Ernestina, Eris, Aequitas: To obtain that which is just we must ask that which is unjust.
AN: Ugh. Two months is way too long a time to go without updating. For anyone who hangs in there, thanks! As a warning, some events in this chapter will only make sense in light of an additional update to Aurora (chapter 12).
Until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed in these two words: wait, and hope.
--Edmund Dantes, The Counte of Monte Cristo
GCPD Operation "NIGHTSTALKER"
Alias BATMAN. Real Name: UKNOWN. Status: INVESTIGATION ONGOING (PRIORITY)
The following is a copy of a document submitted to the Gotham City Star in the Public Opinions Section. Initial suspicions were roused when both the name and address of the writer were determined falsifications. Some believe this letter to be the work of the Batman himself. Currently, investigations are underway to accredit this letter to a Detective Aaron Lawless (MD). Language pathologists assisting MCU have encountered many syntax structures similar to those encountered in past submissions to The Lancet under Orthopedic Advancements, as well as a biographic work on Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. entitled Americans and Race: the Inherent Injustice of Equality.
Note: In light of recent events involving the death of two Gotham City Public Service Personnel, MCU has shifted it's priority target from the Vigilante Batman to a criminal labeling himself The Joker (See John Doe #387). The investigations against Detective Lawless have currently been postponed.
Additional Note: The Batman is now charged with the murder of District Attorney Harvey Dent. Subsequently, this document is believed to be crucial evidence to the Batman's identity. Investigations are ongoing.
Further Note: Charges against Detective Lawless concerning masked vigilantism were subsequently investigated and dropped. In addition, allegations of publicizing protected information were also dropped as all figures appearing in this document were open to public perusal in the FEMA Fear Night report at the time of the article's original publication.
Final Note: This documents is believed to be no longer of any relevance to the hunt for the Batman.
IN RESPONSE TO BAT-BASHING, RED-HOT READER WRITES BACK
I am writing this column in response to Superintendent Reginald Baxter's Letter to the Editor entitled "Costumed Crusaders Bring Violence, Not Peace." In this letter, Baxter claims to objectively note that the "Batman has cost this city more in property damage than Fear Night itself." He also claims that full responsibility for numerous '"copy-cat crimes falls on the shoulders of this masked menace alone." He commences with the unbiased statement that "thanks to idolized vigilantism, Gotham's tax dollars are being wasted on replacing light poles and searching for a man with an identity crisis instead of fixing the real problem behind Gotham's crime and corruption: poor educational systems and high unemployment rates."
Let me then be equally as unprejudiced:
Bulls----, Mr. Baxter.
If you want to talk objectively, let us talk objectively. But if you wish to be another one of thousands of under-researched, over-rehearsed opinions, have the b---s to own up to it.
Now, Mr. Baxter, let's talk objectively.
Fallacy the First: "Batman has cost this city more in property damage than Fear Night itself."
Contrary to Mr. Baxter's opinion, the majority of the damaged incurred by the Batman was posted against private automobile insurance companies, not against the city proper. Damage to road-ways and Public Properties for which the Batman is undeniably responsible totals to less than six million in damages, which is roughly three percent of the 165 million dollars of damage to public transit track, sewer mains and city roadways alone incurred on Fear Night.
Fallacy the Second: "And as if the presence of the Batman wasn't enough, in recent months there have been a surge of Batman impersonators and rogue vigilantes such as the Scarecrow whose methods of justice make even the most law-contemptuous bounty hunters seem tame. There can be no question the continued presence of Batman and the GCPD's enablement have brought further harm to this city. Clearly, the responsibility for the damages and deaths incurred by these copy-cat crimes falls on the shoulders of this masked menace alone."
First, I must question sincerely whether or not Mr. Baxter's final statements may be more accurate than I previously believed. Perhaps poor educational systems can explain his apparent inability to execute elementary arithmetic. Although in the above paragraph he specifically mentions two separate parties with culpability, he is only able to conclude there exists one culprit. Clearly, Gotham's tax-payers should complain not only against the costly repairs of streetlamps as a cause of the "poor educational systems" which constitute the "real problem behind Gotham's crime and corruption."
Secondly, I must propose that the presence of additional vigilantes is more a fault of the second source which Mr. Baxter so blatantly ignores: the supposed "enablement" of the GCPD. However, in doing so I must immediately point out it is not the blame of the GCPD alone, nor should their creation of a task-force currently employing five detectives dedicated to the Batman's case alone be labeled "enablement." Like the "poor educational systems" (for which Mr. Baxter is responsible ), the GCPD and other law enforcement organizations are limited to the resources which Gotham gives them. Which the citizens of Gotham choose to give them. If more money is what is necessary to educate our children and keep our streets safe, wouldn't it be a better use of Mr. Baxter's time and energy to write a letter to the City Council about raising taxes instead of railing a man who only attempts to make up for what our current law enforcement agencies lack?
Fallacy the Third: "the real problem behind Gotham's crime and corruption: poor educational systems and high unemployment rates."
The real problem behind crime and corruption not only in Gotham City but for our modern world as a whole does not stem from lack of funding poured into the public educational systems, but rather their investment into pedagogal ideologies that seek to misplace the responsibility of the individual onto an organization. We cannot afford to continue thinking that poor education and unemployment necessitate the presence of crime or corruption, or that they somehow justify the violence in our streets. Following this logic, it is GCPSC and the Chamber of Commerce which should 'justly' be held accountable for the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne, not their killer Joe Chill—just another unfortunate victim of substandard education and poverty, of whom we can hardly expect anything more.
The real problem this City and this Nation are facing is not the rise of the vigilantes, but rather the end of the age of personal responsibility. Over a hundred years ago, Freud proposed a system of psychoanalysis in which the suppression of the subconscious desire produced feelings of guilt and self-incrimination, and resultant low self-esteem was the sole cause of the current 'evils' of the world.
I must, with equal kindness and clarity as I have afforded Baxter, be frank enough to label this psychobabbling bulls—t.
Because before Sigmund Freud became the Founding Father of Psychology, there existed another group of men
Founding Father's created a Democracy, and in so doing, opened Pandora's Box. Freedom of thought, expression, and self-responsibility …But inherent in that belief is the knowledge that these unalienable rights can be misconstrued for evil. As citizens of a democracy (or what was once a democracy) we must be prepared to take the bad with the good, or we cannot take the good at all.
Since the appearance of the Batman, Gotham's citizens heard repeatedly that vigilantes demonstrate nothing but contempt for the law, and again I must argue that this concept contains a fundamental flaw. There are countless examples strewn throughout history of vigilants who have opposed the law in order to uphold a moral standard which they believe higher than human government, universal truths which unite us all. Vigilantes who have been willing both to fight and to die for a cause which they believe is true justice…men, who in history books, are simply labeled heroes:
An individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for the law
Men, like Reverend King, Jr. Is true vigilantism ever contemptuous of the law? Does it scorn justice? Are we ready to assign these labels to cultural icons such as Indira Ghandi, Thomas Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln?
Yet before I am criticized about their distance and irrelevance to the current situation in Gotham City, let me mention another name: Selina Kyle, now infamous for the murder of Stan Shillings who Kyle accused of allegedly raping her sister. This alleged rape, and subsequent murder, occurred within the bounds of Gotham City not six years ago. Once arrested, Miss Kyle pled guilty to Murder with no appeals or reduction in sentence for cooperation with the investigation. She elected instead to voluntarily fulfill the full term of the law. As a citizen of Gotham who has watched hundreds of greater criminals take refuge in Arkham, disappear after posting bail, or admit guilt only after their sentence has been whittled to a laughing excuse for true justice, I propose that Miss Kyle's unblinking acceptance of the consequences of her actions shows not contempt but "the utmost respect for the law."
Recently I have heard talk of a day when Gotham City will no longer 'need a Batman.' Many have voiced their opinions here in this very newspaper, and I shudder to think of their naivety. A society which never questions itself, that does not seek to keep its government in check, that does not demand a perfect equality of justice and purity from corruption of all its citizens is not a better nor safer society. Such a society is never a society in no need of men like Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., but rather one in which he simply never could have existed…an alternate reality in which their was no Monroe Doctrine, no accountability nor comraderie, an alternate reality in which the United States of America did not intervene in World War II…a reality which could have continued only under the glory of the Fuhrer's Third Reich, or vanished into the inescapable oblivion of Mutually Assured Destruction.
With the excitement over the new Dent Administration, I can only hope, as a citizen of Gotham City, that this corruption will be curtailed, and it will no longer be necessary for the Batman to intervene in our affairs. I wish instead that the soul of this city would be such that her heroes could have faces, that our vigilantes could be our citizens, our politicians, our governors…I wish every Gothamite would take up this duty, this collective mantle, so one man would never have to.
But finally, I hope that Gotham would realize that Vigilantism isn't faith in a man. It is adherence to an idea. We can never allow ourselves to forget that our loyalty to a man must be dependant on his loyalty to a cause. We cannot grow so comfortable with the thought of a Vigilante, whether a District Attorney, a Presidential administration, or even a democratic government that we let ourselves grow lazy. For good or ill, Pandora's Box is open. It is up to all of us-myself included-to do what we can for Gotham with the rights and responsibilities with which we have been endowed. We then, must all be watchers of the watchmen. Independent thinking and personal accountability-the very essence of not only Vigilantism but also of Democracy itself- are two ideas that our society can never afford to retire.
Thomas Payne, Gotham City Resident
1776 Independence Lane
9:00 EST
The Fountainhead
Building groaning aching falling plaster chunks crumbling glass shattering joists screaming floor collapsing move your feet keep on running pray to God you've on a lower floor a lower floor please God let me be on a lower floor light streaming window run down the hall the light growing stronger dodge that beam the light the light you have to make it to the light-!
Two hours previously…
6:53 EST
Gotham United Methodist
Coughing. Groaning. Sickly cries and sobs. Bruce felt a shiver crawling up his back. So many people, so many dead. There wasn't room for them all, sitting or sprawled in hallways, nurses picking their way through carefully with water and antiseptic…closing the eyes of the dead.
No room not enough supplies goddamnit we need more beds!
A terrible, nightmarish hell of Bethlehem. No room in the inn…
…the Inn. Placing a check in that simpering attendant's hand, arrogant smile, people laughing at the absurdity…I just bought this hotel…
Fox had been right. The Batman couldn't help….but billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne could.
A pro-offered Styrofoam cup of water, a blood-pressure cuff. He focused blearily in the dim lighting: Amy Lawless, RN.
"Thanks," he mumbled weakly. She tried to rise, but his large hand had gripped her arm. "Where am I?"
"Methodist." She whispered emotionlessly, downcast eyes not meeting his. Around them, those plaster-coated, eerie demons spread in terrible heaps of limbs and heads. Bruce shuddered, looking at his own chalk-white arm. He had to look like death itself.
He jerked his head to the sprawling mess littering the corridor. "You need more rooms, right?" Hesitantly those dark blue eyes found his, their color so welcome in this spectrumless hell. She nodded once, barely perceptible.
"I think I can help."
7:12 EST
Wayne Enterprises Mobile Ops Center
Phone ringing. Work to be done. Nichelle, Micheala…his own family might be wondering if he was safe-
"I might have to take that," Lucius informed the technician.
"Right," Bradley responded, packing more ice around the injured leg as the elderly gentleman reached for the phone with a grimace and a cry.
"Let me do that, man." Eugene muttered, stretching for the small cellular. He glanced at the screen, a wave of relief washing over him.
Fox sensed the pause, sweating even more- "Who is it?"
Eugene tossed him the phone. Lucius caught it in one weathered hand, relief flooding his anxious heart. There, on that small, luminescent screen, two words that calmed his fears: BRUCE WAYNE.
7:23 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
"How's it coming?" Lawless grunted.
Milton shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it. We're finding more survivors…but that doesn't mean we're saving lives. Just got off with Bradley. Wayne's at Methodist, said it was a shithole. People dying in the halls, not enough staff or beds…"
Cold fury eating through him. "What's taking the National Guard so fucking long?" Goddamnit, those people deserved more! Gotham deserved more than that!
Fred Milton laughed bitterly. "You remember Katrina? This is as fast as FEMA works, man. And as for the National Guard…well…what if they're wasting their time doing something else?"
"Anti-terrorism." Aaron growled. More worried about the idea of national security than the growing toll of human lives.
"Yeah," Milton said lowly. "Or looking for us."
7:31 EST
Gotham United Methodist
Exodus.
"I want all those NOT needing immediate critical care to be transported immediately! If they can walk, they're walking, if not, take 'em in wheelchairs! All ancillary staff, non-surgical and non-critical care aids and nurses will be accompanying them!"
Chaos. Moving beds. People staggering to their feet, nurses and aids taking frantic vitals, patients staggering into buses…
Amy Lawless shivered, remembering another hospital only a year ago, some sense of impending dread warning her to run, to get out, to get away the whole place was going to blow-!
But this was a year later. The Joker was safely in Arkham. And these patients were going to safety.
"I need help," Wayne said.
She looked up at him tiredly. "You and everyone else here."
"I need to find someone." Her eyes grew even more teary. But the billionaire persisted.
"Her name's Rach-Rebecca. Rebecca James."
Grey, faceless crowd, grasping hands sobs whispers Chavez Aaron Ian no more heartbeats-
She let out a strangled sob. "I'm sorry Mr. Wayne." She motioned the chaos around them. "I'm- I'm a little busy."
7:37 EST
Sisters of Mercy Convent
Footsteps. Sister Teresa Margaret raised her head, then quickly bowed it again. "Father Benedict."
The Priest surveyed her with emotionless eyes. "You are weary, my daughter. Go. Rest."
She nodded in acquiescence, rising slowly and stiffly from her vigil. The Father watched her go, unblinkingly. When the last shadow of her gown passed the corner, he turned away.
Not two minutes later, Salvatore Meroni exited the corridor, feet slapping noisily against the cold stone floor. Tired as he was, there was a spring in his step.
7:38
Gotham United Methodist
"Please, no! I can't go I need to call-!" The sixteen year old struggled against the nurses' hands. "I have to tell my mom I'm okay please let me just call-!"
Bruce ran to the teenager's side, his very presence causing her tormenters to release their grip. "Here." He handed the phone to the tiny girl. "Make it quick."
Sara McCloud let out a sob, falling into his chest. Bruce patted her back in frustration, still scanning the gathering crowd for James' hair. No sign of her
7:39 EST
Eagle Harvest Estates
Phone ringing. Ringing. Phone. Sara. God.
The answering machine picked up, and Travis and Cindy McCloud's hearts leapt together as they jumped for the phone. Because that voice-that voice-! Belonged to no one but their daughter.
"Mom, it's me I'm fine I'm at Methodist-"
"SARA!"
"Mom I love you so much I can't talk long, I'm, I'm they're taking us to Skylight-"
But Cindy was sobbing so hard she couldn't talk. Travis ripped the phone from her grip, pulling her face into his chest, weeping himself, assuring his only daughter it would be alright, to get on the bus, that no matter what happened they would meet her there-
7:40 EST
The Fountainhead
The building was trembling. Her radio was dead. Not four hours ago Old National had collapsed in a plume of dust and smoke…
Shit. She kicked at the steel doors again in ferocity, swinging the butt of her Beretta into the hinges but no luck, the stock broke off with the force, fingers breaking-
"HIJO DE PUTA!" Montoya shrieked, falling heavily to her knees, the bloodied hand pressed into her mouth. Where the fuck was Crispus when you needed him? Her back against the cold steel body stiff and cold shivering in the bursts of wind, wanting nothing better than to see his dark face, to have a good cry-
No. She wasn't going down like this. She jumped up again as the building let out another low moan, feet finding that unforgiving steel again and again and again, each time shouting abren, abren, abren-!
7:42 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
The door banged open, Lawless's gun up at the ready, stock swinging down, smack of metal on bone, Milton and Gordon running the intruder slammed against the wall, weapon wrest from his hand-
"What the fuck is going on!" A very familiar voice shouted. Fred Milton spun the unwitting victim around, letting out a laugh and giving Crispus Allen the queenmother of all bearhugs.
"Jesus, man. It's damn good to see you-"
"Yeah," The black mountain of a man growled, rubbing his head, glaring at a sheepish looking Lawless. "Wish I could say the same."
7:43 EST
The Fountainhead
"ABREN!" buckling steel, warping hinges she wrenched at the gapping doors, struggling to open them further around the tight-bound lock. Hands bloodied, feet bruised shoulder useless Renee Montoya shoved under the still locked doorway like a dog under a chain link fence-
Panting in pain and fear, eyes tearing, she leaned against the wall in sagging despair. Each echo of the buiding's death throes was magnified a thousand times, every groaning joist, every buckling frame…
Montoya shuddered. She was alone. 120 storeys above the ground. And save for the small pool of sunlight trickling under the battered doors…the stairwell was completely dark.
7:50 EST
Gotham United Methodist
Still wandering the halls searching praying hoping to see that winning smile, a brilliant splash of red-There-! Short. Bald. Hawaiian print polo-Paul. Bruce shoved through the crowded ER bay, ignoring protests of staff, pushing past sobbing victims and spinning the bald man around by his shoulders.
"James!" Bruce shouted. "Where's James!"
7:51 EST
Wayne Enterprises Mobile Ops Center
"Got five more-northeast corner." Bradley related over the comm.. Pinpointing them now-damn. Got exact locations on four of 'em. Send a Cardia team to search for the other-"
Lucius ran tired fingers through his coarse grey hair. Five more. Out of thousands. Crowded hospitals, dwindling supplies…thank God Nichelle and Micheala were okay. That his daughter-that he-wasn't one of the hundreds of thousands left wondering where loved ones were, if they were among the living or dead.
"Three. Wayne Boulevard and Dent." Lucius related, returning his mind to his task. He could worry later, grieve later…each and every one of those weak, short-lived signals was someone else's Nichelle, their Micheala. Fox held onto the image of their upturned, smiling faces, cherry popsicle running down dark cheeks, tongues stained brilliant red, white balloons floating in the breeze-
Kids were the hope for the future. Every parent's love. Worst fear. Weakest point. No greater panic. You didn't touch kids. Whatever else, you left kids out of it, Fox shuddered. Whoever had done this had planned it well…
7:53 EST
Gotham United Methodist
Fragile. Delicate. Pale. Bruce took the small hand in his.
Alive. More than he could have hoped for, digging frantically under that marble slab, dragging the body out, broken and limp like a doll, limbs dangling lifelessly-
…He called her Rachel. Twice now. Why?
James stirred, blinked groggily, focusing in the dim light. She let out a gasp and tried to sit up.
"Lay back down." Bruce said gently.
But she resisted. Wiped her green eyes groggily, pulled the oxygen out of her nose and sat up higher.
"Jesus, Beck, you had me scared for a minute." Paul interrupted, giving the reporter a tight hug. "I thought I'd lost you-" She leaned against him only briefly, not folding into his fatherly embrace. The cameraman held her at an arm's length, worry etched deeper into his wrinkled countenance.
"Beck?"
She struggled against them to turn, to stand, throwing back the tangle of sheets-
"Stay down," Bruce said. "James-"
"Who's covering?" She asked wildly. "Who's covering?"
"Shaw." Paul soothed. "You're fine-"
"Got to get up-have to help-" She pleaded, struggling weakly against them, they lifted her back in the bed, thrashing feebly, crying out-
"You're fine!" Paul cried desperately, holding her shaking shoulders. "You've done enough, Beck, you've done enough-"
Slow, shuddering sigh. Hot tears leaking down. She lay still, sobbing, the middle-aged man cradling her awkwardly, red curls pressed against his chest-
Something wet. Bruce raised a hand, staring in confusion at the tear quivering on his fingertip. It beaded then ran, a single streak of pale pink flesh etched through the plaster coating his hands, Paul's steady voice still whispering over and over again: you've done enough, you've done enough….
He trembled and turned away.
8:01 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
"…Dad woke up from open heart surgery. Tell him hey man. Asks me if it's true there's been a terrorist attack in Gotham City. Yeah, dad, I say. Whole hell of a lot of people got killed. And he says, what the fuck are you still doing here. I say good question. Took the quickest flight I could back from Metropolis." Crispus Allen shrugged his muscular shoulders. "Folks, I am jet lagged, over caffeinated, and ready to go."
Gordon grimaced. "We're glad to have you." But the smile didn't reach his eyes. Allen had no idea what he had just walked into. Should have stayed in Metropolis with his parents, his wife and children…
He didn't know what would come of this. But he made that decision himself. Crispus Allen had walked in blind. Didn't know that he might never see his family again. And that thought brought images of Barb and BB, of Jimmy to his mind. And no matter the distractions, the worry, the fear, the chaos…those images would not go away.
8:02 EST
The Fountainhead
Twelve steps to a flight. Keep your hand on the right wall. Two paces to a landing. Twelve more steps. Keep your hand on that wall. Two more paces. Twelve more steps. Twelve steps to a flight, two flights to a storey, one hundred and twenty storeys but was the roof higher? Try to conjure a mental image, helicopter approach blinding spray whipping wind yelling in a headset nearly swept into neighboring buildings can't remember don't remember go twelve steps to a flight two flights to a storey how many storeys…fight the nightmares nothing is here in the dark nothing behind you nothing chasing you the building is falling collapsing don't think about it don't think about it oh god twin towers legacy don't think about it chick you'll make it just keep going nothing behind you don't run don't fall don't trip keep your hand on that right wall open yawning pit in the darkness left banister open to a well of deeper blackness a gaping maw animal's dying screams terrible wailing earth hungry and waiting to eat don't trip don't fall keep your hand on that fucking wall-
8:11 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
"…where is everyone?" Crispus asked.
The gathered officers exchanged hesitant glances. Allen's heart sank in the silence. Nearly twenty years of street experience. He knew that pause. Knew that look. Knew it, had used it, seen people deny it, try to stop him, to silence him, if only it wasn't said it wasn't done-
Disbelief, denial-
Lawless took his arm and began to speak.
"Crispus…when the Legacy fell-when she fell more than two thirds of all of Gotham's, of all of us were there. MCU-"
Catch your breath. Don't cry. Don't choke. Wait. Don't speak. Take a breath. "Damn." Allen finally whispered, faces flashing before his eyes, fellow officers, co-workers, friends.
…Montoya. Bad, cold feeling deep in your gut. Don't puke. Be a man. Eyes finally registering the stark, terrible truth before him:
Lawless. Detective Aaron Lawless.
…Alone.
"They were there, weren't they," the words tumbling in a sinking whisper. "Paltron and Pint-size and Montoya. They were there."
8:15 EST
Gotham United Methodist
"As you can see, Victims of the Legacy Attack are now being shuttled from major emergency centers into Skylight for minor injuries. The hotel is currently updating their website with names of survivors on the property, and urging family members to check this website , again that's , with no spaces or underscores-"
The screen was still tuned to Channel 18, all eyes upturned, hoping to hear good news, see family members, learn who was behind the attacks-
The line wove through the lobby and halls, those able to be dismissed to Skylight sitting or standing, some laying down, awaiting their turn to ride a GCPSC bus to their next location and the promise of rest.
"That was…that was a good thing you did." James said softly, gesturing with her head to the screen.
"Checking out that nurse's ass?" Bruce asked with pretend confusion.
Rebecca shook her head, curls falling across her face perhaps the tiniest hint of a smile stretching across thin lips. She raised her green eyes to his-
Sudden jostling down the corridor, shouts of MOVEgetoutoftheway! Feet run over by the careening gurney a blonde paramedic running ahead of the cart clearing the hall-
Shoved against the wall, pull James back stretcher hurtling through one frantic glimpse of a tiny girl, dark hair plastered against her china face, bright shock of blood splattered under her hairline, slanted eyes closed tightly in pain-
Agony. He felt it before he heard it, sensed it instinctively, that hand tightening to a bruising claw that chest expanding, breasts pressing against him, the deep, long inhale…then his eardrums shattering losing his grip Beck tearing away from his grasp crying GraciegracieohgodGracie-!
8:23 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
Hands on Lawless' shoulders, gripping tightly. Desperate, fearing to hear the answer to the question now burning on his tongue, tearing up his insides-
"She's alright."
Crispus blinked. "W-what?"
"She's alright," the auburn-haired man repeated. "Renee. She's fine."
Sudden release, knees buckling, shaking now.
"…adrenaline letdown." Lawless was saying. "You should sit, drink some water-"
8:24 EST
Arkham Asylum
Patient Care Unit
More footsteps more fury more ricochets of rubber bullets eating into the crowd more cries killhimkillhimhedeservestodieforthishe'llpayforthis-!
Even stories above and floors away, the presence of the growing mob could no longer be ignored.
…interesting. Yes. Quite interesting. People were so unordinary, so unoriginal…
So predictable.
A year ago all these idiots, these bleeding heart liberals with no brains or balls had protested against the death penalty, had fought to label him insane…and yet here they were, de-man-ding he be held accountable…Twelve months later. Twelve short months later. And what had changed?
You see their morals, their cod-duh, is a baaad joke, dropped at the first sign of trouble.
Nothing had changed. Things had just gotten…personal.
Like Harvey. Harveyharveyharveydent. And that Gordon. James Gordon. Not quite as fun to say-
But the possibilities for other fun were endless. Ya see, Gordon was uh, married. Gordon had kiddos. Gordon would do anything to protect them…even lie. Cheat. Perhaps kill.
No. Not kill. Not yet. The Commissioner was just as self-righteous as the Bat but with none of the style.
Fools. They hadn't won anything. No, lost everything. Too blind to know they handed him Gotham's little soul, all wrapped up in a neat little bundle called L-I-E-S. Proved him wrong, did they? Proved him wrong with false hopes , with morals, with their fake little cod-duh of honor?
No, oh no. The Joker tittered to himself. ….it's like I told ya all along, boys. You'll drop it. Drop it at the first sign of trouble. I wanted to see what you would do…and ya didn't disappoint…
The Joker yawned idly, sinking lower into the shadows surrounding the alcove of the door until only his gleaming yellow eyes were left.
He was getting ready. Waiting.
Waiting for the Batman's grand appearance. He could wait like this all day… he could wait forever. Wait as long as it took…
8:49 EST
Gotham United Methodist
"Got it." Mark panted, releasing the pressure from the drill as blood and CSF began oozing gently down that porcelain face. Amy Lawless' hands trembled as she suctioned it away, caffeine, lack of sleep, hormones playing tricks on her mind-
Raised voices, people arguing outside the Surgery Doors-
"Here, give me that," Mark said kindly, taking the suction from her slender hands, fingers brushing hers through two layers of latex-free, sterile gloves, dark eyes meeting her own-"Take care of that for me?"
Amy Lawless shuddered. She didn't look back. Ripped the gloves from her hands, washed vigorously, and threw open the doors to the scrub room.
"Ma'am, you need to stand back!" The paramedic was shouting, arms around the taller woman's waist, hauling her away from the doors. "You!" She shouted to the RN. "Help me out here will you!"
"She knows that girl!" A giant was shouting. "She knows that little girl is it too much to ask you just let her through-!"
"ENOUGH!"
Shock. Silence. The raw force of her emotions startling the entire ward into astonished pause.
The RN trembled, panting for breath, throat torn and dry, the only noises her ragged breathing. All eyes on her, she straightened slowly and slicked sweaty hair from her eyes before speaking.
"What are you doing?" She asked listlessly, all emotion spent.
"Please," the red-head whispered from Hanson's relaxing arms. "Please, I know her-"
That man-the one who helped with Skylight—Bruce Wayne--joined the pleading. "She's just a little girl, just let her through-"
"Only family-" Amy's heart broke. It was horrible, like imagining BB or James Jr. and being unable to help, unable to hold their hands, tell them mommy and daddy would be there soon-
The red-haired woman began to weep, collapsing into Hanson's arms-
"You!" Jennifer rounded on Bruce. "Take her." She placed Beck in his arms none too gently, gave him a grim look and a "I'm sorry, but I've still got work to do" by means of dismissal.
She turned in the elevator doorway, gurney in tow. "Thanks, Lawless." She said. Amy nodded wearily in return, and with slow and sinking finality, the doors clenched shut.
8:52 EST
Wayne Enterprises Mobile Ops Center
"No, warn them to steer clear. The whole plaza's unsafe, structurally unsound-but Jesus, the Southwest side especially-"
Bradley stopped, only for a second. A fault line? Was it just possible-? "Fox and I had at least a hundred different cell phone signals clustered around the Fountainhead-I don't have exact locations, batteries dying, perhaps family members not calling back but we can send a team with the Cardia…no, don't send EMS. You need FD. That place is a mess-the whole building could collapse at any minute now-"
He sent Fox a meaningful glance. Hurry. When the Fountainhead collapsed…their imaging would be lost. They would be left with nothing but the last coordinates of victims, bodies…structural damage…
"Who wants to speak with who? He's back? No shit." Bradley exclaimed, Allen's arrival finally announced over the comm.. "Right-"
But it wasn't right. Not right at all. A sudden dread before he could even think to panic, to curse-
Renee.
8:54 EST
Gotham United Methodist
The woman was still crying. The RN turned wearily, tired tears of her own beginning to form.
"Please," Beck whispered, "Please-"
Baby's heart not beating Aaron God knows where her own son still in daycare…She shook her head. "Only family." One hand on that goddamned door, that pleading voice cutting deeper, drawing her back-
"Her name is Gracie. Gracie Tanaka-!" The red-head shouted. "Trish was her aunt. All her family was there. All of them. Yuki even flew in from Tokyo…" That giant tightened his grip, pulled her closer-
One tear. That's all she could shed. This red-headed stranger was pouring her heart out to her and one tear was all she could spare-
"Please. Please." The woman whispered. "I'm the closest thing to family she's got left-"-
8:56 EST
Wayne Enterprises Mobile Ops Center
"Come on comeoncomeon! Come on, Renee, pick up the fucking phone-!" The officer was shouting, hitting send again and again and again, calling over the radio, large thumbs sending a clumsy text-
8:57 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
"What the fuck you mean she's still on top the Fountainhead-!" Crispus Allen shouted into the Comm. "Are you fucking stupid? What the hell is wrong with you-you don't just abandon a woman on top a fucking building-!"
Lawless and Gordon were struggling to hold Allen back, to silence him, Fred Milton sending an emergency signal out to the six Medevac choppers-
"Emergency flyby, I repeat, we need an emergency flyby of the Fountainhead. Requesting visual of the roof, do you copy?"
"Roger that, GCPD. This is Methodist Medevac, approaching from the north, approximate time to visual thirty seconds-"
8:59 EST
Wayne Enterprises Mobile Ops Center
"Eugene," Fox said again. "Eugene-"
The young man was pre-occupied, pacing, swearing and tearing his hair-"I can't raise her on the fucking radio, her cell's not working either-!
"Eugene," Fox called, more insistently.
"Just wait, alright! Just wait fifteen seconds-" Because fifteen seconds could make a difference, would make her safe-
But Fox knew the truth. The screens said differently. They couldn't land a helicopter on the roof, not with the way the foundations were crumbling-
FCC Emergency Broadcast Channel
GCPD, this is Methodist Medevac. We have visual of target, I repeat, visual of target, over.
Methodist, this is GCPD. We are looking for a missing officer, I repeat, looking for a missing officer, over.
GCPD, this is Methodist. Negative for signs of life. I repeat, negative for signs of life-
Check again, Methodist! Officer was on western corner-
9:00 EST
Wayne Enterprises Mobile Ops Center
A sudden surge, a spike of brilliant, billowing white, imploding into a dazzling pinprick…then nothing. All monitors blank. Officer Eugene Bradley blinked, not understanding-
Then the machine gave a gentle whine, sputtered, and died. All screens blank, a terrible, inky, lifeless black.
A wrinkled hand on his arm. And he knew. The building had fallen. The fourth transmitter broadcasting it's signal faithfully until the moment of impact, rent by the force of the blow, shattered to dust-
…He had sent a friend to her death.
FCC Emergency Broadcast Channel
OH, SHIT-Oh God what the Hell-! GCPD, t-target has…fallen…
Methodist, this is GCPD can you clarify, I repeat clarify that last broadcast-
GCPD…target has…fallen. I repeat, target has fallen…the whole fucking building…Oh God…resuming medical transit flight to United Methodist. Resuming flight…God. Methodist out.
GCPD Tracking Room
"Resuming flight to United Methodist. Resuming flight…God. Methodist out." That mechanical, unfeeling voice echoing in the silence, another cloud of dust rising on the horizon, blotting out the hope of the rising sun, another sacrifice on the alter of the gods of tyranny and war, a senseless oblivion, a day of reckoning and judgment-
"I'LL KILL YOU I'LL KILL YOU I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU-!"
Milton jumping back Ramirez choking on sobs Allen going beserk ripping Comm set from the wall hurling shattering breaking useless jumble of metal and plastic-
"BRING HER BACK, BRADLEY, YOU FUCKING BRING HER BACK-!"
9:01
Wayne Enterprises Mobile Ops Center
Silence. Blank screens. Nothing but black, empty space, and the horrible, shrinking memory of that sudden burst of white, Allen's voice echoing like her dying screams-
Gotham United Methodist
Bruce Wayne watched emotionlessly as Cameron Shaw announced the collapse of the Fountainhead. Some wept, others only stared, like himself, too numbed, too hurt to care. But none knew what had rested on the roof of that building. None knew what this city had lost, that the only reason they were here was a small box the size of a microwave illegally transmitting signals to a small band of exhausted, but determined men.
Bruce shuddered, stood, and walked away from the television to peer in again on James and Gracie.
Head swathed in bandages, face swollen nearly beyond recognition, many cuts stained orange with iodine. Six-year old Gracie Tanaka. The only reason he was living, only reason he wasn't one of the hundreds now trapped under the Legacy's wrath…
Gracie Tanaka. Perhaps the last victim located with the technology that was now out of their grasp. Gracie Tanaka. Struggling for breath, for life. Condition critical. Perhaps dying. She wouldn't be the first, he noted.
A ray of sunlight broke through the ominous cloud of smoke and dust, lighting the hall, etching a glare on the glass. He turned away.
...She wouldn't be the last.
9: 21 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
Montoya. Dead.
Staticky voices cried over the radio from Milton's discarded headset.
…Montoya. Dead.
Crispus Allen's heart-wrenching cries echoed through the room, down the hall, the hall where not eighteen hours before Montoya herself lay screaming.
SHE'S GONE SHE'S GONE SHE'S FUCKING GONE-!
Anna Ramirez was weeping into Gordon's shoulder. Fred Milton had buried his face in his hands.
It was Lawless who stepped silently forward.
Hold him. Cry with him. It won't be okay, nothing can make it right, it will never change it will always be this way. But he isn't alone. Don't you fucking dare let him believe he's alone-
Montoya. Paltron…the Kid. Be strong. Weep. You are a man. A father. This is what you do. What you can do. You hold him while he screams-
9:22 EST
Gotham City Plaza
The rumbling had stopped the shaking had stopped dear God make it stopohGodplease-!
More choking, dust rising debris falling, falling, sharp, stinging pain it burns it burns hot viscous liquid pouring from your belly press it press it some instinct tells you press itpressitnowouryou'lldie-
But you can't. Can't let go. Can't lose that hand, can't lose that hand and be alone--all alone-!
9:23 EST
Sisters of Mercy Convent
Go. Rest.
But there was no rest, only worry, wonder, fear and doubt. Maggie Kyle trembled on her small pallet, tears trickling from her open eyes. Her brother. Dead. No,, no it couldn't be-!
Not Jimmy. Not her Brother. Her hero. He had come back for her, eight years ago he had come back for her, run back into that hellish inferno of crumbling stone and flame, came to find her in the Girl's Dormitories, carried her to safety-
She had lived. Lived when so many others had died…
And again, years later, coming to the hospital after that terrible night, his solidarity, it wasn't your fault Maggie it wasn't your fault, not blaming her, not pressing her, no anger when she didn't testify against her tormenter, no disappointment when she choose a life behind these walls, not even Selina had been so understanding-
He wasn't dead. Couldn't be dead. He was helping. Yes-that was it. Still there, rescuing strangers, not because it was his job but because it was who he was, what he did-
Flamesscreamssmokerisingchokingblindinggroundunderherfeetfallingdownhewasturningaway-
Grip tightening fighting struggling "Jimmy, no! Don't go back in there ohpleaseohGod don't leave me-!"
"They're still in there Maggie, they're all still in there I've got to help them, I have to save him-"
"JIMMY!" Her own voice small and weak, coughing coughing, his white face smudged with smoke, one last glance of those gleaming dark eyes-
But she knew the truth now. It was this heroism that nearly killed him. Would someday kill him. Two hours later, they had pulled him and the dead boy from the stairwell, huddled together in their final moments, skin a grisly black, hair burnt, clothes melted-
A strangled, suffocating sob. Lord let him live, God please spare him whatever you do please spare him-!
9:40 EST
Gotham United Methodist
The door opened, and Bruce jumped to his feet. Amy Lawless' haggard face was inscrutable, blue eyes dull, dark hair falling lankly about her face-
"Gracie-?" He choked, finding suddenly he didn't want to hear the answer.
Amy blinked, put a hand on his arm. "Sit down."
Crushing, awful feeling…Tears again, that strange, hot wetness on his face, tears now after all this time, he hadn't been able to shed them for Rachel, not for his goddamned childhood friend, the one love of his life-
More tears. Trembling lips. Hands to his face. Rachel. Dead. Gone. His fault. All his fucking fault he should never have let her get involved in this he brought this on her a kid a kid she was just a kid a kid like Rachel finding that goddamned arrowhead-
And that wound, that wound was a raw and gaping as it was the first day, the first hour, that terrible second when it was Dent's face and not hers he saw, the feel of the rough suit collar in his hands, dragging him to safety, knowing the cost, the price she would pay-
And again that question, that numbing question, that doubt: was he responsible? Did he bring this upon her? Upon all of them? All the faceless thousands, parents who would never hold children, innocent kids, kids like Gracie-?
It was Alfred's voice. Alfred's mild, irreproaching voice in the silence:
…Rachel believed in what you stood for. What we stand for. Gotham needs you.
Gotham needs you. All that hope. All those lives. They were only wasted, only died in vain if nothing came from them. He had a chance. Could make a difference. Could turn their tragedy into a cause worth sacrificing for-
Bruce blinked, and wiped his eyes.
"Mr. Wayne?" The RN called again. Sighing deeply, he raised his tired face to hers.
9:47 EST
Rachel K. Dawes Municipal Building
(GCPD Dual Headquarters)
"That was a good thing you did." Jim Gordon's voice was whispered, faint. The Commissioner followed soon after, trundling heavily down the limestone stairs, blinking in the sickly sunlight.
Lawless acknowledged his presence with a grunt, casting his gaze again towards the still smoking epicenter. "Know how he feels."
"You should go home." The Commissioner said. "Get out of this mess. You've done enough. Get some rest-"
From his seat on the staircase Lawless shook his head, a strange light in his hazel eyes. "No. I'm not leaving."
"—see your family." Jim smiled sadly. "Please." He couldn't ask them to travel this path with him, couldn't ask them to do what he had done…The machine was off. But it's evidences were undeniable. The hundreds, perhaps thousands of victims who had been located were inexplicable. The Red Cross, Fire Department, the goddamned EMS personnel had all communicated with them, too busy, too distracted to ask questions…
But questions would be asked. Answers would be sought. And when they came, they would come for him and him alone. He would make sure of that.
"Jim," Lawless said lowly, "We're all in this together. All of us. We made this decision. We're not letting you take the fall." But someone had to. Someone had to make the Batman's sacrifice…
Gordon nodded, sinking down next to the haggard Detective. They were silent awhile, the only sounds the distant sirens, the slow pattering of litter up the abandoned sidewalk.
"She was a good woman," The Commissioner stated. "A good cop. I, I didn't know much about Connolly-"
Lawless bit his lips, shaking his head again, staring down at his weathered hands. "He was a just a Kid, Jim. Just a Kid. Had his whole goddamned life ahead of him…" He ran fingers through his dusty auburn hair, struggling for the words to say.
"He was like a, a, a son, you know? And, and I think that's what hurts the worst. I don't want to go home. Don't want to call Ames, see my family…because it's like it'll never be whole again…God." The Detective said, wiping his eyes. "We were remodeling the house together…just, just redoing the back bathroom and bedroom. But I never told him it was for him. Didn't like him living in the Narrows…shitty neighborhood, dangerous-especially for a Kid living alone-"
Gordon was silent. For a moment, the echoes of the Detective's last word were the only sound that hung in the dusty air.
"Hell." Lawless continued. "And that's when it just grabs you by the balls. I knew him for less than a year, Jim. Less than a fucking year but I worked with her for six-"
Guilt. It was the worse feeling in the world. You couldn't live with it, couldn't live with it because something died when you felt it, something died inside you that would never live again-
10:01 EST
Gotham United Methodist
"We drained the hematoma. It was epidural, but it was bleeding fast," the RN whispered.
10:02 EST
Rachel K. Dawes Municipal Building
(GCPD Dual Headquarters)
Silence. Sirens in the distance. The smell of smoke in the air.
Minutes passed. The Detective looked up and met Jim's eyes,, a lifeless smile on his tired face, nodding one last time at the horror in the distance, made no less stark, no less bearable by the sun's strong rays.
The Commissioner offered a shaking hand, and Lawless grasped it wearily. "Sometimes, Arnie, life is sad."
Jim couldn't return the smile. The Chocolate War. About as damn hopeless as it ever gets… He hauled the Detective to his feet, meant to complete the line-
-but never got the chance.
Gotham United Methodist
"She's okay," Bruce repeated stupidly, "She's, she's fine…"
."She's awake if you want to go talk to her-"
He nodded, blinking, not understanding. "She's, she's fine." He said yet again.
"Her vitals are fine. Platelet counts a little low, we'd get her blood if we had any but it just means she might have a longer recovery time without it, we've got an IV running, her color's already back, infection's our only main concern right now-"
"She's alive," the billionaire said disbelieving. "She's…she's alive-!"
10:03 EST
Rachel K. Dawes Municipal Building
(GCPD Dual Headquarters)
"Sometimes…life is shit" Both men spun, reaching for their forgotten guns, facing that voice, that voice, it couldn't be-!
"Hello boys," The speaker said, wicked grin growing wider and wider. "Why so serious?"
10:04 EST
Gotham United Methodist
The halls felt empty. Dead. Perhaps it was the memory of the haunting faces, the stillness of the air, soft hum of electricity, gentle beeps and whirrings of telemetry…I can endure my own despair, but not another's hope…
Amy Lawless stared in at the sleeping girl, the happiness of the woman, Wayne's stricken tears…At least one story had ended well. One of perhaps thousands that wouldn't. Yet perhaps it hadn't ended well at all. The girl's family was dead. Gone. Even a city as far away as Tokyo would not go unaffected by this tragedy-
She turned away, sunlight streaming in through the floor length windows, casting a shadow behind her that was doubt and dark. Her despair, like that hideous cloud of smoke and dust, blotting out the sun-
But that's when she felt it. That tiny, leaping jolt of sick and giddiness all at once, deep down in her belly, like an elevator stopping-
Rachel K. Dawes Muninciple Building
(GCPD Dual Headquarters)
…Montoya.
Detective Renee Montoya. Alive and in the flesh.
She laughed tiredly at her own joke, teeth flashing white against her dark skin, securing a stray strand of coarse hair behind her right ear. "Lawless, put the gun down before you hurt someone, yeah?" She said, placing a bloodied hand on his shaking arm. "But really, don't quote that book. It's full of shit." her tone grew darker as she rubbed her aching thighs. "And if you really want shit, try running down a hundred and twenty flights of stairs...Madre de Dios… where's that bastard Eugene? I owe him a good, swift kick in the cojones-"
Gotham United Methodist
Charts, papers, a pen scattering unnoticed to the floor, heart leaping, lips parting, hands pressed tightly against her unswollen skin-
GCPD Dual Headquarters
"RENEE-!"
Gotham United Methodist
And she cried. Cried so fucking hard she was laughing, slender fingers pressed over her mouth, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks doors opening people staring she didn't care laughed louder cried harder alivealivethebabywasalive-!
10:09 EST
GCPD Tracking Room
Bradley sobbing over the Comm Montoya's slight frame still quashed in Allen's tight embrace, Anna Ramirez was laughing, laughing, even Milton had tears streaming down his face-
It was a joyful reunion. Unexpected. Unlocked for. Unhoped for…
Jesus Christ Renee I thought you were dead I thought you were fucking dead-
Aaron Lawless smiled grimly, smoke and ash still blotting the morning sun, staining the window a cheerless grey, a world full of despair. Yet behind him friends were rejoicing, the sound of laughter echoing loudly down the long hallway, shattering the silence-
Laughingcryinglaughinglaughing oh God Aaron if you're there if you're alive I'll keep us together whatever it takes whatever it costs her baby their baby was alive-!
But hope, Lawless reflected, was a matter of perspective. Of whether the glass was half-empty, or half-full. Whether night was the end, or beginning of the day…
…if whether doubt was the opposite, or absence of faith.
Don'tgiveupyoucan'tgiveupbebravethey'llfindyouhavetoletgohavetopressstopthebleeding let go let go still out there out there in the darkness still there still there they'll come they'll come for you she said she'd come back no matter what I'll come back for you-
It all depended on perspective. Attitude. With what lens a man viewed the world…
Worth it worth it it will all be worth it Gracie, I promise you someday you'll grow up and I'll make it a better world a world you'll be able to say it was a sacrifice you're proud your family was able to make-
Montoya, Ramirez, Gordon, Allen and Milton were all laughing too loudly, too engrossed in conversation to hear the CRACK as the dust-coated window shattered, the tinkering of raining glass, then-
Sunlight.
Pure, unadulterated sunlight came streaming through the jagged window pane, blinding and brilliant, arms outstretched face uplifted sudden brightness searing the very tears from his eyes with it's beauty.
No more doubt. No more despair. The truth was neither merciful nor terrible. It was objective, unbiased fact…
Frantically looking the chaos ambulances busses everywhere Sara Sara where are you running running through the crowd their daughter their daughter Sara alive unharmed-!
…and it would come when it would come. No sooner.
Mustering courage with a final glance, Aaron Lawless turned his back to the rising sun, feet treading unheard over crackling glass, returning to the Tracking Room, embracing his friends, cherishing their smiles, relishing in the certainty and security that these lives, these, were safe, and that was enough to keep him going-
Because you had to keep your focus right. Had to keep your eye on what was important. Couldn't lose sight of what you had. Couldn't let wrong thinking cloud your mind. You couldn't give into despair, to that black and bitter desire to just let go, give in. Because some things in life were certain.
Faith was meant to be rewarded. Love was made to be requited…
…Because regardless of the cost, once you got down to it, Pandora's Box-like a window-was always intended to be opened.