Chapter 3
It was getting dark.
The sun was setting, and so far, he's made zero progress on finding a library, or any information that could help.
He wasn't keen on asking the locals.
Not with rioters and armed thugs everywhere. Shooting him on sight, his fight the group of 9 showing that.
But he was getting desperate, and while he wasn't happy with that revelation…
He hated not knowing.
Information was key, he is the World's Greatest Detective. And without it, he was a just a brawler with a fancy suit.
That and he made decisions off information, being rash was something is a habit he was trying to quell.
He could've prevented a lot of injuries during Christmas Eve had he been more level-head,
"Hmm."
Alfred had to beat that into his thick skull.
The rioters and thugs were a no-go.
The Dark Knight did consider silently taking a rioter away from a group to interrogate him for information about this place…
It wasn't off the table per se, however interrogations relied on fear, fear didn't make one think rationally, Information given could be inaccurate.
And that can be deadly.
Not to say fear didn't work, he revolved around fear, it is his weapon, and the many criminals he used it on during Christmas Eve proved it ridiculously effective.
But using fear as way to learn history felt… odd to The Dark Knight.
Something about that idea felt petty to The Dark Knight.
Whatever the case it was still an option, just one he would use a last resort.
A sigh escaped the caped crusader's mouth.
He simply let the ambience of the city sooth him, letting the smell of fire, sound of rioters, and the city's industrial scent calm him.
Maybe I should consider killing myself.
"Hmm."
A Lucid dream, defined as a dream you know isn't real, yet…
The Dark Knight put a hand on his mouth, scratching the stubble.
This felt too real, the punches against the thugs, the sound of cracking limbs, broken bones, missing teeth, gravity, the feeling of gliding…
The woman's voice.
It doesn't add up.
I know I fell asleep.
I closed my eyes,
Alfred, told me to contact in case anything wrong.
Then this.
Should I consider killing myself?
The Dark Knight sighed.
Similar to the Joker's madness, he's never dealt with this before. It hadn't even crossed his mind once.
I mean, why would he?
How could he?
Researching into the concept wouldn't give him a single advantage to fight crime with.
It was something that peaked his interest, and he simply looked into it.
And that was all.
A sigh escaped him.
Perhaps I was moved here…
Teleported here.
…
…
"Ugh."
A frown grew on the Dark Knight's face. Even considering the idea was stupid.
It doesn't add up, if I was displaced here, I'd still be in my Bat-Jamas (Alfred would chuckle at the moniker he just coined). I'd still be in pain, healing.
Instead, I'm healthy, the Bat suit doesn't even have a single scratch on it, and I can use Detective Vision despite a lack of connection to the Bat computer.
"Hmm…"
Maybe I should kill myself, wake myself up from this dream.
But by killing myself mentally, would I put myself into a comatose state?
I'd be leaving Gotham defenseless.
I'd be leaving Alfred.
There's much at stake to consider even trying this, especially with how little information I have.
Though he was hyperbolic about keaving Gotham defenseless, there were capable people willing to rise, few, yes, but they were willing.
Captain Gordon, Barbara, an up & coming new D.A named Harvey Dent as well.
And possibly Enigma as well.
"Ugh"
Enigma.
"Prick"
Good thing Alfred wasn't here. He chuckled.
A frown returned to the Dark Knight's face.
Enigma.
To be honest… he hated Enigma's guts, his crusade to blackmail every corrupt person in Gotham is noble, and something he agreed with.
However Enigma's comment about the beatings he dished out was certainly uncalled for.
And well, he would never admit this to Alfred, though he suspected the man already knew this by the sheer fact he argued (for very long) to the point of threatening to stop supporting him if Bruce continued to destroy Enigma's operation.
Because wanting to stop Enigma… was just a petty quest. justifying a weak excuse (that Alfred saw through) to infuriate the man.
The man loved the sound of his own voice.
And he loved to shut him up, make him sputter, make him rage.
It satisfied him.
But he stopped.
Alfred forced him to stop.
He called me out.
And that was the first time he heard Alfred's disappointment in him, not a trick of the mind from Copperhead's poison.
He didn't want to hear that again, just thinking about it…
So he stopped.
Alfred didn't even ask him to apologize to Enigma, but he did either way. (Despite how patient he needed to be for that one, it was for another reason, appeasing Alfred not being that first cause of it).
He had dirt on Gordon, more specifically, that he cheated on his wife.
When Bruce asked him, (or beg in Enigma's arrogance).
Enigma paused, gone was the sardonic tone, genuine curiosity was clear in his voice.
He asked why.
Bruce responded with his necessity.
Enigma countered with how being a genuine cop not on the take excludes one from adultery.
Bruce didn't disagree with that, but he did say to let Gordon handle his mess.
"We both know Gordon's going to come clean eventually."
He remembered how Enigma didn't respond, shutting him up, surpisingly.
"I'll consider it."
Then the transmission ended.
…
A sigh escaped his mouth.
That was an odd time to reminisce.
!
"Damn."
The sun was gone.
A large moon, white and oppressive replaced it.
How long had he reminisced? That was careless.
Idiot.
?
And then something caught the Dark Knight's attention.
It was a woman, possibly around 5'5 – 5'6, blonde hair tied to a bun, slender frame, Black Maxi skirt, red blouse underneath a black top.
And a red brooch on her chest.
She definitely wasn't a rioter.
A rich woman, or at least someone well of.
What was she doing out here?
The rioters nay have targeted her home,
"Hmm."
(Either this city's was spread to thin, or corrupt down to their very blood, both were certainly applicable.)
She was hiding in an alleyway, avoiding the rioters.
He needed to protect her.
She wasn't a fighter, didn't need to be a world's greatest detective to identify that.
But should he introduce himself? She was small, he was large, 6'4, he mastered using the shadows…
No, my appearance alone could startle her, cause her to shout, attracting attention to her, I'd then be forced to deal with Rioters & Thugs while protecting her, all armed.
Grappling her away might cause her to panic, struggle, the probability of her falling while I grapple her to safety is significant enough…
A contemplative hum came out.
The Dark Knight, mulling over his options, decided to keep watch from a distance instead.
Swooping in when needed.
The rioters passed, it was safe for the woman to cross, and she sprinted across the road, into an elevator shaft.
She pulled a lever, an elevator came down.
Turning on Detective Vision, her heart rate was 110 bpm, clearly agitated, not nervous.
Agitated? Odd.
The lift stopped, reaching the top she exited outside.
She was looking around, then turned left, towards a big bridge.
The Dark Knight grappled up to the ledge of the bridge the woman would need to cross.
She sprinted across, breaths quick and shallow.
He heard a name.
Gascoigne.
She was looking for Gascoigne.
The Dark Knight looked past the building.
There was a figure, the motions of the figure looked to be as if he was cutting something.
Or someone.
He frowned, grappling up to area ahead.
He climbed.
A cemetery?
Tombstones were placed, trees lacking leaves on the brink of the death, in the middle a large stone statue was placed.
Gascoigne was in the middle, in the process of hacking something.
I need to find a suitable landing spot, Gascoigne's armed, startling him wouldn't be smart… but his wife…
There, a balcony.
Gliding to it, and landing silently, knees bent, saw everything clearly now.
There were bodies.
Everywhere.
None of them were whole, blood, limbs, and intestines were scattered.
On the graves.
On the leave less trees.
On the ground.
And on Gascoigne.
He was a tall man, perhaps 6'5, maybe 7'0.
He was dressed like a priest, a white, bloodied stole around his neck, his eyes were covered by wraps, yet he cut well.
Accurately.
The rest of his garb was black, with other minute details, but in his hands were two weapons, a large axe and large blunderbuss to accompany it.
"Hmm."
He didn't like this.
Pulling out multiple glue grenades, and readying Electricutioner's shock gloves, the Dark Knight got into position, close enough to intervene, but far to not be noticed.
He didn't like this one bit.
And so did she.
"Gascoigne?" terror and shock came from the woman's voice.
Gascoigne turned.
He walked towards her.
Slowly.
Menacingly.
"Gascoigne, love, i-it's me." A stutter, fear evident in her voice.
"I came t-to check on y-you, you've been gone since the beginning of the hunt… y-you don't take long, an hour a-at most." She stepped back.
He got closer.
She reached into her pockets, her eyes widened in terror. She forgot it.
Gascoigne opened his mouth, he raised his axe and-
Gascoigne growled in shock, he couldn't move, something white and sticky covered his entire body.
Then he felt a tug on his leg.
He fell.
Face first.
Into the ground, hat not falling off despite the angle.
He was pulled, dragged through, mud, stone, bone shards, blood, limb and intestine.
And was hanged upside down.
Then he saw it.
It was a beast, the beast's skin was grey and hardened, in the middle was a shape of a bat.
It's body looked human, yet it's skin was hardened, and discolored-
The Beast's hands roared, blue sparks-
A fist was reeled-
THIINNK
And so that was the last thought Father Gascoigne had, before being knocked unconscious.
Should've intervened earlier, damn it, my indecisiveness could've gotten her killed. Shouldn't have waited for confirmation, that was sloppy.
He growled.
Then he turned to the woman.
She shrunk under her gaze.
She was grateful yes, but someone who could take out her husband, one of the best hunters, in seconds?
Then the Bat? Man? Beast spoke.
Three simple words.
"You're safe now."