Sorry for the delay! I'm working two jobs now, and it's not giving me a ton a free time to work on this fic. Plus I had to figure out a few plot points; I have a lot of stuff for MUCH later figured out, but not a ton of the immediate figure.
Thanks to Michael for helping me with a few ideas for this chapter.
"I think I've just found a place that holds great importance to you."
I felt a chilly foreboding. And I was damn sick of feeling those. I decided, despite its unnerving truth, to totally ignore the comment – but to keep it filed in the back of my head.
"Sure, why not. I'm not really in the mood. You said you've faced this Scarecrow guy before. If you're familiar with his toxin, any chance you're also familiar with -"
"The antidote?"
It wasn't exactly the word I had on my lips. It was a few steps up, to be honest. I paused, breath catching in my throat for a moment. "Yes."
"I have some on me."
Where? That was the big problem with spandex – no real place for storage, as evidenced by my highly uncool fanny pack. True, his suit was maybe a bit more armour than show, but – the belt. Had to be. What looked at first glance to be ornamental sections of armour were clearly compartments, though I couldn't tell how they might be opened. Probably hidden buttons. He wasn't moving to press any of them. "... Great. Any chance I could have some?"
"Seen anything interesting around the city lately?"
I couldn't believe this guy! If he didn't want to spare the antidote, thinking he'd need it for himself, he could just say so – but he was trying to get information from me instead. I didn't have the patience for this.
"Just the usual thugs and a whole lot of hallucinations, thanks." (Normally I would have made a joke about the Walgreens thing. Just proof that I wasn't feeling so great.) My posture was tense, and I did not move from my position. "What, are you going to trade the antidote for information?"
I swear the Batman smiled. Already I knew he was a grim, humorless bastard; the smile was unsettling. "What can you tell me about Wilson Fisk? His habits, his cronies. How can I get to him?"
I descended, inverted on a strand of web to look him in the eye, all the adrenaline from the massive rush of fear turning readily to fury and indignation. "You don't want to 'get to' Kingpin. You're one of the big-shots, I can tell, so you probably think you're untouchable. You're wrong. You'd better hope Kingpin doesn't even notice you're here."
Batman stared me down right back. His eyes were dark blue, and cold. "That's the fear toxin talking. Yougot to him, clearly." It wasn't a compliment. It was like he was saying, 'if some cocky little kid gave him trouble, I can take him out with my pinky'. "How do you know I haven't dealt with him before?"
"Because – I – Live – Here! I think I would've noticed! Even if you were too busy hiding in alleyways, the papers are all over costumed freaks – somebody would've blabbed that you were around!"
His voice was smug. "I'm good at dealing with the press." And he didn't move an inch. He was still waiting for his information.
"Fine. Kingpin's got a bunch of cronies, but most of the big players are in prison right now. He's got an assistant with him, though, guy named Ephias Hallend, and too many connections to the underworld to count. His security system is serious lately, he's smart enough to prepare for his enemies... far as I can tell, the best way to find him is to go through Fisk Industries' front door. Or catch him at lunch."
Click. A little compartment of the utility belt opened; within were several vials containing a nearly transparent liquid with a pale tinge a little bit like green tea.
Click. Another compartment opened, showing a small injector gun – he placed one vial into the device.
I glared at him – not that he could tell, of course – and remained motionless. He pressed the injector gun to my arm, and with a minor sting, I had the antidote.
"Thanks." It was hard not to sound bitter. "Since you're here, any idea about where this Scarecrow guy is?"
"Jonathan Crane likes areas of high excitement and activity for his crimes. Sports stadiums, landmarks, schools."
"So you're saying he could be hiding out anywhere in Manhattan."
"No. He wouldn't hide anywhere with so much noise. You should keep an eye on areas with access to industrial chemicals, but since I know when he'll be meeting with Kingpin, there's a deadline on that."
"When exactly is that?" I was starting to feel better already, though not a whole lot less ticked off.
"Monday, according to my sources."
"Your sources." He didn't move a muscle in response. Not one. "... Right. Well. Thanks for the antidote. Great to see you so active in the search for your Crane guy. I'm going to go now."
He didn't say a thing this time, I'm certain of it – I swung up to the rooftop of the souvenir shop, scowling beneath my mask. I was getting a feeling of being manipulated – that he was making me do the boring work of finding his criminals for him. And the thing is, if he'd just asked me to help him, I would have been fine with it – but he was using me instead.
And despite it all, I'd cooperate, because I don't ignore dangerous criminals well. Not anymore.
But there was a certain spite I had... He hadn't asked about the fanny pack, which was a small relief in a way; on the rooftop, I unzipped it quietly (Maybe he had super bat-hearing) and took out my camera. He was standing more or less still – watching, waiting for something. No; he was pressing buttons on his arm thing again. Perfect. I had time to set up the shot, something new to me.
Click!
Click!
Click!
Three solid pictures! I was sure of it!
Click!
I saw it in the preview image before I registered it. He was staring at the camera, scowling menacingly. And the first thing to go across my head was, Wow, that's the best one. It really shows his character.
The second thing to cross my head was my Spider-sense, and the wind directly over it as I dodged a punch.
I didn't need to stay and talk; I had gathered that Batman didn't like his picture being taken. But with the antidote, my usual habits in response to sensible battle-fear were returning. You know, the little things that make me me.
"Woah! That's one way to get rid of the paparazzi!"
He was fast, but I was faster. I'm usually faster. Every grab for the camera he made, every jab to disarm me, I could dodge – to be honest, it felt good, the breezes he kept creating.
"Bats today! No respect for the arts!"
He was silent except for grunts and snarls of effort – I had to admit, he was good. He'd probably trained half his life. And if I were actually trying to fight him, I'm pretty sure he'd wipe the floor with me in about thirty seconds; but all I was doing was keeping my camera and my bones safe.
"Do you know how much these things cost? Come on, man!"
He swung from the right – I ducked right into a crouch, before I saw the leg sweep around. It hit me in the ribs and I rolled, the camera jabbing into my stomach, but safe. No. I didn't need to stay and talk! I needed to throw web and go! I sprang to my feet, throwing the camera's strap around my neck, and soared out the moment my web had hold on a building.
It probably should have occurred to me that the Batman could fly.
I wish I'd seen how he took off – but all I was aware of was a massive, black shape soaring over me. He was slowly losing altitude, but he was so close that I couldn't gain any without risking running right into him. Instead I would out-maneuver him. I swung abruptly left. I gained speed, shooting past buildings at yachi-mama miles per hour. Then I turned right. Then all the way around the narrow Daily Bugle building.
I was limited to the buildings. He was limited to the sky. And the thermals around Manhattan are great, even assuming you're a guy with a glider. He had managed to pull up, and was waiting for me before I knew it.
I grabbed for my camera with one hand as I swung, in a last ditch protective movement as it buffetted me – pulling out the memory card. No need to palm it; it stuck right to my fingers. Half a second later, some sort of grabbing device made of metallic cord shot down from where the Batman soared, and the camera was lifted up and off my neck.
The Batman landed on a nearby rooftop, and I pursued in time to see him drop the camera into a dumpster below. Three hundred feet into a dumpster, that is. My camera – my tool of the trade – my method of employment – my extremely expensivecamera – was ruined.
I slipped the memory card into my boot before I approached him. Before I could say (or yell) anything, though, there was a colossal noise from a distance.
I recognized the combination of shouting, the cracking of concrete, and the rhythmic pounding at once.
"Ugh. Seriously? Rhino's out?"
I confess; I'm not huge on action scenes. But I've gotta give you guys at least a few, and this is one I've planned. It was going to be either Rhino or Shocker, and Shocker's even more of a joke. No, Rhino's not going to be a major villain; I mean, he's Rhino!