From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
It was the next night, and Lucius and I were hard at work on a radio transmitter, attempting to pick up channels for police chatter at my newly established base of operations. The state of the world was so different back then. The cost of a two-way police radio was higher than that of a police car at the time, so the GCPD was very limited in terms of their connectivity. Beat cops - which is another name for police foot patrolmen - did not have portable radios, and so they were forced to rely on their callboxes and telephones. The radios were stationed in a very few selected cars (seven in total, as we would soon find out).
As it so happened, Wayne Enterprises was already contracted to help create portable pack radio devices for the army. They were quite large upon their first introduction, and would not have been practical for a police officer to have to lug around all day. And as we now know, the smaller hand-held devices would not first be widely used until the 1960s. Thus, we had the technology and were already in active development of the things, so it was not a terribly difficult task using an interceptor to spy on them using their own signals. If they had any new information on my foe’s whereabouts, I wanted to know as soon as possible.
Two years prior, a Canadian gentleman by the name of Donald Hings had created the first walkie-talkie. It was my aim to have Lucius help me develop a similar item small enough to stash inside of my cowl. As with many of my ideas at the time (though I can’t remember most anymore), he became frustrated with the assumed implausibility of it. To begin with, we would have to settle for a clip-on walkie-talkie-like doodad stationed to the side of my helmet. It very much killed the illusion I had in mind, but believing it was temporary, I knew it would have to suffice for the present.
“I can make adjustments for it to click into place on the mask, and I can also ensure no one will be able to hear the chatter except for you. When you want to take it off, I’ll have a spot for it on the belt as well. If you want to still be able to hear it while it’s on there, we can do that too. However,” he warned gravely, “Others around you will be able to hear it too, so you’ll just have to be careful. I presume you don’t want anyone knowing you’ve been spying on their radio chatter, correct?” Lucius then smiled his knowing smile.
“Quite so, old friend. And by jove, your genius knows no bounds!”
“I live to please.”
We waited then, tuned in to what we had hoped to be the correctly dialed signal for the GCPD. Just as I was beginning to doubt our luck, a voiceover came through.
“All active units, this is Flass from HQ. Report in - over.”
I looked upon Mr. Fox with a smile of satisfaction, marking our success. Pen and paper at the ready, I began taking down names of the officers as they chimed in.
“This is unit one, Bradley and Mace - over.
“Unit two, Rizzo and Moody - over.”
“Jim Flanaghan, unit three - over.”
“Perry Platt, unit four - over.”
The first voice came again then, this Flass fellow.
“Unit four, where’s Russo? - Over.”
“Off sick, over.”
“Any other units chimed in…?” A few seconds went by, eerily. “Units 5, 6, 7, are you chimed in? Over.”
I felt something was amiss then. Some unexplainable thing, perhaps in the way Flass spoke with such cold determination. My dread was not unwarranted, for his next words sent a chill down my neck.
“Good. We grab Gordon in the underground parking lot at midnight. Loeb says this is his last warning. Over.”
I sat still as a rock, unable to write down the final details out of utter shock. Gordon… they were going to grab Gordon. Whatever that may entail, it did not matter, for it was all entirely awful. Was it a kidnapping? A beating? No, no, no… I had to have misunderstood, surely. Perhaps they meant they were picking him up? Four vehicles to pick up one man… it just did not make any sense. Something was amiss, and the good Lieutenant was most assuredly in danger. I also had the thought, how fortuitous that I would happen to overhear it at that very moment!
Lucius must have noticed my alarm, for he stared rather seriously into my eyes for a time, beckoning an explanation of some kind.
“Lucius, it seems apparent we’ve stumbled onto some mess of a thing.”
“Gordon… the same Gordon I’ve heard Alfred going on about in your squabbles?”
“The very same. Doesn’t that just beat all! I suppose this means I’ll be making my suit’s debut this evening,” I looked down at my watch to see it was now 8 of the clock. “Damn! I have to prepare!”
“Abyssinia, then.” Lucius smiled sardonically as he took his leave, apparently annoyed by the sudden change of events. I had wanted to stop him, but knew it was for the best that I be left to my own devices for a time.
Now, this is where I can start to remember events with more vividity - disheveled as the order of events may often seem to my mind.
The GCPD parking garage was in the back of the building, and unfortunately, it was being guarded by two policemen. As such, we were left to drive around in an old Hudson7 Roadster as I tried to think of a way to get past them. As luck would have it, though, one of the squad cars pulled into the entrance as we were making a round, and after a brief conversation, I saw the two guards leave their station conspicuously. This was my chance. I pulled on my cowl to complete my transformation, and waited until the street was clear of any traffic or passersby. I exited the two-man vehicle and crept as close to the shadows as humanly possible.
The garage itself was quite dimly lit to begin with. It was no wonder they had chosen it as their ambush point, for it would be easy enough to stay hidden in their adequately darkened attire. I had to be careful then, that I did not allow them to get the jump on me beforehand. Crouching low, I analyzed my surroundings, searching for any signs of human existence. The squad cars were lined up to one side, and were safe from any inhabitants. The employee cars were more spaced out, and it appeared many of them had gone home for the night. I darted my way through the shadowed walls until I caught sight of a foot jutting out from behind one of the parked cars in the lower basement level. Upon closer inspection, I could see two more figures huddled in the spot. Another car parked two spots away, with yet another in between them, hosted 3 more men, lying in wait. The middle car had to be Gordon’s. All of them were garbed in black, having shed their uniforms prior to now, and they all wore black masks not unlike the one I wore during my first encounter with the lieutenant.
It didn’t take long before the unsuspecting man of the hour showed up, completely unaware of the danger that was about to befall him. I heard his keys dangling in his hand, and he cleared his throat as he came within mere steps of his vehicle. The men all stood up from their hiding places at once, clubs and tonfas at the ready.
“We didn’t want to have to do this, Gordon. This is your last chance, bub. Tonight, you feel the consequences of your actions. But next time…”
Gordon reached for his gun then, but it was too late. One of the men pulled him into a bear hug from behind, and another man was then able to disarm him completely after a brief struggle.
“Next time, it’ll be your family that pays the price.” The speaker came face to face with the good lieutenant then, club waving threateningly.
“I know your voice, Flass! You even think about -”
Flass struck him hard in the ribs. Gordon kicked him away, and used the back of his head to strike his holder’s face. This action relinquished him from his grasp, and he was free to defend himself once more. The men closed around him, however, and began beating at him in unison with their blunt weapons. I left my own hiding spot then and walked sternly, silently, in their direction. Calculating, ever calculating my moves.
“Not the face!” Flass instructed after a club lashed across Gordon’s jaw. “Wasn’t supposed to be like this, pal. All ya had to do was play ball. Now you’ve gone and got one of your own into hot water. There ain’t no other ch -”
They saw me then, plodding slowly and purposely towards them. A shadowy manifestation of a man and a beast combined as one. They halted their actions to turn and stare - whether in awe or incredulity I cannot know for certain - and I ceased my steps to greet them in ritualistic pre-battle formalities.
“What in the bleeding devil is that…?” Flass snorted.
Exhausted, Gordon launched a new assault upon his captors, kicking out the leg of his closest man and then elbowing him roughly to the skull. The man was outcold, but it spurned the others back into action. Two of them came for me, one of them being Flass himself.
I caught his club in mid-swing with my left arm, circling counter-clockwise into an armlock, and smashed him heavily in the face with my fist.To my amazement, he was only dazed, and lifted his other arm to counter-attack just as my second pursuer swung at me with a bat. I pulled Flass into the oncoming swing just in the nick of time, and the impact hit him full-on in his upper back. With the wind so thoroughly knocked from him, he hit the ground, unconsciou. The other attacker began winding up for yet another strike, but I was already upon him, jabbing to the face, reversing to the stomach, and - as he hunched over - I backhanded him to the temple, placing his conscious mind on proper delay.
All the while, Gordon held off his other three miscreants admirably enough. I came at them, blocking a tonfa with my armored forearm as it danced towards my head. The first successful blow upon my person came then, a club to my right shoulder. I felt almost nothing of the impact, and continued to beat the tonfa-wilder in the head until his body could take no more of it and he dropped. Another hit to my backside, this time I felt it jolt upwards through my spine, but it was not painful. When I turned on him, he fell back in fright and produced his firearm. I kicked it easily, far out of his reach, and he ran fast towards the exit of the garage in sheer terror. The final man standing had been winning his fight with Gordon, but upon seeing his partner fleeing the scene, he decided it best to join him.
Gordon huffed in exhaustion, down on one knee, and slowly looked up to see me for the first time. He adjusted his glasses upon his eyes, not believing what he was seeing.
“Who are you?!”
“I already told you. Someone who wants to help. I’ll be in touch.”
He squinted in confusion at that, but it did not take long for him to realize where he had last heard those words. I saw a wave of recognition wash over him at that moment, but he was too tired and winded to say anything more. Thus so, I took my leave, sticking to the shadows as he stared after me, wrestling with his thoughts.
From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City
Case No: HS 07/9/39/5500
Incident: Assault on multiple Officers of the Force
Reporting Officer: Lt. James Gordon Date: Jul. 9, 1939
I write this report at the request of Commissioner Loeb.
Seven officers, including myself, were attacked last night at headquarters by a group of hoodlums. We managed to overwhelm them and they ran off.
I don’t even know why I bother anymore. You win, Loeb.
From the personal diaries of Selina Kyle, renowned cat burglar extraordinaire
7-10-39
Dear diary,
It’s all my fault! Holly’s gone! She’s nowhere to be found, and it’s all because of me…
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
We pulled off a heist last night. Or rather, I did. Holly was just on guard outside the joint. Watchin’ my back and all. It seemed like the perfect plan, my friend who has the pawn shop had this business rivalry going with some other guy, and he wanted me to rip him off. Gave me a rough blueprint of where he stashes the most expensive stuff, all I had to do was break a couple of locks. Easy, right?
And it was! All according to plan, but then I get outside and Holly’s vanished! Just gone, like that! I spent the rest of the night looking for her, didn’t even sleep. She’s nowhere to be found. I dunno if she’s run off on me or if she’s really in danger of some kind. I should never have let her come with me in the first place but she was just so adamant about me letting her help…
I don’t know what to do. I can make up a story and go to the police, but they’re useless. Probably a waste of time. What else can I do though? I need to exhaust all possibilities. She might really be in trouble. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.
Please hang on, Holly. Wherever you are, I’ll think of something. DAMNIT! And here I thought writing it all down would give me an idea. I really don’t know what to do!
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
The next night, I came to see Gordon again. He was smoking on the rooftop of the GCPD building, as always, and this time he was expecting me. He still pulled his gun on me, however. It seemed I had yet to gain his trust, entirely.
“What the hell are you?” He looked just as disturbed as he had the night before, eyes flashing over my armor again and again.
“A friend. I had hoped to make that clear last night.” My voice, this time, came more naturally. It still rasped as before, but came more gutturally, rather than throatily. My pitch was low, an octave deeper than I had ever attempted to hit before. It sounded, at least to my own muffled ears, quite different from my normal voice.
“Yeah? Seems to me like you’re just trying to get what you want, and last night was just a happy convenience. How’d you know to be there, anyway? You been watching me twenty-four-seven? I don’t take kindly to that sorta thing. If you want me to trust you, that isn’t the way to go about it. I’m more on edge than ever, actually.”
“Clearly,” I eyed his pointed weapon.
He mirrored my gaze, and then holstered the firearm, reluctantly. We stared at one another for another few seconds, and then he lit up a new cigarette.
“You were right about my department. My hands are tied behind my back. Any time I take a step out of line, well… you saw.”
“Your hands might be tied, but they’re clean.”
“Lotta good that does me.”
“Then let me help.”
He glared suspicious at me - I must have looked quite the fool. Having sooted my eyes with black powder, I feared they were unable to convey my true intentions.
“Gordon, they threatened your family. There is only so much you can do on your own. They will never stop covering for one another. That leaves you all alone.”
“And how am I supposed to trust you!?!” He rounded on me, violently, his left eye twitching restlessly. “And what is this? This… get-up! I mean, you didn’t even flinch when they whacked you last night. And why the ears?!”
I said nothing, allowing him sufficient time and space to collect himself. I wished very much to tell him the truth of it all, but I could not. So there we stood, an unnatural silence consuming us both.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” He turned away and sighed in frustration. After a few more heavy breaths, he said, “I got the toxicology reports for you. Names of the victims. Approximate times and places of the disappearances, and the reappearances. Old suspects. I don’t know how much it’ll help. This guy is elusive.” He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a thick folder. I could see quite clearly he had been struggling with this decision very seriously.
I reached for it, “Thanks, Jim.”
Before letting go, he said, “ Just tell me one thing first.”
“What?”
“Something. Just anything, anything at all! Why do you want to catch this guy so bad? Why the ridiculous cape? What’s that chest thing made out of? Who are you working with? Give me something to go on. Let me know I’m not making a mistake here!”
I considered it a moment, “We’re going to catch him, Lieutenant. Together.” I shoved the file under my belt and hopped the ledge - much more gracefully this time, I must declare. It was a risky business, being dropped off and picked up by Alfred at the alleyway entrance of the police headquarters. I knew that I was getting lucky, not being seen, and that this arrangement would only suffice for so long before it would need to change.
Time, as ever, was against me. Here, I had finally obtained the toxicology information I so desperately wanted, and yet, I would be forced to pass them off onto Lucius for the night while I consumed the other reports and dealt with other matters on the morrow. For the time being, I read through the various materials as meticulously as I could, beginning with the victims.
Gordon had accumulated as much information as he could on the abductions from 16 years ago, and it had all aligned with my own research. All of the reported data I had saved from newspaper articles in my younger days appeared to be quite accurate. Some names of the victims had never been released, but that was all I had been missing. 19 victims in total over a span of a few weeks, 8 of whom died by overdose of drug cocktails. Although, it seemed the first few were exposed to carbogen, an inhaled gas, which differs from the liquid substance I had been given. Carbogen is also known as Meduna’s Mixture, after its creator, Dr. Ladislas Meduna. His original mixture was 70% oxygen, and 30% carbon dioxide. However, carbogen as a whole may refer to any mixture of the gasses (from 1.5% to 50% CO2). Essentially, when inhaled, a body’s cells release alkaline buffering agents to remove carbonic acid from the bloodstream, signaling to the brain a certain perception that the person is suffocating. This can cause panic and fear, much in the same way the substance that I was given had caused me to feel. What is more, the mixtures of Oxygen (O2) and Carbon (IV) Oxide (CO2) percentages could be altered to suit one’s needs, and that is exactly what appeared to have happened with these earlier victims. The Streetnapper experimented with these percentages, almost as if attempting to find a perfect combination of sorts. Curious, however, that he kept moving on to other concoctions before finding it, I had thought.
From there, it appeared he began mixing psychedelic plants into his solutions. I was more than a little fascinated by this, but knew I had to let Lucius do his business first and then we could study the results.
As for the most recent victims, they were currently sitting at 19. We had now reached the same number from years ago, when the Sreetnapper finally ended his abductions. It was easy to feel conflicted, as I wanted the reign of terror to be over with, but if the kidnappings were to cease completely it would likely mean the perpetrator had disappeared once more. For how long, I dared not think upon. Similar to the kidnappings from years prior, the abductions appeared to be random. They were Gotham’s most vulnerable people, living on the streets. Never in the same location, the napper was moving around again.
I looked at the list of suspects from the 1920s incidents. Gordon had updated them in his new report, crossing names off in confirmation. All 3 previously suspected men had since died. He was doing marvellous follow-up detective work, and though I had the urge to remain dubious, for the moment it served me well to place my trust in his abilities.
At some point in my readings, I fell fast asleep, and did not awaken again until morning.
The next day would prove to be a big one, as it was Bruce Wayne’s turn to make his debut. A Miss Victoria Vale, memorable for her bright long red hair and infectiously wide smile, had been invited to Wayne Manor for the exclusive scoop: my debut… or return, or what have you. I had my reservations about these newspaper columnists, but tried to shove them aside for the present, as I knew it was a necessary evil. The girl showed up early and as eager as can be, flashing her perfectly lined pearly whites at me and offering her hand in greeting. I feigned amusement as best I could, but I was really quite awkward in those days, and admittedly had not yet refined my acting skills. She did not seem to notice in the least.
“Hi, Mister Wayne! Such a pleasure!”
“You must be Miss Vale.”
“Vicky, please!”
“Likewise then, Bruce. Right this way please, uh… Vicky.”
I led her through the halls to the study, occasionally peaking over my shoulder to watch as she gawked at the musings along the way and paid her two cents on… well, all of it. I do recollect having to tear her attention away from one or two of the portraits or statues and continue on our way. She was an eccentric and curious woman, to be sure. It was annoying.
We sat opposite one another in the comfort of my parents’ favorite antique armchairs, and she pulled out her notebook, fidgeting restlessly as she prepared herself for the interrogation.
“Okay,” she stared hard at me then, and I felt the room suddenly shift in mood. “You were gone a long time, Bruce. Where did you go?”
“Quite simply, I traveled the world. I’ve always been fascinated by other cultures, and I suppose I had to get my fill of them up close and personally…”
“The 1930s have been a rough time, especially for those in Gotham. Did you not feel at all guilty for having departed on what could be construed as a glorified vacation while your fellow man was left wallowing in the devastation of this depression?”
She’d caught me off my guard, the feisty minx.
“Indeed, and that is predominantly the reason for my return. Having failed to grow and maintain the Wayne Foundation as I’d sworn to do, I sought penance by outcasting myself from my home. I have since come to terms with my failures, and having seen more of the world, I feel now is the time to return and apply my newfound knowledge into making this city thrive once again.”
“With all due respect, Mister Wayne,” she dropped the use of my given name quite quickly, it had seemed. “The damage has been done. You have a lot to make up for, and some might wonder how you ever hope to right this terrible wrong. What do you have planned?”
“Well, for starters, I’m recommitting the Wayne Foundation to all its past charitable causes and donating in the tens of thousands to Gotham’s other charity houses, as well as the homeless shelters and orphanages.”
“You still own Wayne Enterprises, yes? How is it that you can be away for so long, essentially abandoning the corporation outright, only to return and to subsequently reattribute its funds towards the foundation?”
“It’s not Wayne Enterprises’ money I’m reallocating, Miss Vale,” I saw her eyebrow raise at the reinstatement of formalities. “The donation is entirely my own, of my personal estate.”
“How noble of you,” she did not seem to write the words of praise down. “Still, one can only funnel so much of their own wealth into these institutions before it dries up. We have a crisis on our hands, and it goes well beyond simple poverty. Crime is at an all-time high as a result, for instance. Surely, if you seek to make amends, you have something up your sleeve to help combat this problem as well?”
“I do. I have looked into the unstable economic issues plaguing Gotham, and there are a few things that stand out in my mind. Wayne Enterprises has focused much of its attention upon military-grade weapons technologies since the Great War, even though that has been over and done with since I was a mere toddler. It is my intention to refocus much of our efforts towards the general public. I am committing myself to a number of rebranding efforts - namely, creating more affordable medications, personal security systems technologies for the average citizen, and reverting some of our military-style tech to more aptly fit with police authority needs. And, more to your point, I am wanting to open an asylum. For far too long, Black Gate Penitentiary has become overpopulated with many of the city’s most mentally unwell inhabitants. Its authorities are not properly equipped to deal with these types, and we are failing both those poor unfortunate souls as well as the greater public by improperly housing them in Black Gate’s facility - where they are not given the medical care nor the chance for recovery as is needed. It is my aim to build a facility specifically for them, where we can employ the proper psychological professionals required to deal with these issues.”
“So they can break out of a new building instead of an old one,” Miss Vale said under her breath as she wrote. “And how far along are those plans… for the facility?”
“I have a meeting scheduled with City Council early next week.”
“Not very, then.”
I must admit, as little as I had thought I cared for my reputation leading into this interview, the girl had had me right rattled and fuming by this point.
“Miss Vale,” I tried to maintain my composure, but felt the agitation seeping into my tone. “I must beg your pardon, but I was under the impression that this interview would be conducted in good faith.”
“Why, whatever do you mean? I assure you, Mister Wayne, the article will be completely objective.”
“Are you quite certain of that?”
“Of course. You can’t possibly have expected that a professional investigative reporter wouldn’t be presenting you with at least a couple hard hitting questions…?”
“Well, yes, but I do get the sense that no matter the answers I give, you have something better in mind.
“Not at all. Or… what I mean to say is… your good intentions are all well and decent. However, I have to question what kind of sway you hope to still have in this city after being away for so long. How do you expect City Council will react to your proposal for an asylum? Do you have any working contacts within the police to begin conducting a needs assessment for their technological gaps? And how is the general public going to afford these security systems you’re proposing when most of them are still struggling to put food on the table for their families?”
“I… see.” She had some good points, I must admit. And having been presented so matter of factly, it did make me feel as though my propositions were a little premature.
“A lot has changed since you’ve been away, uh… Bruce.” Much to my alarm, she began packing up her things. “In order to help the city, one must understand the problems at their core. You don’t know how deep the corruption runs in its blood these days. The Falcones own everything and everyone with any kind of power. They’ll see to it that your asylum proposal is swept aside if it suits them - and believe me, it does. The entire system is rigged to favor the elites, like yourself. So if you really, truly want to help, you can perhaps see why the general public may be more than a little skeptical at your approach, as well as your intentions.”
“I believe I am starting to get the picture.”
“My advice would be to get more properly acclimated to Gotham’s new rule. Acquaint yourself with the major players. The Mayor, the Chief of Police, the clowns running the show in the courts. And my personal favorite, the one bright light gleaming from our complete swamp of a judicial system,” she reached into her purse and pulled out a business card, presenting it to me. “Harvey Dent. He’s running for District Attorney, and as far as I can see, he’s the only real shot we have of fighting the crime waves plaguing this town. I recommend you look him up. If your intentions really are as pure as you claim, it may be a mutually beneficial connection.” With her things packed, she stood up.
“Is that the end of our time already?”
“Only if you enjoy drowning, Bruce. Promise me I can keep the exclusive, and I will give you all the time you need to prepare. I’m serious about that DA candidate. Look him up.”
“Any recommendations as to contacts in the police?”
“If you’re wanting a friend in their department, you may as well buddy up with the mafia itself. You can’t trust the coppers until you change the system that tainted them.”
I should have expected that, seeing as though she was the one who had written that unfavorable article concerning Lieutenant Gordon a few weeks earlier. She had me intrigued over this Dent fellow, however.
“I appreciate your time, then. And uh… advisement. I admit to feeling ashamed over my lack of preparation and understanding.”
“I’m not usually one to grant second chances, but if this city is deserving of one, perhaps you are too. So long, Mis… Bruce.”
“Farewell, Vicky.”