Chapter 7
The Goat
I make my escape from Wayne Manor, heart still racing from my encounter with the Bat. I understand now. This is destiny, my destiny. I am to be his greatest ally, his truest disciple. And when it is done, when I have exorcised the demon that possesses Gotham, corrupts her very heart, then he will see. Even if he cannot, must not, admit it; he will know that it was right, that it was righteous. By night's end, the Joker will laugh no more.
The motorcycle is just where I left it, hidden in the bushes outside the wall. Racing down the road to Gotham, the events of the evening play over and over in my head. Coincidences, too many coincidences. This should've been a simple visit to Wayne Manor – questions, answers, maybe a message for the Bat to make him understand. Why was Nightwing there? Did Wayne call him, maybe trip an alarm? Did I? One that also called Batman and Batwoman? Wayne does fund them, but all three in one place at the same time? How did Wayne manage to slip away so quickly, so quietly? And only a matter of minutes before Batman arrived. Coincidence? Here amidst the stuff of destiny? I think not. Bruce Wayne and the Bat, one and the same? By the time they bound me, my suspicion had grown strong. Now I feel sure.
The conclusion is inescapable, obvious even once you let it sink in. The sheer nerve and genius of it - hiding in plain sight, even making a show of funding yourself as a way to deflect suspicion. It's remarkable that the ruse has held for so long. And for Gotham's sake, it must continue to hold. With the cowl pulled back the Bat would become just a man, and that cannot happen. I will not allow it. Bruce Wayne cannot save Gotham, only Batman can do that, and only with my help. Surely this is part of my burden; to carry the weight of knowing, to guard the Bat's deepest secret. I am filled with a sense of clarity and purpose as I cross the Kane Memorial Bridge and enter Gotham, my course set for Arkham Asylum. The bike glides gracefully through the midnight landscape of the old city. Even in the dark you can feel the decay, the cancer that is slowly consuming what was once the heart of Gotham. You can smell the fear, the desperation. This place is a world away from downtown and its sleeping giants of granite, concrete, glass and steel. Soon I'm across the water again and on Arkham grounds. I lay the bike down out of view and make my approach. The gates are heavily guarded, day or night. But that doesn't matter. No guards, no walls, no spotlights or barbed wire can keep me from my mission.
Scaling the wall is easy. Avoiding the guards, cameras and hi-beams adds a bit of a challenge. A bit. No wonder this place is like a revolving door for sickos, sociopaths and super villains. If this is the best the city can do, they might as well just let them all loose and save the tax-payers the expense. Better yet, cull the whole damn lot of them, like a herd of diseased cattle. But I'm not here to waste my time with second rate scum, I'm here to cleanse this place of its most virulent inhabitant. Batman is right, that monster doesn't deserve to feel peace, even for a minute. Joker is damned, irredeemable, as surely as I am. And after I end his miserable life, his soul will writhe in torment for eternity. Even if I burn right beside him, I will smile knowing that I sent him howling down to Hell with my own two hands.
I don't mind burning. I've earned it. The things I've done; the blood I've spilled. Men, women, children. Sure, it was war. But 'war' is just a word. That word doesn't erase the memories, or make them any easier to live with. I am beyond redemption; I know this with a terrible certainty. And therein lies the core of my purpose. My soul is forfeit, so I can do the hard thing, the grim thing, the bloody thing that needs doing. Let the innocent remain innocent, I am killer enough for us all.
I make my way to the main building, keep to the shadows, avoid sensors and guards. Lucky for me, some doctor left an office window unlocked. I slide it open, slip inside and wait, silent and still, in the darkness until I hear the night shift guard making his rounds. He passes the office door. I ease it open, grab him from behind, quickly, quietly. My hands clamp down over his mouth and nose, holding tight until I feel him go limp. He'll wake up in a while with a nasty headache, but nothing more. I drag the unconscious guard into the office, relieve him of his magnetic-stripped ID card, and stash him under the desk out of sight.
The card grants me access to Arkham's deeper, darker levels; those grim and lightless places where they keep things best forgotten. I recognize the names on the doors – Harvey Dent, Victor Zsasz, Jonathon Crane – but don't stop, until a voice calls out from the darkness.
"Nice horns"
I turn towards the voice, Edward Nashton aka Nygma.
"Riddle me this," he says. "Until I am measured I am not known. Yet how you miss me when I have flown. What am I?"
Nygma's eyes peer out at me through the small barred window in his door. This one hadn't figured into my plans. But life is unpredictable, and one must always be ready to improvise. I approach the cell.
"Care to guess?" Nygma prompts. I say nothing. "No? Fine then, I'll tell you. Time. Get it?"
"Yes," I reply, and with a casual swipe of the guard's card-key his door clicks open.
Nygma jumps back, then cautiously pushes the door open. After a moment he steps out into the hall, eyes darting back and forth, looking around like he's expecting a trap. Finally, he takes a deep breath and turns his attention back to me. If he was smarter he'd have kept it there the whole time.
"Here's a riddle even I can't figure," he says. "Who the hell are you and why let me out of my cell?"
"Who I am is irrelevant," I walk closer to him. "If you had more time you could call me Scapegoat. And I let you out to make this easier for me."
"Make what easier for you, Sca… "
I bring the knife up quickly. His voice stops abruptly as the slender blade pierces his jugular.
"This," I answer him.
His eyes go wide and he clutches weakly, impotently at my arm. He flails, spasms, then goes still. I let his lifeless body fall to the ground, blood pooling beside his head. This detour was unexpected, but beneficial nonetheless. Still, it felt rushed, no time to make him see his sin. But time is not on my side. I wipe the blade clean on his leg, sheathe it and turn my attention back to the far end of the hall.
After Nygma's, there are no more cells to either side. The corridor stretches on, almost lightless, ending finally at a single door with no window and no name posted. I raise the card to the sensor, and an adjacent screen blinks to life, displaying the words 'Unlock Door – Are You Sure?' with 'Yes' and 'No' in boxes below. I touch the box marked 'Yes', and the locking mechanism begins to hum and whir. I hear gears turning and what sounds like heavy machinery at work. Then the door opens, slowly, just a few inches.
"Well, well, what have we here?" his voice carves through the darkness, dripping with malice and glee. "I do love a good surprise, and it's been so long since anything unexpected happened in here. I had a little playtime with that one guard - Such fun we had! - but since then it's been so boring. I get the feeling that's all about to change."
"Not change, Joker; end," I tell him as I pull the door open.
"Ooooh, sounds serious. And me in here all helpless and alone. Say, that's a hell of an outfit you've got there! Let me guess… Goatboy? Blacksheep? The Horny Gimp?"
He steps forward out of the darkness, a malevolent smile spreading across his face. It's a very inviting target. I lunge forward and deliver a sharp uppercut that sends Joker flying backwards into the wall. My heart surges. Victory is within my grasp. I have only to reach out and claim it.
And suddenly everything is upside down. My feet pulled out from under, my head plummets and hits the floor, hard. How can he be this fast? How could I be so careless? But now there are no more reasons, no more blame or guilt. There is only the blade at my throat, my own blade turned against me; and his voice, that horrid voice, in my ear.
"Good goat, so kind, so considerate. How ever shall I repay you for this wonderful surprise? Not only do I get to stretch my legs," he says, fingering the security badge dangling around my neck, "but you've given me all of Arkham to play with. Now then, where shall we begin?"