GOTHAM CITY
April 2, 20:45 EST
Gotham was on fire.
The unearthly moans of the undead wafted through the air, entwining themselves with the thick columns of smoke that reached like rotten fingers towards the night sky.
Above it all, crouched and motionless, was the Batman.
He was a legend come to life, a creature of night and shadow. The infamous cowl stared down at the burning city below, masking the pain of the man behind it.
That cowl was dented and scratched all to hell. Stubble and a fine sheen of sweat adorned his chin, the only visible part of his face. He was panting slightly, and his usually perfect balance betrayed him as he swayed in exhaustion.
Two days. That's how long it took the world to end. Just two days.
His mind, so cunning and once crystal clear, was now filled with exhausted confusion. It repeatedly flittered once again over the events that had led to this tragedy. To the insane act he was about to commit for the good of his city.
Hugo Strange. The toxin. The infected. Robin. The cure…
Once again, he shifted his gaze to the device clutched in his gloved hand. The tiny metal tube topped with an intimidatingly small red button.
The detonator.
It's the only way. It's the only way to put an end to this madness, to save Jim and Alfred and Dick.
His heart clenched at the memory of his partner's grey face and empty eyes, hands reaching for his flesh...
Don't think about that now, do what needs to be done.
The Batman shifted in place, staring down at the ant-sized people swarming the streets below. If he squinted, he could imagine that they were just ordinary civilians, out for a night on the town with their friends. If he relaxed, he could almost ignore the crashed cars and the burning buildings and the stench of death in the air.
He had no choice, he had to do it.
Two days of running for his life, no sleep, desperately trying to fix this mess of a world. He'd had enough, he'd done enough. It was time to finish this.
He raised the detonator.
As if on cue, light, seemingly weightless footsteps landed on the roof behind him.
No, not him, not now!
Whirling, the Batman flung a batarang at the advancing figure. It twisted out of the way with a speed unexpected of something its size. In the middle of the turn, it flicked a sharp metal object of its own back at him. He dodged.
It was racing towards him now, reaching with those decaying hands for his flesh, his sanity.
Batman viciously punched at the thing. It curled beneath his fist and attempted to kick the trigger out of his hand. Batman blocked the kick, shuffling backwards towards the ledge as his mind worked in overdrive.
I've never understood why they seem to maintain some level of intelligence and skill, especially knowledge of fighting tactics and access to meta abilities. I've mostly assumed it was due to the poison's urge to spread, wanting to make its hosts strong enough to infect everything in the goddamn world. But how does it know to go for the detonator? Is there an overall intelligence behind this madness? Does it know what I'm about to do?
His brooding was cut short as the lifeless, deadened, and decayed form of his son surged forward once again.
"Baaaaaa...ttttt…maaaaa…nnnn" Robin growled, his gaping maw oozing black blood that tainted his once-bright uniform.
"Kiiiiiiiiii…lllllll….Baaaaa…ttttt….maaaaaa…nnnn!"
WAYNE MANOR
March 31, 22:07 EST
"Die you undead bastards, DIE!" Dick Grayson screamed with uncontrollable rage.
"Language." Bruce muttered, turning the page of his newspaper nonchalantly.
"I DON'T CARE BRUCE! These are just Level 3 floaters, my pulse rifle should DECIMATE them but it isn't DOING A GODDAMN THING!"
Bruce looked over at his adopted son sharply, "What did I just say? Do you want Alfred to wash your mouth out with soap again?"
The black-haired gamer looked up in shock and barely disguised horror. "No. Never again."
"Then watch it," Bruce teased affectionately, "if I'd known this game would make you so violent I never would've gotten it for you."
Dick snorted loudly, and a second later cackled so hard and for so long his character got trampled by the oncoming hoard and eaten alive. He barely noticed.
Bruce smirked to himself, thinking of the armored suits and military-grade weapons down in the cave.
Dick pulled himself together and faced his partner in crime-fighting with a serious expression, "So, Bruce, when do we get to go out on patrol and smash some faces in?" His mouth quirked in a crooked grin as Bruce lifted the sides of his mouth only just, the Batman equivalent of rolling on the floor in laughter.
Bruce loved having Dick around the house again. Ever since the founding of the Team, he'd been flitting from school to the cave to patrol with barely a moment to stop and rest, let alone spend any quality time with his adoptive father. Any normal kid his age would've been overwhelmed long ago, but not Dick. He loved this life, this vigorous, obsessive, I'll-sleep-when-I'm-dead life. If Bruce was being honest with himself, Dick was made for crime fighting. He was wickedly smart, and had an eye for tactics that would make four star generals blush with envy. He was a natural athlete, and once he got a little bigger he'd be basically untouchable.
He's already a shadow, imagine how great he'll be when he can punch back just as strong as his enemy instead of mostly flipping and evading.
His morals were rock solid, and the kid had such an empathetic nature that he embodied the self-sacrificing hero trope to a T. Bruce frowned at where that thought was leading him. Okay, so we're going to work on being more selfish from now on.
"Excuse me, Master Bruce, but it would seem you have a call." Alfred graciously called from the doorway of the sitting room. The elderly butler was carrying a tray with a platter of cookies stacked ridiculously high. At the site of them, Dick's eyes grew as wide as saucers, and he dove over the couch to reach them. He tucked and rolled, springing agilely to his feet, and stuffing his face with the three gooiest cookies he could find.
"MMMmmmm Olfrrd thss rr GRRT!" He mumbled unintelligibly.
"Is that so Master Dick? I was under the impression you didn't quite care for them." Alfred smiled warmly at the boy who was his grandson in all but blood.
"Alfred! I thought we agreed to LIMIT our sugar intake?" Bruce teased the Englishman. He'd recently put him and Dick on a strict muscle-building training diet to boost their overall health, healing capabilities, and performance in the field. The strict regimen was one that Hollywood stars and Olympic bodybuilders alike used, and along with the designated, specific meals were general rules of no sugar, no dairy, no manufactured food, no bread, and lots of meat, fruits, vegetables, and supplements. Dick, surprisingly, had taken to it quite well, and loved how great he'd felt and how much faster he'd grown (it bothered him to no end that he was thirteen and still hadn't started his growth spurt). But losing Alfred's Post-Patrol cookies had been a devastating loss. He'd gone through the five stages of grief, and come out the other side still longing for the taste of melted chocolate and gooey dough. And Alfred had just walked in and ambushed him when his willpower was at its weakest.
"I apologize Master Bruce, I did not intend for Master Dick to catch sight of these, they are for the new neighbors who just moved into the mansion next door."
"New neighbors, hmm?" Bruce mentally rolled his eyes at the butler's flimsy excuse. The manor grounds were massive, and their nearest neighbors were at least two miles away. And those spoiled socialites were about as likely to accept a platter of homemade cookies as Bruce was to dance through the streets of Gotham singing showtunes.
"Yes, indeed Sir. Quite lovely people with very enlightened palates."
Needless to say, Alfred was not very fond of losing his favorite method of doting on the little acrobat.
Dick swallowed the massive lump of chocolatey-chipped deliciousness as if Bruce would hop over the couch and rip it out of his mouth if he didn't get rid of the evidence of his betrayal quick enough. "You said something about a call Alfred? I didn't hear the phone ring."
Nice try at evading punishment, Dick. But you know the rules, break the diet, clean the Batcave by hand. Get that toothbrush ready.
"It was not that sort of call, Master Dick."
Sigh. Or not.
Dick quickly ran to the closed curtains covering the wide window that faced the city, flinging them open and revealing the haunting symbol reflecting off the gathering clouds.
"Yes!" He shouted in relieved glee, scampering quickly to the entrance of the cave.
Bruce got off the couch and followed suit. So much for downtime with my son to keep his mind off tomorrow.
The Batman was needed in Gotham.
As they sped towards the city at speeds that would give the Flash an inferiority complex, Robin fiddled with his glove monitor.
He was monitoring the news reports that were currently all anybody on the planet could talk about right now, and trying to ignore the guilt that was seeping through him.
A gigantic asteroid was headed straight for Earth, one big enough to crack the planet in half if it was allowed to make impact. Luckily, the Justice League had spotted the planet killer months ago, and had since coordinated with NASA and other space agencies around the globe to come up with a way to avoid a literal earth shattering disaster.
That plan involved basically every member of the league flying into space and blowing the gigantic space rock to smithereens, and then smashing those smithereens into dust. It was a very public operation, and was giving the League some seriously awesome PR. As far as massive crises went, this one was actually pretty easy, and probably a little fun too. Robin had chatted with Superman earlier and learnt that him and Wonder Woman had a running bet on who could punt the most asteroid chunks into the sun.
It was an extremely important mission. It may have been ridiculously public, but it was an amazing opportunity to literally save the world and receive adoration at the same time.
And because of Dick, Batman wasn't participating.
As much as he'd deny it, Dick knew Bruce wanted to fly the Batplane into space and shoot lasers and rockets at the asteroid super badly. But it just so happened that the day the world was supposed to end coincided with the anniversary of the infamous event that had simultaneously made Dick an orphan and given birth to Robin, the Boy Wonder.
When Batman had realized what date the mission had been set on, he'd immediately declined to participate, shocking everyone into a confused silence. Only Superman had understood, and had backed up his friend's decision firmly, giving the shocked Robin a comforting pat on the shoulder.
I know he's doing this for me, I know he understands how much tonight and tomorrow are going to suck, but how could he just ignore this crucial JLA mission? This isn't like him at all, and it's making me feel so guilty!
Even though the anniversary was tomorrow, Dick had played hooky from school and spent the whole day hanging out with Bruce and Alfred. They'd gone swimming, had an intense training session, went for a run on the massive manor grounds, and then contently relaxed in the den for hours. It had been amazing, to say the least, and had done a great job of distracting him from the black hole of grief that was slowly eating him up from the inside.
Dick was so busy nowadays, he simply didn't have time to hang out with his adopted father out of costume. School was finally challenging him, and the Team ate up any extra free time he had. But for this one day every year all nonessential activities were halted, and he was allowed to grieve his parents in peace.
He'd been missing them more than usual this year, too. He wished with all his heart he could tell them about the Team, about how much good he was doing and how many people he'd helped. He knew Mom would've loved to hear about how M'gann and Artemis were like the sisters he'd never known he wanted, and Kaldur, Superboy, and Wally were the brothers he'd always longed for. Dad would've been so proud of his fighting skills, especially the new aerial maneuver he'd used last week to knock out Scarecrow before Batman could even warn him to get his air mask on.
I think you guys would be so proud of me, and I miss you so much…
A hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his misery.
"Robin." That one word carried with it layers of hidden meaning. Are you alright? Is responding to Gordon too much right now? Do you need to go home?
"I'm good Batman." Just got a little overwhelmed for a second there, I'm fine. Helping Gordon will keep my mind off of it well enough.
"Good. How's the League's mission going?" Batman glanced over at his partner's screen for a moment and caught a glimpse of a close up of Superman and Wonder Woman smiling and waving.
"They haven't started yet; this thing is such a big event they're basically doing the equivalent of walking the red carpet. They all lift off within the hour though, and should be in place around 6am tomorrow morning."
"Good. It's ridiculous how public this thing has gotten." Robin glanced over and caught a glimpse of his mentor's dissatisfied smirk. His guilt rushed through him again. As much as Batman hated people and crowds and the limelight, he was totally jealous of the other heroes right now (even though he'd deny even being capable of any such emotion to his dying breath).
"I'm sorry the big event is tomorrow, of all days." Robin muttered quietly, and he saw Batman look over at him in concern.
"The timing is regretful, yes, but I choose to not participate, Robin. I know how hard that day always is, and I wanted to be there for you." Because you're my son, and I love you.
Tears pricked in the corners of Robin's eyes at the unspoken emotions that Bruce was incapable of verbalizing hung heavy in the air. "Thanks Batman."
A hand squeezed his shoulder. "We're here."
The time for ruminating civilian problems was over. As the Batmobile screeched to a halt, Batman and Robin both pushed down their rising emotions and concentrated on the Commissioner's brightly lit windows. They both jumped nimbly from the car and, wordlessly, grappled to the roof.
As usual, Jim Gordon was waiting for them wearing a long trench coat, and as they melted from the shadows behind him he tried, unsuccessfully, not to jump in shock.
"Jesus! Uh, good evening Batman, Robin."
Robin cackled at the man's jumpiness, "Wassup Comish?"
"Just my blood pressure Robin." Gordon smiled warmly at the teenaged vigilante as he readjusted his glasses. He greatly respected and admired the boy, and had proudly watched him grow over the past four years at Batman's side.
"Commissioner, why are we here?" Batman interjected before the two could get too talkative. Robin loved verbally sparring with Jim Gordon, and he didn't have all night to waste watching the two of them bond.
"You remember Professor Hugo Strange, I presume?"
Batman growled, and Robin had to fight the urge to growl right alongside him. For far too long, Strange had operated just under Batman's radar. He'd been a psychiatrist at Belle Reve Penitentiary and had orchestrated a mass breakout (which M'Gann and Superboy had thankfully stopped), before rising to become the new active Warden after Amanda Waller was ousted. While he'd cooperated with the Team's search for Ivo a few months ago, Robin had picked up some worrisome vibes from the man. However, it was only after he was revealed to be collaborating with the Light that Batman and Robin began to look into him in earnest. What they found was troubling, to say the least. In addition to secretly releasing Belle Reve prisoners and aiding the Light's nefarious schemes, Strange had been running illegal and immoral psychological experiments on his inmates for months. In a hellish basement lab under the prison, he'd injected them with psychotropic agents and studied their reactions, conducted cruel social simulations, and so many other very not asterous things that Robin's stomach curdled at the memory. Once they'd discovered what he'd been doing right underneath their noses for so long, Batman had moved to immediately shut down his operation. But Strange had somehow manipulated his victims to all gruesomely kill themselves the moment Robin and the Team had arrived to free them. Their confused, crazed eyes and mad screams had haunted their nightmares for weeks.
That backstabbing, mind-twisting, untrustworthy, sickening bastard!
"Yes," Robin muttered darkly, "can't ever forget a sick psychopath like him."
"What about him?" Batman demanded. He hated overlooking someone as sick and twisted as Strange, and felt ashamed he hadn't been able to stop his experiments sooner. And most of all, he hated that the man's horrifying failsafe had traumatized his son, as much as Robin refused to admit it. You gave him even more nightmares, and those are the last things he needs right now.
"Don't worry, he hasn't escaped custody, we have him locked up tight in Arkham. However, this afternoon in his therapy session he claimed he has a bioweapon armed on a timer and ready to take out the entire city. He won't talk to any of us, but he keeps requesting you and Robin. We've scanned and searched and patrolled every major target area and can't find any sign of any sort of weapon, biological or not, but that doesn't necessarily mean there's no threat."
"We need to go talk to him and figure out if he's bluffing." Robin bluntly stated, hiding the terror that the words Strange, bioweapon, and timer sparked in him.
"Basically, yes." Gordon replied, giving the teen a worried smile.
"If the device is on a timer, we don't have any time to lose then." Batman said, motioning to Robin with a twitch of his finger. Giving Gordon a parting nod, the Boy Wonder grappled off the roof and back to the Batmobile, flipping three times in the air as he landed to calm his nerves. The cool night air felt nice on his suddenly sweat soaked face. I didn't know the thought of Strange bothered me this much…
A minute later Batman joined him, now clutching a thin file folder.
"Read up." He tossed it to his partner, who caught it nimbly and slid into the passenger seat in the same motion. The molded leather seat hugged his body, and he felt himself relax imperceptivity. At least, until he opened the file and was suddenly staring at the round, colored glasses and pointy brown goatee of the snake who'd forced thirty people to commit suicide in front of him. Anger swirled inside him, and he felt his face harden into a frown. "Let's go, Bats."
And then they were off, speeding towards the madhouse of every Gothamite's nightmares.
"And the Fleet of Earth-savers is off! Wow Jerry, that's quite an impressive site, and I'm not just talking about that man of steel leading the charge!" The perky female reporter fanned herself dramatically.
"Right you are Kat! The world's finest heroes, meta and otherwise gifted, have banded together to save us all from going the way of the Dinosaurs. Led by Superman and the rest of the Justice League, I have absolute faith in their ability…."
"Batman." The security guard nervously beckoned the Dark Knight forward, looking like he wanted to simultaneously run away and ask for an autograph. "If you'll come with me, I can take you to Hugo Strange's cell."
Batman nodded, and both him and Robin turned away from the small, black and white TV that occupied the dingy waiting area of Arkham Asylum. He wished he could just sneak in and out without having to wade through piles of paperwork, but the legal way was, for once, much faster than his usual methods. Strange's threat of a bioweapon had fast tracked everything, and Robin and he had only been waiting for a minute or two.
"Thank you." Robin mumbled to the guard, his mind obviously preoccupied with the commencing space mission, but still wanting to put the sweaty man at ease. You're forever the people-pleaser, Dick.
They walked in silence through the whitewashed walls of the mental institution from Hell, the voices of the damned echoing off the walls. As always, being in the place was extremely disturbing. Some of the voices seemed eerily familiar. Well, seeing as Batman and Robin had put at least half of these crazies in here themselves, that wasn't too big of a surprise. But if he let the laughs wash over him, he could almost hear the demented cackling of that the crazed clown…
"Batman," Robin's quiet voice broke him out of his grisly thought process, "what's our play?"
"We're going to ask him what he wants, and demand to know if he has a bioweapon stashed somewhere in the city."
"Oh. That's simple, we just outright ask him for it?" They turned a corner.
"Yes. We are not going to start playing mind games with a sociopathic psychiatrist, Robin. That's just asking for trouble. As demented as he is, Strange is smart, too smart to try and trick or surprise like a common thug. He has a reason behind all of this, and is probably two steps ahead of us right now. Our job is to play along until we can figure out what he's up to, and either avoid whatever it is he throws at us or be strong enough to power through it."
Robin nodded thoughtfully, "I see your point. Okay, be ready for anything he throws at us. So, the usual."
Batman looked down at the boy walking beside him and felt a surge of appreciation and affection. As much as he enjoyed being Batman, having Robin by his side, being his steady little light, had made all the difference in his life. But with that affection came worry, and he found himself murmuring even softer than before so the guard ahead of them wouldn't overhear.
"Robin, remember, this man is a psychiatrist, and a pretty damned good one at that. He's manipulative, and deceitful, and would love to get in your head. Stay mentally strong. Just like I taught you. He loves to mess with people's minds, so don't let him into yours."
Robin nodded and patted his partner's armor. "Will do, Bats."
The guard stopped, and slid back the covering of a door window with a loud clang that echoed sharply through the empty hall and severed their conversation.
"Strange, you have your two requested visitors." He nervously mopped at his sweaty forehead and quickly walked past the two vigilantes, "I'm just going to give y'all some privacy." And with that he was off, his pale blonde hair shining under the fluorescent lights all the way down the hallway.
Batman stepped forward and peered into the cell. Strange was sitting on his mattress, staring at the wall, or rather, staring at the hundreds of pieces of paper that had been taped to it. All four walls were covered in a layer of loose-leaf paper, and on it was what looked like diary writing.
That's probably his "master plan," no doubt in code, but Robin can probably crack it by morning. I need to get in there and get his notes.
"I don't usually make house calls, doctor." He didn't even bother hiding the disdain in his voice, "What do you want?"
"Ah, Batman. Thank you for coming. Running a little behind schedule tonight, are we?" Strange got up off of his bunk and moved towards the tiny, barred window in the cell door. He was rubbing his hands in what could be perceived as excitement. He leaned his face as far out of the window as he could, catching sight of Robin, "And Robin too. This is perfect." His smooth, calming voice sent shivers down the boy's spine, and the faces of the lunatic's victims flashed through his mind.
"What do you want?" Robin growled menacingly.
Strange smiled, as though he knew exactly what was running through the young bird's brain right this second. "What I want, detectives, is your help with an experiment I'm conducting."
Both vigilantes' faces grew dark at the mention of "experiments."
"You'll receive no help of any sort. What are your plans regarding threats of releasing a biological agent upon the city?" Batman deepened his voice, but knew it would do no good in intimidating the man in front of him.
"Oh, I'll gladly tell you." The mad psychiatrist pushed his circular glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly. "You see, I'm going to release a toxic agent into Gotham's air. It's odorless, invisible, and extremely fast acting. It will twist the body and weaken the mind, turning those affected into monstrous, mindless, living drones. Each victim will then become a carrier of the extremely virulent agent and will, in turn, be driven to infect as many new susceptible hosts as possible. In the vernacular, they would be referred to as zombies."
A beat of silence passed.
"You're joking, right?" Robin snorted in exasperation, "Dude, you've been playing way too much Immortal Dead 3, I know I have. If you're going to waste our time, at least try something a little more believable."
Internally, Batman was massaging his temples. All this worry and fuss over Strange's threats of a zombie apocalypse? He'd have been better off spending the night playing the aforementioned video game with Dick than having to deal with this attention seeking maniac.
"Oh, young Robin, you really shouldn't dismiss my threat so quickly just because it sounds impossible." And then he did something that shocked both of the vigilantes into silence.
From inside his locked, maximum-security prison cell, he held up a vial of glowing orange liquid.
"Where did you get that." Batman demanded.
"That's none of your business, Batman. What is your business is my toxin and," he jiggled the vial, "my antitoxin. If it is not administered within 48 hours of infection the condition becomes irreversible." He laughed.
Robin shot Batman a loaded look.
I think he's being serious, Bats. How did he get that in there?
Yes, we need to proceed cautiously. Remember what I told you.
"If the toxin is being released everywhere, won't you be affected, Strange?"
Once again, the smug psychiatrist held up the glowing vial, "Oh, not at all, because I've already taken the antidote, Batman." He then poked the vial out of his cell, displaying it through the bars of his window, "I'm sure it could be of some use to you." And then he dropped it.
Instinctively, Batman and Robin both lunged for the tiny glass of chemicals, but despite their quick reflexes it shattered on the cement floor. A cloud of orange gas suddenly engulfed both of them, and Robin coughed as an overpowering chemical smell razed the insides of his nostrils and made his eyes swim with tears behind his domino mask.
"Oops."
Batman whirled on the giggling doctor as the cloud dispersed into the air as quickly as it had formed. Strange looked ecstatic, a child on Christmas morning.
Suddenly an alarm split the air.
"Ah, that would be my toxin being released." Strange gloated, and Batman and Robin shared a worried look. The lingering smell of the spilled antitoxin was making their heads feel light and airy, and if what Strange had claimed to be true actually was, they needed to leave and get back to the cave ASAP before they had to fight any infected people.
"Robin. Masks." From his utility belt Batman pulled a clear piece of plastic that locked into the cowl and covered his exposed mouth and chin. Robin pulled on a clear respirator that covered his mouth and nose.
"Everything I just told you is true, Batman and Robin. This toxin now being released will savagely twist the mind and body of every person it contacts. Once it's dispersed, the infected will then spread the toxin across the city, and maybe even the country! I challenge you, detectives, to figure out how I accomplished all of this from behind bars, from behind your back, once again! But alas, you won't figure it out, and when you give up, I'll be waiting here, safe in my cell." His round glasses flashed in time with the red alarm lights, and his menacing face was almost mesmerizing.
The sound of footsteps coming from the hallway shocked Batman into action.
"Robin, get to the Batmobile now." He turned towards the oncoming guards, ready to call out a warning to get gas masks now, but the sight staring back at him froze his words in his mouth.
"Bats… do you see what I see?" A shocked whimper reached his ears. Whimper? Robin doesn't whimper. Well, honestly, I'd be whimpering too right now if my mouth wasn't frozen open in shock.
From down the hallway lumbered figures straight from Dick's new video game, making those groaning noise made famous by the numerous movies and TV shows that had gotten an entire culture excited for an apocalypse. Three guards, each with unnaturally pale skin and glazed eyes, were shambling towards them.
Holy. Shit. Zombies.
"Yes. MOVE!" Batman immediately threw down smoke pellets, and with Robin on his tail he sprinted past the guards before they even knew what had hit them.
Or do they not think, because they're mindless…
Hearts pounding, minds quickened by adrenalin, Batman and Robin fled down the hallways as fast as they could.
"Let the games begin." Strange taunted the retreating duo.
I can't believe this is actually happening.
Five zombified guards appeared suddenly in front of them, forming an impassable barricade. Wordlessly, Batman grabbed the closest man and threw him into the wall. At the same time Robin launched into a roundhouse kick. Batman then threw a punch at the next closest that sent him careening towards the ground, and dodged the grasping fingers of a third. From the corner of his eye he spied Robin, who flipped off the wall and stomped on the shin of the last attacker. An inhumanly high-pitched groan rang through the air as the bone snapped under the pressure.
Robin looked up, startled.
Can they feel pain?
Apparently, the answer was no, as the guard with the newly fractured tibia lurched forward without warning and latched his teeth onto Robin's leg.
"AHHH!" He screamed, viciously kicking at the zombie's bleeding face to dislodge him. Batman quickly finished his last attacker and raced to his partner's side.
The guard was unconscious (can zombies even be unconscious? No, they're just sick people, not monsters, get ahold of yourself…) and Robin was trying to stay calm but was obviously terrified.
"Did he break the skin? Am I gonna turn? Batman I've seen WAY too many zombie movies I know what's going to happen next Oh My God I have to get in a cell you have to lock me up I don't want to infect you too…"
Batman quickly knelt and examined his son's leg, his blood ice cold. Please please please…
Thank God.
"Robin, it's okay, you're going to be fine. The armor stopped him." Batman cut off the boy's nervous jabbering and stood up, keeping his hand on his shoulder for a second longer than necessary.
Robin breathed a sigh of relief, and leaned into the offered hand like it was a giant bear hug.
Which, for me, it kind of is.
"Okay, whew, that was close."
They resumed their hurried pace through the asylum.
"We have to get back to the Batcave. The ventilation should block out the toxin."
And we have to warn Alfred. If he's down in the cave he should be safe, but the mansion's ventilation system needs work, and may let some in. I don't know what I'm going to do if we lose Alfred.
"We need to warn Commissioner Gordon!" Robin panted, and Batman mentally slapped himself. He should be prioritizing the citizens of Gotham, not his family. He was proud Robin had called him out on it. But if there really was a zombie apocalypse going on outside, restocking their utility belts could mean the difference between life and death. They'd need to get back to the cave soon, but they also had to warn Jim Gordon and his men. And one of those had a ticking time limit.
"Okay, we'll check back in with the cave in the car on the way to the police station. Hurry, it's going to be a madhouse out there."
A/N: I've had this story in my brain for five years, but have finally had enough and decided to post it, even if it's not finished or perfect or whatever. Hopefully a few people out there find some joy in it :) I have the whole thing planned out, and am already pre-written up to chapter seven. I'll post once a week (hopefully).
Takes place in that foggy gray area after the end of Season 1, and kinda deviates from canon in regards to Hugo Strange (I don't think we ever see him get caught, but that obviously doesn't work with this story so we just gotta roll with it). The plot was inspired by an episode of the animated show The Batman (2004) titled "Strange New World." If you've seen that, you'll know what's going on, but no spoilers in the comments please!