Now, I love the Dragon Ball series. It's the first anime series I watched and I can say it's one of those series whose characters I feel a close connection to as a fan. Something about it is very nostalgic to me, despite watching it at a later age than most. But I'm very glad I got to watch it because then I wouldn't have let myself delve into other series which no doubt took some inspiration from Toriyama's work.
Thank you, Toriyama Akira-sensei.
Enjoy the chapter.
Chapter Nine:
Agony X Behind X Masks
Killua stepped inside his room, smothered in sweat after an hour-long morning warmup session. The sluggish feeling from the previous night's fight had long since burned away from his muscles.
Killua strolled to the desk where an idle book was laid flat on the wooden surface and settled on the chair. His mind was clear and refreshed, thanks to acquiring sleep and his light training. Killua's head hung from his shoulders, tensing his gaze at his lap as he contemplated and processed recent events.
The fight against the clay monster was still fresh in his mind. Killua remembered collapsing on the mattress immediately after returning to the hideout late at night. Never could Killua imagine the abilities the clay monster had used to pull out all the stops; it was like fighting a Nen-user who specializes in multiple types.
The clay monster could enlarge himself to magnify his strength and durability, not unlike an enhancer. His entire body was composed of that muddy substance akin to a transmuter's aura. He could reshape any part of his body into anything he probably thinks of, like a manipulator. The punch that shot out from the floor came to mind, with his limbs able to extend at long ranges - emitter abilities.
While it's not impossible for a Nen user to achieve those abilities, it would take years of training and honing one's skills and abilities under the right conditions, depending on the category the user's aura falls into. And even that, only the most skilled Nen masters could exert advancements like that under the most precise control.
Killua glared at his hands as he recalled his depleted strength from the battle. There was no way he could've been this tired after taking a few blows, and the power behind them wasn't enough to grant him mortal wounds. It had to be from contact with the attacks that sucked the life out of him. That could've been dangerous the more Killua thought back to it. Could that explain the clay monster's sudden burst in speed? And what were the limits of that power?
It was no use dwelling on the clay monster any longer; the fight was over with the monster beaten. Killua recalled witnessing the clay monster taken away by the officers when he observed the aftermath from a distance. He wondered if there were others like the clay monster in this world.
Are there any more of them? If so, then Batman must have a connection with them. Killua thought before shaking his head to repel the topic.
With the musty smell from the sewers and sweat clinging to him, Killua was in a foul mood to pursue his studies. Killua's eyes shifted to the side of the desk where a stack of wallets sat, the same ones he had pickpocketed from a few folks the other night. He figured it was time to head out to shop for new clothes.
He grabbed a wallet from the stack, opened it, and held out a bill from the pouch, closely scrutinizing the greenback. The currency for this nation didn't seem too different from Jenny, aside from some old man's face in the center and a symbol of an eagle perched on a pedestal.
Killua squinted as he traced his eyes through the English letters on the bottom. 'Twenty…doll-ars.' Killua's eyes squinted further. 'So that's what they call their currency here.' He thought.
He frowned at the number twenty imprinted on each corner of the bill. If this had been twenty Jenny, he might as well be counting for scraps. Of course, the value amount of this currency could be different from Jenny, which was why he pickpocketed for several more wallets.
He slid the bill into the pouch and stuffed the wallet into his shorts before he grabbed the rest. He slipped his hoodie over his head and snatched his mask before setting out.
Floyd collapsed on the bed in his motel room, his face free of his single monocle mask, donned in lazy clothes fitting for bed. He just needed a break after the last couple of nights of failed, futile searching for his target, especially from the long trek the night before. Upon hearing of the collapse of some factory on the coast to the east, Floyd had to drop his activities at Crime Alley and rushed for the coast, only to find the Bat and that sidekick of his lingering there.
What a waste of time and energy. Floyd signed up for this, came the unironic thought.
'Damn you, Black Mask.' Floyd thought with contempt for the crime boss.
It would be naive if Floyd believed finding one kid inside a large city would be easy, which led him to book a week-long stay at a motel somewhere in Park Row of the East End, encompassing Crime Alley.
Floyd rolled to his back and winced from the blinding rays of the morning sun as it stabbed his tired eyes through the window near the foot of the bed. He begrudgingly stood off the mattress and neared the window, closing the blinds and sliding the thick curtains over to conceal the outgoing exposures.
He returned to his bed, grabbed the remote from the nightstand, and switched on the television before flipping through the channels. Many of these shows didn't pique his interest, so he continued skimming until ceasing the navigation on a news segment. Whatever was hot on the news, Floyd had to assume it had to do something with his target.
The camera focused on the Gotham Gazette newswoman Vicki Vale, reporting on the ruins of the abandoned factory behind her, with loads of workers scattered about to pick up the rubble.
"...With Robin able to effectively apprehend Clayface, Batman was also spotted to show up much later. And does the 'Silent Blur' have anything to do with what went down in the factory?" Vicki said. Her expression hinted at her desire to learn more about what happened in the factory.
Floyd lingered on the broadcast before dismissively shutting off the TV. He cushioned his back against the comforts as he pondered, his eyes idly settled on the ceiling.
So Clayface was brought in. How climactic. And of all people, Gotham's media appeared to credit Robin for capturing Clayface. Floyd could believe that, but who took him down? He found it hard to imagine someone getting his feet wet could tackle Clayface without Batman.
Floyd's eyes squinted, knowing the true culprit of Clayface's fall. 'Silent Blur had to have been there. So he can beat someone like Clayface. It looks like he couldn't kill that bastard after all. I'd have to think of something to push him to kill me, then.'
He closed his eyes as his thought processes dozed to a halt, giving in to the desire for rest.
Tim dropped his backpack beside his bed before settling on his computer desk and settled a piece of paper on the marbled surface, a pencil clutched between his fingers. While homework was boring, it was a relaxing activity after a usually long day at school, especially after such an eventful night. He paid attention to the daily assignments in class and hung out with Sebastian and the others during lunch break. The physical activities in gym class were as stale as ever, and he had to hold back his abilities to avoid suspicion; it was still a bummer that his fitness far exceeded his peers.
Tim could imagine the looks on the inspiring athletes' faces if they ever found out the class geek with the highest scores in class outmatched them in any competitive game.
His thoughts moved away from school, and the image of Annie lit up in his mind. It was good that she was safe, and most of the reason was Killua attacking Clayface just as the monster had him and Annie cornered.
Tim was sure Killua had his motives, whatever they were, but he was very grateful to the mysterious boy for helping get Clayface off of Annie's case, even if it had been indirectly. It was a shame he would be on the opposing side the next time they met. Killua could make for a powerful ally if it weren't for circumstances.
He recalled those fast-moving strikes Killua threw at the clay menace. Tim couldn't see them; it was like watching his limbs streak forward like bullets. There was one point where Clayface would lunge for an attack, and the next thing Tim knew, there were imprints from blunt attacks riddled all over Clayface's body a split second later.
It seemed like Wonder Woman was indeed the best choice to handle Killua.
Tim's thoughts traveled to the aftermath of last night. More specifically, Annie. Uncertainty weighed in Tim's mind regarding Annie's future now that her problem was over. Thankfully, Annie was willing to elaborate on it from their last conversation.
'So the authorities say they'll find and assign her to a local orphanage for her to stay, according to her. Well, that's better than having no home.' Robin thought.
It would be nice if someone were to take her in. Tim was happy regardless now that Annie could be at peace.
Alfred appeared through the doorway of his bedroom before bowing in grace. "Pardon me for intruding on your alone time, Master Tim, but I've prepared you a Spaghetti alla Carbonara for today's supper."
Tim conveyed a grin as he glanced at Alfred. "Got it. I'll be there in a minute." He replied. Alfred nodded before turning away when an idea brightened like a lightbulb in Tim's head. "Alfred, wait. Can I ask you something?"
Alfred looked over his shoulder, gazing at his young master through the corner of his eye as he hummed appraisingly. "Well, you already did, but if it's about the girl you saved, what's your request?"
Tim held back his shock at Alfred's response, or what Alfred would call the 'Butler's intuition.' "Yeah," Tim said with a nod. "I was wondering if you know anyone outside the manor to…y'know, be willing to adopt and take care of Annie?"
Alfred remained wordless as he pointedly raised an eyebrow, which spawned embarrassment to grasp at Tim's nerves. After a short silence, the butler sighed, "Perhaps there is someone. She was a close friend of Master Bruce's late father. If I could pick anyone, I'm certain Miss Thompkins would be capable of the offer. But I am afraid it will be up to her to decide."
Tim stared at Alfred dumbfoundedly for a second. "Thompkins? I think Dick mentioned that name before. She's a doctor, isn't she? Don't you think she's too busy to worry about Annie? "
Alfred nodded with a smile. "I wouldn't doubt her. She did help me raise young Master Bruce after the…" He trailed off, a distant gaze in his eyes. "Incident."
Tim went tight-lipped at Alfred's words, knowing what he indicated. "Oh, that's enough out of me, but I'll heed your request, Sir." Alfred bowed before he turned and disappeared through the doorway.
After nodding the butler off, Tim refocused his aimless stare on his homework, pondering Alfred's words as they brought him back to his past.
'Incident, huh?'
Tim met the concept of death at four years old, and it was so ugly. Tim guessed it led him to be so fixated on catching others from falling that it evolved into studying Batman throughout his young years. Batman, to Tim, had been a symbol of preventing death, and it brought comfort.
While the death of Bruce's parents had been big news, it happened so long ago that it was obscured deep in the history of records. Since he did not exist in that era, Tim recalled having to dig into the Waynes' history after years of following the Batman. Tim allowed a smile on his face as nostalgia befell him. It was embarrassing, but he had been Batman and Robin's biggest fan as a young boy, gathering every bit of news article and stapling them in his old childhood bedroom.
His journey of following Batman began after he attended the final Flying Graysons performance event nine years ago. Even when he was so young, at four years old, the memory was as clear as a window in his mind. He frowned at the performance's tragic end, which brought Dick's parents' deaths after that fatal slip-up. It was so overwhelming for an innocent mind that Tim could never forget that raging confusion that flowed tears from his eyes.
While the gap between that point and now was long enough for anyone to subside the pain, Tim could relate to Bruce and Dick. Having lost his mother a few years ago after an incident, his father didn't come out unscathed, falling into a coma. But that was a different story—a bitter one, Tim would add.
He found it interesting that Gotham's playboy Bruce Wayne adopted Dick after the tragedy. Since he deduced that time's Robin's athleticism matched Dick Grayson from the Flying Graysons, it led him to connect the dots to the man behind the mask. He remembered his nine-year-old self engulfed by this exhilarated feeling. It took him three years to gather the courage to visit Bruce for the first time and tell him straight to his face that he was the Batman.
As a result, here he was, hunting a mysterious superhuman boy who could move at hyper-sonic speeds and shoot lightning out of his palms, even rescuing a cute girl who turned out to be a being of clay.
'What a time to be alive…" Tim uttered with a quiet, humorous hum.
He sighed, looking down at the barely written paper; he could focus more after putting food in his stomach. He stood up from his chair. Food was waiting for him on the table after a long day at school. He was looking forward to the coming future.
The following day, two days after the factory incident arrived smoothly. Killua stood alone in the middle of the outskirts to the west of Gotham. A faction of trees circled the grassy opening where he stood, the leaves chattering under the mild wind. Over the past three hours, his eyes remained closed, focused on the lustrous aura that enveloped his form. It had been a long time since Killua subjected himself to intense Nen training.
An eerie image of Alluka and Nanika trapped under Illumi's palm materialized in his mind. Anger fueled Killua's aura into a raging fire. His aura's intensity soared across the area, rippling the thousands of greenery under the pressure.
Killua could feel his power overflowing; he was powerful, with very few able to match him in battle. However, the fight with the clay monster was all he needed to know of the glaring weaknesses he had to strengthen and improve, reminding him of the leaps and bounds he had to make to match up to Illumi's level.
Killua imagined all the possible scenarios of Illumi utilizing Nanika's power for his benefit. Alluka would be vulnerable to his gaslighting manipulations, like what Illumi did to him in his younger years. Killua gritted his teeth with a hiss before slowly exhaling, his aura calming to the neutral shroud.
'No,' Killua thought.
He refused to let his anger consume him. He couldn't forget when anger overtook Gon as a vessel to evolve into a rage to unleash its wrath. Killua remembered it like a detailed painting of the state it left on Gon in a hospital bed in that room. The price Gon paid to obtain the power to kill a powerful enemy.
Flashes of Gon as a monstrous hulking beast standing over Neferpitou's savagely beaten corpse materialized in his memory. Never had Killua imagined Gon in a state like that, so empty, almost ruthless. Ever.
Gon did indeed achieve his mission to satisfy the rage, but it was all for naught. Although Gon was probably living a quiet life on Whale Island right now, Killua was agitated that Gon wasted all his potential and effort developing his Nen just for revenge, even their friendship. Although Killua was glad they remained friends after the storm, things weren't quite the same as before the Chimera Ant war.
Gon's stunt in the war against the chimera ants demolished Killua's concept of their friendship despite understanding the emotional and mental dip Gon had suffered. Killua's main frustration was at himself for placing Gon on a pedestal like he could do no wrong throughout their adventures.
How naive he was…
Killua guessed that was what happened after never having a friend in his early childhood. Perhaps it was a blessing that he parted ways from Gon. Hopefully, they will meet again someday and reconcile after he returns to his world. But that won't happen anytime soon. Not until he had to find a way back and release Alluka and Nanika from Illumi's clutches.
It was time to move to the next phase of his training.
Killua's eyes shut tight as he focused on his aura. The leaking flames of his Ren, contained by Ten, became broader and rounder, like a robust coat of armor.
"Ken!"
Recalling Bisky's words, it is an advanced principle by which aura reinforces his body's defenses more effectively than Ren. If Ren is for offense, then Ken would be its counterpart for defense, each splitting an even shroud of his aura around his form at max exertion. Killua could feel the application of Ten to his Ren exhausting his Nen capacity, leaving him to move comparatively slower. Ken was, therefore, better suited as a shield rather than a sword.
The distance between his feet widened into a combative stance. However, there was one more application that could merge the strengths of both Ren and Ken into the ultimate offense and defense combo!
'If I focus seventy-five percent of my maximum aura into my right foot with Gyo, leaving the rest of my body with only twenty-five percent…' Killua internally noted, remembering everything he learned from Bisky. A large sphere of aura balled into his foot, leaving a comparably thinner veil over the remaining portions. 'I get Ryu!'
He faced the boulder ahead with determination, and with a loud bang, he sprang forward with his right foot so fast that he blinked in front of the rock before striking it hard. The dense stone exploded into numerous pebble-like particles as a large ripple spread around the area, fluttering against the grass and wavering the orange-red leaves of the surrounding trees with a crack echoing the air.
The boulder ceased to exist.
Killua sighed, disappointed by the weak training targets because of the lack of a sparring partner. Oh well. It would have to do; this session was to refine his Nen control to the point he could regulate the amount of aura in separate parts of his body between attacks. The absence of a durable target was unfortunate but not necessary.
Killua turned to face a pair of boulders not far from one another. He applied sixty percent into his fist, trading forty percent to his body. He dashed forward and punched the rock into smithereens.
So his speed was noticeably slower when he moved with less aura around his feet. It was worth taking a mental note of. Killua turned to the next boulder with narrowed eyes as an intriguing experiment came to mind. He could initially focus aura on his foot for rushing in, then translating it to another part of his body as he leaped could be a good exercise in control.
'Seventy percent; left foot!' Killua phased forward at high speeds, conducting the aura from his foot to his elbow midflight before bursting through the rock, producing another audible shockwave to blow through the lush area. Killua rolled against the ground and stopped in a knelt position.
'Damn it. I didn't focus fast enough. I only pushed in sixty percent.' Killua sighed before glaring at the next set of boulders. "Okay, let's try again!"
Deadshot overlooked the retro scenic view of the Bowery from his vantage point on the highest point of the old Gotham Merchant's Bank. A crystalline tunnel roofed over the avenues in the area as the clouded night granted a chilly autumn breeze to the atmosphere.
He had just arrived at the Bowery after spending three nights scouring through Crime Alley for the Silent Blur to no avail. He had even tipped the odds in his favor by activating thermal vision on his monocle mask. No wonder they gave him that name.
He looked to his left to see the neighboring Gotham City Museum of Natural History, its architecture remaining timeless in its age. As much as Deadshot hated Old Gotham, it was safe to say that the Bowery had aged better than most of what remained of it.
Deadshot scanned the rooftops with his thermal vision switched on. 'Damn. No sign of the target.'
His radio buzzed in his pocket all of a sudden. Deadshot looked down at his pants.
Curious. He accepted the call before pressing the receiver to his ear. "Who's this?" Deadshot answered demandingly.
"Hey, Deadshot. How've you been?" a raspy voice spoke through the relay.
Deadshot's attitude drowned to sub-levels at the sound of his client's voice. "What do you want, Sionis?"
"Now, now. Is that any way to greet your client?" Black Mask taunted, feigning hurt in his voice. A brief chortle audited through the transmission that popped a vein under Deadshot's brow. "I just want to know how the job's going."
"I'm doing all I can to find the target. It's taking time, but be patient." Deadshot bluntly replied. "If that's all you wanted to call me for, then I'm hanging up."
"Are you sure about that?" Black Mask's darkened tone unveiled behind his jesting facade. "You only have… eight days before the deadline. It looks to me that you're not trying hard enough."
Deadshot clenched his teeth behind his mask. "What the hell do you want me to do? As far as I know, I don't have any special powers to track anyone instantly. Like I said," His eyes narrowed into slits. "Be patient." He finished coldly.
He heard Black Mask sigh from the other side of the signal. "You know, Deadshot, I've been thinking about why you, the World's Deadliest Assassin, would pass up a fifteen million dollar deal to kill this target, who happens to be a kid. It seems you hold to some principles, and I can respect that. But it's strange, ain't it?"
Floyd remained silent as Black Mask continued. "Ever since our meeting, I've done some digging about you. What's a secret a top assassin like you would hide? Everyone has something to hide, and you're no different."
Floyd's exposed eye tensed behind the monocle of his mask as dread squalled upon him like a blizzard. There was no way Black Mask would have bothered to discover his family. He had done anything he could to follow through with the job that Black Mask was paying him for. Was initially declining the job all it took for Black Mask to plague his personal life?
"Guess what I found…"
Floyd could hear Black Mask's twisted grin through the commlink.
"In Star City, California."
The vicious urge to strangle Black Mask roared to life like a beast awakening from its slumber. "Bastard, if you dare do anything to my daughter and her mother, I'll hunt you down and make you wish you'd be dead," Floyd spoke with force, almost choking through his words.
"Calm down," Black Mask responded apathetically, evidently unphased by the threat. "Let me finish."
After Floyd took a deep breath, Black Mask continued, "Now, I'm only doing this as a persuasion, Floyd. I dispatched some of my boys to hang around your kid's neighborhood. That's it. I told them to do nothing else. But Floyd, don't make this hard for any of us. I don't want this either, and I'd hate if I have to gun down your estranged family to motivate you."
Everything surrounding Floyd disappeared, and a stabbing ring screeched in his ears, all except for the crime lord's voice from the other end of the commlink. "So what's it going to be? Some brat you never fuckin' met before, or your daughter?"
The silence from Floyd gave the answer Black Mask desired, "Eight days left, Floyd. Oh, and don't bother leaving Gotham. I'll know your every move, so you be patient. Now that I've got everything straight with you..."
"DO YOUR DAMN JOB!" The crime lord shouted in rage, and then the call hung up.
Deadshot offhandedly fired a grappling hook to a roof nearby and shot forward.
'Zoe. No…'
Arriving smoothly on the rooftop, Deadshot trudged to a wall and violently slammed his fist against the brick exterior, caving a large fissure on the wall.
Black Mask hummed as his elbows propped up on the surface of his desk, his hands intertwining. His typical scowl plastered on his scarred face. He couldn't believe how Deadshot had reduced from the World's Deadliest Assassin to an estranged family man over the years.
"What a sorry, son of a bitch." He muttered to himself.
He had Deadshot trapped under his thumb, so it didn't matter. It was time to move on to the next stage in his agenda. A little chaos should be a nice distraction to keep the Bat busy. Black Mask dialed a few numbers on his custom-made portable radio.
"How's the set-up going?" He asked once the signal connected.
"All taken care of. We're waiting for the go-ahead, boss." A henchman answered.
"Good, get everyone ready." Black Mask replied cooly before glaring at the radio. He took a deep, steady breath. This next course of action shall determine his future. "Blow 'em up."
"Understood."
There was a traumatic explosion followed by another, shaking the bridge that crosses Finger River, a dense billow of smoke emanating from the blast site. The unfortunate vehicles within the radius were doomed to fall through the gap toward the river, and others suffered a chain reaction in the gas tanks from the initial detonations. The hapless drivers and riders lost their lives in each car that exploded in gassy flames.
Two other bridges followed up the tragedy simultaneously, too instantaneous for anyone to react. One was the Brown Bridge that led toward Chinatown from the mainland, just north of Dixon Docks, crossing the all-known Gotham River. The third bridge was the Sprang Bridge, which crosses the Sprang River between Robbinsville and Murphy Avenue.
The public reacted in an uproar almost immediately. The fire department spread into three groups as soon as news reached their numbers. Gotham media outlets sent crews of reporters to record the events. The GCPD squadron vehicles rushed through the streets toward each of the bridges. Finally, numerous ambulances drove out from their stations toward the chaos.
On this night, Gotham City drowned under the wailing sirens.
Batman sped through the streets as he steadily steered the wheel of the Batmobile, his boot pressing against the pedal. He twisted the wheel for a sharp turn as the tires of the custom-made vehicle scraped the road. He looked forward through the windshield to see the distant silhouette of a dense pillar of cloud in the night, where the bridge crossing Finger River was. Batman switched his narrowed gaze to the digital map of Gotham displaying three marked locations of the explosions.
The origins behind these explosions were intentional. So, the more important question was who arranged them. Batman's jaw clenched in frustration. Whoever had done it had deliberately made it so to garner his attention away from something else, sacrificing the lives of innocent civilians for their agenda.
And it worked.
Robin wasn't present with him on the ride, having to separate to aid those suffering on Brown Bridge while Batgirl headed off to Sprang Bridge. Nightwing was unfortunately still out of action from the fight against Killua.
The Batmobile stopped to a screeching halt on the edge where the bridge met land, just before a barricade of squadron police vehicles, flaring red and blue glows. Batman slipped out of the hatch before rushing to the source of the smoke, his cape swishing behind him as he approached the police.
"Batman!"
He turned to see Jim Gordon waving toward him as the officers behind him assisted the civilians in their evacuation. The Dark Knight nodded to the commissioner as he neared the officers.
"How's the situation?" He asked as they stood across each other. The Dark Knight towered a head over the veteran cop.
Gordon gave him a tired look, "Most civilians evacuated the bridge, thankfully. Help is needed most near the explosion site. I think that's where you'll come in."
"I'll be on my way then. Watch yourself, Jim," Batman replied softly to his old friend. He turned away and was about to jog toward the bridge.
"One more thing," Gordon's voice paused Batman's steps. The vigilante turned to the commissioner with a side glance and was suspicious to find the grave stare etched on Gordon's callous features, almost forbiddingly. "I have something to share with you once this mess is over. It's about the Joker."
The sound of that name was enough to set Batman on alarm. Batman shot him a nod after the brief pause before facing forward and continuing his trek.
It took Batman a couple of hundred meters to reach the gaping pit near the opposite end of the deserted traffic of vehicles, south of where the police had barricaded the bridge. He eyed the tractor-trailer dangling over the edge while the weight of the cargo persisted on the road, preventing the vehicle from tipping over.
Batman's eyes narrowed as he caught the outline of a person within the truck.
The helpless driver opened the door ajar. "Help! Batman!"
Batman raised a circular device overhead and fired. A thick zipline of durable material shot out from both ends toward the bridge's railing, impaling its piercing tips through the concrete material and the opposite line attached to the semi-truck. The mechanism guided the Dark Knight to the trailer truck. Detaching the zipline device, Batman grasped the doorway as he maintained balance—the vehicle wobbling. The man tensed as if any more force would cause more instability.
"Grab on," Batman spoke with composure, stretching out his gauntlet hand for the man to hold.
Securing his arm around the driver, Batman cautiously twisted his body to face the bridge. He peered down the gap, spotting scattered vehicles flowing on the water. A flash of lights shined from the corner of his eye. He faced the source and was relieved to see the fire crew present.
"Batman, over here!" A fireman waved.
Batman shot with a grapple to the fire crew on the other side of the pit. He gently set the wobbling man to his feet for him to get escorted away by a fireman. In a stampede around the pit, firemen unleashed a stream of intense water from the firetruck hose. The lieutenant approached the Dark Knight, offering a grateful salute.
"Thanks, Batman. We came to check for missing survivors, and you beat us to it. We owe it to you." The lieutenant said.
"It's what I do," Batman replied politely.
"I'm sure others are still in need of rescue. The crew and I can stay here, clean up this mess, and care for the survivors while you find others and bring them here. I'll call an ambulance over here while we do our jobs. Is that okay with you?"
Batman wordlessly nodded, finding working in common grace with the fire crew a satisfactory approach for this rescue mission. He spun around and neared the gap, peering down the pit. It was a long way down from this altitude, high enough to paralyze anyone with an unsuitable mental capacity.
All of the fallen vehicles could have sunk underwater long before he arrived. The possibility existed that there could be survivors, and every life is valuable. As much as he wanted to find out immediately what the culprits intended to distract him from, he would be no better to leave survivors to die in the river.
Batman held a small, hollow apparatus comprised of two narrow cylinders with a round appendage in the center. He inserted the rebreather through his mouth, bit into the mouthpiece, and proceeded to nosedive down the pit. His cowl shielded his eyes from the smoke, his cape spreading out, slowing his descent to a steady glide.
Unbeknownst to the Dark Knight, the suspended semi-truck trundled further overhang from gravity.
His form plunged into the cold, flowing body with a splash. Batman inhaled and exhaled through the rebreather in his mouth as he submerged underwater. He scanned for the sunken cars in the dark waters of Finger River, the lenses of his cowls lighting to life and bright rays broadening visibility.
Batman swam to the bottom, his black cape suspended in the water as he perceived the running torrents compressing against his armor. Numerous broken car remains floated about as he swam to the floor. He squinted for a more thorough surveillance, and there they were when he spotted them.
He narrowed his eyes at the seemingly lifeless automobile as he treaded into the vicinity. He peered through the door. It was fortunate for the riders that the windows remained secured like a barricade against their doom during the traumatic fall. He skimmed his hand along the glass, switching on detective vision through his lenses.
Two skeletal figures occupied the vehicle's front seats in the X-ray view in awkward and sort of twisted positions from a chaotic landing.
'Two of them, the man's name is Alex Bryson; the woman is Olivia Lopez. Both are in their late twenties. Info shows they're each employed with respective jobs. Their heart rates indicate they're unconscious. Body scans show at least five of Bryson's ribs ruptured with trauma occurring to the skull. His partner suffered an awkward bent to her arm along with the shattered right shoulder blade.'
'They won't last at this rate.' Batman concluded.
Batman raised his fist and mustered as much strength behind his arm before thrusting his knuckles against the back window, the water's density reducing the force needed. He cocked his arm back again before punching the window a second time, and the panes burst forward. The water immediately gushed inside and filled the interior.
Batman reached for the locks in the driver's door and pried it open. Gently, he hooked the man's arm over his shoulder and pulled him out, carefully avoiding his midsections. Batman stretched further into the passenger seat with his opposite arm and secured it around the woman's waist, also cautious of her arm's injuries. After the struggle of lifting her over the seats, he brought her safely outside before immediately ascending toward the surface.
His heart pounding, Batman paddled his legs, swarms of bubbles venting out his rebreather from every breath. He worked his legs tensely, faster, before the survivors would succumb to their injuries and the lack of oxygen to breathe. The surface distorting the moonlight started to get closer, closer.
'Almost there…!' Batman screamed internally.
His head broke through the surface with a splash, his form almost flying out of the water. His head shot up, water blurring his vision. He let out a deep exhale from the extensive dive. Now, the next step was to return to the fire crew. The couple in his arms were in desperate need of medical treatment. After shaking his head to rid the drenches of his cowl, he squinted toward the bridge above.
He felt his nerves jangle at seeing the trailer above hanging dangerously over the edge. He made a glance at the two rescues over his shoulders. He went to flow out of the pit's direct course as he kicked his legs like a motor toward the support beams, bearing the combined weight of the survivors on his broad shoulders.
He was facing upwards instantly, his eyes frantically widening as a fragment of the edge broke off and the truck's tires finally buckled under the combination of gravity and tonnage. The large truck plummeted down like a fireball of dozens of tons toward the river. Batman continued to swim out of the way of the descending juggernaut's radius. Any second could see him, as well as the survivors, caught in an erupting wave or crushed under the truck's collision against the water.
An airborne thundering rumble caught his ears before a figure whizzed overhead, leaving ripples and waves trailing behind, causing a surge of water to rain upon the floating Bat. Above him, a heavy metallic clang reverberated a chill to his goosebumps through his batsuit. Quickly processing that the deadly fall hadn't passed, Batman slowly looked up, and awe washed over him at the sight of Diana propping up the trailer truck above her head, adorned in her glorious armor, complete with her treasure-like golden tiara, a red star plastered its center. Her raven curls waved elegantly against the breezy wind.
With her blue eyes, she gazed down at him with a pleasing smile. "I made it!" Diana exclaimed, relief in her voice.
Breathing out as he kept afloat, Batman tipped his head, sharing her sentiments within his stoic facade. Usually, he'd find himself dissatisfied that any metahuman would volunteer in Gotham; he abhorred superpowered beings interfering in his personal vendetta against the injustices of this city. But the sight of the Amazon beauty deciding to intervene in the chaos and rescue him from death earned her his gratitude.
"I'll be back down in a bit," she said assuringly, drawing a nod from Batman.
Wonder Woman elevated to the bridge before flowing down to the road. From the sidelines, the fire crew gazed in astonishment at her appearance. Red boots settled onto the rough surface, and carefully, she placed the truck onto the road. Clouds of dust gusted surrounding the large vehicle. Her feet immediately hovered above the ground before she descended to the river.
"May I?" Wonder Woman softly asked when she hovered above the Dark Knight, eyeing the drenched survivors who hung limp on his shoulders. Batman wordlessly nodded, permitting her to reach for the unconscious woman on his shoulder.
Detecting the woman's severe injuries, Wonder Woman gently scooped the woman up from Batman's shoulders, avoiding stirring any discomfort. The woman's soaked skin and clothes felt cold in her arms. Wonder Woman's heart sank at the woman's condition, her face pale in a comatose state. She could feel the woman's life desperately clinging to the desire to live as her heightened hearing—granted to her by the Goddess of the Hunt—could barely detect a pulse.
She flew up to the bridge, with Batman now having a free arm to whip up his grapnel gun to ascend shortly behind her. As Wonder Woman landed in the center of the fire crew, their stares remained frozen in shock at her. Murmurs began to radiate within the crew. She took their awe-struck gazes in stride and offered the crew a greeting smile.
"Wonder Woman? Here in Gotham?" A firefighter muttered to himself, not believing his eyes.
"Was she just passing by, and these bombings caught her attention?"
Black Mask watched from his desk as the events unfolded through the television broadcast by Gotham Gazette news. His hollowed eyes had widened critically at the screen, chills running through his goosebumps to the point that he could shiver. Sweat ran down from the pores on his scarred face. The program focused on the bridge crossing Finger River from a bird's eye view.
His breath nearly caught with a hitch, his jaw agape as it quivered, and the cigarette promptly fell off his lips. "W-w-what the hell is SHE doing here!?" Black Mask exclaimed in terror, pointing a trembling finger at the visual flat device.
Seeing Wonder Woman appear out of nowhere was akin to his morale getting sucked out of him like a vacuum. He'd seen that woman plenty of times in the magazines, articles, you name it. All he knew was that she was powerful and a force he wouldn't dare fuck around with. Of course, the Bat knew her since they were a part of that blasted Justice League. But why in this shit world was she here in Gotham now of all times!?
No! There was no way he would let this night go to waste after days of planning; this was his moment! His opportunity to be on top of the city!
Justice be damned!
Black Mask grabbed his portable radio from his desk and punched the desired number. "Did you get the cash!?" He spoke immediately through the call.
"Well, the trucks are almost filled up. But why?"
"Get your asses out of there! NOW!"
Batman touched down and walked forward as he kept the man over his shoulders, approaching the stunned Lieutenant. "We brought two more survivors; they need treatment immediately." He said demandingly.
The Lieutenant broke out of his daze with a frantic nod. He gestured his arm to his colleagues, "Fetch them some stretchers and medical equipment, pronto!"
Heeding the command, four men ushered toward the firetruck and carried out two long canvases from the support department of the firetruck. Batman and Wonder Woman placed the survivors on stretchers before the firefighters rolled them away.
Suddenly, Batman's commlink went live. Curious, he pressed his finger onto the commlink, connecting with the signal. "All units, all units! Robberies are being committed at the National Bank of Gotham by a group that's identified to be Black Mask's Mob. Five guards are down, and the suspects have taken hostages. We need patrol officers over there ASAP!"
Batman's eyes narrowed to slits, 'So that's who's behind these bombings." He growled in a voice under his breath that would send chills running through anyone's spine.
The National Bank of Gotham was on the other side of this island at the City Hall District. It would take him approximately five to eight minutes if he could run back to the Batmobile and drive to the bank through the quickest route. He turned to the Amazon Princess, who faced him with concerned eyes.
"Wonder Woman, you stay here and look for any more survivors. Once you're sure you've rescued all of them, I need you to help Robin and Batgirl at the other bomb locations. As for me, there's a heist I need to crash." He finished darkly, his eyes sharpening through his lenses.
Wonder Woman curtly nodded with a deadly serious expression. "On it!" Her eyes softened as she looked at her friend. That word defining the status of their relationship didn't sit well with her, but she brushed it off for the moment. The events didn't call for her affections. "And good luck. May Hera bless you."
Batman's scowling face wavered but for a brief moment. "Right back at you." he softly replied.
She hovered above him, giving him one last smile before she dove down to the river at exceedingly high speeds and pierced through the surface like a torpedo.
With his grapnel gun, Batman shot forward across the pit to one of the high pillars. As he pressed the acceleration in the grapnel gun, the wind whipped against him as the wire pulled him at fast velocities, causing his dark cloak to flap wildly. Batman ascended in the air, allowing his cape to spread its bat-like wings. He soared above the bridge, eyeing the blaring red and blue flashes in the distance.
Black Mask sat comfortably in that office of his long enough, constantly proving false innocence to the authorities in the Court. Not anymore, if Batman could help it. These bombings were proof enough.
Black Mask was going down.
The burly masked mobster shoved the last bag of cash into the trunk before closing the haul door. Leaning his AK-47 over his shoulder, he frantically waved his arm at his fellowmen to each van. "Let's go, let's go! Get a move on! Make sure to keep two hostages with us and keep them separate! We ain't making this easy for the Bat, so come on! Get your asses going! We have the advantage!" He ordered with force behind his gruff voice.
In haste, the masked mobsters rushed to their obscured vehicles in the side alley beside the bank. Unknown to the now fleeing mob, a shadowy figure surveyed them from a rooftop above them.
Her calculating aqua-blue eyes counted each mobster as they pushed themselves into the dark-tinted vans. Two hostages, both wearing uniforms, indicated to be bank staff officials. They were both tied up and gagged when they were both loaded into separate rides. These boys were sure trying hard for this score to be successful. It was fortunate she just happened to be passing by. Their sight narrowed too microscopically on Batman that they failed to realize they had become her prey.
As much as she desired to snatch the hostages away, she knew it would be foolish to face the dozens of armed men by herself. What a bummer. She could use them to her advantage on the bright side. She knew their kind like the back of her hand. They needed the hostages for an easy escape like the cowards they were. They wouldn't dare use up their human shields so early on.
Her gaze landed on the burly man standing in the center of the rushing mob, waving his arms and barking commands to the mob. That one seemed to be in charge of the heist by observations; there was no doubt that he was the type of goon to stay behind to ensure the objective would succeed.
She'll make him talk.
She took out a dark glock-like crossbow of steel alloy from her utility belt, string cocked into the mechanism, and loaded with a metallic bolt in its barrel. Her facials tensed, anticipating all the mobsters to escape into the vehicles, each engine starting up before they drove out in a rush out the alley, all until the bulky mobster remained and his ride. She needed a split second to react once the mobsters would open the door. Her narrowed eyes watched him do a tactful survey before he reached for the door handle to the front passenger seat.
There!
Her arm cocked forward in a blur and fired the bolt to streak toward the mobster in a whoosh, piercing through the metallic shell of the rifle. In a panic, the mobster mindlessly screamed as he shot rapid-fire bullets into the sky once the bolt penetrated the firearm with a clang. His comrades impulsively dropped to their stomachs from the frenzy, just beneath the windows, clutching their arms around their heads while shielding their ears from the banging reports.
"What the hell, man!?" The driver shouted as he threw an appalling glare at the ring-leading mobster.
The mobster spun around and tossed away the rifle an instant before the haywire accumulated to a blast. The man's head snapped back, arms shielding his face from the cracking radius as his ears rang. In a quick swoop, the other mobsters surrounded the leader, asking how he was doing. Unbeknownst to them, their predator quickly blurred forward through the shadows.
The burly mobster shook his head, constantly blinking his eyes to rid the blurriness from his vision. A violet boot brutally slammed against his cheek, causing his black mask to shatter and splurting out saliva and a broken-off tooth from his lips. The mobster hurled away, taking a blunt fall to the ground. His shoulder scraped against the concrete, the sleeve of his blazer tearing away until he ceased to a motionless stop.
The mobsters snapped their gazes at the attacker, alarmed, and they saw a fair-shaped woman, geared in a black leathery suit with violet outlines that fitted her figure with a utility belt matching the suit's outlines. A golden cross hung from her neck as a necklace, glinting off the dim moonlight. Her domino mask was narrow and sharp, extending to protruding points above her head, not concealing her stone-cold glare aimed at the mobsters. They were caught off guard by the vile contempt behind her blue eyes.
The familiar features of this costumed woman were enough to send the mobsters into a panic.
It was the Huntress.
One mobster uttered the first thing on impulse. "What the…!"
The Huntress raised her violet boot before slamming directly into his face, smashing through his black skull-like mask. The mobster's head snapped back from the impact before falling to his knees, clutching his jawline. The other three mobsters quickly reached into their holsters and drew their guns.
"Shoot her!"
Narrowing her eyes to the mobster ahead of her, she rushed forward and hand-chopped his wrist, prompting him to release the pistol with a yelp. She snatched the handgun from midair, took ahold of his wrist, and pulled him in front of her, his back against her as she pressed the tip of the gun against his head. The captive mobster outspread his arms in fear, causing his comrades to stop with their pistols drawn. She took advantage of their hesitance, firing precise shots at their hands without a beat.
Blood exploded from their hands as the two mobsters wailed in agony, gazing in horror at their mangled hands.
The Huntress kicked her brief captive in the back part of his knee, forcing said knee onto the surface before she landed a blinding kick to the side of his head with an audible smack. She stepped over the unconscious mob and rushed ahead before hopping up with a twirl and flying a hard kick against the injured mob's face. After landing, she spun around and landed a sharp chop to the other one's neck, putting both down for the count.
The final mobster wobbly stood to his feet, facing Huntress with an expression mixed with fear and blazing anger on his exposed face. A knife slid into his palm from his sleeve, and with the blade raised, he charged at her with a war cry.
The Huntress merely weaved the coming slash with a slight tilt. She stepped aside to avoid another one for her midsection. Frustrated, the mobster shouted in desperation, sending a barrage of attempted slits and swipes coming her way, the Huntress waving around the stabs as if they moved in slow motion.
Her arm flew upwards with a balled fist as the weapon closed in, shattering the blade on contact with her armored gauntlets. In utter disbelief, the mobster's jaw fell so far down as he eyed the scattered shards of stainless steel, not registering the puncturing uppercut flying toward his chin, resounding a sickening crack as it connected with his jaw. The vile stabbing pain seaming his jaw was the last thing he recalled before his vision blacked out.
Ignoring the thump crumple of the broken-jawed mobster, Huntress turned toward the downed mobster she handpicked for the interrogation—the ringleader. Slowly stalking her way to the groaning man, she retrieved her beloved crossbow from her belt.
Standing over him, she abhorrently looked down at him, her crossbow clicking. Her boot pressed against his shoulder as she rolled him onto his back, leaving him staring dazedly up at the sight of her highlighted form in the moonlight.
She applied her weight behind her boot against the joint on his shoulder, earning a pained groan from the mobster. "Tell me where your men are taking those hostages and all that money you just robbed."
No response returned from him, flooding boiling anger to channel her blood. She flattened her foot against him, twisting and grinding the sole of her boot on his shoulder, effectively grating him against the rugged concrete.
The mobster's teeth grit against each other with a hiss, and a throaty grunt of agony escaped the criminal. "Wake up," Huntress spoke with a force. "What's your boss planning to do with the money."
The robber opened his eyes with a squint, mustering a glare through his grimace. "Like I'll tell you shit," He spat out with a rasp.
A metallic bolt impaled through a good amount of his flesh, even puncturing and halting caused by the cold cemented surface underneath him. A wail of affliction howled out of his lungs by the unbearable spasms of stabbing pain just above his pec area.
"Are you going to tell me the answer I want? I have more where that came from."
He abruptly shook his head, "I'm still not talking!"
Huntress sighed at his tight lips. Sionis was planning something big if his expendable crooks refused to crack. Just what was it, and how would it affect Gotham's landscape? All those years growing up in Sicily, not knowing the mafia life, in its corrupt and dark reality that her parents controlled before it killed them when Helena was but an eight-year-old child, had loomed over Helena like a dark storm anywhere she went. Black Mask was the current giant in its hellish world, so it was her destiny, her fate, to knock him down and drag him under the soil along with everyone else who desired to rule Organized Crime.
She simply shot another bolt, aiming at his hand. Blood squirted immediately from his hand, darkening his blazer with warm wetness while sparking another series of cries from the mobster. The mobster continued to squirm and struggle from the worst sense of pain in his life.
"Better?" Huntress goaded dully with a brow quirked.
The man's chest continued to heave and rise in a frantic rhythm, his eyes reflecting exhaustion, which did not escape her perception. Huntress snarled with a snort; this was going nowhere. How infuriating that this guy would faint from stress and blood loss at this point before he would open up about Black Mask.
She had to think of something.
Her eyes darted to his downed comrades, who all lay motionlessly a few feet away. "You know, I could kill you since you're refusing to cooperate."
The man curled a smirk, revealing his bloodied teeth. "You ain't killin' me. None of you damn 'heroes' have…" he heaved a breath before a throaty cough escaped. "The guts to do it." He finished with a bitter laugh.
Huntress' lips curled up slyly as her temper raised, "Oh, but on the contrary, I'm not like Batman or any of his birds and that bat-wannabe, but I do admit, I don't kill mindlessly." Her tone sang before her lips hardened into a scowl. "But it doesn't mean I won't shoot an arrow through your skull if you continue being a nuisance. I can move on to ask your friends; they'd probably be ones to squeal."
Huntress felt a glint of satisfaction lit up when she saw the man's eyes grow wide with fright. "Okay, I'll tell you what I know! Just stop shooting me with that stupid bow of yours!"
She retracted her crossbow with a hint of please etched on her features. "I'm listening. Tell me about what your boss wants with the money."
The downed mobsters winced as if daring to elaborate was torture itself. "The Penguin." He managed to choke out. "Black Mask is planning to trade with the Penguin."
He let out a hiss as her boot twisted with more force against his shoulder. "And?" She goaded.
"T-There's a big rumor in the underworld that the Penguin is keeping something big in his vault. He has guns, explosives, high-tech, anything you can think of, but there's something else. I don't know what it is, but some say he has some kind of monster."
For the first time, Huntress' face fell, puzzled. "Monster?" She muttered. "So that's what Black Mask is after."
The mobster frantically nodded, clutching her boot with his good hand. "Yes!"
"When and where will they meet?" Huntress questioned as her glare returned.
"I don't know—! AAHHHH!" Her boot was practically threatening to crush his scapula and collarbone. "STOP! STOP!"
"Then stop lying and tell me the truth."
"They're meeting in eight days!" He paused as he continued to huff. "Near Cape Carmine shipping docks!"
"And the hostages?" She asked, unfazed by his suffering.
"We were planning to split up to take them to an isolated location, somewhere to drive you costumed freaks away from the cash." He choked out, and a laugh soon escaped him. "We know how much you all value human life. We'll shoot them dead in a few hours at a warehouse at 939th Murphy Avenue. We won this round, bitch!"
Her knee swooped down and crushed against his cheekbone, effectively knocking him out. As she straightened her stance, the Huntress gazed at the downed mobsters with unimpressed eyes. That took longer than it should have, namely the interrogation, but she got what she needed.
It was time to pay the ones who were holding those bank officials captive a visit.
She turned to the alley's exit and was about to retrieve her motorcycle, but she paused her steps with a frown when twin pairs of lights rushed from around the corner. Her frown grew more pronounced when the vehicle revealed its features as its tires screeched to a stop before her. Black paint covered the exterior's armored plating, and bat-wing features proudly displayed on its bumper and exhaust hangers. Huntress eyed its hatch snap open before Batman's cloaked figure hopped from its opening.
Tensed silence submerged the area as the two vigilantes of Gotham eyed each other, a distance safely maintained between them. The icy stare of Huntress met Batman's stoic stare in an unflinching tug of war.
"Huntress," Batman spoke after the silence, his eyes narrowing. "So you're in on this as well."
Hushed silence emanated from Huntress as her eyes squinted in thought. She then moved forward, causing the Dark Knight to gaze at her with stoic interest. She walked past him before stopping and turned to him with a side-eye, Batman returning the action.
"Two Hostages held captive in the warehouse at 939th Murphy Avenue. You're welcome to tag along," She stated matter-of-factly before walking off, "And be sure to call an ambulance on those guys before some of them bleed out." She added offhandedly before taking off out of the alley.
Batman faced forward with a motionless stare at the heap of downed mobsters.
The hostage rescue was a smooth success. Batman had arrived at the warehouse to find Huntress standing in the yard, leaning on her motorcycle expectedly. Their unspoken alliance was how it was, focused on receiving signals in their communication and giving each other pointers, no favor in small talk.
Batman would be lying if he said he trusted Huntress to the level of Alfred, Dick, Tim, and Barbara. Her tactics were unpredictable, which made her untrustworthy in his eyes. He knew of Helena's past and relations to the defunct Bertinelli crime family. His past encounters with her weren't exactly the best of both worlds. Despite Batman's attempts to teach her that her tactics were misguided with the potential to end lives, it was a challenge to help Helena overcome her past, and her resolve fueled by rage built from trauma was difficult to shift.
Bruce had seen her eyes, which weren't much different from his growing up. But it was a relief to know Huntress was at least cooperative in the mission, both agreeing to battle against the mobs using the shadows. Ambusing the armed men and silently taking them down had been a seamless approach to rescuing the hostages.
Now that they were outside the warehouse, the beaten mobsters sat pathetically beside their feet tied in metallic wiring, and the grateful hostages were thanking them as police escorted them away.
Huntress had finished relaying detailed information on Black Mask as Batman listened intently with narrowed eyes.
"So that's what this was about," Batman commented as he cast his eyes to the ground. It shook his concerns after Huntress mentioned a 'monster' that Black Mask sought to obtain from the Penguin, eight days at Cape Carmine. What was this 'monster'? And how could Cobblepot even come into possession of it?
He did not like the news of Black Mask. He was moving fast, and fast he had moved tonight.
Batman looked up to find the Huntress departing on her motorcycle, slipping on a helmet over her head. "I'll be watching their meeting in eight days; that's where I'll be. I heard you've been busy with the Silent Blur. I hope you get that resolved soon. Cya!" The cycle's engine guffawed to life before she sped away down the road.
Batman watched her figure disappear around the block, not doubting the Huntress' next appearance soon.
The situations on the bridges should've already passed now that Wonder Woman was involved. It had been about half an hour since he left Diana to her devices to clean up. Batman turned to the police as they led the mobsters away before an urgent thought blew up. He spun around to his parked Batmobile with a tense expression as he recalled Gordon's words earlier on the bridge.
'The Joker….'
Hours had gone by, and Batman hovered above GCPD as the sight of Gordon waiting near the Bat Signal searchlight caught his attention. He steered his cape downwards as the cold wind blew against him before his boots met the flat surface of GCPD's rooftop.
Gordon looked up after lighting his cigarette, and a relieving grin grew behind his mustache. "You made it," He said as he drew a breath. "After all the chaos, I'd thought I would have to wait until tomorrow."
"I did say I would meet you once the mess is over, don't you remember?" Batman replied.
Gordon could hold the chuckle from escaping him. "Well, I'm glad you kept your word." His face fell to dreadful seriousness. "And I'll keep mine, too," He said, his tone grave and drowned when he reached into the deep pockets of his trench coat.
Remaining silent, Batman narrowed his eyes when what seemed like a videotape in Gordon's grasp emerged from his pockets. His detective vision lit up, finding no signs of unpleasant surprises within the tape. His hand emerged from his cloak and took hold of the tape, taking notice of the writing in crayon on the tape's tag—rather sloppy.
A TEAMWORK OF SMILES
TO: BATMAN
"This came to us earlier in the evening like it came through an ordinary delivery. Now, this put us on alert once the clerk discovered it. I knew this was Joker the second I saw it, so I decided to give this to you rather than digging into it ourselves. I'm afraid that whatever's in there won't be pretty."
Batman nodded before he slipped his arm into his cloak. He granted the commissioner a nod. "Thank you, Jim. I'll look into this myself."
Gordon simply waved it off, grasping his cigarette between his fingers before releasing a cloud of tobacco from his mouth. "It's what I…" He trailed off into a still pause when he looked forward to see empty air.
Bruce stood before the Bat-Computer with intensive eyes locked on the screen. His cowl, cape, and gauntlets hung on the hem of his desk. He stood alone in the Batcave, with the sounds accompanying him were the flapping sounds of Bats flapping their wings coupled with their squeaks. He made it clear to Tim, Barbara, Diana, and even Alfred that he wanted to watch whatever footage Joker sent him alone.
Was the clown prince finally on the move so soon after Black Mask's attack?
It's been nearly a month since Joker's escape from the Asylum, around when Killua made his appearance known.
Bruce sighed, having no choice but to find out. He slid the tape into the input department, and seconds later, the screen came to life in a static. All of Batman's mental racing went blank once the visual frames of the footage flashed into view. His jaw parted as he stared dumbfounded at the screen.
'He's….alive?'
For a brief moment, a spark of hope ignited before instantly dissipating. He thought the pain had been long gone since Tim had willingly taken his place as Robin, but it all came crashing down like a wave.
There sat in the center of the focus, bloodied in a sagged position in a wheelchair, was none other than Jason. Bruce instantly knew that this was not the same Jason he had last seen before disappearing. Jason had once been a passionate and painfully stubborn young man, coupled with his temperament when he donned the Robin suit.
Bruce detected wear and tears that decorated Jason's red suit, revealing signs of scars and bruises on his bare skin, some to the point that needed medical treatment. Bruce nearly gasped at the imprinting 'J' on the center of his left cheek.
But what caused Batman's heart-pounding horror was Jason's eyes. They reflected the broken spirit of a man with no hope and lacking the light of life regardless of his past temperament and aggression.
"Jason…" Batman muttered, his stoic features melting at his state in the video. "What happened to you?"
"Have you got something to tell the nice man, Jason?"
Bruce's veins throbbed with a burning fire in his clenched fist at the sound of that haunting, sickly voice from the audio. A voice that belonged to the person Batman could say he hated the most.
"My name… is Jason Todd."
Even his voice was dead and lifeless like he had lost his will to live.
"Who do you hate?"
"...Batman," Jason replied almost in a whisper, gone and broken.
Bruce's shoulders stiffened at Jason's response. He steeled himself, determined to see the footage to the end. Perhaps he could find some clue on Joker's location, anything.
"Excellent." The sickly voice commented in a gleeful hiss as if it had the forked tongue of a snake. "Of course you do."
A figure wearing purple cloth came into view of the camera focus from behind, the sleeve of his arm creeping through the edge of the screen. He bent down to the camera's level, revealing his garish white skin and a blood-red smile that decorated his lips. His piercing green eyes taunted Bruce as if he could see him through the footage.
"Did you get that, Bats? Kid's not yours anymore." The clown craned to a side-gaze at Jason behind him with distorted elation. "He is mine. Mine, mine, mine!" He repeated, clenching his hand in sync with his words. "To do with as I wish!"
A glint lit up within his glowing green irises, his grin twisting further. "Hey…" Joker trailed, making an agonizing turn to the captive Jason. "I never asked." Joker walked to him, soon walking past him, snaking his gloved hand to Jason's shoulder. His touch was enough to send shivers down anyone's spine, but Jason showed no reaction to the touch at all. "What's the big secret? Who is the big, bad bat?" Joker asked, trailing around Jason before walking past him once more.
Bruce widened his eyes, knowing these questions were nothing more than bait. He knew Joker, and he could only hope that Jason did not abandon his warnings at the least. But something deep within him knew his hopes were false.
"His name. Tell me!" Joker added with force, stopping in the center focus of the camera.
"Of course, Sir," Jason said motionlessly, prompting Bruce to deflate. "It's-"
BANG!
Bruce's face fell in terror once Jason collapsed to the floor, the wheelchair rolling a distance away. Joker retracted his pistol as smoke leaked from the barrel. The clown neared the camera, his irate expression noticeable through the screen.
"Never could stand a tattletale. That's why I like to work alone!" Joker proclaimed with a tune in his voice. His figure disappeared from view shortly before the footage shook with a lift. The perspective closed in on Jason's motionless corpse, a pool of crimson blood leaking from underneath.
The image of Jason's corpse would forever be engraved into Bruce like a mental scar.
"No one to spoil the punchline." Joker allowed his face in full view with his twisted grin. "You should try it sometime. After all, you've seen what happens when you drag your friends into this crazy little game of ours.~"
The footage cut to a static. Breathless, Bruce's terrorized gaze remained on the screen for what felt like an eternity before he collapsed on the chair.
Well, it's the end of this very long chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it. And yeah, I used the Arkhamverse version for Jason Todd's backstory. I thought it'd be fitting for this story.
I'm very excited to get to the next few chapters. Let me know what you guys think through the reviews.
Thank you all for bearing with this story.