Chapter Text
“Welcome back to The Jack Ryder Show!” Ryder said, grinning as he paused for applause from the studio audience. “Tonight, on the anniversary of the first in a very gruesome series of crimes, we’ll be discussing a certain someone who’s been dominating Gotham’s nightlife: the mysterious ‘Bat Man!’”
He waved the cameras to follow him down the stage, over to the long table set up in front of a fake view of Gotham’s skyline. “We’ve gathered a number of guests for our panel conversation,” Ryder said, stepping behind the man furthest to the left. “You may recognize Edward Nygma, celebrity detective.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Nygma said, smirking at the camera.
“You will of course recognize show regular Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette correspondent and photojournalist,” Ryder said, moving on to the next chair.
“Hey Gotham!” Vale said, waving enthusiastically.
“Police consultant and Professor of Psychology at Gotham U, Dr. Jonathan Crane.”
“Hm,” Crane said, staring directly and emotionlessly into the camera.
“The lovely GCPD Lieutenant Renee Montoya...”
“I will punch you on live television,” Montoya warned, blunt fingernails tapping against the edge of her coffee cup.
“And,” Ryder said, taking a seat at the end of the table next to his final guest, “tabloid darling and WayneTech majority shareholder, Mr. Bruce Wayne.”
“Thanks for having me back, Jack,” Wayne said, smiling conspiratorially. “I wasn’t sure you would after last time.”
“Oh, please!” Ryder said. “We wouldn’t offer alcohol backstage if we didn’t want a little drama now and again. You weren’t even the one who threw the chair!”
“You offer what backstage?” Montoya asked, turning in her chair.
“Depending on the guest, obviously,” Ryder added, not looking away from Wayne. “Besides, Bruce, you’ve invested quite a significant amount of your fortune into cracking this case. And that one million dollar reward for uncovering the ‘Man’ behind the ‘Bat’ is nothing to sneeze at.”
“Gotham’s my home,” Wayne said earnestly. “I hate seeing its people having to live in terror of some lunatic who thinks Halloween is 365 days a year. I want this freak off the streets as much as anybody— if I have the resources to help with that, I’m going to put them to good use.”
“Surely there’s an element of personal interest as well?” Crane asked, sounding bored. “I imagine you’re not very fond of people who habitually commit murder in dark alleys.”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“Well, who is?” Wayne said eventually. Ryder relaxed his raised shoulders, and the crowd let out a relieved chuckle.
“But yes, of course,” Wayne added more seriously, “I have the utmost sympathy for the friends and family of those attacked. That’s why I’m so grateful towards the officers and private citizens who are working towards putting the perpetrator behind bars,” he said, gesturing to Nygma and Montoya. “And, of course, why I started the Survivors Fund to support those who’ve lost loved ones from this terrible affair.”
“And we are making progress in putting him behind bars,” Montoya said. “Attacks have gone down significantly since we changed our patrol routes to better match with his predicted patterns.”
“You’re welcome,” Crane muttered, taking a sip from his coffee.
“We’re closing in on him,” Montoya continued as if Crane hadn’t said anything. “His movements have been severely limited.”
“Or he’s just gotten better at hiding the bodies,” Nygma suggested. “There’s been a spike in unintentional deaths the last two months. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“There have been no fluctuations beyond a completely statistically average variation,” Montoya said, in the tone of someone who is definitely not saying it for the first time.
“Besides,” Crane said. “The state of the Bat’s victims suggest a pathological obsession with his method of murder.” He pushed his glasses further up his nose. “He clearly believes that he needs to kill his victims the way he does. He’s not about to start pushing people onto the subway tracks. It wouldn’t fit his perceived purpose.”
“He is a bit of an oddball, isn’t he?” Ryder mused, crossing his legs. “Any observations you’d like to share, Vic? As one of the few lucky Gothamites to see him in action.”
“I mean, it is pretty silly imagining him wearing that creepy monster mask and hitting pedestrians in a... ‘Bat Car,’ or something,” Vale said, looking slightly embarrassed at the series of words coming out of her mouth. “But I have to say, seeing him— however briefly— you really don’t get the impression that he’s in this for the attention.”
“Well,” Nygma said, frowning. “I don’t know if I would go that far.”
“I just don’t think people realize how stealthy he is,” Vale said. “I know my photos probably don’t help with that. But for every picture that comes out clear, there’s a dozen more where he’s just a blip in the frame, and a hundred where he’s already long gone. I mean, he comes out of nowhere, Jack. I would absolutely believe that he’s capable of operating under the radar.”
“I’m not saying he’s incapable of hiding, Ms. Vale,” Crane said, templing his fingers. “Quite the opposite. But I maintain that he’s incapable of breaking from his established modus operandi.”
“Which is, unfortunately, public knowledge,” Montoya said, glaring at Nygma out of the corner of her eye. “Thanks to leaks from anonymous hackers.”
“Very unfortunate,” Nygma echoed, face neutral. “Doesn’t exactly instill confidence in the GCPD Cybercrimes Division, either.”
“For those viewers who haven’t been keeping up with the case’s grisly details, our guests are referring to the killer’s preference for decapitating his victims,” Ryder explained to the camera.
“Not just that,” Crane interrupted. “Autopsies have found the same foreign protein in each victim’s bloodstream. The numbing agent inhibits the growth of the bradykinin peptides that induce pain, as well as inhibits the processing of blood-clotting fibrin proteins.”
“Painkillers for decapitations?” Wayne asked, looking disturbed. “That’s... thoughtful.”
“Hardly,” Crane scoffed. “It’s not an anesthetic. The drugs used during more typical surgical procedures induce a loss of sensation or awareness, affecting a patient’s consciousness. The Bat’s cocktail produces a similar state of analgesia, but there is no perception-altering haze. If anything, the inability to feel pain is just a side effect of the injection’s greater goal of debilitating the body’s natural responses to harm.”
“Also, all the victims were dead before their head was fully separated from their body,” Montoya added grimly. “Interchangeably from blood loss, or lack of air due to damage to the trachea— whichever killed them first, basically. These people are dying very slowly, and the drug he’s giving them isn’t doing anything to prevent their consciousness of that.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Right,” Wayne said. “So... not thoughtful. Just, like. Really evil.”
“Evil is one word for it, I suppose,” Crane said, though he sounded unimpressed with the descriptor. “I believe it’s likely that the killer is trying to create as much fear in his victims as possible. He terrorizes them with a slow death, dosing them with a formula that prevents escape through the oblivion of pain.”
“So he wears the costume to scare people?” Vale asked, then rolled her eyes. “I mean, yes. Obviously the costume is supposed to scare people. But you’re saying it’s some kind of weird fetish thing?”
“I am decidedly not saying that,” Crane snapped, face slightly red. “It’s more likely an attempt to recreate child trauma from a position of control. The exaggerated monstrosity of the mask may indicate an insecurity with his appearance as much as a desire to intimidate.”
Vale nodded, considering this. Wayne raised a manicured eyebrow.
“In my profile of the Bat,” Crane continued, “I argued that the Bat has professional experience in psychiatric pharmaceuticals— he could probably be found by searching laboratories or science department faculties for a man of his projected build with antisocial tendencies and an unfavorable physical appearance.”
“A fascinating hypothesis, Doctor,” Nygma said, then turned to Montoya. “So is this the part where you arrest him, or...?” he trailed off, gesturing back at Crane with his thumb.
“Ha ha,” Montoya said humorlessly as Crane sputtered. “We already considered that when he gave us the profile.”
Crane stared at her incredulously. “You what?”
“You’re fine,” she said, waving him off dismissively. “Your three hour long Wednesday night lecture ended up being a solid alibi.”
“I take it you disagree with Dr. Crane’s theory?” Ryder asked, looking eager for more conflict.
“Absolutely,” Nygma said, playing with the head of his custom gold cane. “I sincerely doubt that the Bat is a scientist or a psychiatrist, and I certainly don’t believe that he’s wearing a monster mask because he’s embarrassed about his looks.”
“You sound like you have a theory of your own,” Wayne observed, curiosity clear in his pale blue eyes.
“I do,” Nygma said, smirking with self satisfaction. “He’s a vampire.”
The studio went quiet.
Vale spoke up warily. “Like, he thinks he’s a vampire, or he’s...?”
“A literal, bloodsucking vampire,” Nygma clarified. He snorted at the various expressions of disbelief spread across the table. “Oh, come on. Is it that unbelievable? Metropolis has an alien.”
“There are several significant differences between aliens and vampires,” Montoya said, frowning. “The fact that aliens are real comes to mind as an example.”
Nygma scoffed. “Alright, fine,” he said. “Here’s a riddle for you: where on the bodies were the injection sites for the ‘drug’ Jonathan so helpfully described for us?”
“There are none,” Crane said, sounding profoundly irritated. “The substance’s dilution in the bloodstream led the pathologists to hypothesize that it was injected in the neck, the marks of which were destroyed in the subsequent mauling and decapitation.”
“Exactly!” Nygma said, tapping the foot of his cane triumphantly against the floor. “We’ve already established that the victims aren’t being killed by the decapitation. The evidence showing the real method of murder, as well as the method of injection, are purposefully obfuscated by the violent segmentation of the neck.”
“Wait, wait, okay,” Ryder interjected, voice quivering with mirth. “So you’re saying that the reason he’s cutting off people’s heads... is to hide bite marks?”
“It’s obvious, if you think about it,” Nygma said smugly.
“Is it, though?” Montoya asked, staring at him.
“Hold on, so you think the drugs are also from a bite?” Vale asked, eyes narrowed with confusion. “Like, some kind of venomous fangs thing?”
“Or saliva,” Nygma said, shrugging. “I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty. There aren’t exactly a plethora of academic studies on the properties of vampire bites.”
“Oh, there aren’t, are there?” Crane asked, his tone slightly hysterical. “I wonder why THAT might be?”
“But I’ve taken pictures of him,” Vale protested. “Wouldn’t vampires not be able to show up on developed film? Because of the whole mirror deal?”
Nygma shook his head. “I don’t know why cameras would have to be analogous to mirrors,” he said. “Or even if the ‘no reflection’ myth is accurate. Due to the number of pop culture depictions, it’s difficult to parse what is vampire fact and what is vampire fiction.”
“Let me make it easy for you, then,” Crane said through gritted teeth. “It is all ‘vampire fiction.’”
“How much do you charge per case again?” Montoya asked, knocking back her cup to finish off the coffee inside. “Isn’t it like half my yearly salary?”
“Alright, guys, alright,” Bruce said, making placating gestures towards both ends of the table. “I know it sounds crazy on its face, but maybe we should consider it anyway? Mr. Nygma does have a pretty positive case record. And it’s not like an evil vampire haunting the night would be the weirdest thing to ever happen in Gotham.”
“No, I think a genuine real life vampire would actually be the weirdest thing to happen in Gotham,” Ryder said thoughtfully. “I mean, the competition is stiff, don’t get me wrong. But that’s insane enough to take the cake.”
“So you think it’s possible?” Wayne asked.
“Absolutely not,” Ryder said, then turned to the camera. “But I’d love to hear the verdict from the viewers at home! Let us know your thoughts by tweeting yes or no with... oh, I don’t know. Hashtag ‘Is Bat Man A Vampire?’”
“Look, Edward, I don’t know about this one,” Vale said, chewing her bottom lip. “It’s not a great sign if the only person who thinks you’re being reasonable is Bruce Wayne. No offense, Bruce.”
“None taken,” Wayne said. “You would know.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut off Dr. Crane’s impending conniption with a commercial break,” Ryder said, pointing towards where Crane was staring at Nygma with a look of haunted rage. “But we’ll be right back with the conclusion of this conversation after these messages!”
A cameraman signalled that the feed was cut out, and Ryder hopped up to go chat with the live studio audience. Vale excused herself with a quick “gotta find the lady’s room,” and Crane muttered something unintelligible as he stood up to pace back and forth across the stage.
“You’re really going to agree that the Bat Man could be a vampire?” Montoya asked Wayne, brow furrowed. “On live television? Have you completely lost it, playboy?”
“His reasoning was surprisingly reasonable,” Wayne said with a shrug. Then he smiled. “You know, that’s a really gorgeous scarf, Renee. Did Kate buy that for you?”
Montoya scowled, going red. “Ryder better have been serious about the backstage alcohol,” she said abruptly, picking up her coffee cup and heading for the back of the set.
Wayne turned back to Nygma. “My cousin’s a lesbian,” he said by way of explanation.
“I’m aware,” Nygma replied. “I suppose I should thank you for being the only party open minded enough to acknowledge the truth when it was presented to them.”
“Unfortunately I don’t seem to have improved your case much,” Wayne said with a grimace. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Nygma said dismissively. “These philistines weren’t going to listen to me regardless. It doesn’t matter: they’ll have to, when I eventually deliver them proof of my theory.”
“Proof?” Wayne said, looking concerned. “If he’s an actual bloodsucking monster, isn’t running up to him with a mirror or whatever kind of... I don’t know. Insanely dangerous?”
“I can handle myself,” Nygma said, annoyed. “Most of the danger comes from people running into him not knowing what can actually cause him harm. I will be prepared.”
“But you just said it’s difficult to tell vampire fact from vampire fiction,” Wayne said, worrying his lip. “What if you prepare for a weakness he doesn’t actually have?”
“Believe me,” Nygma said. “I’ve done my research. I wouldn’t announce that I know what he is on live television if I didn’t think I was well-defended.”
Wayne’s eyes widened. “That’s what this was?” he asked, glancing around nervously. “A ploy to draw him out and attack you?”
“It’s worth a shot,” Nygma said, leaning back and crossing his legs. “Though my research has done nothing to indicate that vampires are anything other than animals acting on pure instinct. He may be about as likely to watch and comprehend television programs as a rabid Doberman.”
“Hmm,” Wayne said, rubbing his chin. “Well, if that’s the case, then maybe he’s not particularly dedicated to terrorizing Gotham. If it’s just a convenient hunting ground, maybe he’d leave if we made it inhospitable enough?”
Nygma straightened up, obviously intrigued. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wayne said, scratching the back of his head. “Garlic gardens on rooftops? Crucifix graffiti in alleyways? There’s got to be a way I can make this city a vampire’s version of hell. And then even if it is intelligent and disguising its kills as accidents or whatever... well, at least it would be inconvenienced?”
“Interesting,” Nygma said, pausing to look at Wayne more closely. “You really do believe me, don’t you?”
Wayne shrugged. “I try to keep an open mind,” he said. “If there’s even the smallest chance that you’re right, then it’s not a stone we can leave unturned. I’d do just about anything to get this freak out of my city.”
“Admirable,” Nygma said, then smirked. “Though maybe a little territorial. Are you worried that he might usurp your title, O mighty Prince of Gotham?”
“Ugh,” Bruce said, making a face. “Please never call me that again. This partnership is not going anywhere if you do, I’ll tell you that right now.”
“Partnership?” Nygma asked, surprised.
“Well, I mean, I’m not going vampire hunting with you,” Wayne said quickly. “But you just said you’ve done all the research. I imagine I’d need your insight if I want to go about funding vampire-hostile architecture.”
“You would?” Nygma asked immediately, then cleared his throat. “I mean, of course you would. How would you go about a partnership, is what I meant.”
“Well, why don’t we start with lunch?” Wayne proposed. “You can come by the manor, and we’ll talk over the basics. Is there a day this week that would work for you?”
“Any day,” Nygma said, then winced. “Thursday?”
“Perfect,” Wayne said, lips stretching into a pristine white smile. “I’ll send my man over with a car at eleven?”
“Perfect,” Nygma echoed, a very genuine grin of his own slipping over his features as Ryder returned to the stage and the cameras turned on.