Unleashed
It was late afternoon when a knock at the door awoke Bruce from his nap. They weren't in Galavan's apartment anymore, not after Galavan remembered his original goal. It was too risky.
Instead, they'd gone to one of Bruce's many safe-houses in the city. Bruce had cleaned up the scrape on his neck, which was barely even skin-deep, and then he'd moved on to the bad cut on his leg. Like he'd feared, the blade had gone deep into his calf muscle. He cleaned it slowly, resisting the urge to scream in pain as he did it, and then stitched it up. It wasn't his best work, but it was functional. Sometime after that, he managed to doze off for a while before being rudely interrupted.
He slowly stood from the couch, testing out his bad leg. It hurt like hell to stand, let alone walk, but he managed to limp over to the door. He took a knife from the nearby kitchen rack and held it behind the door as he opened it. Galavan probably wasn't one to knock, but better safe than sorry.
It wasn't Galavan.
"Hey, Bruce," Selina greeted him. She looked tired.
"Selina," Bruce stated. "What're you doing here?" Her eyes dropped to the floor. Something was wrong. "What's up?" he asked.
"Can we go somewhere to talk? It's a long story…"
They made their way down to Gritty's Diner, sliding into a booth and placing two orders for the house specialty. The whole walk, Bruce's calf was screaming at him, but he needed to stay strong. He couldn't let on that he was injured, not around Selina. Besides, she seemed to be dealing with a lot too. He didn't need to put anything else on her shoulders.
So Bruce simply stared at her, waiting for her to start the conversation.
She eventually obliged, asking, "Have you seen the news?"
Bruce chuckled and nodded. "Walking zombies in Gotham? What's new?"
She smiled and slid an old newspaper article across the desk. She pointed at one man in particular, and an alarm went off in Bruce's head. "Professor Hugo Strange. He worked for my father on a project designed to help people. He perverted it and now I believe he's found a way to–"
"Bring back the dead," Bruce finished. "Which is how Galavan–"
"And Mr. Freeze are running around."
"Did you talk to the cops?" Bruce asked.
She nodded, her gaze becoming dark. "They won't do shit unless they have a warrant. Even Gordon."
"He's not even a cop," Bruce commented.
"That's what I said! But, no-o. Suddenly he has to do everything by the book. It's so annoying."
Bruce nodded. "I know the feeling."
She clenched her fists in frustration. "I know Strange is hiding something. And since the police failed to find out what, I think I can do better."
Bruce cocked an eyebrow. "That so?" he asked.
"When my father shut down Strange, he was killed. I just want the truth, that's all."
Bruce leaned back and nodded slowly. "Okay. So what do you need me for?"
"I want you to break me into Arkham Asylum," Selina told him.
Bruce smiled to himself, pride filling his chest at the brave young woman Selina Wayne had become. He felt, in part, responsible for how strong she'd become over the past three years. It was truly a testament to what moral-conviction and perseverance in disaster could turn a person into.
"No."
Her eyebrows shot up her forehead in surprise. "What…what do you mean 'no'?"
"I'm not breaking you into Arkham," Bruce told her. "End of discussion."
"W-why not?" she asked indignantly.
"Why not break you into a highly-guarded place that's packed with literal crazy people?"
She scoffed, turning to look out the window. "If that's too dangerous for you, I'll just go myself."
Bruce was well aware of what she was doing, but the bait was too damn good not to bite at.
"I didn't say that," he stated, knowing very well that she'd effectively won the argument.
"Prisons are meant to stop people from breaking out, not in. It can be done," she told him.
"It's a looney bin. Not a prison. I know it can be done," Bruce said. "But I go alone."
"Why?" she asked.
Bruce smirked. "I get caught, they'll just toss me out. Nobody cares about me. But you? They see you coming, and they'll shut that whole thing down quicker than you can say rat. And then you'll never find out what they've been up to." He casually picked up a fry from his basket, drawling, "That, or they'll just kill you. Besides, I already know a way in."
After finishing up the meal, Bruce walked her outside, waved down a taxi, and told him to take her to Wayne Manor.
Selina rolled her eyes, saying, "Bruce, relax. I'll be fine." She hugged him, whispering, "And if you get yourself killed in there, I'll kill you."
Bruce smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, you should get home. Alfred's probably worried I abducted you, again."
She smiled and obliged. Bruce watched her go, a sick feeling developing in his stomach.
He got back to the apartment as fast as humanly possible. Jean was casually sitting on the couch, cleaning his knives.
"Where were you?" he asked as Bruce barged in the door.
Bruce ignored him. "You need to go to Wayne Manor, now. I sent Selina back there. She said that Strange is responsible for bringing Galavan and Freeze back, so I'm gonna go to Arkham again. Either way, one of us will probably intercept him."
He didn't say it, but it was more likely that Galavan would go to the Manor rather than Arkham. Unfortunately, Bruce knew Jean was in far better shape for a fight than he was, even if he'd never admit it.
Sterling held his hands up. "Okay, time out. What are you talking about? When did you see Selina?"
Bruce shook his head. "She came by and we talked, but you need to go now. If Galavan gets to her before you do, I'll kill you."
"Didn't you just say that you'd kill me if I went to Wayne Manor?" Jean asked.
"And now I'll kill you if you don't."
Jean shrugged. "Fair enough. But are you sure you should go to Arkham like…that?" he asked, gesturing to Bruce's leg.
Bruce scoffed. "Worry about yourself. Now go!"
Jean grabbed his hood and daggers, since his mask had been badly damaged and Galavan had stolen his sword in their last fight. He was about to run out of the room when Bruce stopped him.
"Jean…" he started.
"What?" he asked, his hand already on the doorknob.
"Protect her. Please."
Jean stared at him and slowly nodded. "I will."
Bruce clenched his jaw. He wanted nothing more than to go protect Selina himself, but Jean was better fit for the job. He gave her a better chance at survival. The revelation hurt, but it was true. "Go," he stated.
Jean nodded and left the apartment.
When he was gone, Bruce let himself collapse onto the couch. His leg felt like it was about to split in half. There was no way he'd get into Arkham in this state, especially not the way he was planning on doing it.
But he had to be strong. Selina needed him to be.
So, he gritted his teeth and shoved himself back onto his feet, hobbling over to the wall where loose boards stuck out. He ripped an old, wet, moldy board clean out of the wall, and then tore it in half with his bare hands.
He set the two planks parallel to his calf and went to work, wrapping a two strands of rope around the two planks and pulling it as tight as he could bear. It hurt like hell, and splinters were digging into his exposed skin, but the splint would be functional for what he needed to do. He pulled his pant leg over the device and stood from the couch again.
It was easier to stand than last time. He did his best to walk normally, going to his bedroom and pulling on his black army jacket. He reached for his pair of brass knuckles, but only found one. He'd thrown the other one at Galavan.
But only one would have to do for now.
Besides, he wasn't planning on fighting anyone. All he had to do was sneak into Arkham, find the supposed secret basement, get incriminating evidence on Strange, and then get back out without anyone noticing he was there in the first place.
Easy, right?
The difficult part would be staying on task. Jean could protect Selina. He would protect her.
Now he needed to do his part.
It was time to end this.
Selina glanced over her shoulder for what seemed like fiftieth time in ten minutes. She'd been on edge all day, ever since she'd seen Galavan on the news. She hadn't slept that night, nor had she eaten the following morning. Then, after searching the city for almost the whole day, she'd finally found Bruce. All the tension that'd been building up for the past three days disappeared. She'd even managed to have a meal.
But now that he was gone and she was alone again, the tension returned with a vengeance.
You know that feeling you get when you know someone's watching you? Like something in you just doesn't sit right or the hair on your neck stands on end for seemingly no reason?
That was all she felt the whole drive back to the Manor. She knew someone was watching her, following her, but every time she looked no one was there.
She'd already slipped the cabbie an extra hundred dollars to drive much, much faster than what was legal. If someone was following them, matching their pace, it would've been obvious. But every time she got suspicious of a car, it turned off an exit, fell far behind, or sped up even faster and left them in the dust.
She took a deep breath. She was just getting herself worked up. There was no one following them. If they were, she would've spotted them by now. She was just nervous because Galavan was running around. Once she got home, she'd be fine.
Still, she slipped the driver another hundred dollars.
She couldn't get back to the Manor quickly enough.
By the time the car arrived, it was already sunset. She paid him the amount due, telling him to keep the change, and then sprinted across the lawn to the front door.
She threw the door open and pulled herself inside, closing it just as quickly and locking it behind her. She leaned up against the door, breathing a sigh of relief.
She was fine. Everything was fine. No one was following her. She was just being paranoid. The tension started to alleviate.
"Alfred?" she called into the house. No response. "Alfred!?" she called, a bit louder this time. She started towards the staircase, walking up to the second floor where the bedrooms and study were.
She looked down the hall, seeing warm, orange light spilling from the study into the corridor. The fireplace was lit.
She ran down the hall, hearing Alfred's voice. She paused by the slightly open door. Alfred was inside, speaking into the telephone.
He said into it, "Well, you having a laugh, ain't you? I thought he was after you." Alfred paused. "Right, well, I'll get the motor." He paused again, listening. "Uh, Collins and Delaney," he answered.
That was where Alfred had dropped her off this morning.
Alfred continued, "Last I saw of her, she was headed to see that Bruce Kyle, I reckon." He paused. "Right. Will do," he said in finality, hanging up the phone.
He lunged backwards, knife in hand, prepared to skewer whoever was now standing behind him.
Unfortunately, that person was…
"Oh, for Pete's sake, Miss Wayne," Alfred chided as he lowered the knife. "Creeping up on someone like that, I could've filleted you."
"I'm sorry," she told him with a small smirk. She noticed that he didn't seem relieved. In fact, he looked about ready to be sick. "What's wrong?" she asked, already knowing the answer but not wanting it to be true.
Alfred sighed. "Galavan, Miss Wayne. Theo bloody Galavan is what's wrong."
Bruce made his way to the southwest corner of the city, just across the river from Arkham Island. He scaled the fire escape of a laundry company, silently making his way around the building to where bags upon bags of inmate clothing were being loaded into baskets and trucks by workers.
When no one was looking, he hoisted himself over the railing of the fire escape, dropping into one of the baskets. His right leg hit first as he landed and a wave of pain shot up his side, but he refused to cry out. This was the easiest way into the Asylum, so he'd just have to deal with the discomfort. He pulled the clothes over him and waited. His basket was eventually moved onto the truck, one man in particular muttering about how heavy it was.
Luckily, they went about their business as normal, not bothering to check what was inside.
When the truck was fully loaded with laundry, it drove off across the bridge to Arkham Asylum.
The doors opened up again as K9 units were used to inspect the baskets. Bruce had already climbed out of his basket, crawling through the truck to the driver's seat. When the coast was clear, he slipped out the driver's door, making a mad dash for cover. His leg was on fire, but he steeled himself. His work had only just begun.
He approached the wall of the Asylum, taking hold of the exposed water pipes. From there, he began a fifty foot climb straight up the wall, using nothing but upper body strength and leverage from his left leg to scale five stories of flat surface.
Twice he had to slide back down several feet to avoid spot lights, the second of which he stopped his momentum with both legs. He wanted to scream in pain. The splint was no help when climbing. He took a deep breath, reminding himself why he was doing this. For who he was doing this.
He finally reached the top, pulling himself over the edge and onto the roof. So far, he'd been undetected, but his job wasn't over yet. A spotlight rapidly approached where he was sitting, and he had to dive out of the way to cover, once again landing hard on his right leg.
He shouldn't have been walking, let alone running, climbing and jumping on that leg. He was probably only making it worse. But he told himself, at that point, it would take more effort to get down and get out than it would to keep going.
So, he clenched his teeth and made his way across the rooftop, pulling open a ventilation shaft, slipping inside, and pulling it closed behind him. He slid down the pipe, which eventually leveled out. He got on his hands and knees (which was a lot less painful that walking) and began to crawl through the pipes.
He froze, his ears perking up.
He'd seen several rats in the ventilation, all of which scurried away from him, but that didn't sound like a rat.
There was someone else in the ventilation with him.
He hid around a corner, peaking down the pipe as the other person passed by, unaware of his presence.
He was pretty sure that was Ed Nygma. Of course he would've figured this place out, too. Bruce ignored him crawling down the passage and turning the direction where Nygma had come from.
Bruce thought to himself, 'This isn't going as horribly as it could.'
His hand landed in rat shit.
'Never mind.'
Selina ran around the second floor of the house, locking all the doors, closing all the windows, and turning out all the lights.
Galavan was coming, and he was coming for Selina. But they were gonna give him a hell of a time finding her.
She was almost done, having cleared over three quarters of the house without a trace of Galavan.
Then, she found the broken window.
She turned and ran down the hallways, screaming his name. No answer. She grabbed a sword from a display as she passed.
Just as she rounded the corner, reaching the study, gunshots filled the air.
Selina watched, frozen, as Galavan dodged the bullets and knocked Alfred to the ground, tossing aside the pistol.
"Alfred!" Selina called, sliding the sword across the floor to where Alfred was laying.
Alfred grabbed it and held it up just in time, deflecting Galavan's own blade. "Run, Selina!" Alfred yelled, kicking Galavan in the knee and standing to his feet.
Selina didn't run. She knew she could help, but she had to get to Alfred's gun which now sat behind her father's desk. Alfred fought like a cornered animal, landing several blows to Galavan's head and body. Selina maneuvered around them, trying to get an angle where she could make a run for the gun.
Galavan got under Alfred's guard and drove him from the windows to the other side of the room.
Selina saw her opportunity and took it, avoiding a pair of swings from Galavan and sliding under the desk, fumbling around for the gun.
Alfred charged again, but Galavan was ready. He sliced at Alfred's leg and then threw him crashing through a window.
"Alfred!" Selina yelled, aiming the gun at Galavan and circling around the room so her back was to the exit. She was half tempted to shoot Galavan right then and there, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
She'd pulled a trigger once, and she couldn't do it again.
Instead, she threw the gun at Galavan's head, hitting him square between the eyes. Galavan stood still for a moment in surprise. Then, he growled, "That's the second time today a child has thrown something at me. And it will be the last."
Selina ran like hell.
She rounded the corner and a firm hand grabbed her arm, pulling her to an immediate halt.
She let out a squeal of terror, but the person's other hand clamped down on her mouth, stopping her from vocally protesting further.
Jean-Paul Valley/Sterling St. Cloud was standing there.
She tried to scream again, but Jean told her, "Selina, I'm here to help. If you wanna live, you need to come with me." Selina kept struggling. "Bruce sent me," Jean stated.
She stopped trying to free herself, and he let go of her arm and mouth. She sized him up, trying to tell if he was telling the truth or not.
He didn't give her much time to consider the offer, saying, "We need to go, now," and taking off down the hallway.
Seeing no better option, Selina chased after him, eventually overtaking him and leading him through the house.
They ran into the garage and Jean asked, "Why did we come here?"
"I have a plan," Selina told him. "But you're the bait."
Less than thirty seconds later, the garage was silent. Another pair of footsteps rang through the room as Galavan entered. He removed his sword from his scabbard, carelessly swinging it around as he slowly walked into the room. Other than the light coming through the garage door's windows, the room was pitch black and filled with two dozen cars.
Galavan sighed in disappointment. "Don't hide, little one. Face me. Face death."
No response.
"You know the Waynes were a blight upon the city," Galavan started, slowly walking deeper into the garage as he checked between the cars. "A selfish, arrogant family. A family with no beliefs. No honor. No respect." He paused, but no one answered. "You are your father's only child, Selina. When I kill you, I eradicate the Wayne name forever…" He trailed off, spotting a pair of shoes hidden behind one of the cars. He smiled to himself, keeping his voice calm as he approached the car. "It will be as though you had never existed!" he yelled as he rounded the corner, sword held high and ready for the finishing blow.
He didn't find Selina Wayne.
Instead, Jean lunged out at him, putting his shoulder in Galavan's gut and knocking him to the ground.
Jean looked to his left, took a step backwards, and turned back to Galavan who was just regaining his footing.
"See ya, around, Theo," Jean drawled with a wave.
A car's engine roared to life and tires screeched on the pavement. Galavan had just enough time to look at what was coming before the car ran over him, driven by none other than Selina Wayne.
She slammed the car through the garage door, not stopping again until they were halfway across the lawn.
She looked around from the driver's seat, trying to find where Galavan had ended up. She couldn't see him in any of the rearview mirrors, and he wasn't on the hood…
She stepped out of the car and scanned the area.
Galavan was nowhere to be found.
She walked around to the front and checked under the car. He wasn't there either.
She stood back up and looked around again. He couldn't just vanish…could he?
Her hair stood on end. A cord wrapped around her throat, cutting off the air from her lungs. She clawed at it, but Galavan had the other end of the whip and held it tight.
He drew his sword and growled, "Enough fun and games. Prepare to die."
The whip suddenly went slack and Selina gasped for breath. A knife had severed the cord in half.
Jean appeared from out of nowhere, charging his uncle with a dagger in each hand. She hadn't noticed before, but Jean was wearing armor similar to Galavan's, minus the mask. She scrambled backwards as Galavan swung his sword at Jean, who deflected it with one dagger and sunk the other into Galavan's side. Galavan growled in defiance and threw Jean backwards, but Jean came up on his feet, drew another dagger, and charged again. This time, when Galavan swung, Jean dropped into a baseball slide and slid between his uncle's legs, coming up behind Galavan and sinking the knives into the back of Galavan's knees.
Galavan dropped to his knees, groaning in pain. His sword clattered to the ground.
Jean stood from the ground, casually bending over to pick up the sword and walking around to face Galavan. He had a wicked grin on his face.
Galavan let out a ragged breathe, asking, "Why would you do this, my child? I am the hand of Dumas…the angel of death. I am Azrael…"
Jean let out a dark chuckle and shook his head, raising the tip of the sword to Galavan's throat.
"No. I am."
He swung the sword, cleaving straight through Galavan's neck. His head rolled to the floor, his body keeling over and falling flat on the ground.
Selina simply watched on in horror.
Jean knelt next to the body, removing a ring from Galavan's finger and putting it on his own. "You died with honor and purpose," he whispered to the body, too quietly for Selina to hear. "He will be pleased. Now rest."
Jean stood from the body, reclaiming his sword and sliding it into his own empty scabbard.
Selina shook her head, croaking, "What…why…how are you here?"
Police sirens filled the air. Jean shook his head, telling her, "I don't have much time. Bruce sent me to protect you. He went to Arkham. I'm sorry that I can't explain more, but I have to go."
Selina opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. She simply nodded.
Jean turned, but didn't walk away. He turned back to her, shame in his eyes. "And Selina, I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you. I hope you can forgive me…one day."
And with that he turned and ran off into the woods, leaving Selina behind with Galavan's headless body. She stood there, bewildered by all that'd occurred in the last five minutes.
One thing in particular stuck out to her:
Since when were Bruce and Jean-Paul Valley working together?
Bruce dropped out of the ventilation shafts, directly into the small, purposeless room from earlier. He landed on his good leg, purposefully keeping his right off the ground until his momentum stopped. He stabilized and carefully set his other foot down. It felt like the injury in his leg was worse than before, but it was bearable. Besides, he was so close to his goal.
He limped over to the fake panel, flipping it down and getting to work on the lock. About halfway through, the alarm sounded. Most likely they'd found Ed missing, but that also meant Bruce wasn't getting out the way he'd gotten in. He'd just have to improvise when he got that far.
Finally, the lock clicked and the wall slid away, revealing a secret elevator.
"Okay…" he muttered, entering the elevator and closing the wall behind him. He pressed a lever and the cart jolted to a start, rapidly going downwards.
The elevator stopped and the door opened. He stood to the side, out of view from anyone in the hallway. The fence was pulled back and a man stepped inside. He was able to let out a "Hey!" of surprise before Bruce clocked him with his brass knuckles.
He laid the unconscious body to the side of the elevator and closed it, slipping down the hallway silently. He followed a pair of guards, eventually reaching another hallway. Three people started walking towards him, so he ducked into the nearest room, hiding under a desk directly next to a window.
"Give us a minute, please," one of the voices asked. Ice shot down Bruce's back. It was Strange speaking.
Another man grunted in affirmation and walked down the hall, Strange and the other person stopping next to the window to talk.
"I think we can safely say Azrael has gone rogue," Peabody stated.
"I'm not comfortable making that assumption just yet," Strange rebuffed.
"But it's been more than 24 hours since he's made contact."
"Perhaps that's because Jim Gordon still breathes."
"But if the police catch him first, how do we explain?" Peabody asked.
"Something that cannot be explained? We don't. Theo Galavan is no more. Azrael is his new creation. A killer. A madman. The GCPD will fail if they try to capture him. They'll have to kill him first and when they do, they'll be successfully covering our tracks for us. In the meantime, this facility needs to be shut down. All subjects moved to the new location."
"Already happening," Peabody told him.
"That's my girl."
They turned and walked off down the hallway.
Bruce stayed frozen in his hiding place, all his worst fears realized.
He waited until all the footsteps had disappeared before moving. He needed to get out. Now.
He crept down the hallways, reaching the corridor with the elevator. But he wasn't alone. A team of guards in riot gear were fighting with something at the threshold of a cell.
It was a giant of a man with bright yellow reptilian eyes and teeth that resembled more of an alligator's than a man.
They were making monsters down here, and he was trapped inside.
He crept back down the hallway that he'd came. In the distance, another door opened, and he ducked into a nearby room to avoid being spotted.
He didn't hear the door lock behind him.
The room in question was made entirely of metal, most of it painted black. There were three figures that looked like karate dummies, but they were heavily burned.
He turned a corner and found a man's body sizzling.
Across the room was a table full of metal parts and bottles of…gasoline.
"Are you my human subject?" a chillingly familiar voice asked from behind him.
Bruce whipped around. "What?" he asked.
"Were you sent here to test me?" the other person asked.
Bruce stared at him. The man in question was a bit taller, even skinnier than Bruce, and was wearing a full-body suit made of a weird, silvery cloth. And he was holding a flame thrower.
"Garfield?" Bruce asked in complete disbelief.
"Who's Garfield?" the man asked sharply.
"It's me, Bruce," he told him. "You burned yourself when the cops tried to bust you, remember?"
"I don't remember anything before this. Professor Strange told me I have amnesia."
"No, don't trust him," Bruce warned. "Your name is Garfield."
"He told me he'd sent people to test me," Gar told him, turning on his flamethrower.
"Well, I'm not here to test you. I'm here to take you home."
"That's what he said you'd say."
Bruce turned and tried to pry open the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Gar, stop!" he yelled.
"Don't call me that! My name is Firefly."
The flamethrower roared to life, sending waves of fire at Bruce. He dove out of the way, but didn't escape unscathed.
His right leg had been caught by the flames, and his splint was made of wood and rope…
He summoned all the strength in his body and leapt at Garfield, knocking the gun out of his hands and hitting him hard with the brass knuckles in his jaw. Gar's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Bruce kicked off his splint as quickly as possible, his right leg now burnt as well as torn.
This was not going well…
A/N: Like I said in the first post, I originally had this as a single mega-chapter called Azrael Unleashed, but decided against it when it came out as around 9.3 thousand words, two thousand more than any chapter I've ever written. But anyways, if you enjoyed or have any questions/comments/concerns about the story, make sure to Review! Thanks for reading and ciao for now!
