Interlude 2

24 years ago

Mom and Dad had been fighting a lot more lately. Roman didn't really know why, just that it was something to do with that argument Dad had with Bruce's dad last year.

Roman's father had gone to court about something, and the kids at school teased Roman about it, saying he was going to be poor – a fate, his parents had led him to believe, worse than death. Not Bruce though. He and Bruce were still friends, even though their dads weren't. Roman was glad for that, at least.

Mom had been very worried when the trial began, but Dad just laughed about it, saying people like him didn't go to jail. That appeased Roman at first, then it slowly started to become clear over the months that Dad was getting scared and angrier, often taking it out on Roman with quiet but harsh words.

Mom kept asking if they were still gonna have money; she was terrified of being poor. Dad would tell her she was good for nothing and only interested in him because he was rich. His Mom would reply that there was nothing else to him. Even in their big house, Roman couldn't escape it.

But then, this morning, Dad had given him a big hug before sending him off to school. Mom had been drinking from her special bottles, which she only used to do in the evenings but had recently started earlier and earlier, but Dad had assured Roman that everything was going to be alright soon, and he wasn't to worry about his future. His voice was warm and reassuring. Roman wasn't used to it but was pleasantly surprised. Maybe things were getting better.

When he came home from school, the house had been burned to the ground.

Mandrake, one of the family butlers, had driven Roman to school, then gone about his daily errands in the city as usual, so had no idea what had happened, and unknowingly picked the boy up and returned him to the smouldering rubble that was once his home.

Roman just stood, staring silently into the ruins, unable to process what he was seeing. Mandrake was speaking with some of the police and firefighters who covered the horrific scene.

"What… What happened?" Mandrake asked, also shaken.

"Looks like an electrical fire," said a firefighter. "Almost every outlet lit up all at once. It's made mostly of old wood, the blaze spread rapidly. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, it was probably burning for hours before anyone saw the smoke."

"My god…" said Mandrake.

"We're investigating… other explanations for the fire too," said a police officer in hushed tones.

"Mister and Mrs. Sionis?" Mandrake asked.

Roman looked up, also wondering about his parents.

The firefighter shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry…"

A loud cry burst out of Roman. Mandrake reached to comfort him, but he ran off in a sprint towards the rubble, the butler calling after him.

This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when things were going so well. Things were going to be better now. They were going to be a happy family, like Bruce and his parents. Just like Bruce.

And yet, there in the ruins of his home, Roman stopped as he saw two skeletons lying on a sheet, their flesh melted off them, their bones blackened. The firefighters tried to block his view and Mandrake pulled him away, but he had to see.

He knew at once these were his mother and father. Gone forever, leaving him alone. With nobody. No one to look after him. No future.

Nothing but pain.

With tears in his eyes as he was dragged off, Roman stared into the empty eye sockets of his parents' black skulls.


Chapter 12

"Secret Identities"

Present

"Roman…" the voice whispered in his ear again.

It was him. The Black Mask.

Roman winced. He was in his apartment's office, surrounded by exotic masks on the walls, sitting in the dark, but the voice always found him no matter where he was, whispering to him for years. Promising him that he would be looked after, that, so long as he obeyed the Black Mask, he'd have a better future.

And the Mask had helped him, that was true, having been there through Roman's difficult times, first speaking to him soon after his parents died. The Black Mask had given him advice on building his cosmetics business and in his love life with Circe. The voice could be ruthless at times, but was impossible to resist.

Recently, the Mask had forced Roman into a life of crime, taking control of the underworld as easily as he could take control of Roman. When Black Mask was in charge, Roman retreated within himself, behind the mask, often unable to believe the things he did. They did. But the Black Mask knew best.

"Y-Yes?" Roman answered, knowing it would be pointless to ignore the voice.

"You have done well, Roman," Black Mask whispered. "But there is still much to do before the plan is complete."

Roman swallowed dry. "Not more torture? More killing?"

"It is necessary. The guilty must be punished. Your family must be avenged. Those who hide behind false faces must be exposed. That's what all of this has been about."

"Please…"

"You will do as I say, Roman!" the Black Mask hissed at him. "You know I'm right. You cannot resist me. I'm in your head, Roman. I'm a part of you.

"Do as I say, and, soon, Gotham will be yours."

The voice faded away and Roman was alone in the dark again.

Until the door opened a second later and Circe entered, smiling. She flicked on the lights and came to sit on the edge of his desk, where he was cradling his head in his hands.

"The ad execs are here to talk about the Fall line," said Circe. "I think we should be pushing the 'new face' angle." She noticed his despair, rubbing his back. "Hey, what's wrong?"

He looked up at her tearfully. "The Black Mask spoke to me again. Said there has to be more… victims."

Roman had told Circe about the voice he heard before they got married. About the ghoulish things it told him to do.

"Well," she said sympathetically, "you know that the Black Mask must be obeyed."

At the time, he had been shocked when, after confessing his secret, Circe had not been horrified and had in fact agreed with much of the Mask's orders. It still shocked him today.

"But…" he began.

She gripped his shoulder tightly, her expression becoming intense. "Do as the Black Mask says, Roman. He's our key to success, you know that. I did not pull myself out of the streets, forced to use my body to get ahead, struggle for a better life, just to have that all thrown away because you're weak.

"So you will do whatever Black Mask says, okay?"

Roman stared into the distance. She was right. There was no escape. He retreated within himself again, putting on his mask, feeling nothing.

"Yes…"


Alfred was delighted to find Bruce still in the apartment late this morning, picking away at breakfast. The old man smiled, hoping this signalled a change for the better.

As he approached the dining table with a cafetière of hot coffee, he saw that his master was on an ordinary laptop computer, looking at pictures of strange, ancient masks.

"Is Batman considering a change to his outfit, sir?" Alfred said as he poured out the coffee.

Bruce briefly smirked. "I've been researching masks. Trying to see if there's any cultural significance to the ones worn by Earle and Keane."

"Found anything?" Alfred asked, seating himself next to Bruce.

"Different cultures have different reasons for death masks, but that's not what's interesting. I remembered that Roman had an extensive collection of masks and made a donation of some to the Moench Museum recently." Bruce tapped a key on the laptop, and it displayed an article on Roman Sionis. "In fact, in almost every interview with him, Roman mentions his collection, often going into detail about the meaning behind several of the pieces."

Alfred recoiled. "You're not insinuating that Mr. Sionis is responsible for these murders?"

Bruce's expression was gravely serious. "Not only that, but I think that he… he might be the Black Mask, and the murders are connected to his actions with the gangs."

"What on earth led you to this conclusion?"

"I was looking into the places attacked by the gangs." He tapped another key and news reports from said attacks appeared. "Anarky hit the Gotham Times offices. The same paper that first reported on Sionis Steel's crimes.

"The Red Hoods were supposed to strike the Central Bank. Richard Sionis was a shareholder there until he was charged and they let him go. One of the few honest banks in Gotham at that time. Instead, the Hoods robbed the museum where Roman was at a gala in his honour. Black Mask had them killed for failing to carry out his orders, and, maybe, for ruining his big night.

"Blackfire attacked the East End Free Clinic because of their extremist beliefs, but my father also helped fund that clinic, and even volunteered there sometimes. My father was the one who exposed Roman's father.

"The Jokerz tried to blow up the Cyrus Pinkney Elementary School, which Roman and I attended. After his father was exposed, Roman was bullied mercilessly. Teachers did nothing about it. He could still hold an irrational grudge against the building itself."

Alfred reeled from this information. He couldn't deny though that it put Roman Sionis in a bad light.

"But, even if Mr. Sionis is this Black Mask character," Alfred said, "how does that connect him to the murders?"

"I'll have to look into company records, but Earle and Keane might have been two of the Wayne board members who voted against integrating Sionis Steel."

"If so, that still could just be coincidence," Alfred said, although he wasn't even convincing himself.

"There's also the rust found on the bodies. Iron and carbon. Elements of…"

"Steel. And Roman still owns the steel mill." The evidence was damning.

Bruce nodded. "That could be where he's based."

Alfred hung his head. Just when he thought his master might be reconnecting with an old friend, rediscovering his happier past… That friend turns out to be a sadistic criminal. It seemed like Bruce would never escape this life.

"I can't risk confronting Roman as Bruce. I'll check out the mill tonight." Alfred worryingly noted that Bruce had not felt the need to add "as Batman," as if it were just the default. "Ask Lucius to look into company records, find out who voted against Sionis. Others could be in danger."

"I'll ask him, sir, but many of the board members from back then have moved away or are… already dead. Not all executives are young playboys, you know." He held up a finger, standing to retrieving some documents from the countertop. "Speaking of Mr. Fox, he sent your combustion neutraliser to the Bunker earlier." He handed Bruce the accompanying documentation. "Said he had a devil of a time figuring it out; couldn't make head nor tails of the blueprints, so take good care of it, as he is highly unlikely to be able to duplicate it."

Bruce looked over the complex blueprints. "Thanks. Get the car ready. I'll swing by and check it out."

Alfred sighed, heading for the door. "Yes, Master Wayne." Baby steps, he reminded himself. Bruce will come home eventually.


Bruce was looking at the smiling picture of Roman on his laptop, wondering if his old friend truly was this new criminal mastermind orchestrating everything. People could change a lot over the years.

Alfred returned just a few minutes after leaving. "Car ready?" Bruce asked over his shoulder.

"There is a Miss Vale from the television here to see you, sir," Alfred said.

Bruce frowned. He remembered meeting a Vicki Vale at Roman's party. She was certainly keen for an interview with him, to come to his door.

"Tell her I'm not-" he said, stopping mid-sentence when he turned to see Vicki standing next to Alfred.

"She's very insistent, sir," said Alfred.

Bruce gave a tight smile and nodded to Alfred, who left them alone. He made a note to remind his butler of his permanent "I'm not in" policy regarding reporters.

He smoothed down his untucked dress shirt and put on the charm. This act was one of his least favourite things about being Bruce Wayne. "As I said at the party, Ms. Vale, I don't do interviews."

But Vicki seemed upset about something. "That's not why I'm here, Bruce. It's Hugo Strange."

Bruce was confused. "The psychologist helping the police?"

Vicki stepped closer to him. "He… He strongly suspects that you are Batman."

This was alarming news, especially if the police pursued it, but Bruce kept up the act and laughed. "Well, I'm flattered that he thinks so. But capes aren't really me, y'know?"

She just kept staring at him. "It's just that, I'd hate to see anything happen to him. The Batman. To someone who fights for justice. I don't believe all that stuff about him, you see, about him being a murderer. Someone like that, a true crusader, they're dedicated to something more, something higher than the… the crude ways of cops or criminals. That's why he exists at all.

"And I know what that's like. To fight against the tide for what's right. I know what that looks like in someone else. How they hold themselves. The look in their eyes. How they might go to any lengths to protect their identity, to protect those closest to them. Like playing the fool to throw off suspicion."

Their eyes were locked, Bruce's expression more serious, having listened intently to Vicki's words, which hit too close to home. He was certain she knew his secret – perhaps she was a better journalist than he had initially assumed. He was also certain that she was letting him know that he could trust her with it. After all, she'd said nothing to anyone so far, apparently.

While he still wasn't sure whether or not he would continue to live as Bruce Wayne given Rachel's death, he would neither confirm nor deny Vicki's suspicions yet.

He spoke slowly, careful to temper his words. "Do you think Professor Strange's… accusations would be taken seriously?"

Vicki shook her head. "No, the police have already dismissed them. That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried that Strange himself may pose a threat to... to the Batman."

Bruce considered this. Strange had attempted to capture him at the mall and made a pretty good job of it. Bruce had even suspected that Strange might somehow be responsible for Aaron Helzinger's rampage, as bait. But was he someone worth taking precautions against?

"What makes you think Strange is a threat?" Bruce asked.

"I've looked into his past. There's nothing. Nothing beyond what he's always bragging about, anyway. Wife died of cancer, leaving him to raise their son. He was a university lecturer for a while, then started working somewhere called the Graytowers Mental Hospital in Quebec – which I also found very little information on. That's where he started working with police, after his son was murdered by a serial killer. Since then, he's been doing lecture tours across Canada and the States, in between writing pop psychology books and solving murders.

"It's the gaps in his life story that concern me. The lack of details." Vicki looked around, as if afraid Strange was nearby, and lowered her voice. "And all the criminals he's apprehended, the ones he's later put under his own psychological study… they've all just disappeared. No record of them after being processed."

This information escalated Strange's threat level in Bruce's mind. At the very least, he was worth further investigation. He started pacing the dining room, deep in thought. "How would he get away with all this?"

"Strange is a master manipulator," Vicki said. "He gets a hold on officials and uses them to clear up his messes. Mayor Garcia has told the cops to let him do whatever he wants, basically."

Vicki stepped closer to Bruce, taking hold of his arm, resolution in her eyes. "But I'm going to dig deeper. I'm going to find out what it is that Strange wants to keep hidden. If it's something illegal, which I'm betting on, then I can take him down before he takes down… Batman."

They both exchanged a knowing look.

Vicki released him and made to exit. "Vicki," Bruce said, stopping her. "I'd also hate to see something bad happen to the Batman… If you need anything to help with your investigation, don't hesitate to ask."

She nodded her thanks.

"And good luck."

"You too… Bruce."