Chapter 5 – Gotham Burns!

'He's under there.'

'Is he - ?'

'He's alive. Stand back. I'll have to move that beam.'

Iron Man bent down, gripped the steel girder with both hands, and lifted it as easily as a normal man might lift a plank of wood. A cloud of orange brick dust rose from the heap of rubble. Batman emerged, coughing violently. Robin stepped forward to help but he waved him away.

'I'm fine,' he insisted, 'Just fill me in. What - ?' He paused as he took in the scale of devastation around them. Something had torn a hole through the ceiling of the basement, then the room above that, and so on for six floors up to the roof of the Iceberg Lounge. What had once been a basement was now the bottom of a ragged well, open to a cold blue sky. Loose bricks, twisted girders and other debris covered the floor, several feet deep in places. If that girder had not fallen just so, sheltering him from the rubble falling from above, he would have been crushed to death.

'We were hoping you'd know. Police chatter says that Metallo has shown up and is tearing through downtown, but that can't be right,' said Iron Man. Batman glanced across at him. He smirked. Iron Man had repaired his armour as best he could, replacing the damaged components with pieces from Batman's power armour. He even recognised a few panels from the Batwing. The patchwork of components, sleek black next to gold and scarlet, gave him the look of a jester.

'Nice suit. Should I be flattered?' said Batman.

'Not really. I'm good at improvising; I can use any old junk that's to hand.'

Robin intervened quickly, before the exchange could escalate. 'Batman, what's going on?'

'The police are right. It is Metallo,' said Batman grimly. He explained what had happened to him since entering the Iceberg Lounge, about AIM and their attempt to fit a copy of the arc reactor to Metallo.

Iron Man shook his head. 'An arc reactor is an extremely temperamental power source. If AIM didn't calibrate it just right… And from what you've said, it sounds like Metallo couldn't regulate the input. I'm amazed it didn't kill him.'

'What I don't get is why you're still alive?' Robin said to Batman, 'No offence, but wasn't that the whole plan: to have Metallo to rip you to pieces?'

'Penguin's plan, not Metallo's. He's after AIM now,' said Batman, 'I think the energy overload from the reactor has driven him insane. He wants revenge and he's willing to tear Gotham apart to get it.'

'So what do we do?' said Robin. Batman moved to stand apart from the other two, chin cupped in his hand, a gesture that always indicated he was deep in thought. Robin waited in silence. Iron Man was not so patient.

'What's there to think about? We've got to rip that arc reactor out of his chest before he hurts somebody,' he said, gesturing up towards the surface, 'We know where he is. Let's go!'

'Why do you care? This isn't your city,' snapped Batman.

'Hey! You may not like me, or the way I do things, but I'm offering to help,' said Iron Man, 'And you're right: this isn't my city. But this isn't about you and me anymore. There's a monster out there. Innocent lives are at risk. I don't know why you put your mask on for the first time but I know why I did. It was because the weapons I made were being used to kill and torture innocent people, and I knew that the only way to make that right was to take my gifts and to start using them to protect the people I had put in harm's way. Innocent lives are at risk right now. I'm offering to help you save them.'

He held out a hand. 'What do you say?'

Batman stared at Iron Man, his expression stern and unreadable behind his cowl.

'Batman, please,' said Robin softly.

Batman's expression did not change but nevertheless he reached out and grasped Iron Man's hand.

'So, what's your plan?' said Iron Man.

Batman frowned. 'You're willing to follow my lead?'

'Your city, your rules.'

Batman nodded. 'I need you to take down Metallo,' he said to Iron Man, 'Robin, co-ordinate with Gordon. Keep civilians away from him at all costs. That includes police: they don't have a prayer in this fight.'

'What about you?' said Iron Man.

'I'm going after Penguin. AIM still have an arc reactor. We have to recover it before they can smuggle it out of Gotham. Penguin will know where they're hiding. I find Penguin, I find AIM.'

'All the bridges and tunnels out of town are jammed solid,' said Robin, 'You shouldn't have any trouble catching up with him.'

Batman shook his head. 'Penguin won't be leaving by road. There's an escape tunnel under this building that runs north east to Miller Harbour. I found the exit months ago, when I was investigating the Falcone family's smuggling operations. Penguin's got a boat moored there. Odds are that's where he headed when things went wrong here.'

'Do you need a lift?' said Iron Man.

'Just get me to my car. There's a spare utility belt in the trunk.' Batman flexed his arms. He could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through his aching limbs. The bruises left by Penguin's thugs still hurt but they were no more than a dull ache. There would be time to nurse his wounds later. Duty called.

Commissioner James Gordon slumped wearily against a patrol car. His throat was hoarse from yelling orders and now all he wanted was to find somewhere quiet to sit with a glass of scotch. He had been with the GCPD for over twenty years, struggling to uphold the law in America's most lawless city. He almost felt nostalgic for those early days, when the worst a cop had to worry about was a bomb under his car or a bullet in the back.

The world had changed. Since he had been appointed Commissioner, Gotham police had taken on costumed mobsters, crazed scientists with a grudge against the city, mutant lizard-men and one memorable wacko with a fetish for rainbow colours. But even they seemed insignificant, amateurs playing at super-villainy, when compared to this level of destruction.

Metallo was half a mile away, advancing down Seventeenth Street under a shroud of black smoke. Even at that distance Gordon could see the flashes of blue lightning shooting from his chest and hands. Officers had reported cars being melted to the road, steel sheered through like paper, brickwork vaporised to dust by the blasts. Several buildings had caught fire and, with the fire service unable to get close to contain it, it looked likely to spread.

Officer Montoya approached, a radio in her hand. 'Sir, Lieutenant Branden says the SWAT team is good to go.'

'Tell him to standby. Engage only as a last resort,' said Gordon. He remembered the news footage from Metropolis; he was not going to endanger his officers' lives battling a creature that shrugged off bullets like they were softballs. It would be like trying to subdue a hurricane.

'Where the hell are the National Guard?' he said.

'All the roads into town are at a standstill,' said Montoya, 'We've got people trying to clear a way but it's slow work.'

'ETA?'

'Twenty minutes. At least.'

Gordon bit back a number of choice curse words. Taking the radio from Montoya, he called police headquarters.

'Pipes here.'

'Any word from Metropolis?' said Gordon.

'Yes, sir,' said Officer Pipes awkwardly, 'I spoke to Captain Sawyer of the SCU. She said they that, err, don't know where he is or how to contact him; they don't have any sort of signal. He just sorta shows up when he's needed.'

'He's needed here!'

'Yes, sir. Captain Sawyer did say that he sometimes goes… out of town.'

Gordon signed off and passed the radio back to Montoya. Detective Bullock appeared, struggling to squeeze his sagging beer gut under a bulletproof vest.

'Good riddance. We don't need another freak in tights running around the city.'

'Right now, Bullock, those "freaks" might be our only hope,' said Gordon wearily. He had strung a line of patrol cars across Seventeenth Street, the flimsiest of barriers, while uniformed officers evacuated the buildings in Metallo's path. An all-out assault by the SWAT team might buy them a few minutes but no more. Unless something changed, this would no longer be a police operation; it would be a natural disaster.

'Sir, look!' Gordon followed Montoya's pointing finger. An armoured figure was flying down towards them from the clouds in a blaze of white light.

'Crap. Just what we need,' muttered Bullock. Asphalt cracked under the figure's boots as it landed in front of the startled police officers. It was a strange sight, dressed in a motley suit of red, gold and matte black. But there was no mistaking the smooth, gold shell-like helmet, familiar from a dozen adverts and a hundred billboards.

'Iron Man?!' said Gordon.

The armoured figure nodded. 'I've escorted Mr. Stark and his staff to safety. He's ordered me to return and help in any way I can.'

'Hey, you've got no jurisdiction here!' said Bullock, stabbing one thick finger against Iron Man's breastplate.

'I'm just here to help, officer.'

'Baloney! From where I'm standing, you and the Tin Woodsman look awful similar. Who's to say this isn't one of your boss's nutty publicity stunts that got out of hand?'

The roar of a diesel engine cut across any reply Iron Man might have made. A sleek black motorbike skidded to a halt beside them. Robin dismounted, removing his black cycle helmet, and approached the police.

'It's alright, he's with us,' he said, darting past Bullock with a swish of his gold-lined cape.

Gordon frowned. The last time they had been seen, Batman and Iron Man had been knocking one another all over downtown Gotham. But there was no time to hear the full story.

'Where's your boss?' he asked Robin.

'Going after the guys who're behind all this. He sent us to handle Metallo.'

'Just let us know what you need, Commissioner,' said Iron Man.

Gordon gestured to the burning buildings. Flames were already licking at the windows of neighbouring structures. 'Our number one priority is to contain the fire, before it takes out of the whole block. Get Metallo away from here. Take him out if you can. If you can't, contain him until the National Guard arrive.'

Iron Man nodded and turned to Robin. 'Can you assist with the evac' while I handle C3PO?

Robin grinned. 'Be my guest. I'll tag in if you get tired.'

Iron Man took a step back, crouched and launched himself into the air with a blast from his rocketboots.

'Freak,' growled Bullock.

The batboat sped across Miller Harbour, a fine silver bow-wave arcing from its black prow. Through the front window Batman could see Penguin's yacht, an elegant white powerboat named Albatross, disappearing beneath the pillars of the Aparo Expressway, heading out into the sound and towards the open ocean. Two men in black combat fatigues stood by stern rail, armed with semi-automatic weapons. The batboat's thermal imagers showed at least four more passengers in the cabin behind them.

Batman head and chest ached. The painkillers he had taken on the drive up to his hidden launch combined with adrenaline to take the edge off but he knew that he was nowhere near peak condition. He had to finish this fast, without any prolonged hand-to-hand fighting. Every minute wasted increased the chance of AIM disappearing with the arc reactor.

The batboat picked up speed, nipping under the Aparo Expressway. He was directly behind the Albatross now, his boat skipping across the waves of Bob Kane Sound. The two guards at the stern raised their weapons, firing a warning shot above the batboat. Batman pushed the accelerator and the boat gave a great leap forward, like a hungry shark bearing down on its prey. The guards fired in earnest this time. Bullets rattled noisily against the boat's armoured prow and bulletproof windows.

The cabin door opened and Jay, Penguin's dark haired bodyguard emerged, still dressed in bowler hat and fishnet tights, a rocket launcher on her shoulder. Legs braced apart, she took careful aim and sent a missile spiralling across the waters, trailing white smoke. Batman threw the boat over to the left. The missile plunged under the waves, erupting in a great column of spray that drenched the batboat but otherwise did not harm.

Jay was lining up her second shot when Batman returned fire. Twin grenade launchers concealed in the batboat's prow fired, sending two smoke grenades arcing towards the Albatross. A cloud of thick, choking smoke engulfed the ship's stern. Jay, utterly disorientated, fired high, her second rocket detonating over the expressway like a crimson firework.

Batman pushed the batboat up to its maximum speed, heading right into the Albatross's wake. Clamping a gas mask over his face, he hit the ejector seat button on the dashboard. The cabin roof slid back and Batman was shot through the air towards the yacht. Spreading his cape to control his descent, he swooped onto the deck like a dark, avenging shadow. The guards were still staggering around, their eyes streaming from the smoke. Batman knocked the first down with a well-aimed batarang, sprang over his body and pitched his companion overboard with a straight right to the jaw. Jay, hearing Batman land, dropped the rocket launcher and scrabbled back towards the cabin. Batman reached out for her but she instinctively blocked him and countered with a roundhouse kick. Batman leapt back out of reach.

The smoke was clearing now. Jay spun forward with another high kick. Batman ducked and sprang at her like a professional line-backer, using his superior size and weight to full advantage. He drove his shoulder into Jay's stomach. She gave a groan as the wind was knocked out of her and collapsed, doubled up on the deck.

Batman stood up, wincing as the pain in his chest and head redoubled. He slid the cabin door open and found himself looking straight down the barrel of a shotgun. He leapt back as the gun roared. The shrapnel tore shreds from his cape and splintered one side of the door frame, but failed to hit him. Raven appeared, shotgun raised for another blast. Batman hurled a batarang, knocking it out of her hands. He drove forward, knocking Raven back through the door with a flying elbow to the chin.

Batman found himself on the bridge. Penguin was at the wheel, standing on a velvet-covered box so he could see out of the window. Lark, his final bodyguard, was at his shoulder. She stepped between her employer and Batman, adopting a classic karate stance. Batman moved to meet her. Her hands darted out in the swift, assured movements of an expert martial artist. Batman countered, the moves instinctive to him after years of training. Lark grabbed his arm and tried to slide her leg around his for a throw, but Batman was a move ahead. He avoided the leg lock, seized her slender waist and heaved her bodily off the deck, slamming her into the low cabin ceiling. Dropping her to the deck, he followed up with a vicious but effective kick to the temple that knocked her out.

'Give it up, Cobblepot,' he snarled, teeth gritted against the mounting pain in his chest and limbs.

Penguin spun round, an umbrella in his hand. There was a soft click and a wicked six inch blade, sharp as a rapier, sprang from the tip. With a cry he lunged at Batman, as fluid and graceful as a trained fencer. Batman sprang back but he had underestimated Penguin's speed. The tip of the blade sliced through his tunic, finding a chink in the Kevlar lining beneath. Hot, wet blood trickled onto his skin.

Batman roared, a cry of pain and savage battle lust. He swept his right arm round, knocking the umbrella out of Penguin's hand, while with his left he seized his opponent's shirt. With an ugly crack, his fist broke Penguin's nose. Batman leant in close, his voice raw with anger and menace:

'Tell me where AIM are. Now!'

Penguin sneered up at him, even as blood gushed from his broken nose.

'I think not.'

Batman slammed Penguin up against the cabin wall, his feet dangling over a metre from the deck.

'Tell me!'

Penguin regarded him with an expression that was equal parts cunning and disdainful. 'You can beat me as much as you like, Dark Knight, but you know that I won't talk. And by the time you have turned me over to the authorities, my erstwhile allies will be long gone.'

'At least I'll have the satisfaction of seeing you behind bars.'

'Really? You'd rather turn me, a legitimate businessman, over to the police than apprehend the terrorist cell responsible for unleashing a weapon of mass destruction on the city? Besides, I doubt you have enough evidence to convict me. I have some very expensive lawyers.'

'Give me time…'

'Which is precisely what you don't have,' said Penguin smugly.

Batman took a step back. Penguin's feet returned to the deck but Batman did not release his grip.

'I can't let you go,' he said.

Penguin leered up at him. 'But you will, if you want to catch AIM. There's a cell phone in my breast pocket. You return to your boat and, once I am a safe distance from the city, I will send you the address of their hideout.'

'You planned this all along,' said Batman through clenched teeth.

'Call it an insurance policy,' said Penguin, 'I intend to spend an extended vacation at one of my private Caribbean homes until all this… unpleasantness blows over.' He produced the cell phone from his pocket and held it out to Batman. 'It is your choice, Dark Knight.'

Batman snatched the phone and turned his back on Penguin. He paused in the doorway.

'This isn't over,' he said.

'Oh on that, we are very much agreed,' said Penguin, his voice oily with menace.

Iron Man landed a few hundred metres up the street from the police cordon. His armour registered the heat billowing from the nearby buildings. Clouds of dark smoke towered over him, overshadowing even the high-rises of the nearby Financial District. Metallo stood before him in the middle of the road. He looked like a human skeleton cast from iron. Blue lights shone in his eye sockets, the same blue as the light of the arc reactor pulsating in his chest unit and writhing across his limbs in thin tendrils of lightning. Iron Man had been right: AIM had not had time to calibrate the reactor before Metallo broke free. His energy output was colossal; the power of a hydrogen bomb, endlessly regenerating, contained in a machine no bigger than a man.

Iron Man considered his options. There was no telling how long the arc reactor inside Metallo would remain stable. Using repulsors, or any of his weapon systems, would be too risky. If the reactor went critical, it could level half of Gotham. He had to get Metallo as far from civilians as possible: no easy task in the most densely settled region of Delaware.

'Metallo!' he said, his armour's voice amplifier carrying even over the roar of the flames. Metallo's skull-like head swung round, as if noticing him for the first time.

'You are in possession of stolen Stark Industries technology,' Iron Man continued, 'Please stand down so I can remove it.'

'No!' said Metallo, his voice a strangled, electronic cry, 'No! All… will… burn!'

'Stand down, Metallo. Nobody has to get hurt.'

'No! All will burn for what they have done to me!'

Metallo threw his arms out to the side as the arc reactor flared, bright as the sun. Bolts of energy flashed from his hands. One sliced through a nearby car, cutting it clean in two as if with a great sword. The other struck a wall, causing the brickwork to bubble and melt like magma.

'So that's how it is,' said Iron Man. He clenched his fists, knees bent ready to spring, 'Fine. Just between you and me, Metallo, I'm kind of glad. You see, I heard that you threw down with the big guy in Metropolis and I've always wondered – hell, what guy in tights hasn't – could I take him? Guess this is my chance to find out.'

Iron Man's rocket boots flared. He flew towards Metallo, fast and straight as a javelin, fists out, aiming to punch Metallo off his feet and carry him away. He covered the distance in seconds, almost too fast for the human eye to follow. But Metallo was faster. He bobbed to one side like a boxer, his fist coming up with terrifying speed. He caught Iron Man on his left hand side, just below the ribs.

Iron Man felt like he had collided with a jet fighter. He was sent spinning through the air, disorientated, as warning lights blazed red inside his helmet. He soared up, crashed through a third storey window in a shower of glass, clipped a concrete pillar and skidded to a land on the floor of an empty office.

Slowly, woozily, he pushed himself to his feet. He reached down. That single punch had cracked his breastplate. Another blow like that in the same place would pierce right through to his spine.

'Okay,' he muttered, 'Plan B.'