"Master Bruce, I cannot understand why you insist upon subjecting yourself to this kind of torture," said Alfred, arms folded across his chest. "As if you don't suffer enough pain fighting criminals every night, you have to go and do this to yourself during the day. I simply cannot understand it."
"Alfred, fighting crime and watching daytime television are in no way similar," retorted Bruce, as he sat in front of the TV. He turned to give Alfred a small smile. "Besides, this is relevent."
He was watching a typical, controversial, offensive-just-for-the-sake-of-it style talkshow, where the presenter's mantra of the day seemed to be a verbal war against Batman. "Now a lotta you are going to say I'm crazy, but I just think it's a question we need to ask ourselves every once in a while: does Batman do more harm than good?"
The audience started booing him. "No, no, no, wait, hear me out!" he said, raising his hand. "Yeah, he's a hero. He goes around saving people and stuff, but just think for a moment about this city. Now think about other cities, regular, normal cities who don't have superheroes. Compare crime in Gotham to crime in, say, L.A. Now granted, there is crime in L.A., and every big city is gonna have a crime problem. But does L.A. have costumed supercriminals like the Joker? Does it have incredibly extravagant acts of terrorism perpetrated by the likes of Two-Face and Poison Ivy? No. Then why does Gotham, I can see you asking yourselves. Because Gotham has a superhero. These types of extreme personalities, the Joker and people like him, feel that Batman is personally challenging them to outdo him. The more people he saves, the more they feel they have to kill, to prove they're better than him. Now, L.A. has crime. New York has crime. Chicago has crime. But do any of them have people whose entire existence is based on killing more people than one man can save? Do any of them have people whose entire lives and personas revolve around killing a man in a costume? No. The question we have to ask ourselves, Gotham, the serious question we have to ask ourselves, is whether it's worth it. Whether the comparatively few people he manages to save make up for the thousands that have died at the hands of the supercriminals trying to best him. Now I don't know the answer. I don't know that if Batman didn't suddenly just disappear, whether or not the Joker and his kind would stop. Whether they'd get bored and give up, or just continue their reign of terror unchecked. But I do know we've all heard that Batman created the Joker. So the next time we see the bodies of hundreds of people grinning horribly in death, we know who to thank. I'm Jerry de Winter, and we'll be back in five. Don't go away."
Alfred snorted. "What utter drivel."
"It's hardly unusual for me to be criticized, Alfred. I can take it," replied Bruce.
"Yes, but personally, I don't want to be subjected to such nonsense!" snapped Alfred. "More harm than good, preposterous! Tell that to the hundreds of people you save every night! Besides, one day you might start to believe it yourself."
"Not with such a vocal supporter constantly drowing out their objections," said Bruce, smiling. "Anyway, you should always consider all sides of an argument, no matter how ridiculous it might appear on the surface. Only a fool is certain of everything."
"Hardly. I don't consider myself a fool, Master Bruce, and I am quite certain of everything I need to be certain of," retorted Alfred, returning to his dusting.
"Perhaps you're the exception to the rule, Alfred," said Bruce, smiling. He glanced at his watch. "I need to get going, actually," he said, standing up. "I've heard rumors that something big is going down at the mall. I need to be on hand in case of an emergency."
"Or you could just take the night off, and let them see what Gotham without Batman would be like," retorted Alfred. "Say you were inspired by Mr. de Winter's show."
"I'm not going to let innocent people suffer to prove a point," replied Bruce.
"Then you're a better man than I, sir," said Alfred.
"I don't imagine such a man exists, Alfred," replied Bruce, patting him affectionately on the shoulder as he passed. But when he was alone in the Batcave and began changing into his costume, he couldn't deny that the things Mr. de Winter had said had affected him more than they probably should have. It was clearly just a gimmick to boost ratings, a deliberately controversial topic to get people talking and watching his show, but all the same…some of the things he had said hit a bit close to home, and made more sense than they should have. Bruce considered himself a resolute man, but nobody could prevent self-doubt occasionally. Well, maybe Alfred could, he thought with a smile.
He climbed into the Batmobile and drove off, heading toward the mall. The rumors he had heard were incredibly vague – he didn't really know what to expect, if anything. But it was better to be safe than sorry.
The mall was shut down and locked tight when he arrived – it was being refurbished and was closed to the public, but that didn't mean some criminal or other couldn't be plotting a break-in. In fact, it was more likely now that security was more lax, Batman thought, as he climbed through the window and crept through the empty rafters, watching for any sign of movement. There didn't appear to be anything out of the ordinary. Except…
All of the stores had shutters over their entrances, and their lights were all off. Except for one store, which was aglow with light, and whose door was thrown wide open. A hat shop.
Batman approached it warily. He slipped through the door and looked around the shop. It was empty of people, but there were hats everywhere. All kinds of hats, of every color and variation. Batman didn't need to be the World's Greatest Detective to figure out who could be behind this. But where was the Mad Hatter?
He suddenly sensed a movement behind him. He whirled around and briefly saw Jervis Tetch, grinning in triumph, but then something was placed on his head and he instantly blacked out. The last words he heard were, "Goodbye, Batman."
He opened his eyes to more darkness. But he was outside now, it was night, and it was raining. He could feel the drops pelting his clothes and his…face. Which he realized was uncovered. He looked down to see that he was wearing a normal suit, not his Batman costume at all. He was lying on the ground and struggled to his feet, looking around slowly. He knew this place. It was Crime Alley.
"You ok, buddy?" asked a voice.
He turned to see a man in a trenchcoat and fedora looking at him. It was too dark to make out the man's face, but he held a cigarette between his lips and was poised to light it. He had obviously just ducked into the alley to do so, out of the wind and rain, and that was when he noticed the man lying facedown on the ground.
"Yeah…I think so," stammered Batman, feeling his head. "I…um…"
"You been mugged or something?" asked the man, approaching him.
"No…I don't…I don't know. I don't remember…" murmured Batman.
The man eyed him up and down, noticing his suit. Batman still couldn't make out his face. "You ain't from around here, are ya?" he asked. "Crime Alley ain't no place for the rich and famous. Bad things tend to happen to people here, Mr. Wayne."
Batman started. "You…know who I am?" he asked.
The man chuckled, and there was something vaguely familiar about it. "Yeah, course I do! I read the newspapers! You're Bruce Wayne, heir to Wayne Enterprises, son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Gotham's favorite citizens. My wife thinks you've got something going on with Selina Kyle. You wanna confirm or deny that for her? I won't tell the papers or anything, but it'd be nice to end the speculation so she'd stop jabbering about it to me."
"I'm…sorry, I'm very confused," said Batman, slowly. "I must have hit my head or something…"
"More likely been hit on the head by someone," replied the man. "But you don't look much worse for wear, so maybe they just took your wallet and ran. I guess even petty criminals know not to mess with Bruce Wayne, or your dad will have the whole weight of the law on 'em."
"My…dad?" stammered Batman. "My father's…alive?"
"Um…yeah," replied the man, slowly. "Last I heard anyway. I think it would have been all over the news if Thomas Wayne had died."
Batman felt the man's eyes studying him closely. "You gonna be ok?" he asked, quietly. "You got a phone you can call someone with to come get ya, or did they take that too?"
"Um…" Batman began feeling his pockets. They were empty. "No…I…er…don't appear to have…anything…"
"Well, I live just around the block if you wanna use my phone," he said. "And I know my wife would kill me if I told her I met Bruce Wayne and didn't bring him home to meet her. Besides, you don't wanna wait out here in the rain – you'll catch your death of cold. And I'd feel somewhat responsible. I wouldn't want the death of Bruce Wayne on my conscience, not for anything in the world."
"Oh…thanks…that'd be…um…" stammered Batman, still trying to figure out what on earth was going on. "Yes, thank you."
The man nodded. "You smoke?" he asked, reaching into his jacket for his cigarette case.
"Um…no," replied Batman.
"I don't blame you – filthy habit," said the man, replacing the case. "But a guy's gotta have some vices. What's the point of life if you ain't gonna have a little fun, am I right? Of course I am – look who I'm talking to!" he laughed. Batman swore he knew that laugh.
"You have me at a disadvantage," he said. "You know who I am, but I don't know your name."
"Oh, didn't I say?" said the man. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? Finally meet someone rich and famous and instead of making a good impression, I end up acting like a total slob. That ain't funny. That ain't funny at all."
He struck a match to light his cigarette, and Batman suddenly reeled back in horror as he recognized the face illuminated by the flame. It wasn't white, it wasn't smiling, but it was unmistakably the face of the Joker.