Chapter 18

"The Lion's Den"

Jay Mann had never gotten very far in life. Never had many friends. Never did well in school. Never had a romantic relationship or a fulfilling job. And yet, he'd struggled on, living his mundane little life because that was all he knew.

But then the Joker had come along and shown everyone just how crazy life like that was. How stupid they all were for giving into it. And that the only thing to bring it down would be chaos. To destroy the hilariously hypocritical systems of the world became Jay's new purpose.

So, he had formed the Jokerz not long after the Joker's incarceration. Other likeminded men were also sick of conforming yet getting nowhere, of pretending that any of this made sense. They had continued the Joker's legacy of sowing mayhem, death, and destruction, to show everyone of how insane they all were.

The Jokerz were meeting tonight in their usual hangout, an abandoned funhouse in Gotham's Amusement Mile. The city was full of such empty properties, unclaimed since the Depression, and this one seemed appropriate for them.

As they plotted their next attack on public property, they were visited by an intruder in a sharp suit, wearing a sad clown mask. Although the Jokerz were all made-up like the Joker himself, this guy seemed more absurd somehow. And, yet, creepier too.

"Who are you?" Jay demanded of the intruder, trying to imitate the Joker's voice as he levelled his handgun – their heavier weapons having been confiscated when the group who attacked the school was arrested.

"I am from the False Face Society," said the clown, calm despite all the guns on him. "Black Mask sent me."

Jay was relieved to hear that. They could use more of their mysterious ally's help – an ally who had claimed similar anarchic goals as them. He had to maintain his unpredictable persona though. "Why should I care?" he asked.

The clown kept approaching. "Because Black Mask is willing to provide you with more weapons, bombs, whatever you need. If you do something for him in exchange…"

Jay lowered his gun and gestured for the others to do so. "We're listening."

Deacon Joseph Black had grown sick of the mounting impurity and blasphemy in Gotham, and decided it needed to be purged. That was why he had created the Blackfire group months ago out of a few fellow righteous souls. Most of them attended the same church, where they met now, and would cleanse establishments of sin with fire. Places that allowed for promiscuity, decadence, and ignorance of the Lord.

So, when this Black Mask had shown up, proclaiming himself a true believer, and offered his support in the form of flamethrowers and information on certain targets, Black had been thankful for this Godsend.

That was why, when a member of the False Face Society, wearing a demonic mask, had shown up tonight and promised further support in exchange for carrying out a labour for the Black Mask, Deacon Black was happy to accept.

Former pharmacist Henry Combs supervised the work of the other Scarecrows – all dressed in tattered rags like him – in the basement of the Nightmare Room, a well-known club in which one could acquire illegal drugs. Now, thanks to Jonathan Crane and a few lingering underworld connections, they were making their own.

Most people by now knew of the terror-inducing hallucinations caused by Crane's gas, but that's what made it attractive for some, despite the chance of dying from overdose. Or fright.

The blue flower used in Crane's concoction was rare, but they'd been able to cultivate it and grown more in secret greenhouses all over the city. The aid provided by Black Mask, a supporter of the drug trade, had come in very handy. Sophisticated lab equipment, high-grade chemicals, information on buyers, access to safehouses, and weaponry. But their resources were starting to grow thin again. They needed Crane's expertise, and he was still locked up.

As Combs strolled among the tables where his fellow gang members prepared the gas capsules for distribution, a burlap-faced underling approached him.

"Boss? Someone here to see you."

"Who?" Combs asked. Who would know they were here? The club owner was happy to look the other way and leave them to their own devices.

"Some guy in a pig mask," said the underling. "Says he's from the False Face Society. Has more stuff to offer us if we do Black Mask a favour."

"Well, this is good timing…"

The Mutants were the only major gang in Gotham not involved with Black Mask, and Batman had to know why. After asking around some of the more law-abiding biker gangs, he learned that the Mutants frequently met in a junkyard in Tricorner. He used a MITE to survey the area and found them, proceeding there on the Bat-pod.

He would probably have heard them even without the intel. As he traversed the junkyard on foot, they were cheering, laughing, arguing, revving their engines. It sounded like a drunken rally, no doubt in preparation for their latest streak of carnage across the city. Their motorcycles formed a perimeter around their little party, with flaming braziers dotted around them, casting flickering light onto the scene. The Mutants were all dressed in leather jackets, sporting a variety of garishly coloured and styled hair, and each wore a visor-like pair of sunglasses despite it being dark out.

Batman needed to speak to them on their own terms, to find out what they knew about the False Face Society, so no dramatic entrances. He simply walked into their circle, hands visible at his sides. When they noticed him, the Mutants began shouting louder, more agitated.

Their leader, a large, burly man with a red spiked mohawk, stepped forward, silencing the others. The nametag on his jacket identified him as "Cupcake," but Batman knew from police reports that his real name was Terence Shaw.

"The big, bad Bat," said Shaw in a deep, rumbling voice. "You are not welcome here."

"I'm not here to hurt you," Batman said, his own voice sharp. "I need information about Black Mask."

There was some murmuring in the crowd, but Shaw kept his gaze on the Batman. "Maybe we know something about Black Mask. Maybe not. Why should we tell you?"

"If he's your enemy, you can help me to bring him in," Batman said. He took a few steps closer, speaking more firmly. "If not, I'll bring you in, and make you tell me what you know."

Some laughter from the Mutants now, although many looked worried.

Shaw held up a hand. "Tell you what, 'Batman.' We'll do things our way. You want something from us, you gotta fight for it. You beat me hand-to-hand, we do whatever you want. These are our rules. You respect us, we respect you."

Batman considered this a moment, watching the firelight reflecting on the vacant faces of the bikers. Beating one of them would be quicker and easier than fighting his way through all of them until one gave up the info. And earning their respect by participating in their primitive rituals would ensure honesty. In as much as criminals are ever honest.

"Fine," he said. "I'll play it your way."

The crowd whooped and cheered. Shaw chuckled and took off his jacket and shirt, revealing a bare, muscular chest. He took a few steps forward into the circle formed by the crowd.

"Step into the operating room," said Shaw. "It's time for surgery."

"And I'm the surgeon," said Batman as he, too, stepped forward.

Shaw immediately lunged for the Batman, who sidestepped him, bringing his knee up into Shaw's stomach while delivering a blow to his back. Using the other man's momentum and bulk, Batman flipped him over onto his back.

As Batman tried to knock him out while on the ground, however, Shaw rolled aside, back onto his feet. He was faster than he looked.

Now closer to his opponent, Shaw hit Batman with a powerful haymaker to the head, with Batman barely blocking the fist in time, taking most of the punch. His head rung even through the cowl's armour, only for Shaw to follow up with a kick to the Bat's bad leg. He winced, holding back the pain, and hoped the brace underneath his suit hadn't broken.

Keeping the injured leg away from Shaw, Batman supplied a rapid series of powerful, devastating hits to several of Shaw's pressure points in his neck, torso and joints.

In his ensuing rage, Shaw made a wild swing, allowing Batman to grab his arm, twist it around, and kick out Shaw's own legs easily, as he was off-balance from the swing. Shaw went down hard into the mud of their arena.

Wasting no more time, Batman brought his good knee down on Shaw's neck, holding the bigger man's arm behind his back. "Yield!" he shouted. He pressed down harder, pulling the arm tighter. "YIELD!"

"I… yield…" Shaw croaked out.

Whispers and gasps travelled through the crowd now, who had, just seconds ago, been cheering their leader.

Batman released Shaw and stood over him, catching his breath. "I played your game. I won. Now, tell me what you know about Black Mask."

Shaw sat up, covered in mud. He rubbed his neck then cradled his arm. "He came to us weeks ago. Wearing his scary little skull mask, bodyguards with him. Said he wanted to support us, help us out with our bikes. Offered up new gear, some weapons too. We just had to do some stuff for him in exchange."

"What did he ask you to do?"

"Dunno, man. We turned him down. Mutants don't need no help from no one. Besides, he didn't smell right. He was all fancy. Not like us."

Batman grunted. This wasn't so helpful after all. He grasped for more. "Did he tell you anything… Where he was based? How to contact him?"

Shaw nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Said if we changed our minds, to come to the big stone building in the middle of that graveyard by the Liberty River at midnight, any night."

"Liberty View Cemetery?"

"I think so."

Batman knew of it. It wasn't so far from Wayne Manor. He reached out to help Shaw up, as a show of thanks.

After that, he proceeded to leave, presuming that the Mutants would honour their tradition. He found that they were all staring at him in reverence, which was more than he'd expected.

"Wait a minute," Shaw called after him. "You beat the leader. That means you the leader now."

Batman half-turned back to him, to see Shaw putting his fist over his heart. The others all did the same. He looked around at the saluting crowd surrounding him.

"I have no interest in leading your gang," he said, then realised this could be beneficial. "You can keep the job, just stay out of trouble in the city. No more drag racing through the public or damaging property."

"You got it, big man Batman," said Shaw, bowing his head. "We Mutants respect our leader."

Batman made a swift exit to the Bat-pod, his body still aching from the fight. At least that was one less enemy to worry about.

Strange watched as Black Mask ran the barrel of his gun across Vicki Vale's face. The reporter was bound and gagged on a chair in the cold mausoleum, as was the old butler next to her. Vicki winced, looking away, and Pennyworth struggled against his restraints.

"I would love to see their true faces," Black Mask whispered, examining the captives with keen eyes. His two ever-present, ever-silent faceless henchmen watched on from the rear. "To find out what they know."

"I would recommend keeping them unharmed for now," Strange said. "In case they are needed for a deterrent. Mister Wayne will not do anything to risk their safety."

Black Mask now fixed his icy gaze on Strange. "How will Bruce even know they're here?"

Strange chuckled, confident. "He will know. He is smarter and more resourceful than he lets on. The Batman is probably already on his way as we speak. But first, your plans for the gangs shall serve as the perfect distraction; eroding his will, his stamina, and his love for the city he protects."

"Then, when he has suffered Gotham's destruction, we shall see his real face. Beneath Batman, beneath Bruce Wayne. Nothing left but his pain." Black Mask's sibilant tone became excited.

"And then… the Batman dies!" Strange added with glee.