The Batman 2.0
Chapter 8: Recollection of a Murder Most Foul
8 AM
Rosemary Flannery exited her taxi and stepped onto the bustling streets of Gotham City. She adjusted her coat against the morning chill before making her way toward the grand entrance of the Monarch Theater. Just as she reached the door, a familiar voice called out to her.
"Rosemary!"
She turned to see who had addressed her. "Nora Fields? Or should I say Fries?" Rosemary replied with a smile. "Congratulations on your wedding."
"Thanks," Nora replied warmly.
"So, how is Victor doing these days?" Rosemary asked.
"He's doing well—still hard at work," Nora answered.
"Is he still with GothCorp?" Rosemary inquired.
"No, he's actually been working for Wayne Tech for the past couple of months," Nora explained. "Though, with everything happening with Bruce Wayne, he's been worried about finances."
"I heard about that," Rosemary said. "It's crazy to think that someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would need to commit crimes."
"To be honest, if this weren't Gotham, I wouldn't believe it," Nora coughed, covering her mouth.
"Are you okay?" Rosemary asked, concerned about Nora's cough.
Nora smiled. "It's probably a cold. Victor keeps the place a bit chilly thanks to his experiments. I'm sure it will pass."
"You should get that checked out—and tell him to turn up that heat, girl," Rosemary playfully suggested, gently placing her hand on Nora's forearm. "So, what brings you downtown?" she asked.
"I wanted to let you know about a ceremony Gotham is hosting for brilliant young scientists. Victor is going to receive an award for his work on cryogenic research. I was hoping you—and maybe your plus one—could attend," Nora informed her. "By the way, who is your plus one nowadays?"
Rosemary smirked. "You're not going to believe me."
"Tell me," Nora pressed eagerly.
"Harvey Dent," Rosemary revealed.
"Harvey Dent? The new District Attorney?" Nora asked, raising an eyebrow. "He is cute. Good for you, girl!"
"He sure is cute," Rosemary echoed. "Though he was being a bit of a pain last night," she recalled, before insisting, "So, tell me more about this award ceremony for Victor."
Just as Nora was about to share more details about the banquet, their conversation was interrupted by the authoritative presence of Commissioner James Gordon.
"Excuse me, ladies. Sorry to interrupt," Gordon began. "My name is James Gordon, and I'm the Commissioner of the GCPD. Do either of you work here?"
"I do," Rosemary responded, pointing toward the theater's marquee, which displayed her image as the leading lady for the upcoming play, The Terror.
"Ah, nice," Gordon acknowledged, pulling out a piece of paper with a list of names. "Have you seen Tim Wesley? I believe he works here with you."
"Tim Wesley is our stage producer. He just left town yesterday," Rosemary informed him.
"Do you know when he will be back?" Gordon continued.
"No, he didn't say," she replied. "What is this about? Is Tim in trouble or something?"
"No, nothing like that. I just needed to ask him about some things he purchased recently," Gordon said.
"What kind of things?" Rosemary asked, now more curious.
"Do you know if Tim is into motocross? He bought some knee pads, elbow pads, and a few other odds and ends a couple of months ago," Gordon explained.
Rosemary chuckled. "Tim? Into motorcycles? No way. He doesn't even drive a car."
Gordon's brow furrowed slightly as he processed her response. "Interesting. Well, if you hear from him, please let me know."
Just as Gordon was about to turn and walk away, a stretch limousine pulled up in front of the Monarch Theater. The three turned to see who would be getting out. It was Basil, who exited the back seat as the chauffeur opened the door. Rosemary was surprised to see him exit the vehicle.
"What is the special occasion?" Rosemary asked.
Basil adjusted his sports coat. "No special occasion. I bought this limo with the raise we got. I hired a chauffeur as well," he added.
"Wow!" Rosemary exclaimed. "You must have gotten quite a raise."
"Well, I am the star of the show," he responded, pointing to his image on the marquee. "Maybe, later on, I can show you what it looks like on the inside," he added, only to get an eye roll from Rosemary.
As the chauffeur was getting back into the limo, Gordon looked at him suspiciously, as if he had seen him somewhere before. The limo driver noticed Gordon looking at him and tilted his head down, lowering his cap. Before Gordon could get a closer look, the limo driver drove away.
Rosemary spoke up. "Commissioner Gordon was asking about Tim. Do you know when he will be back?" she asked Basil.
"I don't have the slightest clue," Basil replied. "What is it you would like to know about Tim?" he asked Gordon.
"Oh, it's nothing," Gordon replied. "You folks have a nice day."
Just as Gordon was about to walk away, Rosemary called out. "You should come see our new play when it opens next weekend," she said invitingly.
Gordon looked up at the marquee and read the title of the play. "The Terror," he muttered. "That's okay. I deal with terror every night in Gotham City, but good luck. Oh... and break a leg," Gordon continued as he walked towards his patrol car.
As Gordon walked away, a small grin curled on Basil's lips. He knew Gordon would never find Tim Wesley to question him about anything, remembering how he bludgeoned Tim to death until his face was unrecognizable, and then buried him near the swamp.
9 AM
Bruce Wayne sat in the dimly lit depths of his abandoned subway hideout, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. He had spent the entire night meticulously reviewing the footage and evidence he had gathered, desperately trying to unravel the mystery of who was orchestrating the elaborate scheme against both Bruce Wayne and Batman.
The question gnawed at him—did his adversary know that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same? No definitive clue confirmed it, yet the precision of the framing suggested an intimate understanding of his dual identity. Despite this unsettling realization, the mastermind behind it all remained elusive. Plus, Alfred was in jail and he wasn't sure how long they would be holding him there. He knew he couldn't post bail for Alfred, knowing the police were looking for Bruce Wayne.
Frustration mounting, Bruce finally leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He allowed his eyes to close, if only for a moment, the weight of the long night settling over him.
As Bruce drifted off, his subconscious transported him to a memory of his father, Thomas Wayne, campaigning for mayor. He could recall, with startling clarity, the speech his father delivered at the Wayne Orphanage, which had once been Wayne Manor before their family relocated to Wayne Tower.
"Thank you for coming today. I believe in Gotham. I believe in its promise. But too many have been left behind for too long, and that's why I am here today—to announce not only my candidacy for mayor but also the creation of the Gotham Renewal Fund. Win or lose, the Wayne Foundation pledges a one-billion-dollar donation to start a charitable endowment for public works. I want to bypass political gridlock and get money to people and projects who need it now, like these children behind me. Renewal is about growth. It is about planting seeds and renewing Gotham's promise."
The vision shifted, and Bruce found himself reliving another memory—one that had remained buried in the recesses of his mind. He was ten years old when a reporter visited Wayne Tower, engaging in a heated discussion with his father. Though Bruce couldn't hear the exchange at the time, he distinctly remembered the tension in the air. Days later, the same reporter was found dead in the gutters. His name was Edward Elliot, a journalist for The Gotham Times. As a child, Bruce hadn't fully grasped the implications of what had happened, but years later, the Riddler's revelations shed new light on the incident. Elliot had been investigating the Wayne family, preparing to expose long-buried secrets about Martha Wayne and her troubled lineage. According to the Riddler, Thomas Wayne had paid Carmine Falcone to silence Elliot permanently. But Alfred had told Bruce a different version of events—Thomas had only asked Falcone to intimidate the journalist, not to kill him.
The dreamscape shifted again, plunging Bruce into the most defining tragedy of his life. He stood in Crime Alley, reliving the fateful night his parents were murdered. It was Halloween, and Bruce was wearing his Zorro costume. His parents had first taken him trick-or-treating, and then to a play at the Monarch Theater. He had always struggled to recall the mugger's words, but in this dream, the memory sharpened. The man snarled about how the Waynes thought they could rule Gotham, about how they had people killed to maintain their power. And then, just before pulling the trigger, the mugger sneered, "You get what you deserve."
The gunshot echoed in Bruce's mind, and suddenly, he jolted awake.
His senses snapped to attention as he registered the sound of approaching footsteps. Instinctively, he threw his hood over his head, concealing his identity, and ducked behind a set of metal shelves, ready for whatever—or whoever—was coming.
Finally, the intruder entered the hideout. The intruder was also wearing a hood—a red hood, to be precise. He began looking over some of the information displayed on the computer screen. It was footage of the Batman imposter killing William Kenzie. The intruder then shifted his attention to some paperwork on the table, when he was suddenly snatched up by Bruce Wayne.
"What are you doing here?" Bruce demanded, keeping his arm around the intruder's neck.
"It's me. It's Victor. Victor Aguilar."
Bruce immediately let go of Victor and turned his head away, revealing only the back of his hood.
"Jesus! Do you always greet people with a chokehold?" Victor exclaimed.
Bruce remained calm, turning just enough to show a small portion of his face. "I didn't know it was you. I'm surprised you remembered how to find your way back here."
"You're surprised? Hell, I'm surprised. These tunnels have more twists and turns than one can count. I guess I only remembered because it was the first thing I saw when I woke up from my coma." Victor then looked toward the elevator. "Where does that go?"
Bruce followed his gaze but remained impassive. "Never mind all that. What's up?"
Victor was taken aback by Batman's strict demeanor. "I was following some of Penguin's men last night. I found a couple more of his hideouts. I was hoping we could infiltrate one of them soon... finally get some payback for what he did to me." He paused before adding, "I figured that would get the GCPD's attention. Maybe make some arrests."
Bruce shook his head. "It's too soon. We need to wait for a major shipment to come in. Then we'll work with Gordon to bring him in."
"Goddamn! That could take forever!" Victor exclaimed. "You might have time to wait, but I don't." He then pointed at the evidence on the computer screen and table. "Maybe you don't even want to catch him. Looks like you're preoccupied with your own dilemmas at the moment."
Bruce stepped closer, still shrouding his face. "We'll get him. I promise. We just need to be patient."
Victor shook his head in frustration. "I can't believe I let you stop me from killing him! I'm not going to wait much longer. I'll give you until tomorrow night to help me figure this out. And then... I'm going in."
With that, Victor ran out of the hideout, fading into the darkened tunnels. Bruce wanted to give chase, but he knew Victor wouldn't listen. Instead, he turned back to the computer screen, haunted by his own demons.