After a longer wait than I would have liked, here's Chapter 5! This one took a long time because of deadlines, computer problems, and because it was hard to write. It has an unusual take on Scarecrow, I think, and is a bit darker than previous chapters. Anyway, R&R – let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I do not own any DC characters. Rating is for possible disturbing content.
Dream Knight
Chapter 6: Duality
To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these — the dreams — writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away — they have endured but an instant — and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever...
- Edgar Allan Poe,
"The Masque of the Red Death"
Bang. Bang.
Martha falls to the street, followed by Thomas. The boy in the suit watches wordlessly as blood begins to pool beneath them. When he looks up, the man with the wild eyes is pointing a gun at him. It shakes uncontrollably.
He feels like he has witnessed this scene a thousand times, and the visceral terror the boy may once have felt has ebbed, leaving only a dull heartache. Blankly, he stares at the man with a level gaze. The murderer cannot meet his eye, but mutters something and vanishes into the night.
"Bruce!" a woman's voice calls. His heart skips a beat. Could it be different this time? he wonders, rushing to his mother's side. But there is only the red stickiness of her lifeblood as it pools upon the pavement.
***
"Bruce!"
He opens his eyes and finds himself in the back of Oswald Cobblepot's carriage, staring into Selina's eyes.
She smiles. "You seemed kind of far away for a minute."
Perplexed, he says, "I must have nodded off. I was dreaming."
"We were just talking a minute ago." Her brow knits in confusion. "What did you dream about?"
He frowns. "It was the same dream I always have. I was in a city of shadows, and there was a boy... I think he might have been me." Insight passes over him momentarily. "And there was a man with a gun!"
"A gun? What do you mean?"
He grasps at the memories of the dream, but they are gone. "I don't know."
The carriage slows and stops, and the door opens. "Alright, kiddies, we're here," announces Cobblepot.
They climb out of the carriage into a narrow, poorly-lit city street. Darkly coloured buildings are packed together on both sides of the road. An ornate, Gothic building looms before them.
"This is the back door," Cobblepot tells them. "Go on in. Magistrate Dent knows you're coming."
"You aren't coming with us?" Bruce inquires, his eyes narrowed at the diminutive man.
"Um. No. I have things to do. Oswald Cobblepot, man about town, you know."
And he climbs back into the carriage. "Best of luck to you both! Selina, come see me again and we'll set up a date! And say hello to the magistrate for me – I hope he's in one of his good moods! Wak wak wak!" He laughs a bizarre, quacking laugh and drives his carriage down the road.
Bruce turns to Selina. "What are the chances that this is a trap?"
"It's a definite possibility. We should be on our guard."
She walks to the door. It opens, and they enter the building. The hallways are lit by ornate candelabra and the floor is covered by a fine red carpet.
"Strange that there are no guards anywhere," Bruce notes. Selina nods.
They reach a staircase and climb it cautiously. At the top of the stairs, there is a short hallway that opens into a lobby. The lobby is partially illuminated by a bright chandelier, but all of the candles on one side are extinguished, making one half of the room much darker than the other. At the centre of the room is a chessboard on a table, and a well-dressed man faces it, thinking. Seated in a chair nearby is a dark-haired, olive-skinned woman clad in a black cloak.
As they enter the room, the man turns to face them. Half of his finely chiselled face is hideously burned, and the withered skin is an unnatural shade of purple. The woman remains seated, regarding them coolly.
Selina's eyes are wide as she stares at Dent's scarred face, and she turns to Bruce and whispers, "He's changed."
"The Cat Woman and the Dream Knight," Dent smiles. The eye on the unscarred side of his face stares aimlessly as the other regards them with lethal focus. "Do come in and take a seat."
"Are you Harvey Dent?" Bruce asks the disfigured man suspiciously.
"Sometimes." He turns back to the chessboard. "I apologize, but I must take my turn in this game or I will be distracted. I think I can win, but my opponent is wily and has snatched victory from the jaws of defeat on more than one occasion."
There is a couch nearby, and Bruce and Selina sit in it. There are two sets of cushions on the couch, one black, the other white.
After a moment of silence, Dent moves a black knight.
"There," he says. "My opponent will take his turn within the next few days. I'm interested to see how he will get out of this." He turns to face them again. "Are you chess players, either of you?"
They shake their heads.
"I suggest you take it up. As would-be defenders of the peace, it is very helpful, since it teaches the brain to think strategically and plan several moves in advance." He pauses. "There are some who say that the advantage of white, in taking the first move, is enough that the best that black can hope for is a stalemate. I, however, beg to differ. I always play as black, and there have been times where I have won very decisively against white, even though he follows formal strategy flawlessly."
"Maybe that is his problem," Selina muses.
Dent smiles, and yellow teeth on his withered side show through his missing cheek. "I like to think so. While adherence to such strategies can confer great advantage, it also lends a certain predictability. As for myself, I am, of course, familiar with chess strategy, but I prefer to be unpredictable. I have even lost several games as a result, which infuriates my opponent to no end. He demands to know why I allow myself to lose, while simple adherence to formal strategy would grant me victory. But I like to remind him that he does not understand me nearly as well as I understand him, and this gives me an advantage in all aspects of our relationship."
Selina looks at Bruce, then says to Dent, "Harvey, we need your help against the Shadow King."
Dent leers at her. "I'm sorry, Miss Kyle, but the magistrate is not in today. You are speaking to Two-Face, lord of the Gotham underworld!"
Bruce darts to his feet. "Cobblepot betrayed us!"
"Not exactly," Dent grins. "He had no idea which of us you would meet. And as long as he received his payment, he didn't care." He turns to the seated woman. "Talia, would you escort our guests to the dungeon?"
"With pleasure," she says in a low, husky voice.
Suddenly, Bruce feels a blinding pain shoot through his arm. He looks down to see a black shuriken stuck in his forearm. Wincing, he tears it out.
Selina is on her feet now, her whip drawn. Talia faces her in a defensive stance, beckoning her to come forward. Reciting a mantra, Bruce draws a boomerang with his good arm and faces Talia as Two-Face watches with interest.
Suddenly, Talia hurls a handful of shuriken at them. Bruce dodges to the side, but Selina is struck in the leg. With blinding speed, Talia is upon them, landing a powerful kick to the side of Selina's head. She crumples to the ground.
Steadying his breathing to compartmentalize his rage and pain, Bruce faces Talia, allowing his qi to blend with hers. Talia approaches him in a defensive stance. She is an extremely well-trained warrior, he observes; her movements are disciplined and methodical, with no unnecessary energy spent. Beneath her cloak, he observes that she is wearing black armour identical to that of the assassins of the League of Shadows. Her face betrays no emotion.
Blood is dripping from his wounded arm. If I am to beat her, he thinks, it will have to be quick, before I lose too much blood. And he feints forward with his boomerang. She tenses, raising her gauntlets slightly, then draws back, glancing quickly at his wound.
He moves forward, slashing with his boomerang, which she deflects with her gauntlet. Immediately, he kicks at her stomach. In one movement, she dodges to the side and grabs his leg. Twisting it, she uses his momentum to pull him off his feet, and then pulls inward, crashing her knee into his face as he falls to the ground. Stunned and bloodied, he struggles to his feet, and then her arm is around his neck, cutting off his breathing.
The last thing he sees before blacking out is Dent watching him, grinning approvingly. Then he slips into the blackness of unconsciousness.
***
There is a boy standing over the bodies of his parents.
He watches as the boy sobs, touching their ruined bodies gingerly. Then he crosses the floor and takes the boy's hand.
The boy looks up to the broken tightropes and netting. He stares at the empty seats rising around them on all sides, so recently full of spectators whose faces were masks of terror at the tragedy unfolding before them. They both know that many of them were applauding inwardly, their lust to satisfy their basest desires sated in a way that the circus show never could.
He sees himself in the boy's eyes. He knows that the boy is frightened and angry now, and will struggle with this for his whole life. And he knows that if he can overcome these feelings, and temper them with an unquenchable thirst for justice, he might forge a meaning out of these meaningless events.
What can I do? the boy asks him, tears streaming down his face.
He pulls him to his feet and says: Come with me.
***
Consciousness returns to Bruce slowly, accompanied by shooting pain from his injuries. He realizes he is in a dank, grey cell, clad in his black tunic. He is not alone.
He turns, and a boy, probably sixteen, is slouched in the corner, clad in red. He has black hair, dark eyes, and a dark expression, holding his knees close to his chest. He sees Bruce stirring and lifts his head.
It is the boy from Bruce's dream. "I know you," he says.
The boy cocks his head. "I don't think so."
"Yes," Bruce says. "I was there at the circus."
A look of shock crosses the youth's face. "Who are you?"
"Some call me the Dream Knight. You can call me Bruce. What is your name?"
"Robin," the boy says. He pauses for a moment, then, "Why are you in here?"
"I'd been looking for Magistrate Dent's help. It didn't go the way I'd planned." His stomach clenches. "Where's Selina?"
"The woman they brought you here with? I think they put her in another of the cells." Robin furrows his brow. "You were looking for Dent's help? For what?"
"I've come to Gotham to defeat the Shadow King."
Robin smirks. "Really?"
Keeping his gaze level, Bruce says, "I am the crown prince of Gotham. The Shadow King is a usurper who killed my family. I will defeat him and restore peace to Gotham."
"Seriously?" Robin asks, his eyes wide, the smirk not completely gone.
It is so artificial to say, Bruce thinks. I am like an actor delivering a line he does not understand. But he continues, "Yes. My companion and I have journeyed here from the village of Arkham."
And he tells Robin of his amnesia, his first encounter with Selina, and his journey to the Oracle, and the bliss of Ivy's garden. He describes his trek through the mountains to meet Kal-el, his nightmarish experience in Crane's farm, and his ill-fated meeting with Magistrate Dent and the assassin Talia. Robin listens intently, incredulity etched upon his face.
"Wow," he finally says.
Bruce nods. "And unless we can get out of this dungeon, my journey ends here." He narrows his eyes. "What got you in here?"
"Nothing so impressive," Robin tells him. "I was a vigilante. I was on a one-man crusade to bring down Two-Face's criminal empire. To avenge my parents."
"He killed your parents?"
"Yes." Robin looks down, emotion creeping into his voice. "Weren't you there when they were murdered? You should know that."
"I was there..." Bruce begins, but the details of his dream elude him.
"I was too impatient," he continues. "I went after Two-Face before I was ready. He knew I was coming."
Bruce scowls. "So Dent is both a major figure in the Gotham underworld and the highest judicial official?"
With a sigh, Robin explains, "There was a time when Two-Face... when Harvey Dent was the hero of the city. As the Shadow King and his assassins consolidated their control over the city, Dent rallied the people of Gotham and the city police force against them. They took control of the royal armoury and started training a citizen militia to fight back against the League. For a while, it looked like there was going to be a revolt, and the Shadow King knew that as the face of the people, Dent was too dangerous to live, but would become a martyr in death. So he sent his assassins one night, and they abducted Dent, tortured him, and murdered his family in front of him. And they burned one side of his face as a constant reminder of what happened."
"And that's when they broke him?" Bruce asks.
"I guess so," Robin replies distantly. "I mean, that's when crime bosses started turning up dead, and Two-Face took control of the Gotham underworld. I don't think people realized at first that Dent and Two-Face were the same person, and even now, they all seem convinced that someday Dent's going to win against Two-Face. And the Shadow King seems content to let Dent spend all his energy fighting this war against himself."
"That's bizarre," Bruce muses.
"Yeah. And they say he flips a coin every morning to decide whether he'll be Harvey or Two-Face."
Bruce stares across the cell at the youth. "I'm sure you realize, then, that by killing Two-Face, you'll kill Harvey Dent, the hero of Gotham."
Robin stares at the floor. "He killed my parents." Then he turns to Bruce. "You, of all people, should understand."
"I do understand. But you should also understand that you're just finishing the Shadow King's dirty work for him."
Robin's eyes narrow. "No," he says. "I don't think you do understand. You had amnesia, and I think it made you forget what it's like to have your whole life stolen from you. Two-Face… he doesn't even know who I am. He didn't know who my parents were. I don't even know why he killed them. They were just… he was just sending a message to the circus that he wanted a piece of their profits. He doesn't know what he did to me. He doesn't even care."
Blinking back tears, Robin pauses, then continues, "But he will know."
***
A shattered body lies on a clean white bed in a clean room. He stares through its eyes and knows its pain, but he is a visitor, a dispassionate observer inside its mind.
A familiar figure stands over the body, setting its bones and cleaning its wounds. It knows this man, and tries to reach for him, but its arms are dead weight. Desperately, it whispers, "Father."
The man looks down. "No, Master Bruce," he says. "I am not your father. He was a great man and a great surgeon, much greater than I."
He removes his gloves. "I have done all I can. Perhaps if I was your father, I could do more. Perhaps I could treat the root cause of all of this. For I can set your bones and clean your wounds over and over again, but it is your soul that is damaged, and these wounds are merely the symptoms. If I was your father, perhaps there would be a way for me to get inside your heart and mend it. But I am not skilled enough."
He sighs and puts away his surgical tools. "Your body will heal, but then you will wake, and then it will not be long before you are here again. Perhaps if I was your father, I could do more. But you have no father, and I have no son."
***
"Bruce! Are you asleep or something?"
He shakes his head. "Something strange is happening to me. I keep having these waking dreams…"
"Never mind that," Robin interrupts. "Someone's coming. I think it's him."
Bruce blinks and turns, waiting. Hurried footsteps increase in volume in the corridor outside, and Dent appears outside their cell. He reaches into the pocket of a jacket and withdraws some keys. He looks at Bruce with the eye on the unburned side of his face, while the other stares aimlessly behind Bruce.
"My name is Harvey Dent, and I'm here to release you," he tells them. "Go quickly; Talia will realize I'm missing soon and come looking for me. She's the champion of the League of Shadows – I'm no match for her in combat."
"You're letting us go?" Bruce asks suspiciously.
Dent nods. "The man who imprisoned you wasn't me. I know who you are, and I know that you are the one who can defeat the Shadow King. You have to go; your comrades are in the next cell block. I'll give you the keys."
Bruce frowns. "Comrades? But there was only Selina."
Turning the key in the cell door, Dent explains, "The League of Shadows raided the village of Arkham not long ago, searching for anyone with information about you. They captured the sheriff of the village."
"Gordon."
"Yes." Dent opens the door. "There was also an old man, a former servant of your parents. But he was taken by your impostor, and I'm afraid he may be in grave danger."
"My impostor?" Bruce asks.
Dent regards him coolly with one eye. "Yes. Your parents' manor has been occupied recently by a man who claims to be you. He's an avaricious, amoral man who is a disgrace to your parents' memory. Tonight he'll be having one of his debaucherous masquerade parties; you may be able to enter the manor undetected."
There is movement in the periphery of Bruce's vision. He whirls and seizes Robin by the arm.
"Let me go," Robin growls, clutching a large, sharp rock in one hand, trembling with rage. "I don't want to hurt you too."
"Do as he says," Dent says, drawing an ornate sword. He kneels and presents the blade to Robin. "I know who you are as well, young man, and I know what's been done to you. Take your revenge; it may be your only chance."
Bruce looks between Dent and the boy, then releases his grip. He stares into Robin's eyes for a moment. There is furious anger, and confusion. Robin sets the rock down, then slowly walks to Dent and takes the sword. Dent bows his head, quietly anticipating the impending blow.
Robin raises the sword above Dent's neck. His muscles tense.
He's going to do it! Bruce thinks, agitated. Every instinct screams to him to stop Robin, but he allows the matter of honour to be resolved between the two.
Robin waits for a long moment, then lowers the blade. "This is not justice. This is murder. I won't have it happen this way."
Dent stands and puts his hand on Robin's shoulder. "You are an honourable man. But you'll be avenged anyway. Neither I nor your parents' murderer will live past this day."
"What are you talking about?" Robin asks.
Glancing down the corridor, Dent says, "You're running out of time. Go! I'll confront Talia and buy you what time I can."
"Come with us. You can help us," Bruce protests.
The unscarred side of Dent's face smiles. "I think I'd be more of a liability to you. In any case, this is my final victory over Two-Face. He thinks himself a king, but I know that we're nothing more than pawns. My journey across the board is complete. Go now – you will find your equipment in the room at the end of the corridor."
Robin returns the sword to Dent, and Bruce faces the noble, disfigured man. "Your sacrifice will not be forgotten. When Gotham is free, you will be remembered as a hero."
Dent nods. "That's my final victory against him."
Footsteps echo from far down the corridor. "Go," Dent bids them, and walks toward the approaching footsteps, sword drawn. Bruce turns to Robin, and they hurry in the opposite direction.
They enter the next cell block, and Bruce scans the cells for Selina.
"Bruce!" calls Selina. "Over here!"
He follows her voice to a nearby cell where Selina and Gordon sit, both clad in black tunics. Bruce turns the key and opens the door, and Selina rushes out and embraces him. He kisses her deeply, then whispers, "Hurry; we don't have much time."
She gestures to Gordon, who is struggling to his feet. Bruce rushes to his side and helps him to his feet.
"Thanks, Bruce," Gordon says. "Our hosts were fairly… aggressive in their questioning."
"I didn't expect to see you here," Bruce tells him, putting his arm around the injured sheriff.
Gordon limps out the cell door. "I think it amused them to keep me together with the scourge of Arkham."
Selina glances back at them and smirks. Bruce says, "Quickly. Our equipment is in the room at the end of this hallway."
Selina and Robin rush ahead, while Bruce walks briskly with Gordon.
"Help me!" calls a voice. He turns to see a man in a nearby cell, reaching through the bars in desperation. He is gaunt and pale, and somehow, Bruce cannot discern any facial features.
"Gordon," Bruce murmurs, "look."
"What?" Gordon asks, staring blankly.
Then the corridor erupts into a chorus of pleading, faceless prisoners, all reaching through the bars of their cell doors as the colours of the hallway begin to melt into a sea of grey.
His pulse pounding, Bruce says to Gordon, "We have to help them!"
"Who?" Gordon asks.
"The other prisoners!"
"They're safer where they are!" Gordon looks backwards. "Bruce, there's someone coming! Hurry!"
Taking a breath, Bruce focuses his vision upon the end of the corridor, and they rush through, reaching a door at the end of the hall. They enter a small, cluttered, torch-lit room which seems to Bruce to be a jailer's office. On the far end of the room is a stairway leading upwards. Robin and Selina are waiting, and they quickly shut the door and slide a heavy desk in front of it.
"That won't hold them for long," Robin says.
Selina looks around. "Our equipment must be here somewhere. Let's find it and get out of here."
Thoughts swirl through Bruce's head, and he recites a mantra to calm himself. In a corner of the room, he sees a pile of crates.
"Here," he tells them. They open the crates and search, and the light of the torch glints off his mirrored breastplate from within one of the boxes. As he lifts it out, the doorknob rattles, followed by the sound of metal striking wood.
"They're here," Robin says nervously.
Selina takes her armour and weapons. "Once we get out, I know somewhere we can hide."
"Then let's go!" Bruce says, leading them upwards.
***
At first, it is a single sound, but then he can discern the noise of a thousand furiously beating wings.
Bats.
It is dark, and they are everywhere. He is a child, an intruder in their domain, and he has disturbed their tranquility. Now they are everywhere, chittering and flapping madly, a great black cloud swirling above his head like the darkness itself come to life.
He recalls a time when he might have been disturbed by this spectacle of the night, but now he embraces it. I am the darkness, he thinks to himself. I am fear. I am the bat.
And he spreads his arms, and the bats swirl around him.
***
He opens his eyes and exclaims, "I understand!"
Selina turns to him. "What?"
He looks around. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor in a dark basement, a safe-house which Selina used long ago. Gordon is resting on an old mattress, and Robin is examining a dagger.
Bruce blinks. "I thought I understood for a minute, but now it's gone."
"Understood what?" Selina asks him, sitting close to him.
He looks at her. "I'm having waking dreams. And back in the dungeon, I had this… call it a vision. I was surrounded by faceless men, and everything started losing focus."
She knits her brow. "That's strange."
"It's not the first time. I remember, back in Arkham, everyone seemed faceless, indistinct. I didn't think anything of it at the time – I just took it for granted. But now I see how strange everything is getting." He looks into her eyes. "What if none of this is real?"
She takes his hand and leans forward. "I feel something for you that I know is real."
He is silent for a moment. "So do I."
"Hey!" Robin interrupts. "I don't want to interrupt your triumphant reunion, but the League of Shadows is still after us. We need a plan."
Bruce turns to him. "'We?'"
"Well, yeah," the boy answers. "I mean, I figure we're a lot safer as a group. And I have nowhere else to go."
Grinning slightly, Bruce says, "I would be honoured if you would join us."
Robin looks down. "Yeah, yeah. Now, I was thinking, didn't you mention that there was some kind of superman here who's on our side?"
Bruce looks to Selina, who replies, "He should be in Gotham, but I have no idea how to find him."
There is a moment of silence, and then Bruce calls in a loud voice, "Kal-el!"
More silence, and then a powerful gust of wind blows through the basement, and Kal-el is standing before them, his blue robe flapping lightly.
"You've arrived in Gotham," he observes.
Selina and Bruce glance at each other, and she raises an eyebrow. Turning to Kal-el, he says, "Yes. And we have a companion who's injured."
Kal-el sees Gordon. He approaches the sheriff and lays his hands upon him.
Gordon's eyes widen, and he climbs to his feet, then walks briskly in a circle. Facing Kal-el, he asks, "How did you do that?"
"The capacity for healing is in everyone," Kal-el tells him. "It just needs to be awakened."
"Kal-el," Bruce says, "There is a friend of mine who's in danger. I believe he may be at my parents' manor."
The superman's expression darkens. "Then the impostor has him, and he hasn't long."
"We'll have to get into the manor somehow. Can you get us in
undetected?"
"Possibly."
Robin looks up. "Dent said there was a masquerade party happening tonight. Won't that make it easy to sneak in, if everyone's in costume?"
"Maybe," Selina answers. "But where will we get costumes?"
Robin glances toward the centre of the room. Bruce and Selina follow his gaze to the small table where they had placed their armour.
"Costumes," says Bruce.
***
They are in a hall, and the hall is filled with fools.
Bruce, in his mirrored armour, and Selina, in her black Cat Woman gear, did not raise even a single eyebrow entering the manor. The guards seemed not to notice them among the parade of masked, brightly-costumed aristocrats.
Now they are in the main hall, and it is truly phantasmagorical to behold, Bruce thinks. The floor is black and white tile, and the evening light streams through large windows, each covered by a semi-translucent curtain of a different colour. Throughout the room, lamps supplement the filtered sunlight, casting their light through shades of different colours, and the polychromatic light, combined with the revellers and their bright costumes, gives the room the appearance of a slowly shifting kaleidoscope.
Strains of oddly dissonant music emanate from a string quartet in a corner of the hall. Tables are interspersed throughout the room, and there is an array of food and fine wines. At the far end of the room is a raised platform with a throne and two smaller chairs on each side.
"Do you think Kal-el and the others got inside?" Selina whispers as they navigate between masked partygoers.
"I suspect so," Bruce answers. "If they're holding Alfred somewhere in the building, they'll find him."
"What about this so-called impostor? What do we know about him?"
"Not much yet," whispers Bruce, and the music stops. "But I think that's about to change."
The guests are turning towards the throne now, and Bruce peers between masks. A door opens, and a jester clad in a purple and red leotard emerges. She is petite and muscular, and bells ring from her headdress. Disturbingly, her face is completely covered by a half-red, half-black wooden mask without holes for her mouth or eyes, and around her neck is a necklace of small, black skulls. She dances across the throne platform holding a sign that reads, "Applause."
The guests clap, and Bruce and Selina join them. The dancer sits in the chair on the left, and the door opens once more and a figure emerges. He wears an ornate purple robe, with green hair and pallid, grey skin. He grins hideously and waves to the crowd.
"The Joker," Bruce snarls.
"Who?" Selina asks.
"I would recognize that face anywhere."
"Bruce," she says in a low voice, "it's a mask. Or else he's wearing make-up or something."
He looks at the laughing madman. "No," he says. "That's his real face."
The Joker raises his hand, and there is silence. Then he drinks from a goblet and eyes the partygoers. Red liquid runs down his chin, and he licks it up with a long, black tongue.
"Friends," he announces, "welcome to tonight's masquerade ball. I'm pleased to see so many of you here, because tonight is a very special night."
He pauses, chuckling to himself, then continues, "For, you see, it is the dawning of a brand new age!"
A murmur runs through the crowd, and the Joker grins malevolently, his eyes flitting back and forth. Then he says loudly, "Some of you may have heard the news. If not, I'll fill you in: early this morning, Harvey Dent was murdered by the League of Shadows."
The chatter in the crowd increases in volume. Bruce watches with folded arms, occasionally meeting Selina's eye.
"That," the Joker continues, and the crowd falls silent once more, "is no surprise. We all knew that 'His Maudlin Majesty' would tire of Harvey's games sooner or later. But, ladies and gentlemen, there's more to it than that. You see, Harvey stood for a lot in this town. He symbolized everything that was good, and everything that was rotten. And with him out of the way, this town's going to… explode!"
The Joker extends his hand, and a firecracker shoots out from his sleeve. It soars over the crowd, leaving a trail of purple sparks, and explodes above the crowd into a shower of green and purple, eliciting gasps and screams from the partygoers.
"Heh heh," the Joker chuckles. "Thought you'd like that." His smile melts as the guests talk noisily among themselves, and he shouts, "Hey! Pay attention to me NOW!"
The last syllable gains their attention once more, and the Joker's grin returns. "Now then. I think we all know what's going to happen once word gets out. The poor, little, oppressed people of Gotham are going to go out into the streets and start some sort of brouhaha. And the League, being obsessed with maintaining law and order, are going to come down hard. Bottom line is, nobody's gonna be safe."
He takes a few steps forward, and a few of the guests back nervously away from him. "Now, I don't want to kill the buzz, so here's what I propose: let's keep the party going until they all wipe each other out. Then we can go back out, and take Gotham for ourselves!"
The guests begin to murmur approvingly. The Joker's grin widens, and he continues, "Because, you see, it's not just Harvey that died today. Good and evil died with him! And once the dust settles, it'll be the dawn of a new era in Gotham. An era of nothing but the senses, of delicious decadence!" He licks his lips. "All you high-society types know what I'm talking about. No more looking over your shoulders in case the assassins are watching. No more of that terribly depressing poverty stuff. No more need to be constrained by reason, by rules. There's only us now, and we can damn well do as we please!"
The crowd begins to cheer, and Bruce tries to slowly make his way to the front, with Selina close behind. After a moment, the Joker taps his goblet with a long, serrated knife.
"Listen, everybody," he calls out. "In times like these, changes in society are always anticipated by the artists. And, as you all know, I consider myself nothing if not an artiste. As such, I've prepared something for you all. A piece of performance art, if you like. Harley, if you would bring the canvas, please?"
The dancer disappears for a moment through the door, then returns with Alfred, naked, gagged, and blindfolded with a purple cloth. The partygoers gasp, and Bruce tenses, slowly reaching for a boomerang.
The Joker grins even more widely. "Some of you may recognize our canvas as a former servant of myself and my parents. Yes, you could even call him a close family friend. I feel that a history like that adds a certain… poignancy to a piece like this."
He holds his serrated knife, and there is another gasp. "For you see, the ancien régime and its farcical values are no more! They have no hold over us! Long live freedom! Long live art!"
He raises the knife over his head, and Bruce calls out, "No."
The Joker freezes, and his eyes flit to Bruce and widen. "You?" he shrieks. "How did you get here! Get him! Somebody get him and bring him to me!"
The partygoers withdraw and form a circle around Bruce and Selina, who assume a defensive stance, watching for any of the costumed guests foolish enough to attempt an attack. In the corner of Bruce's eye, there is movement, and he whirls and seizes a red-costumed, knife-wielding man by the arm. With one movement, he dislocates the man's arm and throws him to the ground. The man howls in pain, and the other guests take several steps back.
"Very well, then," the Joker says, eyeing his guests. "It looks like none of you are willing to put your miserable lives on the line for our new order. I can't say I'm surprised. That's why I took the pre-emptive step of poisoning the wine. You'll start to feel it shortly, and then we can really start having a good time!"
A chorus of voices erupts as the guests begin demanding answers from the Joker, whose voice is drowned amid the hubbub. Bruce nods to Selina, and they begin to edge around the crowd towards the Joker.
It is not long before the pandemonium reaches fever pitch and a gang of partygoers rushes the Joker, who draws back. The purple-clad dancer bounds in front of him, now armed with a heavy flail. She spins her weapon in front of her, then quickly strikes two guests, killing them in a spray of blood. Their confidence shaken, the guests turn and run for the exit, only to find it blocked and guarded by the Joker's retainers. In the cacophony of screams, Bruce can hear some of the guests beginning to chuckle uncontrollably. The poison, he thinks.
Seizing his opportunity, Bruce charges. The Joker suddenly whirls, holding his serrated blade to Alfred's throat, causing Bruce to stop in his tracks.
"So the Dream Knight has come to crash my party." He grins. "You thought you'd bring your nightmare to an end, but it hasn't even begun!"
"Let him go," Bruce commands.
"Fair enough. I'm not interested in hostage games anyway. The only good hostage is a dead one!" Bruce's heart stops as the Joker's muscles tense, but before he can cut Alfred's throat, a hand reaches from behind the Joker and grips the knife firmly by the blade.
"You talk too much," Kal-el says, throwing the knife upwards where it lodges firmly in the high ceiling. The dancer springs towards him, but he catches her in mid-air. In a blur of motion too fast for Bruce to follow, he has tied the Joker and the harlequin to the nearby chairs with thick cords.
Bruce helps Alfred up, removes his blindfold and gag, and covers him with a tapestry from the wall. Blinking, Alfred looks at him and says, "Thank you for coming for me."
"You were there when I needed someone," Bruce tells him, embracing the old man. He turns to Kal-el, who is now flanked by Gordon and Robin. "That was good timing."
"Yeah, well, we've got more problems on the way," Robin says as Kal-el stares distractedly at the panicking guests, many of whom are now beginning to laugh uncontrollably. "The League of Shadows is coming."
"How many assassins?" Bruce asks.
Robin hesitates. "All of them."
Bruce's throat tightens. "We need to get out of here."
"That is not an option," Kal-el says, scanning the hall. "They have us surrounded. And these people need help."
"This filth doesn't deserve our help," Selina growls. "They had no qualms about the Joker's plans until they found out he poisoned them. They didn't even try to stop him from murdering Alfred in front of them."
"I must help them," Kal-el says. "I can teach them the ways of righteousness by example."
"Help us fight the assassins first," Bruce tells him. "Otherwise, we'll all die."
"Very well. Not surprisingly, the Joker's poison will take up to an hour to kill its victims after the symptoms start – a cruel, slow-acting toxin. But we must defeat the League swiftly."
Selina regards him quizzically. "I thought you swore an oath against violence!"
He turns to her. "When faced with the choice between violence and cowardice, one must choose courage."
The hysterical laughter of the crowd is a now a roar. Above the din, Bruce shouts, "Selina, Kal-el and I will face the League. Gordon, Robin, protect Alfred, and see if you can find somewhere safe for him. When you do, come help us."
"Good luck to you," Gordon says, drawing a sword.
"And to you," Bruce replies.
As if on cue, a number of windows shatter, and assassins descend by rope into the hall. Simultaneously, the front door of the hall collapses and a large group of assassins enters. Bruce takes Selina's hand, and Kal-el takes a flying leap to the other end of the room. As he soars over the crowd of gasping, laughing guests, a cloud of ice forms around him, giving him the appearance of a flying comet. He lands hard in the middle of a group of assassins, freezing them solid.
"That's nine down, ninety to go," Selina observes. She draws her whip. "Come on, help me find that bitch Talia. Dent said she's the League's champion; if we can defeat her, maybe we can break their morale."
"Let's go," Bruce agrees.
Beyond a cluster of laughing aristocrats, a pair of assassins spot Bruce and Selina. A well-placed boomerang between armour plates fells one, and Selina is upon the second before he can react. Bruce sees Selina plunge her claws towards him, splattering his blood on the floor around them.
She stands and faces him, her face flecked with blood. "I hope you're not going to get all Kal-el on me."
He avoids looking at the ruined corpse on the floor. "Don't kill them unless you have no other choice."
Unnatural lights flash from what has become a large melee as the assassins converge upon Kal-el. The ground is littered with frozen, injured, and otherwise incapacitated assassins, and Kal-el is like a wrathful deity, leaping into the air periodically to deliver blasts of frost or bursts of wind to fell many assassins at once. Bruce pauses for a moment to watch the awe-inspiring spectacle until Selina hisses, "There she is."
He follows her gaze to a black-clad figure stalking among the throngs of hysterical noblemen, some of whom are now beginning to vomit uncontrollably. Selina lowers her head and moves to follow her prey. Bruce begins to follow before noticing a flash of purple on the periphery of his vision. Instinctively, he dives forward, and a heavy, spiked ball whizzes above his head. He rolls in time to see the Joker's harlequin standing over him, flail in hand.
Somehow, she got loose, he thinks, rolling to his feet. Which means the Joker will be loose as well.
He draws his large boomerang and holds it before him, keeping a good distance between himself and the whirling ball and chain. The dancer's movements are erratic and unpredictable, yet possess an eerie grace that belies exceptional physical control. He tries to focus upon her qi, but it is as though she has none. Her body twitches, and beneath her eyeless mask, he imagines that he can hear mad laughter.
She swings her flail, and he steps backwards. The flail continues its arc, and she pirouettes, her foot grazing his side. There is a sharp pain, and he notices the small blades protruding from her dancer's slippers. He realizes that the blade cut through his armour almost effortlessly and had drawn blood.
The flail comes around again, and he falls back. Then she springs forward, bringing the flail over her head. He dives backwards once more, and the flail crashes to the floor, shattering the tiles. Without wasting any energy, she flips over the spiked ball, catching his head between her thighs. He stumbles under the extra weight, nearly tripping over a costumed man doubled over in a paroxysm of laughter. The harlequin suddenly jerks her legs, and Bruce twists his body hard to the side in order to avoid her breaking his neck. He falls to the ground, and she lands on her hands beside him, then brings her bladed feet down. He rolls to the side, hears the blades break on the tiles, and allows himself a sigh of relief.
He climbs quickly to his feet and rushes towards her before she can raise her flail again, knowing that the weapon will be ineffective at such short range. With his boomerang in his left hand, he keeps her flail at bay, and swings his other fist towards her face. But her reflexes are almost impossibly fast, and she grabs his arm and drives her fingers through a soft part of his gauntlet to a pressure point in his wrist. Pins and needles shoot up his arm, and it falls uselessly to his side. Then she strikes him hard in the face with her mask, and the bells on her hood jingle as sparks erupt underneath his eyes. He staggers backwards.
As she lifts her ball and chain, Bruce becomes aware of a presence behind him. He thrusts the elbow of his good arm backwards into the solar plexus of a nunchaku-wielding assassin. Swiftly, Bruce seizes his assailant's weapon and brings it upward, wrapping it around the chain of the flail. Pulling backward, he tears the flail from her hand and throws it behind him near the crumpled body of the stunned assassin. With an inhuman screech, she lunges for him, her long fingers reaching for his eyes. But sensation has returned to his right arm now, and he holds his boomerang by both ends and brings it upwards, deflecting her arms, and brings his knee into her gut. She howls, then thrashes her head forward violently, breaking his combat boomerang in two with her wooden mask. Her face plunges forward once more, but he thrusts the broken halves of his boomerang forward, burying them in her abdomen.
The harlequin shrieks and begins to kick towards him in wide circles, a ghastly death pirouette, blood pouring from her wounds. The broken edge of one of the blades on her feet whizzes close to his face, and he backs away from the dancer. Gradually, she begins to lose speed, and then she collapses on the tiles in a pool of blood, her lithe body still.
Bruce pauses for a moment to catch his breath, then scans the hall for Selina. He sees her locked in combat with Talia, who is wielding a long katana sword. Selina is fighting recklessly, and Bruce notices that she is leaving herself open to attack. He rushes towards them as Talia kicks Selina to the ground and raises her sword to strike. But the stroke never falls; the red tip of a sword has suddenly emerged from Talia's chest. She drops her katana and falls to the ground, revealing Gordon standing behind her.
Selina climbs to her feet, smiling when she sees Bruce. He says to her, "That was quite the risk you took."
"Oh, come on, Bruce, you know I have better technique than that. I knew Gordon was coming, so I distracted her."
"But how did you know Gordon would save your life?"
She turns to the sheriff, who is examining Talia's katana. "Because I know a good man when I see one," she tells him.
Gordon smiles slightly. "Who would have thought two former enemies would make such a team?" To Bruce, he says, "Alfred's hiding not far from here. Did Robin find you?"
"No," Bruce says, scanning the hall. His eyes are drawn to Kal-el, who is standing in the midst of what is by now a sea of incapacitated assassins. He is pursuing a few remaining attackers, and seizes one by the shoulder. His body stiffens, and he crumples to the floor.
"Kal-el," a deep voice booms.
The superman whirls to face a figure standing in the doorway. He is tall, broad, and appears to be made out of the darkness itself. Two tall horns rise from his head in the same manner as the assassins' masks, giving him the appearance of a great bat. Flanked by a handful of assassins, he stands before Kal-el, a tall, mournful tower of night.
The Shadow King, Bruce realizes.
Kal-el hurtles towards the newcomer, who swiftly draws a massive, green, glowing blade, and swings it in a wide arc. Kal-el's body drops to the floor by the Shadow King's feet, and his head lands nearby.
Bruce's stomach clenches. Selina watches in stunned silence. Gordon looks between them and says nervously, "He hasn't seen us yet. Maybe we should regroup and decide what to do next."
Selina and Bruce nod. Keeping low, they weave between clusters of hysterical victims of the Joker's poisoning. Behind them, the Shadow King calls to his remaining assassins, "This is a house of decadence. Burn it to the ground."
Bruce watches as the assassins begin to take the lamps to the walls and curtains. He whispers to Gordon and Selina, "We need to find Alfred and Robin."
"Alfred's in the hallway by the throne," Gordon tells them.
Smoke is already beginning to fill the air as they cross the hall. Suddenly, Selina puts her hand on Bruce's arm. "Look."
The Joker is sitting on the throne once more, his purple robes splattered with blood, holding a large, bloody sceptre and grinning maniacally. At his feet is Robin, bloodied and crumpled. He sees them and reaches with a trembling hand.
"Dream Knight," the boy calls, wheezing.
And, surrounded by smoke, death, and laughter, Bruce falls to his knees and begins to dream.
To Be Concluded.
