Chapter Four: Second
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
“Sir,” Alfred interrupted my morning workout routine. “That fella ya tol’ me about from the asylum the other day… that German chap?”
“Strenj, I believe his name was,” I set down my dumbbells and gave the man my attention.
“Right! That’s him! I been listenin’ to the radio news program, Charlie Daby’s show, and that Strange devil’s on there now, gabbing on about the Batman!”
“Strenj,” I repeated, “not Strange.”
“Whateva,” Alfred spat. “I figgered ya might want a listen fer yourself.”
I very nearly declined, but then, it occurred to me that I had thought the man rather peculiar. And, with the current state of affairs regarding Jeremiah Amadeus, I knew it might be advantageous to get a better grasp of the man who may step in to take his place. I was, after all, somewhat wary of the man, despite how well he’d presented himself to me upon our first meeting. There was something about him that had rubbed me the wrong way. As such, without another word, I grabbed a towel to dry the sweat from my brows and followed my loyal caretaker into the entertainment room.
“You seem quite taken with this Batman character, doctor,” the interviewer (assumedly the one Alfred called Daby) mused.
“Turn it up, please, Alfred,” I directed, and he promptly complied.
“Yes, well, you must understand,” Strenj’s accent was instantly recognizable, “such a man is where my greatest expertise lies. I specialize in the more eccentric, er… I suppose, perhaps theatrical, cases, if you will.”
“What is it precisely that interests you so much about this figure?”
“Why, it’s simply everything, my dear man! Where does this fellow get his drive from? What event in his life could have damaged him so profoundly that he would take up the burden of tracking down our poor misguided Jonathan Crane on his own, and without the help of local law enforcement? And why Crane, of all the dastardly villains this city has known in recent years? What is the connection there? And how, I beg of you, can these outlandish - nay, impossible - stories about him and his capabilities continue to persist? Think about it: impervious to bullets, faster than humanly imaginable, unaffected by poisonous substances… it all seems too astounding to be true. There are those who believe him something greater than man, but it is because they want to believe it. I assure you, he is only human, and there exists an entirely reasonable explanation for all of these things. And it is that man that I yearn to study at length, Charlie. There’s no other specimen I can think of who is even remotely like him. Wouldn’t it be simply wonderful to share in his secrets?”
“He seems… obsessed,” Alfred pitched in.
“You mentioned,” the host continued, “you thought that this man must be damaged in some way?”
I looked to the good butler then, waiting for him to chime in with “poppycock” or “bullocks”, but was instead met with a curt nod of agreement. The fiend!
“Oh, exceedingly damaged,” the doctor continued. “I mean, just what kind of man dresses up as a bat? It is really quite ludicrous. The man is profoundly ill, you must understand.”
“So, even though his efforts were allegedly responsible for taking down the serial killer, Crane, you think him mentally unhinged? Is that right?”
“Indeed, I do!”
“I bloody well told ye so,” Alfred quipped, much to my chagrin.
“Do shut up, you old sod,” I shot him a foul look.
“I must ask,” the interviewer paused before continuing, “is he dangerous, do you think? To ordinary citizens, I mean?”
“Sadly, we must assume so. And now that another sinister force has beckoned him back onto the streets, no one can be safe at night. We have before us two very broken, very scared and desperate individuals trapped in a violent game of wits. Neither one is in a truly sane state of mind, and thus their actions are altogether unpredictable.”
“But doesn’t the Batman coming out of the woodwork to take this clown outlaw prove that he means to be a hero for Gotham?”
“Perhaps he does. And perhaps he believes himself more capable than the entirety of the GCPD itself. That is exactly what makes him so dangerous. The mentally insane don’t know that they are ill at all. These delusions of grandeur are precisely what will wind up getting him killed, or worse, there could be more casualties in the wake of his return.”
I was growing quite angry now, and though I moved to turn the damned radio off, Alfred picked it up and held it tightly in a protective embrace.
“Think of it this way,” Strenj went on. “If the media frenzy regarding the Batman had never occurred, do you think it likely that this Joker fellow would ever have seen fit to come to Gotham in the first place? He has attracted a certain kind of criminal to our home, whether it was his intention to or not. Therein lies the greatest danger, and the one conundrum he cannot escape. We are all in jeopardy, and it is a result of his actions. The Joker is simply drawn to his ilk. And there will be others, mark my words, until our would-be protector is caught and treated to the rehabilitative care he so direly needs.”
“He does have a point, don’t he?” Alfred glanced at me wearily.
“POPPYCOCK!” I roared and then promptly made my exit. In my mind, of course, the Joker had been a special breed of man. I found it far too unlikely to encounter another like him again soon, and so I would forge onwards unbothered. Suffice to say, my feelings of animosity towards Doctor Strenj had only strengthened.
From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj
Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number twenty. April the eighth, nineteen forty.
I am so very excited today to have with me, once again, and in a much better disposition, Doctor Jonathan Crane. How are you, my good fellow?
Crane: Mm, uh… good…
Strenj: Wonderful to hear it.
Crane: They… drugged me… over…. dose…
Strenj: Certainly, you are imagining things. No one on my staff would even dream of doing anything so untowards. The drugs we administered are the same we used last time in order to slightly subdue you, and nothing more. Now, I believe we were conversing about the professor killings. Can you tell me about those?
Crane: I ah… wha…?
Strenj: Your former colleagues. During the trials, you insinuated that you had something to do with them, but then laughed and uttered something to the effect of… ‘you’ll never be able to prove it’. But please, just between you and me, tell me truthfully. Was it you?
Crane: They… they deserved it… all of them…
Strenj: Mmhmm, mmhmm. Very good. And so you tracked them down, one by one, yes?
Crane: They wouldn’t… stop. They just wouldn’t… every day it was hell… but they wouldn’t stop…!
Strenj: And so you drugged them, as you are ought to do, with a serum that mimics dysentery. Inflammation of the intestines, causing nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, etcetera. And being that they were all living on opposite sides of the country when you had found them, it was easy to get away with, was it not?
Crane: Hnhnhnhnhn!
Strenj: I will take that as a yes. But why, Doctor? Why stoop to such lengths for your revenge?
Crane: It wasn’t… at first. I wanted… to experiment. But the drugs were all wrong then… they deserved it. Not like the others…
Strenj: The others, you say? You mean the randomized victims taken from the streets, no doubt. Could it be you felt a tinge of, dare I say… guilt? Mm? Jonathan? Jonathan…! Doctor!
Crane: Mm… maybe…
Strenj: Aha! I knew it! Now we are getting somewhere, you and I! You see, this was the kind of openness I had been hoping for between us. The bond of trust has begun to take form! Don’t you see? We are taking the first step towards your recovery.
Crane: Rec… I‘ll be able to leave?
Strenj: No. Never, I’m afraid. We’ve been through all that, it’s time to accept it and get past it. No use dwelling on the things we cannot control.
Crane: Then… nnnn why?”
Strenj: Why? WHY?! Because, my friend, you are a one of a kind serial killer, and one of the most important subjects in the history of psychology. There is so much to explore about your history, I can only imagine what beautiful work we will discover together. Jonathan? Are you awake?
Hm, subject has fallen asleep. He must be… well, no matter. I feel we have had a breakthrough at last. This is Doctor Hugo Strenj, signing off. Guards!
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
I believe it was the next day that I was beckoned to Lucius’s lab to discover what new technoids he had concocted. Upon reaching my destination, I was greeted with a wide smile and a haughty laugh.
“Oh boy, do I have something special for you!” he beamed.
“Wonderful,” I could hardly contain my excitement. Mr. Fox walked me over to his office room in the back where he kept the more secretive toys hidden away from being seen. And there, displayed snugly upon a bust prop, was my new suit. All in black, just as I’d requested; everything right down to the belt itself. And yet, there was more to it; what exactly had been different, however, I could only have guessed.
“Mister Wayne, I give you the Batsuit 2.0.”
“Simply marvelous, Lucius! Do tell, what are the newest specifications?” I took a few steps forward and ran my hands along the fabric. Or, was it rubber of some kind? It felt somewhat gummy.
“Polychloroprene,” he provided. “A rubber polymer discovered around a decade ago by an American chemist -”
“Arnold Collins,” I finished for him. “He created one of the first synthetic rubbers while investigating the by-products of divinylacetylene.”
“You’re familiar, then,” my friend mused. “The reaction is initiated via free-radicals, with the monomer being 2-chlorobutadiene. It is generally carried out in an aqueous emulsion and has been conducted using a wide range of emulsifying agents such as alkyl sulfonates.”
“Yes, but Lucius -”
“Not to worry, Mister Wayne,” he cut me off. “The suit is layered with the old weave underneath. The black rubber layer will help guard against degradation from the sun, ozone, and weather hazards, just as you requested. That’ll help protect the inner layers nicely. Furthermore, it retains strength over a wide temperature range, it’s physically tough, inherently fire and burn resistant, and it is admirably resistant to wear and tear from flexing and twisting at the joints. In every other way, it’s the same as your old one.”
“You scoundrel,” I laughed heartily. “Once again, my good man, you’ve simply outdone yourself.”
“I’m not done yet,” he maneuvered himself around the back of his desk and pulled out the matching cape. “Optional polychloroprene layered cape, just in case.”
“By jove,” I hadn’t even considered this possibility. I could see the thickness becoming a bit of an issue, but it was indeed a wonderful prospect to have the option if I was expecting heavy gunfire and the like.
“And,” he bent down once more and lifted up a new contraption. “I never stopped thinking about that grappling hook you requested all those months ago,” he plopped a new toy down upon the desk for my gandering. “This one is of a higher quality. Uses wire rather than rope, shoots out at a faster and more powerful speed, has a secondary handle for better grip, and should have quicker retraction. Although, I’d be careful about that last bit. Fair chance it might be a smidgen too fast, so you’ll have to take care not to be the victim of its whiplash.”
“Good show,” I breathed in, overwhelmed. And yet… I had to ask, “I hate to bring it up, and please do not think I am trying to rush you… have you put any thought into the vehicle?”
“It’s a work in progress, I’m afraid. Still just at the blueprinting phase.”
“Of course, of course. I had no right to inquire, please forgive my excitement.”
“Not at all. Just know that it’s going to take some time. Unless you have anyone else you’d like to let in on your little secret here, so that I’m not the only one lugging around big armored parts by my lonesome.”
“No, but I assure you, I am ready and able to help at a moment’s notice.”
“Fair enough, Mister Wayne. I will let you know.”
From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj
Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number twenty-one. April the ninth, nineteen forty. Today I am working with Victor Zsasz once again. Victor, how are you?
Zsasz: Would you like me to continue on from last time?
Strenj: Uh, you’ll have to remind me. Where did we leave off?
Zsasz: I was telling you exactly how I would kill you, then you cried like a baby and squealed for help like a stupid little lamb.
Strenj: Mm… not quite how I remember it, myself.
Zsasz: Or would you like to hear what I did to the last sinning woman I came across?
Strenj: Ah… no. No, I’m afraid I’ve grown… really rather tired with your stories.
Zsasz: You’ve what?
Strenj: You see, it’s always the same with you, Victor. Sure, the method in which you kill differs ever so slightly. A slit throat, a merciless stabbing, or, choking them to death when that fails. It’s really all the same, however.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Zsasz: I am setting them free from their -
Strenj: From their zombie shells, yes, yes. I’ve heard it all before. You’re ‘doing the lord’s work’ and all that nonsense. Where’s the substance, Mister Zsasz? There is none! At the end of the day, you’re just a poor deluded soul with some type of brain trauma that no amount of therapy will reverse. Oh, that I wish there were some deep, emotional trauma brought upon by your parents, or the parish you grew up in. But no, it is injury, plain and simple.
Zsasz: If you were one of the enlightened -
Strenj: I’m afraid that is a factually inaccurate assumption. I am enlightened, my dear man. Rather more enlightened than anyone you have ever met. And I must say, I am bored of you. Oh, you had me titillated at first, with those tattooed markings on your arms signifying each murder you committed. But when it all comes down to it, you are a dime-a-dozen killer.
Zsasz: I am the chosen one, you fool!
Strenj: No, you are simply very ill, sir. And I’ve had enough with you and your ilk. Guards! Mark my words, you incompetent shrill, I am on the very cusp of two scientific breakthroughs. TWO! And when I’ve finished conducting my investigations I’ll never have to deal with pathetic swine like yourself another day in my life! I’ll be the envy of all psychological academia in the world, and you, my poor nincompoop, will still just be rotting away in your cell. GUARDS! What is taking them so - ah, there you are. A little faster next time, if you’d please.
Hhhh… Doctor Strenj, signing off.
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
The following two days passed by rather swiftly. I had arranged to receive an invitation to the GCPD’s fundraising event, as it fortuitously turned out to be aimed at a children's organization, one that I had previously donated to in the past. I knew I would have to make myself little seen or heard from, as I did not want to draw attention to myself. And, as it should be obvious, I deemed it very likely that I would need to don my disguise at some point during the evening’s proceedings.
“Quite bulky, innit?” Alfred knitted his brows, glaring down upon my business suit. I had wanted to see how I’d look if I wore the Batman suit underneath my workplace attire, for then I would only have to worry about hiding the cape and cowl. Much to my chagrin, it was all for naught.
“You really don’t think… hmm,” I twisted and turned in front of the mirror. “I suppose there’s no hope of it.”
“Royt, but then if they saw fit to pad ye down, ye’d be royally fucked anyway, yah?”
“You raise a good point.”
We stood in silence a while, contemplating the predicament set before us. It had been a difficult task getting my gear inside the Museum all those months ago, and it was proving just as complicated an issue now as well.
“Alfred, what kind of a fundraiser is it?”
“Mm, think it was uh… an auction, yeah.”
I clapped my hands, “Of course! Much easier.”
“Aye? How’s ‘at?”
“We’ll contribute to the list of items as only a Wayne can. We will add a car for auctioning off!”
“Ahuh.” He evidently had not pieced it all together yet.
“One with a sizable trunk? One that only I hold the key to?” I hinted.
Understanding lit up in his eyes, “Where you’ll be stashing the batsuit. Blimey, I woulda known it if ye’d given me a second to think!”
“I do hate to use the same trickery as before, but I’ll be needing another smoke bomb.” To be fair, however, it was not I who had released one at the museum, but rather I’d suspected it was that female cat burglar I’d run into previously. Damned fine timing, I would give her that.
“Just don’t ye be going and gettin’ found out,” Alfred warned.
“I’ll do my utmost,” I promised, not at all confident in the oath.
From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City
Investigation cont’d:
Cptn. James Gordon Date: Apr. 10, 1940
Another anonymous tip came in, said the murder will happen at 7 or 11pm. Loeb will be hosting a charity auction at City Hall. We have 4 teams assigned to the event. One to be stationed outside the building, one assigned to the first floor, and the remaining two will be protecting the commissioner on the top floor where the auction is being held. As an extra precaution, no food or alcohol is to be served. We have had two squads guarding the building over the last few days to increase the security measures. The building itself, as far as is humanly possible, is safe.
No one is to get within a distance of ten steps from the commissioner himself, aside from me. I guess I’ve informally replaced Flass as the lead on this thing after all. I’m to be within an arm’s reach at all times. Every guest attendee will be thoroughly searched as they enter the premises.
I can’t help but feel trapped. We’re constantly on the defensive with this Joker guy. Where does it end? We know approximately when and why, but the most important question is the how. How does he plan to make his next kill? What unforeseen circumstances or additions will enter into the equation at a moment’s notice? I’ve got to find a way to get ahead of this lunatic. Somehow.
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
It quickly became apparent just how tightly Gordon’s security team was locking down the charity event. Convincing them to allow us to contribute an additional item for auction had been more hectic than either Alfred or myself had anticipated. Thankfully, being that our item was a beautiful new Jaguar SS 100 3.5 Litre Roadster, they eventually relented and we were allowed to enter into the festivities. As Alfred had taken a keen interest in maintaining (and building upon) my father’s garage of vehicles in the years I was away, I do believe he was rather offended when I’d suggested one of his new favorites for the auction. He was a good sport about it, in the end, but I do still recollect the solemn look upon his face when I’d announced my decision.
I had made sure to arrive by 6:30pm, a full half hour before the event was set to commence. Incidentally, 7pm was also the time in which the Joker might strike. I had my doubts about that, being that sundown wasn’t for another full hour. If that were the case, with the auction beginning at 9pm, I would have some time to kill. And not only that, but I would have to come up with a reason to stick around longer, as many of the other socialites of the higher echelon were apt to do at these outings. Being that I had a mild dislike for their type, I had never deemed it necessary to participate in their late night festivities. With Commissioner Loeb being famously of a certain mind and stubbornness of character, however, I knew there would be little chance of his early departure. He and his friends were well known partiers, through and through.
I was snubbed by the man of the hour immediately upon my arrival, but as luck had been on my side, there were quite a few social climbers in attendance who found it more than a little exciting to rub shoulders with one of Gotham’s youngest and most frivolous billionaires, and I was not left wanting for either company or chatter. There was a smaller crowd than what is usual - around forty or so - due in no small part to the threat being posed to the commissioner’s life on this very evening.
7 o’ clock came and went, and there had been no attempt made on Loeb’s life. I breathed a sigh of relief at that, knowing it meant only one murder would occur tonight after all. The mood amongst the GCPD members relaxed for a time, but the break was short lived. At 9pm, the auction began, and it stretched until a little after 10pm. I myself had bid on a few uninteresting items here and there, merely to maintain appearances. I think I may have won some rather bourgeois knicknacks of some sort, but cannot properly remember. And then, of course, I bought back the Roadster for Alfred, both as a present for him, and because I was growing worried that I’d be asked for the keys before I was ready to depart for the night.
We were stationed on the top floor of the City Hall building, which was known as the presentation quarter. It was a big, luxuriously open spaced area, and the items for auction were displayed in spurious rows throughout the gallery. Surrounding us on all sides were huge, grandiose windows, in place of the usual stone walls. The night sky, so daunting and black, seeped through the glass and enveloped the atmosphere.
As the crowds slowly lessened by 10:30, I did my utmost to entrench myself in the ongoing conversations. No one seemed to want to talk to me anymore, and it struck me as odd only until I was finally approached by Loeb (with Gordon tailing closely behind him).
“Wayne, that was quite the ruse you played tonight. Buying back the item you donated. Simply showing off?” His comments instantly silenced the few individuals surrounding us.
“Call it a sudden change of heart. Suppose I have more love for the thing than I’d thought.”
“Don’t you have a chauffeur to drive you around anyway?” Loeb dug in further, smiling snidely.
“My butler, actually. He has an infatuation with the sporty cars.”
“Can’t blame him. Thing’s a beaut,” Gordon chimed in somewhat absently as he scanned the vehicle in question from afar.
“He did seem somewhat disheartened when I told him of my plans,” I admitted. “It’s all the same to me, really.”
I checked my watch. Ten minutes to eleven. It was my good fortune that Loeb had taken it upon himself to continue his attempt at chastising me in front of my elders, and I was able to stay as close as possible to him as the clock ticked down the minutes. Good fortune wasn’t enough, however, as a small shock of shattered glass rang through the chamber, and the commissioner’s face exploded away in a horrific splash of red. Before my mind could properly register what had rightly happened, and before the shock could spread from my mind to the rest of my body, I unleashed the smoke bomb. The mist released rapidly between our group, and I dashed towards the vehicle, throwing down another smokebomb to the ground as I went. People were screaming, police officers were yelling orders, and it was utter chaos behind the clouds of mist.
I reached the car trunk and fumbled in my pockets for the keys. I yanked the hatch free and pulled free the luggage containing my outfit. I had no choice but to put it on overtop of my dress clothes, thus I had taken care not to wear a tie that evening.
I hadn’t fully comprehended what had happened to the commissioner, but I had seen enough to know he was dead. A gunshot, most likely. A powerful one, and the sound of glass… yes, it must have been from outside the building! A proper shot would need to have been taken from a similar height, likely from a neighboring building. I thought back to the hideous moment when Loeb’s head popped like a melon. It exploded from the left, which means the bullet entered from the right side. I looked to the windows at the East side, and through the smoke was able to perceive that mist had indeed seeped its way to the outside.
Amidst the pandemonium, police had begun ushering everyone out through the hall’s entranceway. I followed at a sprint. A few officers caught sight of me as we ran and yelled at me to stop. Gordon followed me, and I heard him order the others to leave me be. We two found our way to the staircase leading up to the roof and ascended them.
“Where are you going?!’ he hollered as we ran.
“The shot came from across the street!” I huffed in response.
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I’ll get across, but you need to block off the entrances to that building!”
“How the hell are you gonna - ?” he caught himself as I relinquished my grappling hook from my belt. He stared in awe and his legs began to slow. “You can’t be serious…”
“Gordon, GO!” I growled.
As I reached the top and emerged onto the roof, I could no longer hear his footsteps behind me. There was no time to think. I reached the edge of the building on the East side and peered out to the neighboring construct. And there it was: movement! A lanky, purple blot of a man, standing on the other roof, lifting a giant black case up and over his back awkwardly. I scanned the rooftops for something to grapple onto and made a successful quick shot across. Almost immediately I activated the retractor, and it clung hard to the inner side of the ledge. This was a terribly witless idea, I knew wholeheartedly, but I had to act fast before he managed to escape. I took a generous breath inwards and swung.
To my utter shock and admiration, the wire held nicely. The moment of free-falling was terrifying, as I was a full ten stories high, but also adrenaline-inducing. I felt the wire tighten and fold as I curved towards the side of the building, and in a few seconds more, the bottoms of my feet slammed hard against the brick wall. The impact traveled through my whole body, and heaven only knows how I did manage to keep my grip on the device that suspended me, but I had indeed succeeded. Numbness stunned my legs momentarily, but then I was climbing, desperately, up and over the ledge of the roof.
As I hobbled onto the ground, the feeling had mostly returned to my appendages, and I urged my feet onwards at a quickened pace once more. I saw the man again. He turned back at the sound of my footsteps, and I could swear I heard a hoot of excitement emerge from his lungs. He ran faster then, but lost his footing and flew forwards, landing flat upon his face. Taking advantage of his folly, I pared down upon the distance between us. When I realized how slowly he was pulling himself to his hands and knees, I in turn slowed to a standstill only a yard or so back. Was he giving up? Surely, he knew he couldn't outrun me now.
“Mirror, mirror… on the wall,” his head slowly turned to face me then. “Who’s the battiest of us all?”
Now he rose from a squatting position and we were face to face. I could see his haunting features glowing under the moonlight. He wore a queer purple suit, finely trimmed to fit his slight, gangly figure. His hands were covered in matching purple gloves, and a white rose could be seen clipped upon the left side of his breast. His face was indeed white as chalk - much like a clown - as though he’d battered himself in powder, and his dark green-dyed hair was slicked tightly towards the back of his head. Big, predatory eyes bulged from his skull, highlighted all the more amidst the black makeup smeared around them. And his mouth - oh, that terrible, wide smiling mouth, encasing the biggest, yellowest set of teeth I had ever seen - was painted a deep red upon his lips. I could vaguely see as well, the edges of that mouth were torn and scarred in a hideous manner, stretching far across each cheek.
I have confided here before, there are few things that have truly terrified me to my core during my lifetime. This first encounter with the Joker was one of them, and I stood before him, frozen in place, endeavoring with all my might to keep my composure. Whatever it was that I was looking at had surely been the pinnacle of evil itself, and he knew it. Revelled in it, I daresay. And yet in a bizarre sort of way, there was something oddly familiar about his overall visage, though I couldn’t quite place what it was.
He took a step towards me, smiling even wider than before. It was at that moment I noticed the scars along the sides of his mouth, stretching that otherworldly grin far beyond human possibility, yet almost imperceptible underneath the makeup.
“I don’t mean to be too forward, but,” he flicked one heel up to his buttocks and placed his folded hands tightly to his cheeks in a pose of mock-longing, “are you looking for someone, Mister Batsy-Watsy?” He batted his eyes playfully, though there was nothing playful about that stare of his. It tore menacingly deep into my soul and I almost shuddered.
“Your game is over.”
“Game!? Is that all this is to you? People are dying, for pete’s sake!” His wide mouth lowered in the corners and his bottom jaw quivered in fraudulent sadness.
“I figured out your scheme. There’s no need to keep up with this charade.”
“Haah Haha Hahh AHAAH!” he laughed eccentrically. “You make it sound as though this was all part of some scrupulous plan, hm hm hyuu…”
I stepped towards him and he fell back, cowering.
“Wait, please, be gentle! It’s my first time, hlhlll,”
“The hard way it is,” I hadn’t any more patience for his childish antics.
“Really! You mean that wasn’t your first inclination? You big ol’ softy!”
I closed in and punched him hard in his gaping, disgusting mouth. He crashed hard to the ground and lay upon his back, somewhat stunned by the sudden assault. It was quite cathartic, given all that had been happening.
“Hk, hk, hk…” the Joker either laughed or choked (I could not decipher which, for certain). “That… was your cue, boys…” his smile glowed in the darkness. It was then that I noticed movement all around me, shadowy figures I hadn’t perceived while my attention had been solely focused on this madman. I was such an imbecile. “Good help is so hard to find, wouldn’t you agree?”
I analyzed my surroundings. The figures, eight in total, could now be seen somewhat clearly through the dark of night. They all wore red balaclavas and black suits, with matching red ties. A shame that I would have to ruin their ensembles. I noticed too that they all carried weaponry of some kind. A couple held bats, one carried a golf club, three wielded knives, one wore brass knuckles, and the last one was too hidden in shadow to properly perceive.
“Where are my manners?” The Joker moved to sit upon his haunches. “Batman, meet my Red Hoods. Red Hoods, mincemeat the Batman, HaHAAhahaha! Toodle-oo, boys, have fun!”
As they began their advance, I shot the first bat wielder in my field of vision square in the chest with my grappler, knocking him backwards. Ducking down, I then pressed the retraction button while swinging my arm round to the side of me. The hook caught the knife wielder to my right in the back of his shoulder and he screamed in pain. I lunged and swiftly jabbed him in the temple, knocking him unconscious.
Careful, Bruce, I told myself. A little higher with that hookshot and you could have unintentionally killed the man.
A kick caught me in the left kidney, stronger than I would have expected, and someone to my right hit me in the back of my head. It had to have been the brass knuckle-wearer, as it packed quite the hefty lick. I rolled forward to gain some distance from my attackers, recovering just in time to avert a swing from a bat. Another knife holder dashed at me then, but I was able to catch his fist and easily disarmed the fellow. I kneed him to the stomach, and when he hovelled forward I slammed his head to the ground savagely. Perhaps too roughly, in retrospect. Evidently, I had yet to master a satisfactory level of force in those days, and the risk of permanent damage was fairly significant. Another swing narrowly missed me, I felt the air whoosh past the exposed skin of my face. I tackled the source of it, and then gripped the club wielder in a bear hug. Bending him backwards, I chopped with my open hand upon his windpipe, knowing it would render him choking for a good moment or two.
The brass knuckler landed another blow to my shoulder then, which I wholly absorbed with little pain, if any. My right leg lifted upwards, hooking behind the back of his knee and wrenching him high into the air. He plummeted down with a loud crack, and struggled upon the ground in pain, clutching at his backside and screaming.
I re-examined my surroundings; there were 3 remaining foes. I could now see the final man clutched onto a machete, and he was the closest of my attackers. The second bat holder struck first, however, and I was forced to block the assault. It was at that point that the machete slashed across the right side of my ribcage, the suit shielding me nicely from any harm. Holding onto the butt of the bat, I stuck out my leg and hurled the one grappling with me over my hip, tripping him. As he fell, I relinquished the bat from his grasp, and jabbed the machete man hard to his face. He stumbled and fell, dazed as can be. I then wedged the bat downwards, striking the hunched man between his shoulder and neck, instantly relieving the fellow of consciousness. I heard footsteps… and could see the final knife wielder fleeing from battle, scared into the night.
I took a few deep breaths, attempting to regain my composure without their noticing my currently winded state of being. The man with a hook in his shoulder was standing again, holding his knife and wondering if it was at all worth the risk of continuing the fight. Two more stood uneasily, both unarmed. I waited, silently, motionlessly, while they contemplated their luck. And finally, they all ran off, leaving their fallen brethren in a state of dreaming.
I knew the Joker must have gotten away during this time, but I also knew that Gordon would have covered all the exits with his men. I stalked my way to the ledge of the rooftops and looked down towards the cordoned off front entrance. I could see Gordon motioning directions to the crews of cops about him, and they shuffled into place by the door.
The unexpected explosion was swift, and gargantuan in its fury! The entire entrance was blown to pieces, and many an officer flew back in its wake.I myself felt its rumble, and it shook me to my core as I stumbled and fell to one knee, watching helplessly as men died from the blast. Gordon and two others had luckily been a safe enough distance away, but then gunfire broke out.
“Gordon! Behind you!” I tried to warn, but my voice was drowned out by the firecracker booms echoing in the night. It was a police officer, stationed further behind Gordon and the other two, who had started firing upon them. One of the poor souls fell back from a gun wound and ceased all movement while Gordon and his other man ran for cover behind a squad car.
That was when the Joker made his anticipated exit from the building, wiping the smoke from the large blast away from himself nonchalantly. To his sides, 6 more red hoods, all armed with pistols. They started to shoot as well, haphazardly, through the smoke and debris.
I had to save Gordon! I shot my grappler out towards the other side of the roof and retracted. No good; it failed to grab at the opposite ledge. I tried again, failed. Again… and finally got lucky this time, leaping backwards and climbing may back down towards the chaos ensuing below.
Of this second wave, I cannot remember nearly as vividly. It was much too difficult to see through the smoke, and my mind was in a haze. I threw batarangs at my foes to disarm a couple of them, and assaulted two more as I stumbled my way through the darkness to where Gordon had disappeared. When I finally found him, he had hunkered down with his colleague inside an alleyway, awaiting what backup he’d hoped was already on its way. When I’d become satisfied he was out of immediate danger, I went back out onto the street to further pursue the Joker, but he had already made his escape.
“Haynes…” Gordon was saying when I went back to check on him. He coughed roughly, “Haynes was shooting at us. The Joker has moles in the GCPD”