A/N: Hi everyone! Unfortunately, due to some health issues, I might not be able to update as frequently as I usually do. And there might be more errors in my writing, as I'm having a lot more trouble being coherent lately. I'll try to catch them anyway. I apologize in advance.
4S, yep, to be honest I feel kinda sorry for Zsasz and Ivy. Zsasz was driven mad(der than he already was) and Ivy just wanted to save her plants. Rā's was not kind to them...
Enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Or Zsasz. Too bad. :P
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Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
-Chapter Seventeen: MEMENTOS-
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The car ride home was beyond awkward.
"Why did you come out tonight, Selina? You know it's risky for us to be seen together."
"You're right! It's not as if in all our years we've ever worked together before or anything like that! It's not as if we met on the job! What will the criminal paparazzi think?!"
"You know what I mean! You're married to Bruce Wayne, if anyone ever put the connection together…"
"You think that Batman is the only one with enemies? I have just as many as you do, big guy, and we knew these risks when we—"
Batman sighed. "Enough. I get it. I know what we discussed already. It's just, we need to talk about these things before they happen."
"We do talk about them. It always goes the same way: 'hey Bruce, need my help tonight?', 'No, be a good stay-at-home mother and keep out of the Batcave!'."
"You exaggerate."
"Hardly."
They remained silent for several minutes, both pouting and staring out the windows of the Batmobile.
Selina sighed. "Aren't you going to at least ask me what I did today, before I met up with you?"
Batman rolled his eyes, clearly not wanting to play 'happy couples' at the moment. "Another successful meeting?"
"Not today. I have a surprise for you, darling, back at the Batcave actually..."
Batman eyed her but decided not to press the issue. Whatever it was, he would see soon enough.
"I can't believe this…"
"Which part?"
"The part about you being able to organize all of this, and right under my nose! Selina..."
Selina quietly watched as her husband took in the Batcave. Upon first glance, nothing looked out of the ordinary. The Batwing, Batboat, Batmobile, Batcomputer… everything was in its place. Selina's touch was subtle, and Batman found himself in awe of this woman once again.
Selina had turned part of the massive Batcave into a proper gallery.
"I found all your old trophies while I was dusting down here." Batman knew "dusting" was code for snooping but let her continue. "It was a shame to see them all kept so haphazardly. I know… that in many ways, the Rogues are your true family, Batman… I thought…"
Batman stepped around her to look more closely at the displays.
The first thing he saw was a Scarface doll. But there was something special about this one… it was painted to look like a mini Joker. He remembered; this was one of the ones Mugsy Binks had made for Joker to curry favor with him.
On the wall next to Joker-Scarface was one of Mr. Freeze's guns… An operational one. Batman discretely looked around his cave to see if anything had "mysteriously" been frozen. Nope. The kitty wasn't too curious, then.
A few things had always been inside the Batcave - the T-Rex, the giant penny, the oversized playing card, to name a few. But countless other trinkets and trophies had gone from his adventures straight into the closet, occasionally falling off the shelves. He'd just never had the time to organize them.
There was a jeweler's display case further along, with six individual sections. The first one contained Two-Face's original scarred coin; he'd lost it years ago and had it replaced. The second contained one of Deadshot's custom-made bullets, his name delicately engraved into the metal. The third had a tube of Poison Ivy's infamous lipstick. Batman hadn't had that one; Selina must have procured it herself.
The fourth one made Batman catch his breath a little, even though it was from his own collection. Delicately, like a ring being presented, sat one of Joker's joy buzzers. The knowledge that the Clown Prince of Crime might someday wear his joy buzzer again, might someday terrorize and murder again, made what he had learned earlier tonight all the more real. What was he going to do?
The fifth section contained Zsasz's special gambling chips and dice. The sixth held a container of Renuyu.
Batman's eyes swept the walls, all the cases that hung there, all the mementos. One of Penguin's umbrellas, Ratcatcher's equipment, the special cowl the Mad Hatter had made him wear, two Riddler trophies - one pink and one green, one of Calendar Man's yearlong calendars, one of Firefly's flamethrowers, Harley's mallet, even a Voice of Arkham tablet! One wall held the blueprints for Arkham City.
"I thought those had been destroyed by Two-Face."
"He did destroy them. I got the memory card back and printed off another copy. Just for old times' sake."
Batman nodded, turning to another wall, one containing a macabre-looking case with some of Killer Croc's teeth, one of Bane's original masks, and a wall full of Hush articles.
"You know… this is my first time trying to make a museum display case instead of rob one…"
"How did you get all these artifacts?" Batman cut in. Some of them were ones that he hadn't collected. "Did you rob Arkham or something?"
"…Maybe," Catwoman said sheepishly.
"Selina," he chided her, but his eyes remained on the displays, impressed.
He stopped as he saw the display case with Deathstroke's sword in it. A second sword had been added to it.
He gazed solemnly at the scimitar, at the shape and design of the handle especially, before turning to Catwoman.
It hadn't been easy for Selina to retrieve the huge blade. When the Monarch Theatre had collapsed, mostly thanks to Joker's explosions, the descent into the former Lazarus Pit had been extremely unstable. Everything had been blackened and covered with ash and clay. Catwoman had managed to find the sword though – the one Batman had used to battle Clayface. The same one Talia had held just before she was killed.
"Now he's back," Catwoman said softly. "Maybe they both are. Did you know? Did you have any idea this was happening?"
Batman looked away guiltily.
"You did know," Selina's voice stayed gentle, but a firmness crept into it. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He was silent. What could he possibly have said to her? That Rā's and Talia might be back? That his ex-girlfriend and once love of his life might have returned? That it tore him up to remember what had happened, and that he might have to fight them both to save the world once again? He couldn't share with her the way his gut tightened, the way he had the feeling even now that there was something more at work here. That he knew somehow that once again, it would be personal.
His wife stared at him, waiting silently for him to answer her. Her eyes dropped when he didn't.
"I only have one thing left to show you, Batman…" Selina said softly. He wondered if it would be her back, her rejection. She turned away and led him to a deeper corner of the Batcave. On their way, they passed by the outfit displays – Batman's eyes caught on something. There were two new cases – Catwoman had added two costumes. Hers. The first was her original grey and black costume, and the second one was her purple costume, the one she had worn during the Holiday case. For Selina to put her costumes in there, next to the Robins and Batgirls of the past… It meant that she considered herself in the same class. It meant that she finally truly saw herself a member of the Bat Family.
Batman was speechless.
Selina had stopped by a thin crevice. It looked almost like a narrow doorway. She slipped in. A moment later, a light turned on inside.
Batman shimmied in after her.
It was clear she had saved the best for last. The Grey Ghost's original costume was in the center of the display. All around was his memorabilia – one of the toy cars from the Mad Bomber episode, a model of the Grey Ghost's cave, the one he had based his own Batcave on. An entire half of the little room contained shelves of old reels – every single episode of the Grey Ghost's series.
The kindly old Simon Trent had died last year. Bruce Wayne and Batman both had mourned him very deeply; just as Thomas Wayne was Bruce Wayne's father, in a way, the Grey Ghost had been Batman's. He had been his role model growing up, and a true kindred spirit.
Batman breathed in slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn't break right now. Not with all the things that were on his mind to figure out. But he needed to thank the extraordinary woman in front of him for all she had done.
"Selina—"
"I think I should leave you alone now, Bruce," she said in the same level tone. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Couldn't she see he was trying?
No. No, of course not. This was something he would have to solve for himself. Just like always.
She left without a word, and for all his insightfulness, Batman failed to realize how hard Catwoman had been trying too.
Nighttime over Gotham. Or dusk, rather, though it was hard to tell through the storm clouds.
Zsasz stood on the Aparo Expressway looking out at the city. Gasoline and exhaust soaked the air, and in the distance, skyscrapers blinked through the clouds of soot and ice. No matter how hard the rain scrubbed, it never made the city any cleaner.
The rain was heavy on his shoulders. Thunder crashed overhead. If Maximilian Zeus were here…
HONK!
"An impatient piggy makes their opinion known," Zsasz mused sardonically to himself. "Let's see if any of the other piggies care…" Sure enough, a moment later another car responded, then another, the drivers lost in a sea of lights that stretched endlessly beneath the weeping sky. The freeway was crowded; the zombies in their cars had been waiting for 20 minutes, with barely an inch forward. There must an accident somewhere, surely, otherwise they wouldn't be sitting and honking and impatiently waiting to hurry to absolutely nowhere. What was it about owning a car that made these zombies feel they had greater purpose? A greater destination, accessible only with four wheels and an endless supply of fuel? Had these dreams of theirs been so unattainable before? Or was the possession of their car part of the dream, a physical manifestation of freedom?
Zsasz knew freedom. He was freedom; ever since his higher purpose had been revealed to him 15 years ago, he had found that there was nowhere he could not go, nothing he couldn't do… Until the last three years, but those were exceptional times. And right now, standing in the rain on a crowded, depressing freeway, derelict and cast away, he rejoiced once again in his liberation.
No one would think to look for him here, hidden as he was in plain view. It was all too common for the bums of Gotham to crawl along these thoroughfares, unable to afford simple bus fare. No one looked twice at a poor person; the poor were invisible, unthreatening.
Oh, these piggies thought that their metal death boxes would protect them from the world… No. In fact, their illusion of safety only made them more vulnerable to a predator such as himself.
He smiled under his hood at the zombies. It would be so easy to simply walk up to a car, break through the fragile window, and cut a zombie right then. No need to pose them; the seatbelt would do it well enough for him. Oh, imagine the panic if it weren't an accident causing the jam on the freeway, but rather an "on purpose".
...But if he did that, the Batman would get him. Batman must be on high alert since his and Poison Ivy's escape from right under their noses. It would behoove Zsasz to lay low for a few days… Or at least make his kills in a more concealed location.
Oh, but these piggies were just waiting to be slaughtered, sitting neatly in their cars all lined up for the butcher's knife!
He saw an overweight man inside a Volkswagen, cigar smoke all around him. How could he even drive with all that smoke? Then again, perhaps that was the point - the man wished to be blind to his own destiny. In a smaller trendier car was a girl with a pad of paper on her lap. He could see the sketches of a bird. An artist. He pictured capturing her, forcing her to draw depraved violence before he killed her. His mind flashed back to that aspiring artist Mr. Carpenter… he'd done a similar thing to him, once upon a time.
In a red car, there was a middle-aged woman, and in the passenger seat a younger woman, a student perhaps. They were yelling about something, maybe the papers on the young woman's lap. Ahh, a domestic fight over homework. The mother was pointing impatiently at the papers, and the teenaged daughter threw up her hands, scattering the pages onto her feet. The older woman gave her a stern look and said something that caused the young woman's eyes to fill with tears. Reluctantly, she began to pick up the papers.
Zsasz knew that they would repeat this exact scene tomorrow, and the next day, until Christmas Break, where they might or might not have a good holiday depending on how much family drama was on the menu… And then they would go right back to the same fight day in, day out, until the girl graduated and finished her studies… And someday she would marry and have children of her own and repeat the exact same cycle from the other end. Meanwhile the mother would grow older and greyer, until finally her child left the home, and in a few years time she would have grandchildren, growing older and older, while her husband sought younger and younger women as pasttimes. She would die eventually, having given her whole life for others' needs, never living her own dreams.
And endless loop of misery.
"Life and death are the same thread," he absently quoted Lao Tzu, "viewed from different ends."
He spoke louder, as if the women inside the warm stationwagon could hear his words:
"You are already dead! You just don't know it yet."
This would be a perfect place to preach his great sermon, to grant salvation, like the ascent from the mountain. He could see the headlines in the papers: Ascension on Aparo Expressway! He looked down at the slums below, the miserable houses, the freeway raised above them. He smiled in ecstasy, imagining a river of red running down the freeway and pouring onto the ghetto below. He could look everywhere and see a sea of slaughtered piggies in their cars – oh, what glorious imaginings! He could carve out their throats—
His thoughts trailed off as he stared back at the glittering city. Even in fog… it was beautiful. His home.
Zsasz leaned on the railing and stared out at the sea. The rush of the cars was loud in his ears but when he really concentrated, he could hear the lapping of the waves from Gotham Bay.
He could see his bridge twinkling, almost hidden by the buildings in between. The Sprang Bridge was lower than the Aparo Expressway, but it still towered above the water. A fall from this height could kill a man.
It had.
Him.
Arkham Island rose out of the Bay, a shadow. Zsasz pictured himself drifting the long distance between the Sprang Bridge and there.
Had his body floated out unseen when he died? Had he gone under? Was he intact when he washed upon the shores of Arkham Island, cold and dead, only to be salvaged by Rā's al Ghūl, or so he said? He did not want to imagine. What had the crazy old man seen when he stared down at Zsasz? Had he seen a mere tool, a slave for him to use, indebted to him for saving his life? Or worse… had he seen someone weak? Someone who could easily become his…
Victim.
That was what Danielle had called him the other night… a victim.
Zsasz's skin prickled, and he realized that the left side of his face was twitching.
Eyes narrowing, he stared balefully out at Arkham Island, as the lighthouse gleamed round and round.
I wish that madman had never found me.
.
.
.
The first thing he senses, is that he possesses consciousness.
Coldness. Darkness. So deep in that he cannot escape.
Time passes quietly, frozen. Oblivious.
A burning through the darkness. As if his body is alit with a thousand flames. He groans.
Green fills his vision. Burning through his retinas. Green lightning all around. Every nerve in his body screams. Is he dying?
No. No, it's worse than that.
He is alive now.
Danielle? The thought is slow to come, and yet she is the first thing he thinks of. Is she here?
He coughs, liquid filling his mouth. But instead of choking to death, the liquid burns his throat and fills his veins, as if gasoline instead of blood were running through them.
He throws back his head, screams renting the air. He has never, never felt so alive—
When he returns to consciousness he is lying on his back. But he cannot get up. Cuffs bind him to the ground. He is shirtless, staring at a cold cavernous ceiling. Rock, maybe.
Where is Danielle? He vaguely remembers that she did not fall with him. She was saved. And miraculously, it seems so was he… He is alive. That means they can be together! As long as she hasn't committed suicide… he must find her quickly! Hopefully, Zsasz turns his head in desperate search for his alive girl—
Ten, maybe twelve people!
Zsasz's heart thunders. He is surrounded! His muscles bunch and ripple, but he cannot move.
They all have swords, and he is at their mercy!
The thought fills the Butcher with cold, murderous rage.
They are not moving to attack, but he can sense they are at the ready. What are they waiting for?
If he gets free for even an instant—
Slow footsteps. Zsasz cranes his head to see. Black boots, black silken pants.
The footsteps pass him. Zsasz can see a head of black hair, a white skunk stripe near the ear. All the lieutenants raise their swords in respect as the man passes by. Zsasz tries to calm his breathing and slow his heart. The man finally stops.
As Zsasz waits, dying of anticipation, all thoughts of his alive girl gone and focusing only on survival, the man begins to speak—
.
.
.
SCREEECH!
Quick reflexes came to his aide. He jumped back, and a sedan crashed into the piling where he had been standing instants before.
A knife was instantly in his hand.
He shook his head, disoriented, trying to return to the present.
A head of brown hair popped out of the driver's side. A skittish looking young man, with glasses that magnified the bags under his eyes. He looked a great deal like Danielle's student Theodore… But not the same man. Still, Zsasz's hand trembled with anticipation.
"I'm so sorry!" the guy yelled. "You OK? I just lost control, I didn't know the ice was so thick there! Are you alright, man?"
Zsasz contemplated for a long moment. He was fine, of course. It took more than a slip of the wheel to kill a serial killer. But this little piggy's eyes shone with fear, and the fear was savory sweet. He could do it. The knife itched in his hand, though the piggy didn't notice…
"I'm alright," Zsasz called back, flashing a winning smile. The hoodie hid the lone scar on his forehead well. There was no obvious clue pointing to who he was; he was safe.
"I'm so sorry! You're not going to sue me, are you?"
"No. You have nothing to worry about, Mr.-?"
"Ian Berger, and you are-?"
"Victor."
"Victor," the man came over to shake his hand. "Here's my card, just in case." He gave Zsasz a piece of paper, then he hastily got back into his car, trying to start it. From the looks of it, he would need a tow truck and in this weather and traffic jam, help would be slow to come…
Zsasz looked at the card with a smirk... and pocketed it. He would get him later. After all, he practically had an invitation now.
He continued walking along the Aparo Expressway, his thoughts returning to the previous matter. He really would have to do something about Rā's al Ghūl. And he'd need to make sure he didn't die this time… Though he supposed if he killed Rā's, he'd have the Lazarus Pits all to himself. It didn't matter either way. He savored mortality. It was all that really mattered in the world.
Yes. He would find Rā's and carve off his head. He wouldn't pose him – he would dismember him and hide the pieces of his body so far apart that his legions could never resurrect him. And the same would go for Talia. He gritted his teeth. He could see her smirk, her sword at his throat-
Talia's face morphed into another brunette's. One with dark intense brown eyes, a feisty smile, scars slashing from forehead to cheek and across her nose…
"Ahh, Danielle… I found you again after all, against all odds."
Zsasz's shrill laughter rang out in the wind. Finally, he stepped off the other side of the Expressway and down into the populous streets. The smile, whimsical and crazy, never left his face.
Once he finished with Rā's, he could get on with his life. And this time, Danielle would be part of it.
"I will show her that I am not a victim." His whisper was drowned out in the rain. "You called me out of my name, Alive Girl. I am not a victim. I am a savior. I am the Butcher."
Rā's had called him Killer.
Zsasz shivered against the cold - the sun had set behind the storm clouds and Gotham was plunging further into the night. It hadn't always been so dark in Rā's world, he idly realized. In fact, there had been times of great light. They had traveled the entire planet, seeing so many different places and people, more than Zsasz had ever seen before in his life. And of course, as a servant of the Great Rā's al Ghūl, Zsasz had earned his nickname many times over.
It had taken him three years, but he had escaped from Rā's cage. He was not Rā's victim. Even when the Penguin had cheated him out of his money, even when that disgusting midget had imprisoned him in his torture museum, he had broken out and gotten free. He was not Penguin's victim. And even when Batman had locked him inside of one of his own cages in the Industrial District...
"My name is not Victim. My name is Victor."
No one would ever convince him otherwise.
He was Victor. And bereft as he was, Victor kept trophies of his past victims. His marks.
His mementos had been taken from him. It was time to get them all back. It was time to remake the marks and resurrect his temple. Show the world who he really was.
He smiled, feeling warm suddenly. "Looks like my Monday tomorrow might not be so mundane after all…"
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