, and Robin – all killed within ten minutes. Ten minutes that had seemed like eternity, and yet like nothing more than a blink. Ten minutes that will haunt Batman forever. He looks over at Green Arrow, face down, gnashing his teeth together. He sees the dead stump where the archer's arm should be; it might as well be a death sentence. He looks at Bane. Even the Venom-fueled giant seems shaken.

From within the cave, the hellhounds begin to bark.

Batman listens for a moment, barely hearing the noise over his own grief. But a primal instinct tells him he must survive somehow. His gaze drifts upward. He looks at the mountain, looming over them. Deathstroke had said they needed high ground if they wanted to survive. Kanjar Ro had said the Yautja came from on top of the mountain. If he was telling the truth, that could only mean one thing.

"Come on," he declares suddenly. "We need to climb."

He helps Green Arrow stagger to his feet. The archer seems barely aware of his surroundings, but he allows himself to be dragged forward.

Bane supports Green Arrow from the other side. "Why are we going up? the alien said –"

"He said the Predators come from up there."

"Yes; so why are we going there?"

"Because they brought us here by spaceship," Batman explains. "And we need a way to get home. And because, right now, they're behind us."

Bane laughs, a glimmer of hope returning. "Well, if you think you can pilot the ship, I know I can capture the ship!"

. . . .

Constantine's spell had worked like… well, like magic. Batman was on his feet and able to walk – with Dick and Alfred supporting him on either side – by the time Barbara returned from Asia with Lady Shiva. That same night, "Batman" attacked Bane and his gang. The entire Bat-family watched the investigation unfold on the news, waiting to see what Bruce would do, if the Caped Crusader would resurface.

Jean-Paul Valley's attack was ruthless. Seven of Bane's minions were killed that first night, with nine more in the hospital. The following week was an endless battle of cat and mouse, with Bane and the new Batman fighting over each street and every block. In the brutality of war, Valley's conditioning took hold again, and he became Azrael, the Avenging Angel of the Order of St. Dumas. More of Bane's men died, along with civilians caught in the crossfire, all victims of Azrael's crusade.

With the news just barely audible in the background, Lady Shiva led Bruce through his training again. Taking him back to the beginning, and drilling him into fighting shape. Hours at a time, practicing his footwork, his strikes and counters and blocks. Weapon drills and disarms. He was making excellent progress, all things considered. But he was still not even close to being on the same level as Bane or Azrael. That would take time.

The battle for Gotham's throne ended when Azrael cornered Bane in an alley in the pouring rain and beat him nearly to death. Spectators and police bore witness to the coup, powerless to interfere, and not sure who to side with anyway. With the bloodied, senseless mass of Gotham's conqueror at his feet, there was no one left to challenge the armored Dark Knight, who wielded the sword of St. Dumas and an automatic rifle.

Bruce Wayne was out of time. A new breed of justice had come to Gotham.

. . . .

The hellhounds are closing in. Batman can almost feel their slobbering jaws snapping at his heels. He pulls himself up the slope on all fours, Green Arrow hanging on to him with his remaining arm. Bane has a hand through the archer's belt, helping Batman drag him upward. The mountainside is getting increasingly steeper.

A tree-root clinging to the mountainside gives way as Batman pulls on it. He tumbles backward, pulling Green Arrow with him. Bane's steady grip on Green Arrow's belt is all that keeps both vigilantes from crashing back down the mountain. As it is, the tumble gives the hellhounds enough time to catch up to them.

Batman hears the snarl as the first beast leaps toward him. He scrambles upward, still dragging Green Arrow, desperately trying to keep them both out of reach of those dreadful claws.

In its haste to attack, the beast has overextended itself. The jaws snap viciously at the air for a moment, and then the massive bulk plummets backward, slipping and sliding back down the mountain, its wild tusks tearing furrows in the loose earth.

Batman grits his teeth. They're not even halfway up the slope yet. And the other hellhounds are still coming.

. . . .

Batman wasn't ready to face Azrael, and they had both known it. To compensate for his injuries, Batman had built a suit of armor to match Azrael's, though he opted against wielding a sword. His electro-shock gloves and old-fashioned cunning had done the trick instead. The battle had raged across Gotham, from the rooftops to the sewers, and ultimately to the Bat-Cave. The Dark Knight had played safe, outmaneuvering his successor rather than trying to match his strength and speed. He forced Azrael to fight on his terms, gradually stripping away his armor piece by piece.

Then the crescendo. Man to man, without technology, the two contenders for the title of Batman fought it out. And ultimately experience had decided the victor.

Gotham was safe again, though the damage done to Batman's reputation would take time to mend. But Bane was gone, locked away in prison. Azrael was gone as well, undergoing treatment at Arkham. Peace had returned. And with that peace, Batman began to think about the future. He had fought long and hard, and he had suffered along the way. He wanted to quit, to retire and settle down. But Azrael's reign of terror had shown him he couldn't leave the safety of Gotham to anyone else. And so for the next two years, he protected Gotham alone. He faced another of Joker's escapes, then the return of Scarecrow. And then one night, a kid had stolen the Batmobile.

. . . .

Batman, Green Arrow, and Bane crawled over a rise and stopped to catch their breath. They had put a gap between themselves and the hellhounds, and now this narrow ledge halfway up the mountain offered a moment's rest. Only a moment, however, as they could still hear the beasts howling below.

Laying flat on his back, looking up at the blue sky with his cowl pushed back from his eyes, Batman was silent for a moment. His thoughts heavy with grief, he remembered what he had said when he had finally agreed to train Jason Todd to be the new Robin.

It was the first time he had taken his mask off in front of him. Standing there, in the Bat-Cave, the Dark Knight had made the street urchin with the mischievous grin a promise.

"I'm going to teach you everything I can. And, no matter what happens, or what maniac we face out there, I will always have your back." His mind's eye drifted from the safety and familiarity of the Bat-Cave to the desolate stillness of the cave far below him now. Jason Todd was down there, slowly going cold.

"I won't let anything happen to you."