Chapter 11

"The Terrible Trio"

Gordon stood at the window of the observation cell where they were holding the large man who had attacked the Gotham Mall, now heavily restrained and sedated. He almost spilled off the edges of the upright gurney he was on. He had been incoherent and violent since being brought in, hence the measures taken to contain him.

"What have you got on him?" Gordon asked Essen as she joined him, carrying a folder.

She read from the folder. "Prints identify him as Aaron Helzinger. Arrested for assault and manslaughter about a year ago in upstate New York. Was sent for psychiatric treatment, but all record of him seems to end after that."

"The hell's he doing here?" Gordon wondered aloud.

Essen continued. "Doctor who examined him found some chemical cocktail in his system. Doesn't know what it is exactly but says it's overloading his heart and respiratory system. This drug is also inhibiting the pain centres of his brain and the amygdala."

"Amygdala?"

"The part of the brain responsible for rational thinking, apparently, as well as emotional control."

Gordon laughed humourlessly. "That explains a lot. From what I read in your report, he was acting like some crazed beast. Probably overdosed on whatever that stuff is, went nuts. Might get more out of him when he dries up."

"If he dries up," Essen said. "The doctor says if this stuff isn't flushed out of his system soon, he could suffer cardiopulmonary failure."

"Damn," Gordon said quietly. If Helzinger couldn't provide answers, he'd remain another mystery.

He noticed Essen looking annoyed, which was a familiar sight. He'd heard the Batman had shown up at the mall too, and had been the one to take down Helzinger. At least Gordon couldn't be blamed for this one – Helzinger had made so much of a scene that an anonymous tip-off had not been required.

He'd also heard that Hugo Strange had shown up in some insane attempt to capture Batman himself, botching any attempt Essen's unit might have had to do so. Although Gordon was secretly pleased neither had succeeded, Strange's interference was unwelcome. Unfortunately, the professor had friends in high places.

"I, uh, got a call from the mayor…" Gordon said with a heavy tone.

Essen sighed. "Yeah, I thought you might. Strange is off the hook, isn't he?"

Gordon nodded. "Garcia even made it sound like we were the ones in the way."

Essen shook her head. "How does he have so much pull?"

"The mayor just wants the good publicity, I suppose. Strange has had success catching killers in the past."

"If he could help us catch Batman instead of trying to do it himself, that'd be more useful."

Gordon said nothing, not wanting to get into another argument. He had enough of those at home. He wondered if he could work late again tonight.

Detective Merkel came through the observation room door. "Sirs, another murder victim found, similar to William Earle."

"Who is it?" Essen asked.

"Philip Keane, an executive with Wayne Enterprises," Merkel said. "His daughter found him when she went to visit; he's cut up bad, mask stitched to his face, like Earle. Uniform has secured the scene."

Essen looked to Gordon. "Go," he said. "Let me know what you find."

She and Merkel darted out, leaving Gordon to stare at Helzinger through the two-way glass.

Grotesque murders and rampaging behemoths? Just another night in Gotham.


Batman had great sympathy for those who found a loved one murdered. Philip Keane was one of WE's board members, and his daughter had come over to see him, only to find him in his armchair, naked, mutilated, and dead, with a death mask covering his face. Exactly like Bill Earle.

Given that Earle was also connected to WE, this was troubling. Someone with a vendetta maybe? What was the meaning behind the masks? And was it related to this new player in town, Black Mask? It all seemed too convenient to be happening at the same time.

Batman had heard about the murder on the police band and made his way to Keane's home before the detectives and forensics teams arrive. Uniformed officers stood watch outside, but he had no trouble finding a way in.

He now crouched before Keane – the dead man seeming almost at peace with the serene mask covering him, if it wasn't for the damage done to his body.

Like Earle, Keane had numerous small incisions all over him, with fingernails and larger chunks of flesh removed, but all crudely cauterised. This time, two fingers were missing as well. And yet, very little blood on him. His heart had probably given out too, after enduring so much.

There were, however, small traces of the same powdery rust on him. Batman took a sample, although it would probably yield as little results as last time. Rust was hardly uncommon.

He heard the front door opening. The police teams were here; he'd have to make his escape. He had no desire for another confrontation with Captain Essen.

But he would put a stop to these murders. They could not go unpunished.


"All ready for the prisoner transfer, Sergeant?" Gordon asked Sgt. Hennelly in the police lock-up.

The members of the Red Hoods apprehended at the Moench Museum were to be sent to county jail to await trial. Most of them had been helpful in revealing that their weaponry was provided by someone called "Black Mask," but very little else. Another nut with a flashy name and disguise was not what Gotham needed right now.

"Yes, sir," Hennelly said, his craggy features crunched up as he glared at the sullen captives in their cells. "I'll be relieved to get rid of them. The van should be here soon."

Gordon nodded and made his way back along the hall, lined with bars on either side. Truthfully, he didn't really need to be down here, supervising the transfer directly, looking over everyone's shoulders. He was just trying to delay his return home. It had become an unpleasant experience of late.

Right now, he really felt like heading out for a cigarette.

He turned a corner and was approaching the secure door back to the rest of the building, when it buzzed, signalling someone wanted in.

The officer standing guard opened the viewing slot in the thick metal door, and Gordon heard him say, "What the…?"

The officer then fell backwards, a gunshot ringing through the corridor, blood trailing from a hole in his head.

Gordon immediately ducked back behind the corner, drawing his sidearm and yelling "Breach!" to Hennelly and the two officers with him.

Hennelly reacted instantly too, hitting the alarm, but nothing happened. "Power must be cut," Hennelly said. That meant this was something coordinated, planned. Possibly an inside job.

The secure door suddenly exploded open. Some sort of incendiary device, Gordon guessed. "Don't come any closer!" he shouted into the smoke, trying to sound intimidating. Hennelly and the two officers had joined him, also taking up firing positions.

Three unlikely persons emerged from the smoke. They were of feminine figure, clad in body armour over flashy, brightly coloured tracksuits, hair in ponytails, their faces covered by animal masks – a shark, a fox, and a vulture. They all carried automatic pistols.

They came out firing, their powerful weapons tearing chunks of concrete out the wall. Gordon and his fellow cops got off a few shots, but under this relentless stream of bullets it was hard to find an opportunity to fire back, and the animal-faced invaders' armour gave them ample protection.

One of the young officers took a hit, and it looked bad. "Fall back!" Gordon shouted to the others.

They withdrew to an unoccupied cell. Gordon ducked down to the fallen officer, lying in a pool of his own blood, and checked his pulse. Gone. He winced and ran into the empty cell too. The invaders continued to advance, shooting up the walls. The alarm may not be working, but someone would surely hear them and come to the rescue.

"Who the hell are these guys?" Hennelly shouted over the gunfire.

Gordon had no idea either, but he was determined not to let them leave.

The masked intruders appeared at their cell, and Hennelly whipped around, sidearm ready, only to be shot in the shoulder, falling to the floor and crying out in pain.

"Drop them!" the fox shouted. All three aimed their guns into the cell.

Gordon sighed and nodded to the others. They all tossed their weapons. The remaining officer aided Hennelly, putting pressure on his gushing wound.

"Don't worry," the fox said, her voice high and girlish, contrasting with their violent actions, "we're not here for you. Just play nice and you'll be fine." She turned to her comrades. "Shark, keep an eye on them. Vulture, with me."

"What are you doing here?" Gordon asked, commandingly. "How did you even get in?"

"Shhh!" the fox hushed him.

She and the vulture proceeded down the corridor. Gordon seethed, unable to make a move under the shark's faux black eyes watching them.

Through the bars in the side of their cell, he could see the fox and the vulture stop outside those containing the Red Hoods.

"What the hell is this?" he heard one of the Hoods saying.

"Who are you supposed to be?" said another.

"Black Mask sent us," said the fox. Gordon frowned, curious and alert.

It seemed to worry the Hoods too. "W-What?" one said.

"You were told to strike the Central Bank," said the vulture, sounding menacing despite her light, youthful voice. "You were told to reveal nothing of Black Mask or his False Face Society. You have failed to follow your instructions. You have broken your deal with the Black Mask."

"Go screw yourselves!" a Hood shouted, unafraid.

The fox ignored him. "For this, you shall receive… punishment."

With that, the fox and vulture both opened fire on the Red Hoods, slaughtering them in their cells. Gordon screwed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the deafening sound of gunfire against the close walls over the screams of the captives. He could just make out the masked executioners laughing in delight too.

When it was over, and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, Gordon saw that not all the Hoods had been killed instantly, with many of them writhing and moaning in pain on the floor, blood everywhere, adding its tangy scent to the gunpowder. It seemed good enough for the intruders though. He stared in horror at the needless carnage.

"Can I kill these guys now too?" the shark asked, also sounding young and unconcerned with what had just happened. She took her eyes off them for a second and Gordon took the advantage.

He lunged for the shark, twisting her arm around her small frame easily, holding her in place. With his other hand, he grabbed her automatic pistol, wrenching it from her delicate grip.

Holding the gun to the shark's masked head, and noting the strong perfume she wore, he shouted to her companions. "Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads! Do it!"

"Oh great," the shark droned, as if this was a mere inconvenience.

The fox and the vulture simply aimed their own pistols at him. "I don't think so, old man," said the fox.

"None of you are walking out of here free!" he told them.

The duo looked at each other a moment, then back to him. "Two of us are," said the vulture.

"What?" cried the shark. "No!"

"You know what he will do to us if we fail him," the fox said.

"Shut up and drop your weapons!" Gordon shouted.

"You can't!" the shark pleaded with her cohorts.

"Sorry, babe," the fox said, shrugging.

Before Gordon could say anything else, the fox shot the shark in the head, splitting her plastic mask, blood erupting from it. Instinctively, Gordon returned fire, spraying both fox and vulture, dropping them to the floor.

It took him a moment to process what had happened. He hadn't shot anyone in years, and it still took a lot out of him.

But he composed himself. This was not over. "Call an ambulance!" he ordered the officer still in the cell, who ran off.

Gordon realised that the shark was dead in his arms, and lowered her to the floor, then ran over to the other two. He had only tapped the trigger once for each of them; despite the severity of the weapon, they may still be alive.

Both were still breathing, good, just soaked in a surprising amount of blood, which he tried to stem with his hands. At least he might still get answers.

The fox was groaning. "Uhhh! That hurt!"

Now it was his turn to shush her. "Shh! Help is on the way."

She wailed. "No! We can't fail! We'll be punished!"

Further questions on that could wait. For now, though, there was one answer he wanted. He pulled off the fox's mask.

He was shocked to see the face of socialite Wendy Lawford, whom he recognised from the entertainment news he watched late at night when trying not to go to bed. Under the vulture's mask was Amanda Lydecker, another "it" girl.

What the hell were two rich heiresses doing shooting up a police station? And why were they working for this Black Mask?