CHAPTER 4

At that same moment, half a city away, the Batmobile was situated near yet another probable hideout, as Batman, having already forced back the aches and pains caused by the same mysterious, hovering shadow-figure who had attacked Superman, proceeded to make a discrete ground floor entrance using tools carried in his yellow Bat-belt.

Batman thought, No need in taking another chance using a backup Batarang with this unknown menace flying around out there just waiting to take me down again. Maybe permanently. I may have missed my chance with Penguin and his hoods, but I still have a chance to stop…

"Hey, uh, Riddler, uh, how's come we ain't hittin' no more banks tonight?" asked a very large, very dimwitted, hood with a shaved scalp sporting a tattoo of the vicious Sydney funnel web spider brandishing its huge dripping-with-venom fangs. "I mean, uh…it's still dark out. And, uh, I thought ya said you heard that the, uh, Penguin took care of the, uh, Batman."

"What is more powerful than God, eviler than the Devil, the poor have, the rich need, and if you eat it you die?" asked the Riddler, an overly gregarious grin of imperfect teeth firmly planted on his too-lean features.

"Uhhh," said the hulking thug, scratching the spider tattoo atop his hairless head, "I, uh, give up, Riddler. What?"

"Nothing!" spat Riddler, his grin melting into a scorching scowl and laser-like glare. "Which is exactly your worth to me. Nothing! Now…unless you want to learn the riddle of your eventual departure from this life…shut the hell up!"

"Y-yes, b-boss," said a clearly shaken henchman, backing away from the green-clad man who was a giant when it came to ingenious criminal minds. "S-sorry."

"Now, and this goes for all of you, until we know for sure whether or not my old 'friend', Penguin, has managed to kill that bothersome, repulsively do-gooder, stinking piece of guano," said Riddler with a snarl, just as his words were choked off by his hatred for the Dark Knight and his jealous displeasure of any other super-criminal defeating Batman colliding within a mind too brilliant for its own good.

"Careful, Nygma, you might hurt my feelings," said a husky voice from somewhere in the shadows of the warehouse hideout.

"Batman!" said Riddler with nauseating disdain while looking about the vast, dimly illuminated interior. His thugs quickly snatching up firearms in preparation for doing what, apparently, Penguin and his group could not. "Nice to see you're still a worthy adversary, Bats. Up for a new riddle from yours truly?"

"First things first, Riddler," said the loudly whispered voice of the Caped Crusader, taking full advantage of the darkness dominating the corners of the supposedly deserted warehouse. Hmph. Aren't they all?

Before Batman could be seen and almost before his movements could be heard, a Batarang whistled through the semi-darkness to slam hard into the jaw of the larger, dumber thug, even as he fired his Springfield PDP Defender handgun repeatedly, sending .45 slugs tearing through wall and roof before falling.

Before anyone in Riddler's group, ducking in regards to their larger member's haphazardly fired pistol, could recover from that first attack, Batman struck in a much more personal manner. Using Bat-gloved fists and Bat-booted feet as only he could.

In the time it took Riddler to realize what was happening and how it related to his own continued freedom, Batman had swiftly, as well as stealthily via the shadowy fringes, taken out some of the best criminal goons in Gotham City. It was now time for…

"Riddler, let's make this easy on both of us," said Batman wearily, as he stuck to the shadows night had cast about the broader regions inside the massive warehouse. "Give up."

"Riddle me this, Batman," said Riddler with a semi-insane cackle while quickly moving to stand near a black aluminum carrying case. "A woman shoots her husband, holds him under water for five minutes, then hangs him. Later they go out for a nice dinner. How can this be?"

"You disappoint me, Edward," said Batman with a heavy sigh, as he prepared to rush his green-suited adversary, who, at that very moment, was opening the black case. "I would've expected something more ingenious from you. The woman's a photographer. She shot her husband with a camera, then proceeded to follow standard darkroom activities to develop the film and produce a glossy picture to frame and hang."

"As a matter of fact, Batman, I am still quite 'ingenious'," said Riddler with a snigger as he quickly pulled a sinister firearm from within the cushioned confines of the case, making certain to lock-and-load before drawing down on his point-eared archenemy. "While you were busy listening to and solving the kind of riddle most might puzzle over for more minutes than you or me, I was getting this full auto 'pistol' from its protective carrying case. Some four-star general was kind enough to give it to me. Heh, heheheheheh, heh!"

"The Calico M950," said Batman under his breath as sudden recognition combined with remembrance of an earlier meeting as Bruce Wayne in regards to a new high-velocity automatic handgun for military use.

Suddenly, time seemed to freeze for the billionaire beneath the cowl and cape. Seconds suddenly stretched to near-infinity. A board of director's meeting that had taken place earlier in the day, between Bruce Wayne, still weary from lack of sleep, and a general, that involved Wayne Enterprises' military contracts.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne, this is indeed a pleasure," said the military officer with the nearly white hair, cut close, and a face touched by both time and the experience of several wars. His hand was swiftly extended to back up the good-natured smile. His dress uniform's shoulders bore four silver stars on the shoulders with a veritable rainbow of chest ribbons above the left breast pocket whereupon other military medals had been pinned. Bruce hadn't enough remaining mental energy, having been up for days as Bruce Wayne and nights as Batman, to fully recognize what they were for.

"The pleasure is all mine, General McGary. You're a real hero, sir," said Bruce, though he was dying to yawn and force more oxygen into a sorely overtaxed brain. After the brief-but-heartfelt handshake, Bruce gestured toward a seat at the long table just for the general while Bruce returned to his own at the table's head. "I understand you want us to look into mass producing one of the newer auto handgun designs for the Army, General McGary?"

"Marines, too," added General McGary with a nod. "And, please, Mr. Wayne, call me Wyatt. Can I call you Bruce?"

"Of course, Wyatt. Please…proceed."

Taking out of a black aluminum case, the same as was now in Riddler's possession, the general took out the weapon while rattling off specifics, "Here we have the Calico M950, 356 millimeters in length with a 152 millimeter long rifled barrel, 6 grooves right-hand twist. This rather unique top-mounted spiral-feed magazine holds up to 100 rounds of 9mm Parabellum bullets for improved rapid-feed action. A one-handed full auto weapon not to be taken for granted, Bruce. Not by any enemy soldier."

And neither, it seemed, by Batman.

"Say 'nighty-night', Bats," laughed Riddler even as he squeezed the trigger of the science-fiction looking weapon which hurled science fact 9 mils at the Dark Knight too rapidly for even his training to completely avoid. The best the Caped Crusader could do was tuck his chin and cover up…

"Uhnnngggg!"

…as the hail of bullets impacted with dozens of points along the bulletproof-padded blue-gray costume. None penetrated, but all expended enough force, especially at such a ridiculously close range, to bruise not just skin, but underlying muscle and soft tissue.

Batman's former pain from his last unfortunate encounter, with an unknown hovering in the air, came back with a vengeance as it was joined by these new bullet-created indignities. Needless to say, Batman was sent crashing back into a nearby desk which the force of his fall easily rendered into kindling.

"Uhn," grunted Batman through tightly clenched teeth, even as the maniacally chortling Riddler quickly reloaded and re-cocked his stolen firearm while moving in for the kill.

If only Riddler could manage to contain his manic desire for riddles long enough to aim at Batman's exposed face and squeeze…

"Dammit!" said Riddler, angry at himself, as his gun hand shook and sweat beaded on his sulky brow. The temptation was simply too great. "One last riddle, Batman, before you die: I'm as small as an ant, as big as a whale. I'll approach like a breeze, but can come like a gale. Of names, I have many, of names, I have one. I'm as slow as a snail, but from me you can't run. What am I?"

Batman knew Riddler wouldn't kill him until the Dark Knight had at least attempted a reply, so he used that all-too-brief pause to force painful sensations out of his forethought and, instead, regain command over his trained, though tortured, body. He knew he couldn't reach for anything in his Bat-belt or Riddler would panic and open fire. It would take only one 9mm bullet impacting with the unprotected portion of his face to do what the dozens of other bullets that had hit him moments before could not.

Kill the Batman.

"That…is a very good riddle, Nygma. Definitely one of your best," Batman said, making sure that his blatant patronization of the psychotic super-criminal was not completely obvious. All the while gradually shifting his prone body's weight onto his side and inconspicuously coiling his legs' strength-trained muscles.

"Time's almost up, Batty," said Riddler with the impending delight of someone about to accomplish a life's dream: the murderous removal of the caped scourge of the underworld. "Give up? I am a…"

Before Riddler could finish, Batman shot out with his Bat-booted feet with more than enough force to knock those of his archenemy from beneath his slender frame which, in turn, sent Riddler pitching forward, simultaneously releasing his grip on the cocked, locked, and ready-to-rock Calico M950.

By the time Riddler landed face-first onto the dirty warehouse floor, Batman had rolled to his feet in a fashion that, outwardly, seemed to say he had successfully dominated his pain while, inwardly, every muscle screamed in unappeased agony. I'll let out a scream once I've finished and gotten back to the Batmobile.

"The answer, Riddler, is: I am a shadow."

Batman pulled Bat-PlastiCuffs from one of the many compartment pouches on his famous Bat-belt, with which he would secure Riddler before using his Bat-cell to contact the police in regards to arresting the lot of them. At that moment, the thug with the Sydney funnel-web spider tattoo atop shaved head had regained consciousness. He was about to surreptitiously fire whatever ammo remained in his Springfield PDP Defender square into the back of the Caped Crusader's head from less than a foot away.

The .45 shells wouldn't penetrate the indigo cowl, but the power of their impacts would cause more than enough pain to overwhelm the man beneath long enough to see Batman exposed…then slaughtered.

Even as a huge gold-toothed grin formed on the larger, dumber hood, and as he daydreamed of himself being hailed a hero by the entire underworld for killing the Batman, someone else in that warehouse's night-cast shadows had other plans. And implemented them with extreme prejudice.

"Gyiiiiiiiiii!"

No sooner had Batman spun in the direction of that soul-wrenching screech of pain-beyond-pain, than he saw the large thug being electrocuted on the spot by a lightning bolt coruscating out from the very same shadows that had concealed his own intrusion into the warehouse hideout of the Riddler. Then, as it promptly ceased, a burnt-to-a-crisp hoodlum, very much dead, dropped to the floor to shatter like a dried-out mummy.

"Ashes to ashes, Batman," said the voice, the same one the Dark Knight remembered from the alleyway outside Penguin's hideout. "Isn't that what your people say?"

Batman thought, 'Your people'? Why did he put it like that? Got to keep him talking. Get him out into the open so I can act.

"I'm afraid I'm a little confused. When I was trying to capture Penguin and his men, you caused me to fail…and fall. Not just down to the alley below, but into their possession. And now, here, you stop a criminal about to ambush me. Who's side are you on? More importantly…who are you?"

In answer, an imposing figure moved out of the shadows. The same hulking figure that had hovered next to a dangling via Batarang-secured line Dark Knight earlier. The same hulking figure that, unknown to Batman, had sent Green Kryptonite dust into the lungs of the Man of Steel not long after. The same hulking figure that, Batman assumed, had liberated the super-criminals as well as others from Arkham Asylum a week earlier. Which had been the reason the Caped Crimefighter had not had any sleep for the past several days.

As bone-tired and pain-racked as Batman was, nothing compared to the shock of what he now beheld standing in the same dim lighting as himself.

"Oh…my…God," said Batman with a slow gasp and eyes widening within the depths of his indigo cowl. "This is…impossible."

"Yes," said the sneering super-villain, "both the Joker and Lex Luthor said you and Superman would react in such a way. Allow me to introduce myself. My real name is Xan. I am not from your world. Your reality. I have been transformed into…what was it Luthor called me?…ah, yes: Composite Superman!"

With that, the green-skinned being, literally half-Superman and half-Batman, not only in merged caped costumes, but in bodily build, stood in arm-folded defiance. Worse, his super-powers apparently exceeded Superman's. Something which Composite Superman was quick to demonstrate again as Batman reached for something, anything, offensive from within his Bat-belt.

"No!"

No sooner had Composite Superman's half-cowled face said that amidst a vicious scowl than his arms, one Superman arm and the other Batman, literally stretched out like living rubber bands so that impossibly expanded hands wrapped themselves tightly about the helplessly struggling Dark Knight.

Fight against the super-grip as Batman could, it quickly became clear that superhuman strength, at least on par with Superman's, was being employed within those super-stretched, wraparound hands. Which meant that one possibility from Batman's past had not become resurrected.

"You're not Clayface," said Batman with a pained grunt.

"No, Batman, I'm not. As I said, I'm not from this world or reality. But, thanks to Lex Luthor's scientific devices, developed by LexCorp, as well as the Joker's deliciously diabolical plans…more diabolical than even Lex Luthor!…I was able to become far more than what I was. Far more than what you or Superman, separately or combined, could hope to be. And when I'm through…I will not only become an all-powerful overlord of crime and humanity…I will finally have…my revenge!"

END OF CHAPTER 4