A/N: There might be some random references to other Batman media aside from the Batman: Arkham series scattered in my story. Some stuff from B:TAS, Batman Beyond, the Nolanverse, etc. Zubin Zucchini is from the old Adam West "Batman" series in '66. Just in case any details look randomly familiar...
4SeasonsChick and pshycogurl335, thank you so much for the reviews! :) I was wondering, what do you guys think about the chapter lengths? Are they too long, too short, or good as is? Thank you in advance!
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman. Not even in my dreams.
Redemption, Retribution, & Restitution
-Chapter Four: A FLASH OF BLACK-
-/-/-/-/-
Cobblestone gave way to pavement beneath his boots. The man was very aware of the cold silver moonlight, splashing down from above…and his hands…covered with black blood.
Why had he done it?
What had those men done to deserve it?
He scratched his arm, not noticing the blood that smeared on his skin. "Why was I on that boat?" Somehow, when he tried to think of it, his mind was fuzzy.
The behemoth lurched beside him in the water, all rust and metal. Yet even its massive vigilance evoked no memories.
"I don't even remember how I got on board…" The man spoke to himself, his voice a frightened rasp. "I was—I don't even remember where I was coming from! I don't—"
To his extreme horror, the man realized he did not even remember his own name.
"Zzzs…"
The man's head whipped around. "Who's there?!" He peered frantically into the gloom.
He had sworn that he had seen a flash of black in his periphery. Someone was here.
And now the paranoia set in.
Someone is following me.
He needed to get out of here, but he didn't know where "here" was. Somehow the barren streets looked familiar to him, but he couldn't remember their purpose to him—
"My purpose is to kill you and save you from the relentless misery of your existence!"
That high-pitched, deranged voice…those murderous words… They were familiar too. A chill ran down his spine. There was something very wrong going on here, as the four dead sailors on the boat could attest!
I was standing over them… Their throats were gurgling, and I waited until they stopped… That's when I left them sitting around their maps…
The freezing wind bit harshly through the jacket. Opening it, incredulously he registered that he wasn't wearing a shirt on underneath. What kind of nut wanders around half-exposed in this weather? The jacket was too small for him, belonging to one of the dead sailors. He felt oddly naked, but that wasn't why. He was missing something.
He looked down at his hand, the blood sticking to his skin.
"My knife…"
A white hot flash! The knife ripped through flesh like paper, screaming faces, silenced. Not the sailors, but rather a young couple, sitting on a park bench—
He gasped as the pain in his head receded. The images…they felt so real.
He had killed people. There was no denying it now. He had done this before. He had done something very, very, very wrong!
He dropped to his knees, shivering, feeling the cold of the pavement bite through his cargo pants.
"What is happening to me?" he whimpered through closed eyes.
It was Friday night. Batman grappled toward Amusement Mile, keeping a sharp eye out. Danielle's tip had yielded some interesting information about Scott Jones's work.
Zucchini Chemical Company… They've been experimenting with a new compound lately, something related to red phosphorus. From the little we were able to look up, it seems it can be used in meth labs. That sounds like the Falcone family for sure. They might be trying to reestablish themselves after Black Mask seized the market...
He circled the docks briefly. No one's here. Where else would they be?
The office where Mr. Jones worked was not far away from here. He landed in the parking lot. Nothing looked amiss. Spots of oil. A little broken glass, coming from a beer bottle. Cigarette butts… There was a large pile of cigarette butts in one particular place. Looks like someone was out here for a while… They must be surveying this place! They might have tracked Mr. Jones back to his friends' house tonight when he didn't go home last night! They're all in danger!
Call it a hunch, but Batman was not one to discount his intuition. He had looked up the information already of where Mr. Jones was staying, based on what Danielle had been able to find out. He summoned the Batwing and flew to the home of the Bixbys as fast as he could, dropping down and landing on a nearby rooftop softly.
The lights were on. No signs of forced entry…yet. Maybe he had beaten them here! A car was approaching now. The plates… Hmm. I recognize those plates. Benito Sobalvarro… or Bangin' Benny as they call him... one of The Roman's hitmen. They're done collecting information - they've sent Benito here to silence them!
The car stopped in front of the home. A pudgy man in plainclothes got out. Benito. One other man after him. Two men left in the car. The two hitmen walked up the brick patio to the front stairs. Time to crash their party.
SWAK! A batarang whirred low through the air toward the back wheel. A soft, unnoticed hiss. That takes care of the getaway car. I've got to do this quietly. This is a residential neighborhood. No stray bullets.
He fingered the compartments on the utility belt. Smoke pellets…no… knockout gas! A moment later, the men in the car coughed softly and slumped behind the dashboard and wheel, and Batman dropped to the ground from the car's roof.
They were almost at the door!
WHOOSH!
The hitmen dropped to the ground, tangled together. "Hey! Get this thing off me!" They struggled as Batman ran forward. Benito managed to get free. WHACK! "Ugh!" Batman stumbled back, and Benito raised the gun with a menacing grin, a killing gleam in his eyes.
SWAK! Benito screamed and dropped the gun, batarang lodged in the handle. He backed away. "Huh! You think you can protect these people, Bats? Not from my boss!" His partner stood up, and Benito used the distraction to scramble past, leaving his partner to face the Batman alone.
"Hey Benny, where're you goin'? Oh God! Please, no-" WHACK!
Benito hid behind the hedge. He peered out around the corner. No sign of the Batman. Dammit, his gun was lying on the patio, out of reach! His friend wasn't making any noises. Forget the job, he'd get those white collars later!
The coast looked clear. The crook began to sneak toward the white picket fence, when a giant black bat hurtled out of the night, knocking him senseless to the ground.
"Gotcha, dirtbag!"
Hazy eyes opened. Blackness greeted him. Where am I?
Had he slept here all night, passed out on the unforgiving pavement, and was it tomorrow? It was still so dark… And now the haze was wearing off. It was so cold…
He could hear water. The salty smell told him he was still by the docks.
"That's right. This…this place is...where I am from." Gotham. "I came here- to escape from someone." In spite of the fog he was sure of it. "But…I can't remember where my home is. I don't even remember what neighborhood! I could be miles from home!"
And he couldn't remember why he would want to kill those four sailor men in cold blood.
He held up a hand. Blood still clung to his nails. He licked it off absently as he wandered.
Where do I go? Do I keep wandering in circles? I'm sure I've seen that one sign for the casino about seven times now… That alley over there…looks familiar. I…did something bad in that alley. Something bad…but fun.
He was dying to know who he was and why he had done what he did. But for right now…
I still don't remember my own name!
An ominous laugh sounded in his ears. "Who's there?!" He spun around. No one standing behind him. And yet the laugh echoed in the empty streets.
...Someone really is following me!...
Smoke ahead. He jerked to an abrupt stop.
Just outside the shipyard sat another man on a crate, smoking a cigarette and reading a paper in the dim streetlight. In spite of the wanderer's trepidation, the other man did not look up as he continued to read, oblivious. A cloud of white cigarette smoke wafted over, making the lost man cough.
Suddenly, there was a very peculiar tingling in his head. Fear, and something else, something…sinister.
The man looked up from his paper. White and blue clothes, bandana… another sailor.
He should remain right here…
"Sir, I'm afraid this is a restricted area. You're going to have to turn around…"
The man drowned out his words. Images, things that made no sense, were appearing before him. He felt his grip tighten—
He looked down, and his vision swam. A knife was in his hand.
He looked back up, a slow, murderous gleam in his blue eyes that the sailor failed to notice.
"Hey, you're looking a little lost, mister—"
The man moved swiftly.
Sswisshh!
The knife blurred as the blade sliced through warm flesh, drenching the pavement and splattering the man's face with hot fresh blood. The sailor's voice gurgled, his throat severed. He fell without a fight, clutching his neck.
So many thoughts were swirling through the man's mind, so fast, he felt his head pounding. There was something exciting about what he had just done. Something sick. Something—familiar.
A split second before horror overtook him again, he looked down into the eyes of the dead man and whispered with menace, "My name is Mr. Zsasz."
"Shomen ni rei!" *
Danielle bowed to the front of the small dojo. A small, fierce Japanese woman stood at the front of the class, black eyes flashing as she took in each pupil's posture and stance. This time, Danielle was the student, and it was a good change of pace. It felt nice to let someone else take control.
The police had called her earlier today. After scouring the security tapes, they still had no leads on the Note Writer, as she had taken to calling the mysterious harrier. They were keeping the case open, for now treating it as a harassment case. The classes would continue for now.
I wish they'd show their face, whoever they are, so I can give them a taste of my baseball bat! The fierceness of the thought surprised her. She hadn't touched her baseball bat since-
"Kiotsuke, Danielle-san!"
"Hai, Tanaga-sensei!" she called back, straightening up. Kairi Tanaga was the best of the best, the star pupil of a gifted master ever since she was a young girl. Though only a few years older than Danielle, she was a master in her own right. Bruce Wayne of all people had introduced them three years ago when she had arrived in Gotham to run her own dojo behind the fish market. So Bruce Wayne, the ultimate billionaire former playboy, knows martial arts? It was a hilarious thought.
"Partners!" Tanaga-sensei called. Julien approached her, tousled black hair standing high on his head. It looked vaguely like a duck's butt. If I taught my class the way Tanaga-sensei teaches hers… Well, no one would be foolish enough to attack any of Tanaga-sensei's students. My self-defense class is about avoiding confrontation, mastering escape… This class is all about facing confrontation, mastering a fight.
She just barely managed to dodge Julien's attack. He swerved, fist still outstretched. A hit could have sent her flying.
My class is intro level at best, giving them a can of mace instead of an empty hand. Tanaga's class is like handing someone a sword! And even a sword deflects bullets better than mace.
She took a half step back and found her center. Julien had paused to study her openings.
I don't have the resources to train fighters. With my revolving door of students, of victims with broken bones and trauma and fear… The best I can do, is teach them to be survivors.
She pivoted slightly, focusing on Julien's points as well – and moved suddenly as she felt wind from her back. Tanaga-sensei's foot whooshed by her head, missing by a half inch. The teacher landed in front of her in a fearsome, tigerlike crouch, and Danielle's heart rate accelerated.
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye as Julien advanced. She moved quickly, eyes darting back and forth to keep Julien and Tanaga-sensei both in her sights. She pivoted again as Julien tried to circle behind her.
Oof! Red filled her vision as the floor bit into her chin and pain shot through her left foot.
Tanaga-sensei stood over her. With grudging respect, Danielle realized the teacher had seen an opening and exploited it, tripping her. She sighed as she got to her feet, gave Tanaga-sensei a respectful bow, and resumed sparring with Julien.
If that had been a real fight, I would already be dead.
-/-/-/-/-
"You seem distracted today, Danielle-san," Tanaga-sensei approached her after class. Off to the side, Julien glanced over at them and nodded to show Danielle he would wait. She nodded back thankfully.
"You must be more mindful of your surroundings," Kairi said, looking up at her seriously. "When your thoughts are chaotic, it translates to your awareness, and your enemies will take advantage." She nodded to Danielle's left foot. "If you are concerned, grow quiet inside and observe. It will help you."
Grow quiet inside. Danielle felt her breathing slow, and as her muscles relaxed, the pit in her stomach, that she didn't even know she was holding, relaxed. "Thank you, Tanaga-sensei."
Victor Zsasz huddled on the pavement, sobbing, a puddle of vomit at his feet, far, far away from the dead sailor, who was sitting propped up on the crate, snuffed cigarette in hand, newspaper crumpled and spilled and soaked with blood.
For some reason it had felt respectful to pose the body, as if he were honoring the man somehow. But part of the ritual was missing… Before he could think about it, the buzzing in his head returned. But for just a moment, it had all felt so very familiar.
Was he some sort of mental ward escapee? Should he turn himself in to the police? The thought made him angry.
He had called himself Mr. Zsasz. Yes, that was his name. Zsasz. Like a hissing of a knife. Serrated like the blade in his hand.
He removed the bloody knife thoughtfully from his pocket. How had he gotten another knife on him? Why would he have so many? He had checked his pockets – he had five others. What kind of nut am I?!
'It seems you are going insane, Killer.'
"WHAT?!" the man looked around frantically. The voice had come out of nowhere.
"Who is there?" He brandished the knife and spoke softly in singsong, sneering into the shadows, "You cannot hide from me."
'Look around all you like, it will do you no good.' The voice sounded very close to his ear. The man whipped his head around.
There was a quiet, ominous chuckle.
"Where are you?" He held up the knife, heart pounding. "Are you the one who's been following me? Do you know what I will do to you if you continue to play games with me? No one plays games with me!"
'You are in no position to make threats, Killer.' The laughter continued, and the buzzing in his head worsened.
If he didn't know any better—
"You're in my…head," he whispered. The sudden realization nauseated him.
'How perceptive,' the mysterious voice hissed, 'Or is your mind playing tricks on you, Killer?'
"Stop calling me that! My name is Mr. Zsasz, and you would do well to remember it—"
'Ah yes. The famous Mr. Zsasz. One hour ago you did not remember your own name.'
Zsasz stopped, and his blood practically turned to ice. "Do you mean to say that this dizziness, these memories from nowhere… The way I cannot seem to remember anything! Is your fault!"
A long pause, and then the voice spoke with sinister delight. 'I suggest you return to the ship you left. Someone will be by to take care of you.'
He flinched. White-hot pain exploded in his head. The boat… He was pitching with the waves, hiding in the cargo hold, seasick, praying that the men in black did not catch up— He gasped for air. As the haziness faded from his eyes, he glared at the nothingness in front of him, clenching his fists in anger. The memory had been drawn from him, as if a long-shut door had been cut open by a burning poker. He knew how he got here now…
"You cannot fool me!" he sneered. "I am not so simple. You either work for them, or you're just a symptom of some sort of insanity I have. Since when do I listen to voices in my head—AAH!"
A flash of two coffins, his parents—he knew they were his mother and father. His head, bowed and crying, superimposed with a wrecked boat, oh the images rent his brains. And a bridge. A great and terrible bridge—
Why were these coming to him now? What was happening to him?!
The Voice was still talking, still mocking him.
'And how do you know I am not an angel, sent to protect you in this cruel world?'
"You're not real." Cold anger seeped into Mr. Zsasz's voice. "You're playing games with me."
'Hardly. I needn't play games with you…Killer.'
"I- already- told you- not- to call me Killer!" Zsasz gritted. "Do you think I am foolish enough to take orders from you when you would as soon lead me into the lion's maw?"
'You are alone, in a place you do not remember,' The Voice gloated. 'You are helpless.'
"In case you didn't notice, I am very handy with a knife…" A sickening thought occurred to him. "Or is my recent murder spree your doing as well?"
'Believe it or not, the capacity to murder has always been in your bones. You have a purpose to fulfill. I merely make certain you are fulfilling it to my wishes.'
"I do not follow anyone's endeavors but my own!"
There was a long pause, and then The Voice sighed with satisfaction. 'Very good. You're beginning to sound like your old self again, Victor Zsasz!' The Voice hissed out the syllables of his last name. 'Now pick up your blade and follow my directions. I will not ask you to return to the ship at this time, but I will help you realize your purpose.'
"My purpose? Of killing?"
'You are meant to slaughter the whole world. I will guide you. It was always your purpose, your destiny. You will make the world a better place.'
Zsasz picked up the knife. His eyes shone grey in the moonlight.
If I ignore The Voice, it might drive me crazier. It might make me slaughter more people! But if I listen for now, then maybe I can learn more and…escape somehow… From whoever is following me. I know The Voice must be connected—
He stopped dead, horror dawning on him.
"Oh no." He bit his lip as the memory, only a glimpse before, came flooding out in full relief.
There was someone here. Someone was looking for him.
A flash of black, a cape against the night. Gauntlets made of black steel, dark grey armor. A face hidden in shadows with terrifying eyes…
Zsasz saw himself dangling, choking from the mighty iron grasp of a monster. He clutched at the gauntlets, trying desperately to free himself. The nightmarish face loomed before him. A deep voice, like thunder: "Victor Zsasz!"
"In the flesh, Batman!" he heard himself reply, and then blackness overtook him—
"Batman!" Instinctively he whipped out a second knife and glared into the darkness, fear and hatred coursing through his veins. The shadow following me is… Batman!
"So you're the one," he growled angrily. "You're the one I cannot escape! I remember you perfectly, Batman, how could I ever forget?! IS THAT YOU?! Are you the one playing games in my head?!" He waited, teeth clenched, to hear the answer.
'I am not…him,' The Voice replied with a solemnity that surprised Mr. Zsasz. He knew immediately that The Voice was telling the truth. 'Though I find it interesting that you have now remembered him. Tell me, Victor Zsasz – are you afraid of him?'
"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "I felt afraid for a moment when I imagined him…" He's the one who wants to take me back to imprisonment. "I mean, shouldn't I be?"
The Voice chuckled softly. 'Of course you should.'
The knife in his hand felt…comfortable. He wished he could find the source of The Voice, so he could slit its owner's throat…not to mention the Batman. I must be a murderer after all. The thought of killing again is… too easy.
With a rapidly growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, Zsasz walked into the night, silently listening to the voice in his head.
-/-/-/-/-
-0-
Translations:
* "Shomen ni rei" = "Bow to the front"
* "Kiotsuke" = "Pay attention!"