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Chapter Text

Bruce exhaled a long, exhausted sigh as he slumped in front of the Batcomputer, pinching the bridge of his nose to withhold the migraine that was bound to set in.

It had been a long night – the longest he had ever done since becoming the Batman. In the span of ten hours, he had defeated over a dozen villains, fought a literal army, saved a man from being brainwashed by a cult, repelled a civil war with the League of Assassins, rescued all his allies, and, almost impossibly, regained a son he had thought he lost. It had been a long, difficult road without the Joker trying to worm his way into Batman's head – a problem he, thankfully, no longer had to worry about.

But despite all the good he had done, he still lost in the end.

Scarecrow had revealed his identity to the world. Everyone knew that Batman and Bruce Wayne were one and the same. Scarecrow got his comeuppance – his mind shattered with an injection of his own fear toxin with no chance of recovery – but the damage was done. With his identity compromised, there was only one way forward:

The Knightfall Protocol.

It was a contingency he and Alfred had prepared years in advanced, ever since they brought Dick into the fold. It was a preventative measure to ensure that in the event that his identity was exposed, his allies would be spared of the consequences.

Right now, the Wayne Manor was up in flames – a result of the hundreds of explosives that had been set inside the manor's foundation ages ago. The media outside would no doubt come up with their own theories on how it happened. A supervillain finally getting revenge. An assassination by the government. Or, if they were smart enough to realize, a cover-up. Either way, for all intents and purposes, Bruce Wayne was dead to the world.

The Knightfall Protocol would take effect to cover his allies. As of now, the Batcomputer was deleting all information on the internet connecting him to Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, and, his most recent addition to the contingency, Jason Todd. Now if anyone went searching for his name, there would be no connection to the rest of his family. There was still the possibly of oral gossip, but he trusted the others to feign ignorance.

In regards to Wayne Enterprises, he knew there would fallout. Word that Bruce Wayne was Batman was sure to cause a drop in their stocks. Investors and partners would likely pull out, not wanting to be associated with Gotham's vigilante. There would be layoffs, legitimacy of their products would be put into questions, and corrupt businessmen like Luthor would look to seize their assets. Bruce trusted Lucius to keep them above the water, but he was just one man. Eventually, it's likely that he'll have to seek out aid from another company. Bruce doesn't want to imagine what will happen if Wayne Enterprises falls into the wrong hands.

The police would be by soon to look for bodies to confirm his death. They would find two upstairs; fake corpses laid out in the grand foyer. Alfred had put them there in preparation for the Knightfall Protocol. The fire from the explosions would cover them in horrendous burns, making them impossible to recognize. Falsified skin grafts, blood, and dental work would trick the forensic squad into thinking they were Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth. By tomorrow, news of the Batman's death would spread nationwide.

His friends would undoubtedly realize he faked his death. Clark probably already figured it out with his super hearing and X-ray vision all the way from Metropolis. He'll probably tell the rest of the League, if they haven't figured it out for themselves. They won't say anything – they understand the importance of a secret identity.

Now that just left the matter of the Batman.

Bruce looked around the cave that he had spent over a decade constructing and reconstructing. The Batmobile and Batwing were disabled and slated for disposal. All his gadgets would have to be destroyed; he can't risk thieves getting their hands on that technology. Their trophies would have to go to, which Bruce was genuinely sad about. He really liked the dinosaur and the giant penny. The Batcomputer was being wiped clean at the moment – Oracle will have backups to help Nightwing and the others. And his suit –

Bruce rose from his chair and crossed the cave. He stepped through a pair of reinforced doors into a room filled with dozens of canisters, each containing a different suit that he had worn in the duration of his career.

His first suit – a simple cloth costume with an exaggerated bat cowl – was at the farthest end of the chamber. He had only worn that for a week before he came to the realization that he needed more protective cover to bullets and knives. Lucius's latest and final creation, the v8.05, closest to the door, covered in scratches, bullet holes, burns, and cracks. Marks of valor, he thought.

He took one last look at his legacy and, with a heavy sigh, walked out, sealing the door behind him.

"Master Bruce." Alfred was coming down the metal steps, as unflappable as always in the wake of their most recent disaster. "All of the Batgear has been disabled, the Batcomputer has been scrubbed clean, and the charges are ready."

Bruce took a quick survey of the cave. There were explosives strapped to the structural weak points of the Batcave, ready to bury the Batman's legacy underneath thousands of tons of rubble. Alfred handed Bruce the detonator, which he accepted with a furrowed brow.

"For years I had wished for you to give up your crusade," Alfred admitted with a heavy heart. "But never like this. Now that we have reached the end of the road, it is rather bittersweet."

"It has to be done, Alfred," said Bruce. "It's the only way to protect everyone."

"And what of Gotham, sir?" asked Alfred. "Who will defend her now?"

"Dick, Tim, and Barbara are strong – they can keep the city safe," said Bruce firmly. "And hopefully, Jason will be there with them."

"As happy as I am to have Master Todd back, I am weary of him," said Alfred.

"I am, too, Alfred," Bruce admitted. "I just hope my fears are unfounded. I guess we'll see."

"And what of you, Master Bruce?" asked Alfred, concerned. "The world knows who you are. And after tonight, Bruce Wayne is, for all purposes, dead to the world. What will become of you now?"

"We have to go underground for a while," said Bruce. "Assume new identities, work our way from the ground up. We'll stick to the shadows until Gotham has moved on and we've become a distant memory."

"And then what, sir?" asked Alfred. "Will you don the cowl again?"

"I will always be here to protect Gotham until my body gives out," said Bruce with steely determination. "But I can no longer be the Batman."

"If you don't mind me saying, sir," said Alfred, "Batman has left a great mark on Gotham City. I have no doubt that Master Grayson and the others are more than capable, but they are no substitute. Without the Batman, criminals will have less to fear and will become bolder. If you will not wear the cowl, then who will?"

"I don't know, Alfred," said Bruce earnestly. "For now, all we can do is watch from the shadows. Maybe one day, someone will come along and bring Batman back to Gotham. Someone who will defend her as I did. But until that day comes, we wait."

"Of course, sir," said Alfred, nodding curtly.

His faithful companion and father figure walked to the elevator, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts. But there were nothing left for him to think about. He had already made his peace with his decision on the GCPD rooftop. His time as Batman is over, but someone else will take his place. Whether it is Dick or someone else, the Dark Knight will return. Because Gotham will always need a hero.

Batman's legacy will endure.

Bruce walked back to the elevator beside Alfred and pressed the button to the top floor. As they climbed higher, looking out to the cave that had been their home for over a decade, Bruce raised his thumb over the trigger. Then, as the cave disappeared from view, he pressed it.

He and Alfred had already exited through the secret entrance as the base of the cliffside underneath Wayne Manor before they heard the explosions. The ground rumbled beneath their feet. Bruce heard the distant cries of panicked reporters and onlookers still scuttling around the manor ruins like vultures. Hopefully that would give them some sense to leave.

The old Benz was waiting for them, hidden in the shadow of a rock outcropping. Three bags were already loaded in the trunk – necessities and keepsakes Alfred felt they would need. Bruce stepped into the backseat as Alfred took the driver's spot. He would need to get out of the habit of letting Alfred drive him, Bruce thought, if they wanted to maintain their cover from now on.

As Alfred pulled out of the dirt path and onto the main road, Bruce looked over his shoulder through the back window. The remains of Bruce Wayne's legacy was still burning like a beacon in the night sky, while the legacy of Batman was buried beyond reach.

It was then, for the first time in his life, Bruce realized that he was uncertain of what came next….

Chapter Text

The final bell rang at Hamilton Hill High, and Terry was among the throng of students that practically stampeded towards the exit, looking forward to a long weekend.

As he stepped through the sliding doors outside behind and obnoxious couple talking loudly about their weekend plans, Terry paused and took a cursory look at the City of Neo Gotham.

Gotham stopped being “Gotham” well before Terry was born, as if the new name and sleek new buildings could replace the ugliness underneath, in the scummy lower levels hidden away from the rest of the world, left forgotten to rot and fester. Sadly, Terry was no stranger to that seedy underbelly. His shoulder still ached when he thought about it….

Terry was snapped out of his musings when he felt a strong arm wrap around his neck, pulling him into a sideways embrace.

“Yo, Terry, daydreaming again?” said Duke teasingly. “Well, dream no more, for I have arrived.”

“Yay, it’s a dream come true,” said Terry jokingly.

Terry’s best friend, Duke Thomas, was always bright and cheery spot in a bleak city like Neo Gotham, Though not as bright as that eye-gouging yellow jacket he always wore. Seriously, that coat made him light up like a signal, Terry thought. Duke wasn’t exactly popular like the resident thug, Nash Nelson, but he was very well-liked for his sunny personality and charming charisma that got him on the ballot for student body president. (He turned the offer down, of course.) Duke was one of the few people that still stood by Terry after he had gotten out of Juvie, which made Terry appreciate his best friend all the more.

“So, how’d you do on Mr. Ortiz’s physics test?” asked Duke as the pair walked down the steps into the courtyard.

“Ugh, please don’t talk about school after we just got out,” Terry threw his head back with a groan. “I just wanna turn my brain off for the weekend.”

“That bad, huh?” Duke teased.

“I’m think he finds sadistic joy in torturing poor, innocent students,” Terry remarked.

“Yeah, innocent,” Duke snorted, looking ahead. “Hey, there’s Harper. Yo, Harper!”

Harper Row was hard to miss, even in a crowd of high school teenagers, with her blue-and-purple dyed hair and facial piercings. She was one of the smartest people Terry knew – probably the smartest in the entire school behind Max – but unlike Duke, she was not very popular. It was due to a number of reasons, some of them petty thing like her shabby secondhand or being openly bisexual, others despised her for her blunt personality and refusal to take shit from anyone, which often escalated into a fist fight. Terry met Harper after when the latter got corner by the assholes on the hockey team and came to her defense. They’d been friends ever since.

Harper perked up when her name was called and looked around, waving Terry and Duke down with a friendly smile.

“Hey, boys, how was the physics test?” asked Harper with a snarky tone.

“UGH!” Terry groaned.

“That bad, huh?” Harper snickered. “You know, I could tutor you…for a small fee.”

“Your ‘small fee’ could buy me a new vid-phone,” Terry remarked.

“Girl’s gotta eat,” said Harper jokingly.

“Whatcha watching?” asked Duke, noticing the Harper had her vid-pad turned to the Gotham News Channel.

“Just another puff piece about Powers,” said Harper, rolling her eyes and holding up the pad. “Here, listen to what these shills have to say about him this time.”

She pressed the play button:

“Making news today, as every day, Neo Gotham’s own financial czar, Derek Powers, rocks the stock market by acquiring several local industrial firms. Everyone loves a winner, right, Kim?”

“That’s right, Tom. In the third hostile Wayne-Powers takeover this year, Powers has retained his crown as Neo Gotham’s most dynamic corporate kingpin. Insiders fears of downsizing were realized today as Powers personally announced over three hundred layoffs. The handsome CEO may not be making any friends, but he’s sure making money.”

“Dreg,” Terry scoffed in disgust. “Why’re you watching this garbage?”

“Derek Powers is a scumbag, but I still plan on working at Wayne-Powers someday,” said Harper, frowning.

“Why?” said Duke. “Wayne-Powers isn’t exactly known for caring about its employees. You heard the news: three hundred layoffs! God, that company has gone downhill since Bruce Wayne died.”

“You mean, since Batman died,” remarked Harper.

Batman.

Even though it happened decades before any of them were even born, everyone in Neo Gotham knew the legend of the Batman. How he suddenly appeared one day and singlehanded took down the biggest names in crime in his crusade for justice. Then there was the Blackgate Riots, the Arkham Asylum Takeover, Arkham City, the Great Occupation – all history notes in the Dark Knight’s legend.

Then came Halloween night, 2015. The day when the Batman was unmasked by some costumed supervillain whose name history has forgotten. The day the whole world everyone knew that Batman was the infamous billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne and his butler were found dead later that same night after the Wayne Manor was destroyed in an unexplained bombing.

Bruce Wayne was buried with honor next to his parent’s grave. A city-wide memorial took place at the ruins of Wayne Manor, attended by millions from all over the country including the Justice League. A statue was erected of the Batman in the heart of Gotham itself, where it still stood to this day even as the city changed around it.

Batman had been an irreplaceable part of Gotham that not even other heroes like Nightwing or Robin could replace. And because of that, it allowed dregs like Derek Powers to rise to…well, power. Terry could only imagine that Bruce Wayne would be spinning in his grave if he knew what Powers was doing with his family’s legacy.

“Yeah, I have no delusion that it’s gonna end well,” Harper admitted. “But the kind of pay working at Wayne-Powers would set me and Cullen for life, so I have to try. First, I’ll need to apply for the Wayne-Powers Grant to get into Gotham University. Then I’ll need to apply for an apprenticeship. Then, in two years, I’ll work my way into the Applied Sciences Division.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Harp,” said Terry, surprised. “You’re still a Sophomore. You have plenty of time.”

“Not as much as you might think,” said Harper. “Time flies, Terry. You need to plan for the future while you can.”

“Speaking of future,” Duke tapped Terry’s arm, his tone laced with humor, which Terry did not like. “Is that the future Mrs. McGinnis I see over there.”

Terry already knew who Duke was talking about before he even turned around, but there was no denying that he was staring as Dana Tan walked out the door.

Dana was the full package: beautiful, brilliant, popular, humble, and kind. She wasn’t like Nash Nelson or Blade, who used their looks and popularity to rule the school. She was respectful to everyone she met, which made her one of the most beloved people at Hamilton Hill. But best of all, she didn’t treat Terry like he was a criminal after he got out of Juvie and was one of the first people to welcome him back with open arms.

So yeah, Terry the underdog had a crush on the popular girl. But hey, it always works out in those trashy romance vids, right?

“You’re drooling, McGinnis,” Harper teased.

“Very funny, Row,” scoffed Terry. He did check that he wasn’t actually drooling, though. As Dana came down the steps, Terry waved her down. “Hey, Dana!”

Dana looked up, saw him, then smiled with a polite wave. So far, so good, thought Terry. Dana started walking towards him…when she was suddenly intercepted by best friend, Chelsea Cunningham. Terry glowered; this wasn’t the first time Chelsea literally got between them.

“Dana, I’m so glad I found you!” Chelsea said in an unnecessarily loud voice as she pulled her friend in the opposite direction. “There’s this new special promotion at Pauli’s that I’ve been dying to check out!”

“Whoa, easy on the arm, Chels,” said Dana, startled, trying to match her friend’s pace. “Since when does Pauli’s have a special promotion. For that matter, what have you ever been to Pauli’s? You never eat at a diner.”

“I just said that to get you away from the McGinnis guy,” Chelsea admitted. “You can’t talk to thugs like him.”

“Terry’s not a thug,” said Dana, ripping her arm free with a glare. “He was coerced by the real thug, Bigelow. I’ve known Terry since fourth grade. He’s a good guy.”

“If people see you talking to him, it could damage your reputation,” said Chelsea.

“You ever consider that I don’t care about my reputation?” Dana retorted.

“Now you’re just talking crazy,” Chelsea blew her off, then started pulling Dana’s arm again, ignoring her protests.

Terry glared at the back of Chelsea’s head, not understanding how a sweet girl like Dana could be best friends with a snobby cheerleader like Chelsea.

“Cucked again, huh?” Harper teased him, leaning against Terry’s shoulder with a smug grin. “But seriously, you need to step up, Terry. Dana’s a nice girl and not a total jackass like everyone else at school. If you didn’t have the hots for her, I’d totally take my chances.”

“Does Dana even like girls?” asked Duke curiously.

“I can be very convincing,” said Harper jokingly.

“When was the last time you dated anyone?” Terry retorted tauntingly.

“Shut it, McGinnis,” Harper grumbled, pinching the man’s cheek.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

The last member of their motley crew had just arrived with a laptop in one hand and her backpack in the other. Maxine Gibson – but if you were smart, you’d call her Max. She was the latest addition to their group after she and Duke were partnered in computer sciences last year and subsequently started dating three months ago. Like pretty much everyone that Terry knew, she was overwhelmingly smart, easily rivaling Harper, but only when it applied to computers. Her bright-pink hair was very distinguishable, which Maxine claimed was natural, but Terry had his doubts.

“Hey, babe,” said Max, pecking Duke on the cheek. “What’d I miss?”

“Terry’s too chickenshit to ask Dana out,” said Harper.

“So business as usual,” Max snickered.

“Ha-ha,” Terry laughed sarcastically. “Very funny.”

“I got the results from yesterday like you asked,” said Max, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper, handing it to Terry. “The Gotham Knights got steamrolled by the Metropolis Metros 35-6 and the Fawcett City Tigers beat the Bludhaven Brawlers 42-27.

“Slag!” Terry cursed, crushing the paper in his hand.

“Since when do you care about football scores?” asked Duke curiously.

“I made a few bets, thinking it was a sure thing,” Terry admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Dammit, I’m so slagged.”

“How much money did you bet?” asked Harper.

“…fifty-thousand creds,” answered Terry meekly.

“Fifty-thou – where did you get that kind of money?” said Duke, flabbergasted.

“Terry, please tell me you didn’t take out a loan,” Harper grimaced.

“I got good intel from Vander!” Terry shouted defensively.

“Vander doesn’t know crap about football!” Duke snapped.

“Who did you take out the loan from?” asked Max. “The T’s? The Great Whites? Please tell me you didn’t get the cred from the Penguin. Ignatius Ogilvy is not someone to mess around with.”

“Of course, I didn’t take creds from the Penguin – you think I’m an idiot?” Terry reassured them. Everyone let out a sigh of relief…until…. “I got ‘em from the False Facers.”

“Oh my god!” Harper cried.

“You stupid boy!” yelled Max.

“You’re dead, man!” Duke panicked.

“Thanks for the unwavering confidence, you guys,” said Terry sarcastically.

“Why would you take out a loan from the Black Mask?” said Duke. “You know what happens to people who don't pay off their debts to the Black Mask?”

“No,” said Terry.

“Exactly!” Duke screamed. “No one knows because they’re never seen again!”

“Okay, okay, maybe this isn’t as bad as we think,” said Harper, trying to remain calm. “Maybe we could offer the Black Mask a few favors. She’s the most reasonable of Gotham’s crime bosses. We’re all pretty smart, after all. Except for Terry.”

“Hey!”

“Not sure how I feel about using my talents for criminals,” said Duke.

“Better than seeing Terry be fitted for cement shoes,” said Max.

Terry was annoyed that his friends were making a big fuss over this. Yes, Black Mask was a notorious women with a habit of making people disappear, but Terry could handle himself. As he rolled his eyes, Terry noticed something across the street. A gaggle of clowns were standing across the street, staring at the high school from a distance.

 Jokerz. A group of street punks who idolized that psychopathic madman from half a century ago. Terry couldn’t understand how anyone could admire a giggling mass murder, let alone form an entire gang around them. And unfortunately, Terry knew the names of this specific group of Jokerz.

Chucko the fat jester. Ghoul the Halloween reject. Bonk the pasty muscle. Woof the Splicer pet. The ragdoll twins, Delia and Deirdre, conjointly known as the Dee-Dees. And their leader, the only face-painted megalomaniac that wore a straightjacket like a fashion statement: Terminal.

Terry had a history with this group – three of its members in particular – but he hadn't seen them in months. If they weren’t here to bother him, then….

Terminal suddenly crossed the street, his giggling gang following close behind. Terry followed the direction they were heading. A mousy redheaded girl had just come out of the school and, upon seeing the Jokerz made a quick beeline down the street. She wasn’t going to get far – half the gang had broken off to intercept. Terry furrowed his brow and started walking.

“Hey, Terry, where’re you going?” asked Duke, which Terry ignored. “We have to talk about – oh no, Jokerz.”

“He’s going to play hero again,” Max groaned.

“C’mon, we better help him,” said Harper.

The redheaded girl was approaching the street corner when she looked back and shivered, seeing Terminal following her at a leisurely pace, flanked by the Dee-Dees. But because she wasn’t looking where she was going, she ran into a someone. Someone large and bulky. She took a step back and gasped up at Bonk, who grinned menacingly, joined by Chucko, Ghoul and Woof. The girl took a step back in fear, then tensed up when Terminal threw his arm over her shoulder.

“Hey, Duela,” Terminal greeted her like an old friend, making her tremble. “Where’ve you been? You never call, never write. I’m starting to think you’re avoiding us.”

“J-Just leave me alone, Terminal,” Duela muttered weakly.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that,” said Terminal with a creepy tone. He grabbed Duela by the chin, forcing her to face him. “I thought we were friends.”

“It’s not nice to run away from friends, right, Dee-Dee?” Delia giggled.

“Not nice at all, Dee-Dee,” said Deirdre.

“P-Please, just let me go,” Deula pleaded, looking close to crying.

“Shh, shh, it’s gonna be okay,” Terminal murmured like he was speaking to an infant. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you…as long as you get us your dad’s access card.”

“W-Why do you want it?” Duela trembled.

“Uh, duh, to get into the bank,” said Chucko. “This dumb bitch can’t even figure that out – “

“Shut it, Chucko!” Terminal snapped at his flunky, who smartly went silent. “Here’s the deal, Duela: you’re gonna get us into the bank and help make a little...withdraw. If you don’t…well, it’s be a shame if your psych eval got blasted all over the internet.”

“How did you – “

“Ghoul here’s pretty good with computers,” said Terminal, gesturing to the Halloween man. “Who would’ve imagined that unassuming Duela would have such twisted thought bouncing around in her little head. Even I was impressed when I saw it. Just imagine what everyone will think once it gets out.”

“No…please, don’t…,” Duela whimpered.

“Back off, Terminal!”

Terminal’s wicked smile immediately fell into an annoyed frown. He knew that voice anywhere….

He turned around to face Terry, who looked ready for a fight, flanked by his friends.

“Stay out of this, McGinnis,” Terminal spat. “This isn’t any of your business.”

“I’m making it my business,” said Terry. “Now back off.”

“Hey, there, Ter-Ter,” Delia greeted playfully.

“It’s been a while,” said Deirdre.

“Not long enough, Dee-Dee,” Terry spat.

“Now that was rude,” Delia huffed.

“Is that any way to treat your childhood friends?” Deirdre scoffed.

“He has better friends now,” said Duke defensively.

“I’m only going to say this one more time,” said Terry, clenching his fists. “Back – off!”

“You know, you’d make a great Joker, McGinnis,” Terminal chuckled menacingly. He shoved Duela to the side, smacking her into a wall, and let her slump to the floor. “You’re always cracking jokes…even if they aren’t funny.”

“Guess that’s something we have in common, Conrad,” said Terry.

“Don’t call me that!” Terminal lost his composure. “My name is Terminal!”

“Yeah, how does a Joker name themselves ‘Terminal’ anyway?” asked Max. “It’s not a joke, or a pun, or even remotely clown related. It sounds like a dying patient.”

“Oh, funny,” Terminal sneered.

“Funnier than you,” Harper retorted.

“You won’t be laughing for much longer when we’re done with you,” Terminal growled. His crew flanked him from both sides, cracking their knuckles and raising their fists; Woof was literally foaming at the mouth. “Boys, let’s put a smile on their faces. The hard way.”

Duke pushed his girlfriend behind him and joined Harper and Terry as they raised their fists. All three of them were no strangers to fighting. In Neo Gotham, you needed to learn to defend yourself or you ended up dead in a gutter. Harper and Terry in particular were involved in a lot of street fights and physically well-built. But Terminal had the advantage of number. Terry was confident they could take half of them, but the outcome wasn’t looking pretty good…

Thankfully, the first punch was never thrown when a siren wail made everyone jump. A black car with a polite light came to a stop on the side of the road next to them. The door was kicked open and a familiar bald head poked his head out, his hand reaching for his gun, but kept it holstered.

Terry groaned. Why did it have to be him of all people?

“Is there a problem here, kids?” Detective Ethan Bennett asked rhetorically, his eyes more focused on the Jokerz than Terry and his friends.

“Uh, no problem here, right, Dee-Dee?” Delia sputtered nervously.

“Yeah, no problem at all, Dee-Dee,” said Deirdre, sweating.

“Uh-huh,” said Ethan, his tone and expression one of disbelief. “Then I guess you should move along. School’s out and they don’t take kindly to loiterers.”

“...Of course, officer,” said Terminal reluctantly. He snapped his fingers, making his flunkies fall in line, and walked away. Before they turned the corner, he glared at Duela on the ground. “We’ll discuss this later….”

Duela whimpered.

Terry waited until Terminal and his goon disappeared around the corner before walking over to Duela, offering his hand.

“Hey, you okay?” Terry asked kindly. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

To his surprise, Duela slapped the hand away and scrambled to her feet, glaring up at Terry.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” yelled Duela. “Now Terminal’s gonna be even more upset and he’ll take it out on me!”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Terry apologized, raising his hands defensively. “I was trying to help.”

“Well, don’t!” said Duela. “You only make things worse! Do me a favor and stay out of it!”

Duela picked up her things and shuffled across the street, trying to to get as far away from him as possible. Terry sighed dishearteningly. Even when he tries to do the right thing, he always screws up.

“Don’t her get you down, Terry,” said Ethan, clapping the boy’s shoulder like a kindly uncle. “You did a good thing, standing up for her.”

“Thanks, Ethan,” said Terry gratefully.

“Though next time, leave it to the police,” Ethan warned. “Those Jokerz are seriously bad news. The last thing you need is to get tangled up in that mess.”

“You’re not gonna tell my dad, are you?” asked Terry.

“I’m not your parole officers anymore, Terry,” Ethan reassured him. “We’ll keep this between us. As long as you promise to stay away from those Jokerz.”

“But you were the one who said I shouldn’t lie,” said Terry jokingly.

“Don’t get smart with me,” said Ethan with a good-natured chuckle before getting back in his car. “Stay safe, kids.”

Terry watched Ethan drive away before looking back at the direction where Duela had went. But by that time, she was already long gone…..

Warren McGinnis stared out at the city from the landing of the Wayne-Powers central headquarters with uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He had been doing his job like any other day – researching chemical formulas that could be used for medicine to cure diseases things like the D-Virus or Venom addiction. Then, out of nowhere, his old college friend Harry Tully called him up and asked to meet right away. His voice was trembling the whole time, like he was desperately afraid. Warren couldn’t ignore it.

He had waited almost five minutes before he heard a series of hurried footsteps come up behind him. He turned around and came face-to-face with his old friend. Warren was surprised by how pale he was. He had only seen Harry last week and now he looked like he was about to keel over.

“Harry?” said Warren worriedly. “You look slagged.”

“Never mind that,” said Harry hurriedly. His eyes were twitchy, constantly looking left and right. “Here, keep this for me.”

He pulled out something from his pocket and laid it in Warren’s palm. It was a data chip – the kind used for storing sensitive information Wayne-Powers wouldn’t want getting out. That worried Warren, as Harry was in data management and knew that taking this chip would get him into serious trouble. Though he wasn’t as worried as what he saw on Harry’s arm.

Black bruises covered Harrys pale skin like scabs and he was literally sweating buckets, like his body was trying to fight off a serious infection.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” asked Warren.

“Nothing!” said Harry, quickly concealing the bruises. “Warren, if anything should happen to me – “

“There you are, Mr. Telly.”

Harry’s breath hitched with fright. He and Warren turned around and noticed three men standing on the other end of the landing. Two of them were Wayne-Powers security guards, fully equipped in body armor. But the third man standing in the middle towered over them, his shock-white hair a thin strip on his otherwise bald head and a deep scar tearing across the right side of his face. His right eye was white and milky, indicating blindness, but that did nothing to diminish his imposing figure.

Warren knew him. Charles Butchinsky – former US soldier turned Derek Powers personal bodyguard. Warren had heard a lot of rumors about him, but none of them were good.

“Mr. Telly, you’re late for your meeting with Mr. Powers,” said Butchinky, his voice low and gravely, his one good eye leering down at the shivering man.

Harry was afraid of Butchinsky – any reasonable man would be. He tried to make a run for it, but the two guards pursued him and tackled Harry to the ground.

“Hold still, you little weasel!” one of the guards yelled.

But Harry wasn’t listening. He flailed his arms, scratching at their helmets, trying to fight them off. Eventually, one of the guards pulled out a syringe filled with red liquid and stabbed him in the neck. The effects were almost immediate: Harry’s body went limb and his babbled incoherently until he finally passed out.

The guards finally got off of him and Warren noticed that Harry’s shirt had come up during the scuffle. There were more black bruises on his back, these twice as large with sickly black veins stretching out like spider webs.

Warren jumped when he felt Butchinsky’s large, callous hand rest on his shoulder. He gave the researcher a sideways look, almost daring him to say something, but Warren held his tongue. Not out of fear, but self-preservation. He remained silent even as the guards dragged his old friend across the ground, leading him back inside the building. Butchinsky waited several moments in silence before finally letting Warren go and walked away.

Warren didn’t dare breath until Butchinsky disappeared through the sliding doors. He looked down at the data chip still in his hand. That uncomfortable feeling in his stomach had morphed into full-blown dread.

“Harry, what did you do…?” Warren muttered to himself.

Chapter Text

Warren fidgeted in his seat. He had been called into Derek Power’s – his boss’s - office not even an hour after he had witnessed his college friend being manhandled by security and taken away. It was obvious what was going on. Whatever Harry had gotten up to, their meeting must have made Powers think he was a collaborator. It was scare tactics and, if Warren was honest, it was working.

Even though they were the same age, Warren McGinnis was a humble scientist and Derek Powers was a ruthless business man – emphasis on ruthless. There were no shortage of rumors of the kind of shady goings-on behind his business practices. Blackmail, bribery, physical violence, corporate sabotage, and, in most rumors, murder. None of them were ever proven true, mostly because Powers had the clout and capital to sweep them under the rug.

Derek Powers purposely placed himself in front of Warren, leaning against his desk that made him seem friendly, but stood over him to remind Warren who was in charge. Body language was powerful trait in business and Derek was a master of it.

“I asked you here, Warren, to clear up any misconceptions you might have gotten from that incident with Mr. Telly,” said Powers in a would-be kindly tone that didn’t reach his eyes. “Harry simply suffered an allergic reaction to a chemical compound in the lab. Shook him up a bit, but he’s under the best of care.”

Warren wasn’t buying it for a second, but he couldn’t give Powers a reason to think he believed otherwise. Not while he still had Harry’s disk tucked inside the bottom of his shoe. A safe place in case he tried to have Butchinsky search him. The man in question was eying him from the corner of the room, waiting – hoping – for any reason to pounce.

“That’s great,” said Warren. “When can I see him?”

“Monday morning, first thing,” said Powers. He stood up and Warren followed his example.

“Thank you, Mr. Powers,” said Warren.

“Don’t mention it, Warren,” said Powers, patting him on the shoulder.

Warren turned and made his way to the door –

“Oh, Warren.” The man frozen and turned back to Powers. “Before I forget, there seems to be a file missing from Harry’s records. Would you know where it is?”

Warren tried not to fidget, to keep his body still and ridged so as not to give Powers any clues. The disk inside his shoe suddenly felt like a live grenade about to go off.

“…no, sir, I have no idea,” Warren shook his head.

“No…of course not,” said Powers slowly.

Powers waited until Warren was out of his office before dropping his award-winning business smile^TM. He gestured to Butchinsky in the corner of the room and nodded. He knew what to do.

It wasn’t uncommon for Warren to work late into the night pouring over his computer. He was a researcher – it was his job! But this was different.

As he slotted the chip into his computer and poured through the first few pages, his complexion paled.

“Oh, Harry, what were you working on?” he muttered to himself. He scroll through more pages and his stomach began to churn. “Powers can’t be serious…. He must be out of his mind to think – “

“Knock-knock.” Warren jumped in his seat and spun around to the door. His son was leaning against the threshold, tilting his head strangely. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just…working late, is all,” Warren excused, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Did you need something?”

“I’m going out with Duke and Harper,” Terry informed him. “I’ll be back by ten…hopefully.”

“Sure, sure,” said Warren, only half listening as he poured over the files.

Terry looked at his father strangely. His dad never let him go that easily. If he wasn’t grounded that week (which he wasn’t, for once), his dad would usually lay down the law. Texts when he arrived and when he was leaving, messages every hour to make sure he wasn’t dead in a gutter – that sort of thing. But now, Warren seemed strangely absentminded. More than that, he looked…scared.

“You…sure you’re okay?” asked Terry hesitantly. “I can stay home, if you want. Duke and Harper will understand.”

“No…no, it’s all right,” said Warren absently. “Just…go have fun.”

“Okay…,” said Terry slowly. “You know…I was thinking about visiting mom soon.” That seemed to finally get his dad’s attention. He was looking at Terry now, at least. “Haven’t seen her and Matt for a few months. Maybe…maybe we could all go out to dinner sometime. You know, just to catch up.”

“…Yeah…yeah, I’d like that,” Warren agreed. He and his wife didn’t end their relationship on good terms, but they always put aside their personal hang ups when they were with their kids. “I’ll call her and see if we can set something up.”

“Cool,” said Terry. Satisfied, Terry started to walk out.

“Terry, wait!” Warren suddenly shouted.

“Yeah?” asked Terry, leaning his head back into the office.

There were so many things Warren wanted to say to his son. For a moment, he even considered giving the chip to his son for safe keeping, knowing Powers would come looking for it. But doing that would mean getting Terry involved in this mess, and Warren didn’t want to put him in danger. So instead, the best he could managed was:

“Stay safe…,” he finished lamely.

“When am I not?” said Terry jokingly.

Warren sighed heavily as he listened to the front door slam shut. He took the chip out and tucked in the back of the photo of him and his family, before the divorce. Symbolic, he supposed.

Meanwhile, Terry stepped out onto the street and started making his way towards the maglev rail, texting his friends and telling them he was on his way. He didn’t notice the suspicious blue car parking out front of his house, or the monolithic man stepping out. He didn’t have a chance to because someone grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him into the alley.

Terry landed on a pile of garbage cans with a reverberating clang. Why were there even garbage cans anymore, he wondered briefly. There was an automated tube system that took trash from people’s houses straight to the dump. Terry groaned, holding his side, and looked up at his assailant. Or Assailants, would be the better word for it.

A group of four large men in white business suits surrounded him, cracking their knuckles and punching their palms to intimidate him. It worked, for the most part. But he couldn’t see their faces because they were hidden behind black wooden skull masks. The alarms in Terry’s heads went off like a warning siren.

The False Facers – Black Mask’s goon squad.

Oh slag, thought Terry.

“Mr. McGinnis,” said one of the large men, his voice muffled by the mask. “The Black Mask would like a word with you.”

Normally, this would be the part where Terry would make a joke to deflect. He didn’t get the opportunity before one man punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Two more men held him up by the arms and carried him away, his feet dragging on the concrete –

Harper checked her phone again for the third time in the past ten minutes, reclining back into her seat while nursing her drink. Club 52 wasn’t exactly her scene – the music was always trash, the flashing lights were obnoxious, and the people were just plain awful. The only reasons she even bothered coming was, for all its faults, it had the best damn nachos in the city. That made it totally worth it.

Duke, on the other hand, thought his time was better used for more academic pursuits

“You’re seriously doing your homework now?” said Harper in disbelief, looking at the piles of papers scattered across the table. “You do realize that we’re supposed to be hanging out together, right? Letting off some steam for the weekend?”

“I’m finishing it now so I don’t have to do it later,” Duke countered, his pencil practically flying across the papers. “Not all of us were born with a genius IQ.”

“You should try it sometime,” said Harper cockily. “It’s mega shway.”

“Hey, Harper! Hey, Duke!” Dana Tann walked over to their table, appropriately dressed for the club scene, as opposed to Duke and Harper, who were in their casual wear. “I thought that was you.”

“Dana, what’s up?” Duke greeted politely.

“Didn’t think a preppy girl like you would be interested in the club scene,” said Harper, noting her outfit.

“One, I’m not ‘preppy,’” said Dana, crossing her arms. “And two, Chelsea dragged me here. Wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed. Say, is…Terry with you?” she added, looking around quickly.

Duke and Harper exchanged amused smirks.

“Terry, huh?” said Duke in a teasing tone.

“It’s not like that,” said Dana, sensing where they were going with this. “He’s just…an old friend, you know? Haven’t talked much since he got out of Juvie.”

“No thanks to your so-called friend,” said Harper pointedly.

“Chelsea means well, honest,” Dana excused. “So, is Terry here or not.”

“He was supposed to have been here by now,” Harper frowned, checking her phone again. “He texted me half an hour ago saying he was on his way. Where the hell is he…?”

The False Facers dragged Terry all the way down to Old Gotham – the section of the city that had been buried underneath the new, shinier levels of Neo Gotham. Terry didn’t fight back – he wasn’t in a good position to escape when he had four huge men surrounding him from all sides. If his time in Juvie had taught him anything, it’s to wait for an opening and pounce the second he saw it. Once these goons let their guard down, he was booking it.

They carried him down the fragmented streets, past the long rows of derelict buildings that might have been grand once upon a time. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of people peeking through the broken windows in curiosity. They were always thin and covered in dirty.

The Forgotten. People who couldn’t live in Neo Gotham either due to a lack of finances, horrible disfigurement, untreatable disease, or simply because no one wanted them. Terry knew he was fortunate to have a scientist for a father and didn’t take his current lifestyle for granted. Not after seeing these people.

The False Facers dragged him past what looked like an old, rundown theater into an alleyway behind it. As they walked though, Terry caught a glimpse of the crooked sign on the corner. It looked like the original name had been scratched out and replaced with bright red spray paint that somehow didn’t fade even after so many years.

CRIME ALLEY

The alley was remarkably tidier than the rest of Old Gotham, almost like someone had preserved it. But that was the least of Terry’s worries as they rounded the corner.

Two more goons in white business suits were waiting for them, flanking their leader. Unlike her men, the Black Mask was a few inches shorter than Terry and a head shorter than her goons, but that didn’t make her any less terrifying. Her face was concealed by a thick black skull mask that was made of metal instead of wood and her dirty blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail. (*)

The False Facers threw Terry to the ground on his hands and knees at Black Mask’s feet. Terry tried not to get up too quickly, raising his head to meet the woman’s eyes. She had her hands folded behind her back and exuded the air of someone in the middle of a business deal.

“Mr. McGinnis, so glad you could make it,” said Black Mask in a would-be friendly tone.

“Not like I had a choice,” said Terry, slowly – cautiously – rising to his feet.

“I apologize for my boys,” said Black Mask in a faux apology. “They can be a little…excitable. But since you’re hear now, we can get straight to business.”

“Look, if this is about the money, I can get it later,” said Terry. “I just need a little time – “

“You need a little time?” Black Mask parroted, walking in a circle around Terry like a shark that smelled blood in the water. “Do you know how many people say they ‘need a little time?’ Quite a few. And very rarely do they ever uphold their promises. Sometimes in need to make an example of them – “ CLICK! Black Mask whipped out a pistol and pressed it to his right temple “- so that other clients don’t make the same mistake.”

“Look, you’re a businesswoman, right?” said Terry, trying to maintain a level of calm. “We can make a deal. I hear you like people who owe you favors.”

“I do like favors,” Black Mask admitted. Terry withheld a sigh as she removed the pistol from his skull and stepped away. “As it just so happens, I know a way for you to clear your debt.”

“That fast?” asked Terry suspiciously.

“I do research on all my clients, McGinnis,” said Black Mask, rounding to him. “During my investigation, I noticed that your father is a researcher at Wayne-Powers Enterprises.”

“Yeah…,” said Terry slowly. He didn’t like where this was going.

“There are…rumors circulating around Old Gotham that Wayne-Powers is developing a biological weapon,” said Black Mask.

“B.W.s have been illegal for forty years,” said Terry. “Not even military contractors are allowed to make them.”

“I see you did your homework,” said Black Mask, chuckling. “Yes, ever since the Stagg Act of 2015 went into effect, it was made illegal for anyone in the US. Which makes me curious to see if any of the rumors were true. Because if they are, acquiring the B.W. would make for a very lucrative business opportunity.”

“You want me to break into my dad’s work so you can sell a B.W. for the highest bidder?” Terry scoffed. “If you think that’s happening, you might want to get that mask adjusted.”

Black Mask let out a deep, exasperated sigh, shaking her head, and said, “Such a waste. Guess we’re going to have to pay off your debt the old fashioned way. Boys!”

Their leader took a step back as the False Facer moved in on Terry. The young street punk looked back and forth between the white-suited goons, looking for a way out. Let’s see…narrow space, high walls, goons blocking both ends of the street. Yeah, no exit. Looks like he’ll have to make his own.

One of the masked thugs marched up to Terry and took a heavy swing for his head. Terry leaned out of the way, then countered with his own punch across the goon’s jaw. Not very practical since they were wearing wooden masks, but it did knock him off balance. Terry rounded with another punch to the other side, then kneed him in the abdomen, making the goon double over. Terry then grabbed the man’s arm and tossed him over his shoulder. The goon yelped as he was sent soaring down the alleyway, landing face down at Black Mask’s feet.

Black Mask looked down at her goon, then glared at Terry. She snapped her fingers again.

One goon charged straight at him like a rampaging bull. Terry stepped aside and pushed him from behind, sending him face planting into the brick wall. He ducked underneath a third goon’s swinging fist and uppercut his chin, making the man stumble. Before Terry could follow-up, another masked thug pulled him into a bear hug from behind.

The man Terry had uppercut growled in annoyance, then lunged forward and threw a punch at his stomach. Terry bended himself upwards, letting the fist fly into the man’s stomach, who unconsciously released Terry after getting the wind knocked out of him. Terry wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and flipped him over his shoulder into the goon in front of him, throwing them down into a pile on the ground.

Terry was doing well so far, but his luck was about to run out –

BANG!

Terry flinched as a bullet rocketed past his face, only narrowly missing his ear and hitting the wall behind him. He followed the source of the shot back to Black Mask, who was holding a smoking pistol at him.

Terry stared at the gangster, ready to move out of the way of the next shot, when two goons came up from behind and restrained his arms. As Terry struggled to break loose, a third goon punched him across the face. Followed by a second. Then a third. Then a knuckle to the stomach. Over and over, the thug beat Terry senseless until he could taste blood in his mouth –

“Hold it!” Black Mask commanded.

The goon immediately stopped and stepped aside. Black Mask walked up him, grabbing Terry by the chin and forcing him to look at her. He had a split lip, the right side of his face was starting to swell, the markings of a black eye were there, and Black Mask imaged there might be a loose tooth or two. Terry had seen better days.

“Last chance, McGinnis,” said Black Mask threateningly. “You going to help us or not?”

Terry glared, then spat some blood on the cheek of her mask. The goons moved forward to resume his beating, but Black Mask held up her hand. She retrieved a dainty handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her mask clean, then folded it and passed it off to one of her men.

“I like you, McGinnis,” said Black Mask, pointing her pistol at his forehead. “You have a fire in you. Too bad you never learned respect.”

“Respect is earned, not given.”

Black Mask turned slowly towards the end of the alleyway, as did everyone else. They heard the clatter of a cane hitting against the ground before they actually saw it. The one using it was a grizzled old man with a slight hunch in his posture. Despite pushing what seemed to be seventy years, he was still large and surprisingly well-built.

To Terry’s surprise, Black Mask actually holstered her pistol and walked over to meet him halfway.

“What are you doing here, Matches?” asked Black Mask.

“I was taking a stroll through the old neighbor when I heard a commotion,” said Matches in a nonchalant. “Given my profession, I was naturally curious.” He leaned around and looked at Terry. “Is there a problem?”

“The kid owes us some serious creds,” said Black Mask in a strangely respectful tone, like a granddaughter speaking grandfather. “We’re collecting.”

“I see,” said Matches, tapping his cane musingly. “I don’t suppose there’s any reason you could let him go? He seems like a nice young man.”

“He owes me fifty thousand credits,” stated Black Mask.

Matches whistled impressively, and said, “That’s a lot of cash…. Well, what if I were to offer you something just as valuable. Then would you let him go?”

“…It depends on what it is,” said Black Mask thoughtfully.

“The same as always: information,” said Matches. He reached until his pocket and pulled out a folded note, offering it to Black Mask. “As if just so happens, I found out where Animal Kingdom is manufacturing their splicing technology. If their supply was wiped out, that would mean less slicers on the streets, which would hurt the Animal Kingdom’s numbers.”

Black Mask told the note, read inside, and considered it for a moment. After a few seconds of silence, she folded the paper back up and tucked it into her pocket. She rounded to Terry and said, “You must have a guardian angel, McGinnis. Boys, we’re leaving!”

Black Mask snapped her fingers again and the False Facers dropped Terry unceremoniously on the ground. Terry picked himself up with a pained groan as the False Facers fled the alley. He winced and held his ribs. Yeah, they were probably broken – or at least cracked. The old man – Matches – walked over and offered his hand.

“Thanks,” said Terry gratefully, accepting the hand. “You really save my butt, Mr….”

“Malone,” Matches introduced himself. “Matthew Malone. But everyone calls me Matches.”

“Terry McGinnis,” said Terry, shaking Matches’ hand. “That was pretty schway, the way you got Black Mask to back off like that without throwing a single punch.”

“I’ve had a long career of dealing with low lives like her,” said Matches. “The people may change, but their kind are always the same.”

“Yeah, they can be a – AUGH!” Terry winced, dropping to one knee, holding his side.

“You okay, kid?” asked Matches.

“Yeah, they just…,” Terry winced again, standing back up, “got a few lucky shots.”

“You’re in no condition to go home,” said Matches in a voice that left no room for argument. “My office is nearby. We can patch you up there.”

“Office” was not the word Terry would’ve used. It was a three-floor building that was in slightly better shape than the rest of the buildings around it. Mostly because it still had its windows intact. There was a small sign hanging lopsided on the wall next to the door that read “Malone Detective Agency” in bold letters.

“You’re a detective?” asked Terry, noticing the sign as they walked up the front steps.

“One of the best,” Matches smiled like he knew some inside joke.

“And you’re selling info to Black Mask?” said Terry questionably.

“Her, most of the gangs in Gotham, and the GCPD,” said Matches. “The difference is that while I give criminals information to destroy each other, I give the GCPD to locations of their gun stashes, their drug labs, the secret meetings – “

“Smart,” Terry complimented.

Matches smirked and opened the front door, letting Terry inside. He had barely closed the door behind them when a large black Great Dane came pouncing down the staircase. He got one look at Terry and immediately started snarling and barking.

“Down, Ace, he’s okay,” said Matches, waving his walking stick at the dog. Ace the Hound immediately stopped barking and perked up, his tail wagging against the wooden floorboards.

“Nice dog,” said Terry.

“Not really,” said Matches.

“Matt, is that you?”

This time it was a woman who came bounding down the stairs two steps at a time. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, her hair a mop of short, shaggy brown, and her sleeveless shirt showed off the toned muscles underneath her tanned skin, meaning she was not someone Terry should mess with.

“Where the hell were you?” the woman chastised the old man. “Commissioner Bard called about that case we were running with the Wonderland Gang’s new leader – oh, who’s this?” she looked at Terry, only just noticing he was there. “Another stray?”

“Not quite,” said Matches. Once again, it looked like they were sharing a joke only they knew. “This is Terry McGinnis. Terry, this is my assistant, Julia Pennyworth. She’s a…family friend.”

“Nice to meet you, Terry,” said Julia, offering her hand.

“Nice to – OW!” Terry tried to reach for her hand, but winced instead.

“Oi, what’s wrong?” asked Julia, concerned as he held his side.

“He had a run in with the Black Mask,” Matches explained.

“Ah, say no more,” said Julia understandingly. She gingerly held his arm and directed him to through the first room on the left, which was a small den with a few comfy armchairs and a surprising number of bookshelves. “Here, take a load off.”

“Thanks,” said Terry gratefully, sighing in relief as he sank into the chair.

“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” said Julia.

“And I’ll get an ice packet to do something about that swelling,” said Matches.

Terry offered his gratitude again before the pair left the den.

Now that he was alone, Terry took a look around the place. It was a lot fancier on the inside than it was on the outside. Besides the armchairs – which were super comfy by the way – there was a small table with a chessboard; it looked like they were still in the middle of a match. An old-fashioned oil painting hang above the wall, depicting a man and a women with their hands on a small boy’s shoulders. Was that Matches’ family, Terry wondered. There were four bookshelves that lined the back end of the wall, each of them filled to the brim with books of every variety –

That's when Terry noticed something off. One of the bookcases was slightly more forward than the others. He leaned in his chair and noticed that there were also scratch marks on the floorboards, like something heavy had been moved repeatedly.

Terry looked at the doorway to make sure that Matches and Julia weren’t coming back. Then he got out of his chair and walked over to the bookshelf. He knew he shouldn’t touch their stuff since he was a guest, but he was just too curious not to.

Based on the grooves in the floor, Terry assumed that the bookshelf must swing out. He gripped the edges and pulled, the wood making a harsh grinding noise. Terry’s jaw dropped when he found a elevator door hidden behind it.

“Wow, Scooby-Doo moment,” Terry muttered to himself.

He pressed the call button and the doors opened with a ding. He stepped inside and looked at the panel as the doors closed. There were four buttons: G, B1, B2, B3. Terry pressed B1 and felt the elevator move. The ride only lasted a few seconds before the elevator dinged again and the doors opened. Terry stepped inside, blinking in befuddlement at what he saw.

“Holy shit…,” Terry breathed.

It looked like he had stepped inside a secret underground bunker decked out with all kinds of expensive equipment Terry couldn’t imagine Matches having the money for. Directly across from him was a high-tech computer system with six monitors, all of them working on something different. There was a workbench where someone was in the middle of developing some strange gadget that required a lot of wire rope. Next to it was a wall of similar gadgets, all of them coated black with red accents. On Terry’s left was a raised platform made of white tiles. Terry recognized them as AR projectors – augmented reality devices that can create hard-light constructs like the ones used in the Arcades.

But what took Terry’s breath away was the cylindrical display case nestled in the corner of the bunker. Behind the glass with a tall, all-black bodysuit (surprisingly around Terry’s height) with a silver belt, spikes on the arms, and two pointed ears poking up from the head. But the most important detail was on the suit’s chest –

A red bat symbol.

“Batman…,” Terry murmured softly.

He reached out to touch the glass…then suddenly found his arm being twisted behind his back.

“How did you get in here?” Julia roared, threatening to pop his shoulder. “Well?”

“I – I saw the bookcase was open and – “ Terry sputtered, hissing in pain.

“That’s enough, Julia!”

Matches stepped out of the elevator with Ace loyally by his side. He was holding an ice pack. Julia gave Terry a suspicious look before reluctantly releasing him. Matches hobbled over and gave Terry the ice pack.

“Keep pressing until the swelling goes down,” said Matches.

“Thanks…,” said Terry, holding the ice pack to his face in a daze.

“I’m sure you’ve already figured out who I am,” said Matches with a neutral expression. “After seeing all this.”

“You’re him…,” Terry murmured in disbelief. “You’re Bruce Wayne…you’re Batman!”

“Was Batman,” the man known as Bruce Wayne stressed, walking over to the Batsuit. “Not anymore. The Batman died forty years ago.”

“So it’s true?” asked Terry. “All those stories about…fright guy – “

“Scarecrow,” Julia corrected. “Geez, you’d think the guy who exposed Batman would be remembered. Almost feel bad for Crane. Almost.”

“With my identity exposed, I couldn’t go back to being Batman,” said Bruce. “To protect my friends and allies, I had to fake my death. I’ve been living exclusively as Matches Malone for the last forty years. The Batman…is gone.”

“Except he isn’t,” said Terry pointedly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have built all this stuff….”

Bruce silently stared at the display case for a long moment, then said, “Julia will patch you up and give you a ride home. After that, I don’t want to see you here again….”

Terry said nothing, silently staring at the old man who suddenly seemed smaller than he was. It wasn’t until Julia shoved him into the elevator that Terry snapped out of his daze.

Terry’s mind was still reeling as he rode passenger in Julia’s car, taking the exit ramp into Neo Gotham.

After the woman had patched him up, she all but kicked him out of the house and into her car. She was pissed. She was clearly protective of the old man. She didn’t speak to Terry the entire time except to ask what his address was. That was fine. Terry was content to stare out the window, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had a random encounter with Gotham’s Dark Knight.

“You realize you can’t tell anyone what you saw, right?” Julia finally spoke up as they entered Terry’s neighborhood.

“Even if I did, nobody would believe me,” said Terry.

“I’m serious,” said Julia. “The old man has been through a lot. And I don’t mean the whole ‘secret identity exposed’ thing. He’s given so much to Gotham without asking for anything in return. He deserves to rest.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s doing much resting,” Terry commented.

“He’s always been like that,” said Julia, sighing in annoyance as they turned down Terry’s street. “Grandpa Alfie said he’s always been stubborn….” She suddenly trailed off, stopping the car, and peering through the windshield. “Is that your house?”

Terry looked, too. There were several GCPD police cars parked out front of the McGinnis household along with an ambulance. All their neighbors were outside, clamming behind the yellow tape, some of them even whipping out their phones to record.

“Oh no,” Terry mumbled, fear bubbling in his stomach.

Terry practically kicked the door open and ran up to his house. Julia exited the car more slowly, apprehension visible on her expression. Terry shoved his way through the crowd and ducked under the police line, only to be stopped by two police officers.

“Hey, kid, stay behind the line!” shouted one of the officers, trying to push him back.

“You don’t understand, my dad is in there!” yelled Terry, trying to throw them off.

“I said stay behind the line!” the officer shouted heatedly. He reached for his belt when –

“Stand down, men!” Ethen Bennet arrived just in the nick of time. “He’s with me.” The officers glared at Terry, then walked away with annoyed grumbles. Ethen stepped forward and touched Terry’s shoulder with concern. “Terry, are you all right? What happened to your face?”

“I’m fine,” said Terry, brushing his hand away. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“Jokerz,” Ethen answered simply. “They ransacked your house – tore through the whole place and tagged it. We think they might’ve been looking for you.”

“Where’s dad?” asked Terry worriedly. When Ethen lowered his gaze and didn’t respond, Terry’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. “No…oh god, no….”

Ethen didn’t try to stop him as Terry rush blindly into the building.

Julia stood on the edge of the crowd, closing her eyes in sympathy as she watched him run inside, knowing what he was going to find. She turned away as his anguished cries carried through the night.

Another good man was taken by Gotham.

Chapter Text

“ - McGinnis leaves behind two sons seen here with his former wife, Mary,” said Gotham News Anchor Kim, displaying a picture of Terry, his little brother, and mother huddled together in front of his father’s gravestone. “Among the mourners was McGinnis’s employer, Derek Powers.”

“Warren was a good friend and a valuable employee to Wayne-Powers enterprises,” said Derek Powers, waving his fist with righteous fury. “And I pledge to use whatever influence I have to see that these…creatures pay for their heinous act.”

“The street gang known as the Jokerz,” Kim continued, “modeling themselves after Gotham’s own clown prince of crime, has been known for vandal acts such as destruction of public and private property, street fighting, racketeering, drug dealing, and theft. But this is the first recorded instance of murder. Could this be the beginning of the Jokerz rise to emulate their namesake?

“The detective in charge of the investigation, Ethan Bennet, has refused to comment, but local Hamilton Hill High students say that this incident may have something to do with Warren McGinnis’s oldest son, Terrance McGinnis.” Terry’s high school photo appeared on the screen. “According to eyewitnesses, young McGinnis had an altercation with a group of Jokerz earlier that same day. Is there a connection, or is it just coincidence?

“In other news, Gotham rolled out the red carpet for the Vlatava Minister of Commerce, István Kornai. Mr. Kornai will be here to take part in the world trade conference – “

Terry threw his empty water bottle at the screen, which really didn’t do much good since it was a floating hologram.

It had been two days since Terry went home and discovered his dad was dead, but the actual ceremony didn’t take place until today.

Terry had been with his mother and little brother the whole time, holding them when they needed a shoulder to cry on while trying to stay strong himself. Harper and Duke had turned up to support Terry, giving him a chance to grieve properly when no one else was looking. Even Dana had attended, but she hadn’t approached Terry during before or after the ceremony, afraid to get too close to him, almost like he would break if she did. The somber mood was soured when Derek Powers showed up and started giving some bullshit speech about how much he valued Warren and how he would be dearly missed. Most of the mourners ate it up, but Terry didn’t believe a single word that came out of that snake’s mouth. Neither did Duke or Harper.

And now here he was, sitting on a bench between Duke and Harper in the middle of Gotham Park, his tie hanging loosely over his shoulder and his coat thrown over the back. For the past twenty minutes, he had been staring intently at the statue of Batman in the heart of the park.

The sensible part knew that there was nothing Bruce Wayne could’ve done to prevent his dad’s death, but the angry part blamed Batman for hanging up the cowl in the first place, which led to Warren getting killed. Yeah, he knew it was illogical, but it felt better to blame the old man than himself.

Terry pushed these thoughts away when he felt a hand on his left shoulder, turning his head to see Harper’s concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” said Terry in a hollow voice.

“No, you’re not fine,” said Harper firmly. “Your dad just died. You have every right to be upset.”

“Harper’s right, man,” said Duke.

“I’m not upset. I’m just…trying to understand how this happened,” Terry exhaled a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. “It just…it doesn’t make any sense. Me and Terminal always had our issues, but he never actually killed anyone. Why now? What did I do that would make him go that far?”

“You don’t know it was Terminal – “ Duke started.

“Who else could it have been!” Terry snapped, making Duke jump. “Terminal’s the only one who has issues with me. The only one who would’ve know where I lived. I just…don’t get it….”

He trailed off pitifully, staring blankly at the ground. Harper and Duke leaned behind him, silently communicating. Harper gestured his head to their friend, wordlessly asking Duke to say something – anything – that would make Terry feel better. Duke panicked and looked like he would rather fight the Jokerz himself. Harper shot him a glowering leer that said Duke didn’t have a choice in the matter. Duke grimaced and leaned forward, glancing sideways at Terry.

“So…where are your mom and Matt?” he asked anxiously.

“They went home earlier. I stayed behind; needed to get some air,” said Terry in a hollow voice. Duke and Harper leaned back and silently communicated again until Terry pounded his fist on his knee in frustration. “Slag it, I should’ve been there! I could’ve helped him! I could’ve done something!”

“You had your own problems, man,” said Harper. “You got kidnapped by the False Facers and almost took a bullet between the eyes. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I could’ve stayed home instead of going out – “

“Then you’d have the False Facers and the Jokerz on your doorstep,” said Duke. “They were already coming for you. At least you made it out alive thanks to that old guy. Uh…what was his name, again?”

“Malone,” said Terry. “Matches Malone.”

“Did someone say my name?”

Terry popped his head up in surprise. He was not expecting to see Bruce Wayne – that is, Matches Malone – to come walking down the park path. Ace the bloodthirsty Bat-Hound was thankfully leashed, though it didn’t seem like that would stop him from ripping Terry’s face off if he wanted to. Julia the Bodyguard was standing just behind him and Terry’s arm felt sore when remembering the last time they met.

Terry shot to his feet and stuttered, “Mr. Wa – Uh, Malone! What’re you doing here?”

“I came to offer my condolences,” said Bruce, stopping next to the bench. “After Julia dropped you off at your house, she told me what happened. I know what it’s like to lose family.”

“Yeah, I guess you would,” said Terry.

Even after over sixty years, the Wayne murders were still a famous history topic, especially when Batman and Bruce Wayne was brought up.

“So you’re this Matches Malone guy that saved Terry’s ass last night,” Harper chimed in as she and Duke stood up. “Was kind of expecting some Grey Ghost or Question type character by the way he talked about you.”

“He’s been talking about me, has he?” asked Bruce, shooting a look at Terry. “Good things, I hope.”

“Only that you’re some big shot detective in Old Gotham,” said Duke. “And that you saved him from getting popped by the Black Mask.”

“I see…,” Bruce hummed. “Mr. McGinnis, would you mind if we talk in private, maybe take a little walk around the park? And old man like myself could use the exercise.”

“Uh, sure,” said Terry awkwardly. He rounded to his friends and told them, “I see you guys at school.”

“Yeah, catch you later, Ter,” Duke waved him off.

“If you need anything, call us,” said Harper firmly.

“I will, thanks,” said Terry.

With that, Duke and Harper walked off.

“You sure you don’t need me?” Julia asked Bruce, concern apparent in her eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Julia,” said Bruce, patting her arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you follow up with some of our contacts on the Wonderland Gang case? I want to know more about this…Alice, and how she rose to power so quickly.”

Julia looked like she wanted to argue, but kept her mouth shut. She shot a sideways glance toward Terry, as if warning him that she would do bodily harm if anything happened to the old man. Terry held his hands up in surrender. Satisfied that her threat was understood, Julia walked away in one direction while Bruce and Terry went the other.

Terry tucked his hands into his pockets and followed the old man silently as they walked the path around the pond. The old man didn’t say anything to him for the first twenty minutes, mostly because he was greeted by other dog walkers and regular pedestrians that knew him. Seems that Bruce – or more specifically, Matches Malone – was a well-known figure around these parts. A couple people even stopped to thank him for his help. Terry should’ve known that even after hanging up the cape, Bruce Wayne was still a hero.

They were walking around the bend when the old man finally talked to him.

“I really am sorry for your loss,” said Bruce sincerely. “I read up on your father. He seemed like a good man.”

“He had his faults, but he did the best he could,” said Terry sadly. “And it’s my fault he’s….”

“What makes you think it was your fault?” asked Bruce.

“Because Terminal and his gang came looking for me for revenge,” said Terry, gritting his teeth in frustration. “And when they didn’t find me, they took it out on my dad instead! The dregs!”

“It certainly looks that way,” Bruce hummed mildly. “Then again, things might not be as they appear.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Terry.

“I read the report from the officer in charge,” said Bruce. “Ethen Bennett. A good cop. One of the few since Jim Gordon. He made an interest note in his report.”

“How did you get the police report?” asked Terry. Bruce just gave him a meaningful stare. “Right, forgot who I was talking to. So, what’d he say?”

“He thinks the Jokerz aren’t the ones responsible for your father’s murder,” said Bruce. “And I have to agree with him.”

“What?” Terry shouted, outraged. “How could it not be Terminal as his goons? There was evidence all over the place!”

“Exactly – it’s too obvious,” said Bruce. “I’ve done a complete background of all the Jokerz, even their psychological profiles, and not one of them has nerve the actually kill someone. When it comes down to it, they’re just a bunch of street hooligans.”

“No, it had to be them,” said Terry defiantly. “Who else could it have been?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Bruce grimly. “When I have sufficient evidence – “

“Screw evidence!” Terry yelled in Bruce’s face. The only man took it in stride. “Those dregs need to pay!”

“Terry – “

“Those clowns killed my dad!” Terry continued to shout. “You got to do something! You’re….” He lowered his voice, consciously aware that other people might be listening in. “You’re Batman….”

“I was Batman,” said Bruce sympathetically. “Believe me, Terry, no one understands what you’re going through better than I do. But you can’t let yourself be blinded by revenge. Someone always ends up paying the price for it.”

“I bet you’re speaking from personal experience, huh?” said Terry, glaring at the old man.

“I am,” Bruce confirmed.

“So that it?” Terry scoffed. “You’re just gonna sit back and do nothing?”

“I’ll continue tracking leads until I found out who’s responsible for this,” said Bruce, resting a reassuring hand on the angry teenager’s shoulder. “All I’m asking is to give me a little more time.”

Terry said nothing, just silently glaring at the old man. He shrugged off Bruce’s hand, turned on his heel and walked away with an angry kick in his step. Bruce didn’t stop him or called him back. Even if he did, Terry wouldn’t have listened to him. The knowledge that Gotham’s own Dark Knight wasn’t lifting a finger to punish these monsters was a step too far this time.

“Screw you, old man,” Terry muttered. “If you’re not going to do anything, I will. Now, if I were Terminal, where would I be….”

Terry tried bullying his brain into remembering any little detail he knew about Terminal and his gang of Jokerz. But the truth was, he knew very little.

Terminal was once a model student at Hamilton Hill High until one day he snapped, dropped out of school, and joined the Jokerz where he quickly rose to be one of the faction leaders. Deirdre and Delia Dennis were friends with him since kindergarten, but they fell out of touch when Terry started hanging out with Charlie “Big Time” Bigelow. In was ironic that they all fell in with a bad group, but only Terry chose to get out. He didn’t know any of their hangs outs, and it was unlikely anyone was going to tell him.

Terry was about to give up when he remembered something her overhear a few days prior, just before he confronted Terminal.

“Shh, shh, it’s gonna be okay,” Terminal murmured like he was speaking to an infant. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you…as long as you get us into you get us your dad’s access card.”

“W-Why do you want it?” Duela trembled.

“Uh, duh, to get into the bank,” said Chucko. “This dumb bitch can’t even figure that out – “

They wanted to get into a bank. A bank that Duela Dent’s father worked at. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.

“Watch out, drags, I’m coming for you,” Terry swore.

“What do you mean you haven’t found the chip?” Derek Powers shouted, slamming his fist on his desk.

He had come back to his office a couple hours after attending Warren McGinnis’ funeral, playing the role of the mourning employer, expecting his bodyguard to have good news. Instead, the goliath just stood across from his employer with a scowl and an empty hand.

“I searched through his son’s belongings while they were at the service,” said Butchinsky. “I don't think McGinnis passed it off to his son.”

“Well, it has to be somewhere!” shouted Powers, rising from his chair. “If the data on that chip were to leak to the press, it could undo years of blackmail, bribery, and favors!”

“I understand, Mr. Powers,” said Butchinsky. “But where should we look if it’s not with the boy?”

“I don’t care!” Powers roared impatiently. “Just find it!”

That wasn’t very helpful in Butchinsky’s personal opinion, but he wasn’t in the business of questioning the man who signed his paycheck. After Butchinsky silently left the office, Powers sat down again, exhaling an exasperated sigh while massaging his temple, fighting off the imminent migraine. A few moments of thoughtfully silence passed before he pressed the intercom on his desk.

“Miss Winston, please call Minister Kornai,” Powers requested. “Tell him we need to move up the schedule….”

“Did you find anything?” Bruce asked immediately after he and Ace rejoined Julia at the corner of their street.

“Hello to you, too,” said Julia sarcastically. She walked alongside the old man as they headed back to the house. “How’s the kid?”

“He’s angry and bullheaded,” said Bruce shortly.

“Not at all like someone I know,” said Julia humorously.

“I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid that could put himself and others in danger,” said Bruce, shaking his head. “Enough about that. What did you find in your investigation?"

“I wasn’t able to find much personally her,” answered Julia, pulling out an old fashioned notepad. “But this ‘Alice’ woman is making some major changes to the Wonderland Gang since she bumped off the Caterpillar. The number of henchmen has not only doubled, but she’s completely dismissed the old inner circle. The Walrus, the Lion, the Unicorn, Mock Turtle – all kicked to the curb.”

“Are they – ?”

“No, they’re still alive, but they're out of the gang,” Julia interrupted. “Apparently she’s gone replaced them with her own inner circle. Rumor has it that one of them is a Splicer.”

“Whoever she is, she’s as dangerous as she is smart,” said Bruce. “We’ll have to be cautious from here on out.”

They climbed the steps of their home and Julia took out her set of keys as she reached for the handle of the front door. She suddenly stopped moving, which caught Bruce’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” asked Bruce suspiciously.

“It’s open,” said Julia, brushing her finger over the lock, which had several small scratches. “Someone jimmied the lock.”

Bruce gripped his cane like he was prepared to beat someone over the head with it (which he probably was.) Ace sensed his master’s hostility and snarled viciously. Julia pulled out her own weapon of choice – a collapsible baton – and pushed the door inward.

Ace bound inside first, followed by Julia, then Bruce. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the entryway. The Great Dane put his nose to the floor and started sniffing down the hallway. Julia swept right and disappeared into the dining room, then towards the kitchen. Bruce was the last to enter the house, hanging near the front door with a suspicious eye. He took a few steps forward and looked to his left into the den…where he noticed one of the bookshelves was out of place.

“No…he wouldn’t…,” Bruce murmured in disbelief as realization swept over him.

“Bruce?” Julia called out, but he ignored her and hobbled into the den.

He pushed the bookshelf aside and stepped inside the hidden elevator. He didn’t wait for Julia to join him and practically slammed the B1 button. He all but ran out when the doors opened and shambled over to the  display case where he kept the prototype Batsuit he had spent decades developing –

Only it wasn’t there. The case was empty and the door had been left open.

Bruce didn’t need to be the world’s greatest detective to know who was responsible.

“McGinnis…,” Bruce rumbled.

Duela whimpered, her eyes flying back and forth between her captors.

Terminal and his clown goons had personally gone to her home, waiting for her on the opposite side of the road so that she couldn’t run away. Not that she would – they would track her down just as easily. They were like an armed escort, dragging her along on the maglev to the Bowery. They took a long route through the backstreets, avoiding the public eye and the police, until they were in the back of the Gotham Merchant’s Bank.

As they were reaching the back door, Terminal raised his hand to stop them. He looked up, spotting the rotating security camera on the wall. Terminal snapped his fingers and ghoul stepped forward. The scarecrow lookalike reached inside his jack-o’-lantern bucket, pulling out a homemade cherry bomb. He ignited the fuse and tossed it at the camera, calculating the timing just perfectly so that it would explode next to the camera.

Terminal grinned smugly at the pile of smoldering parts on the ground and continued walking. Duela wanted to back out – these guys were crazy! – but the Dee-Dee Twins shoved her forward. The Jokerz gathered around the door and looked at Duela expectantly.

“You got the card?” Terminal asked Duela, crossing his arm intimidatingly.

“R-Right here,” Duela stuttered. She pulled out an electronic keycard from her pocket. Terminal snatched it from her hand and inserted it into the card reader, which flashed a green light and an accepting chime. He pulled the backdoor open and no alarms went off. “There, you got what you want. Can I go home now?”

“So you can run off to the cops?” Bonk growled, leaning over the smaller girl.

“Not a chance,” said Chucko, tapping his bat intimidatingly.

“You can go home after we finish,” said Terminal, leering at Duela. “And only if you swear not to say a word to anyone.”

“But – But there are camera’s inside,” Duela sputtered. “You can’t take them all out. If one of them sees me, my dad will – “

“Hey, hey, relax,” said Ghoul creepily, throwing his arm over Duela’s shoulder. His touch made her skin crawl. “We wouldn’t leave our good pal in a lurch like that.”

“We’ve got you covered, right, Dee-Dee?” asked Delia.

“That’s right, Dee-Dee,” Deirdre nodded.

Deirdre pulled out a small cardboard box that she had been carrying behind her back the whole time and handed it to Duela. Duela grimaced, afraid of what it might contained. Terminal gave her a silent look as if commanding her to open it and reluctantly did so. She was surprised to see that it wasn’t anything particularly dangerous. It was –

“A helmet?” said Duela curiously.

A red biker’s helmet to be more specific.

“Now no one’ll recognize you,” said Terminal. He took the helmet and jammed it on Duela’s head; it was a tight fit. “Heh, that’s a good look for you.”

“I can barely see…,” Duela groaned, her voice muffled. “And it’s hard to breathe….”

“Quit complaining,” said Chucko, shoving her from behind. “Now move.”

They shuffled inside the bank one-by-one, unaware of the shadowy figure looming from the rooftop above them –

The Jokerz and their reluctant accomplice strolled through the bank like they owned the place. The fact that there was no security detail guarding a high-profile bank was a major leap in logic, but Terminal wasn’t about to argue. Duela, on the other hand, was anxiously eyeing the cameras littered everywhere on the ceiling recording them, scared that someone might recognize her through her flimsy disguise.

They arrived at one of the teller stations behind the indestructible window, which was the reason why they need to swipe the access card in the first place. Terminal gestured with his head and Ghoul lurched forward, taking a seat behind the computer. He whipped out his phone, unfurling a long cord from the bottom, and jacked in to the computer’s base. A stream of data began to filter from his phone into the computer.

“How long will this take?” asked Terminal.

“Twenty minutes or less,” answered Ghoul. “Once I crack through the firewall, we’ll be as rich as Derek Powers.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” said Terminal, grinning. He turned back to the rest of his gang and said, “Start taking anything you think is valuable. These rich jackasses gotta have something worth stealing.”

The Jokerz laughed devilishly and spread out across the office, with the exception of Duela, who remained glued in place, too afraid to move.

She watched helplessly as the street thugs started tearing the place apart. Bonk was lifting desks over his head, shaking the contents out before throwing it aside. Chucko pulled out a big bag and started throwing everything inside – computers, desk lamps, penholders – you name it. The Dee-Dee Twins cartwheeled over to the cabinets, riffling through the files for any juicy info they could take, such as pin numbers and social security. And Woof…well, he was lugging around a plastic plant in his teeth.

Duela jumped and gasped as Terminal rested his arm across her shoulder.

“We’re almost done here,” Terminal reassured her. “Then you won’t hear another word from us. Promise. How’re things looking over there, Ghoul?” he asked the hacker.

“Halfway there,” said Ghoul giddily. “Just a couple more minutes and we’ll be rolling in – “

THWIP!

Ghoul let out a high-pitched shriek and fell backwards out of his chair. Something flew past his shoulder, smashing the computer monitor and causing it to spark. The Jokerz stopped their looting and looked around at the commotion. Terminal shoved Duela aside and approached the monitor, noticing something embedded in the cracked screen. It looked like some kind of throwing projectile…shaped like a bat.

Terminal spun around, estimating the trajectory of the throw, and noticed someone standing in the threshold of the door. The shadow’s concealed his identity, but his outline was someone at least his height and build, but had…long pointed ears.

“You wanna make a withdraw, come back during business hours,” said the shadow figure, his voice low and gravely.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” questioned Chucko, dropping his loot.

The figure stepped out of the shadows…and Terminal quirked his brow in confusion at what he saw. How do you expect to react to someone in a black bodysuit with exaggerated bat ears and a red bat logo on their chest.

“Your worst nightmare,” Batman growled.

There was a moment of silent pause where the Jokerz exchanged befuddled looks…then started laughing out loud. Batman glowered, clearly not amused.

“Is…Is this guy for real?” Chucko cackled.

“You think that getup’s supposed to scare us?” Ghoul laughed. “Who’re you supposed to be anyway?”

“I’m Batman,” said Batman gravely.

“And I’m Two-Face,” Terminal snorted. He snapped his fingers again. “Bonk, show this punk the way out. And be extra rough with him.”

Bonk punched his fist into his hand, grinning maniacally as he marched up to the new Dark Knight. Batman stood his ground, even as the pasty brute towered over him. Bonk reeled back his fist and swung a right hook at Batman’s head…which the Dark Knight effortlessly ducked under. Batman retaliated with an uppercut to Bonk’s chin, throwing the brute in the air and landing on a nearby desk, crushing it under his weight. Suddenly, the Jokerz weren’t laughing anymore.

Batman flexed his hand, testing it. Under normal circumstances, Terry could never have done that, but the suit came equipped neuro-muscular amplification that increased his natural strength by five times. And Terry was enjoying every moment of it.

Batman leaned over Bonk as the pasty brute groggily regained his senses, grabbing him by his overalls. He effortlessly lifted Bonk overhead and tossed him across the room like a sack of potatoes, slamming him into the wall, which cracked under Bonk’s weight. The bruiser collapse to the floor with a pained groan, then rounded to the rest of the Jokerz.

Everyone looked to Terminal, who seemed shocked as everyone else. Noticing that all eyes were now on him, he regained his composure and shouted, “Well, what’re you idiots waiting for? Slag him!”

Everyone immediately dropped what they were doing and charged the new Dark Knight. The exception was Duela, who crouched behind a desk, peeking over the top to watch.

Chucko took a swing at Batman with his wooden bat, which the Dark Knight effortlessly blocked with his forearm. He ripped the bat out of Chucko’s hands and broke it over his knee, discarding the useless wooden pieces. For some reason, Chucko thought he still had a chance and threw a punch at Batman’s face. Batman easily leaned out of the way and returned a punch of his own that sent Chucko flying into the filing cabinets.

Batman lunged forward to meet Ghoul halfway, blocking an upward swing with his pumpkin bucket. The bucket was surprisingly heavy and rattling with all kinds of unseen content, but Batman slapped it out of his hand and punched Ghoul in the gut. The Halloween reject doubled over with a wheezing gasp, giving Batman the chance to pick him up by the back of his shirt and throw Ghoul across the room. Chucko had just been getting up, rubbing his pounding head with a groan, when Ghoul landed on top of him.

Batman turned his attention to Terminal, who had started backing away in fear, when he was suddenly tackled from the side. The Dark Knight landed on top of a desk when Woof climbed on top of him, spitting and snarling like a rabid animal. Batman pressed his forearm into Woof’s throat, keeping the Splicer from biting his face. With his free hand, Batman reached for his belt, having memorized the contents on the way here, and pulled out a smoke pellet. He jammed the pellet into Woof’s mouth and forced him to bite down on it, causing the pellet to explode. The Splicer whimpered and peeled off, rolling on the ground while black smoke plumed out of his jaws.

Batman stood up and brushed himself off when he noticed the Dee-Dee Twins climb on the desks on either side of him. The ragdoll girls jumped at the Dark Knight with simultaneous flying kicks like they were in a kung fu movie…. Batman casually stepped back and watched the twins kick each other in the face and crumple to the ground with mutual pained groaned.

“That wasn’t very smart, Dee-Dee,” Delia groaned.

“No, it wasn’t, Dee-Dee,” Deirdre moaned.

“Worthless…all of you…,” Terminal sneered.

With the henchmen out of the way, that only left Terminal and the helmet-wearing girl. Since the latter was sniveling behind the desk, he saw no point in going after her. That just left –

Terminal was making a break for the exit. Batman scoffed; he had the nerve to order his lackeys to fight, but couldn’t bring himself to throw a punch. A real dreg if Terry ever saw one.

Batman easily crossed the room and caught up to Terminal in seconds, tackling him to the ground in record time. He grabbed the Jokerz leader by the collar, forcing him to his feet, and then threw Terminal into the nearest desk. Terminal had no chance to collect himself before Batman grabbed him by the head and slammed his face down – twice – causing his nose to bleed. But the Bat was far from done. He grabbed Terminal by the collar again and threw him into the teller window, watching him slump to the floor with a pained grimace.

Terminal gritted his teeth and glared at the Batman wannabe. The new Dark Knight leaned over Terminal, grabbing him by the collar, and then punched him in the face.

“All right, all right, I give, I give!” cried Terminal, holding his hands up in surrender. “What’s your deal, man?”

“I want answers!” Batman yelled. “Warren McGinnis! Why did you do it?”

“McGinnis? What does he have to do with – OOF!” Terminal grunted; Batman punched him in the face again.

“You killed Warren McGinnis!” Batman shouted, his voice rising with anger. “Was it to get back at his son?”

“We didn’t kill anybody – Ah! Son of a – stop that, you psycho!” Terminal cried after Batman punched him again.

“Liar! I saw the tag!” Batman snapped.

“Look, McGinnis and I had some beef, but we didn’t kill his old man!” Terminal claimed fearfully. “And think about it: why would we tell everyone that we bumped off McGinnis? That would just put a target on us! We had to put off this heist until tonight because the cops kept snooping around! I’m telling you, someone is framing us!”

Terry wanted so desperately to give his another punch in the face, but he couldn’t bring himself to. As much as he hated to admit it, Terminal was making sense. Besides the fact that the Jokerz never openly killed anybody before, it was illogical for them to announce that they were the ones who did it since it would bring the GCPD down on their heads.

Batman reaffirmed his grip on Terminal’s collar and asked, “All right, if you didn’t do it, who did?”

“How should I know?” said Terminal.

“You have to know something,” Batman growled, holding up his fist threateningly. “Talk, or I’ll make you talk – “

“McGinnis!” Batman flinched; a loud, angry voice was screaming in his ear. “McGinnis, where are you? Get out of that suit!”

“Old man…?” Batman muttered, looking around inquisitively. When he didn’t see Bruce physically, he touched the earpiece of his cowl. “Should’ve known. The cowl comes equipped with a built-in radio, doesn’t it?”

“Who’re you talking to?” asked Terminal, confused.

“Shut it, clown,” snapped Batman, kicking Terminal down. He turned to the side and press the earpiece again. “Now’s not the time, old man. I’m in the middle of something.”

“I can see that,” said Bruce.

“How can you – “

“The cowl also has visual and audio receivers,” Bruce explained. “Now I’m only going to say this once: bring the suit back – now!”

“I can’t do that,” Batman argued. “Someone killed my – someone killed Warren.” Terry corrected himself, aware that Terminal was listening. He didn’t need to know his identity and get his mom and brother in trouble. “I have to find out who did this and why.”

“Believe me, Terry, I understand more than you can ever know,” said Bruce, “But you’re only sixteen – you’re not trained for this. Being Batman is dangerous and could cost you your life.”

“I can’t just sit back and do nothing!” said Batman.

Terminal couldn’t tell if this “Batman” was crazy or not, yelling any someone who wasn’t there. The important thing was that he was distracted. Terminal reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pistol – an old-fashioned bullet-using pistol he stole from Old Gotham. He aimed the gun at Batman’s head.

What he didn’t realize was that Bruce Wayne was watching through the cowl’s lenses in his underground bunker. He stopped yelling at Terry when he noticed movement in the corner of the screen. Terry clearly didn’t see him – he was too distracted trying to argue his point.

“Terry, look out!”

Batman snapped his attention back on Terminal just as he was about to pull the trigger. He swung his fist around and slapped the pistol away just as it went off. Batman grabbed Terminal’s throat with one hand and his wrist with the other, twisting his hand until he dropped the gun.

“All right, punk, you just bought yourself a world of hurt!” Batman growled.

But before he could beat Terminal to within an inch of his life, a strangled gasp and choking noise caught Batman’s attention.

He looked to the side and angry gave way to horror. Duela had fallen to the ground holding her stomach, blood oozing between her fingers and pooling on the floor beside her.

“No…,” Batman breathed. He threw Terminal aside and rushed to Duela, pressing his hands on top of hers to stem the bleeding. “No, no, no, no, this isn’t happening.”

“I…I…I can’t…,” Duela gasped; she was crying in fear.

“Shush, stop talking,” said Batman soothingly. “I’ll fix this, I promise.”

Terminal, being the opportunist that he was, wasn’t going to waste this chance. He made a break for the door as his lackeys started picking themselves up, screaming, “Let’s get outta here!” The Jokerz weren’t going to argue. They booked it out the door one by one, not even looking back to see what became of their helmet-wearing comrade. A large part of Terry wanted to chase them down for answers, but a larger part told him to stay and help Duela.

“Terry, you need to get her to a hospital!” yelled Bruce. “Take her to Gotham General! It’s the closest to your position! I’ll call ahead and tell them to expect you!”

“Right!” Terry agreed, lifting Duela in his arms. The girl went limp in his arms; he hoped that just meant she passed out.

“And take off the suit before you get there,” Bruce instructed. “We can’t have Batman making he tabloids.”

“Right,” said Batman, using one hand to remove the cowl.

With Duela secured, Terry shouldered his way out the door and into the night –

When the next morning arrived, Terry was still at the hospital. He had called his mom and told her that a friend of his had been hurt and was staying at the hospital to support them, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Thankfully, she understood and now Terry had an excuse for why he was out so late. He didn’t need his mom asking questions on top of everything else.

Terry leaned against the window, peering into room 407 and its one occupant. Duela was lying on the bed inside, hooked up to a heart rate monitor, a breathing mask, and an IV drip. The red biker’s helmet she had worn was sitting on the table next to her.

Terry had been staring into that room for hours, hoping that Duela would eventually wake up, but she had thus far been unresponsive. The doctor’s weren’t looking too hopeful either. While the bullet had missed any vital organs, Duela had lost a significant amount of blood and would require a transfusion. Terry volunteered to donate, but apparently Duela had an extremely rare blood type and they weren’t compatible. There was also a lot of medical jargon thrown around that Terry didn’t understand, but layman version was that Duela’s chances were slim.

A chiming noise drew Terry’s attention towards the elevator. Bruce Wayne hobbled out with Julia marching rigidly by his side. Terry pushed off the window, looking down shamefully as the pair approached him.

“Where’s the suit?” Bruce asked immediately.

“In here,” said Terry, picking up his school bag off the ground and handing it to them. Julia snatched it away and peeked inside, then nodded to Bruce. “Look, I’m sorry for – OW!”

Bruce hit him with his cane.

“Do you have any idea how stupid and reckless that was?” Bruce yelled furiously, drawing a lot of unwanted attention from the hospital staff. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay?” Terry apologized.

“You’re lucky that girl isn’t dead because of you,” said Bruce, peering into the room as s nurse walked in to check her vitals.

“She might be soon enough,” said Terry remorsefully.

“What’s the situation?” asked Julia.

“She needs a transfusion,” Terry explained. “But her blood type is so rare, they’re not sure they can find a donor in time.” he screwed his brow and clenched his fist. “I know this is my fault, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to end up like this.”

“…Take it from someone with experience,” said Bruce somberly. “Vengeance has a way of clouding your mind, making your act irrationally. And more often than not, the people around you are the ones who pay the price.”

“I’m sorry…,” Terry murmured pathetically.

“I know,” said Bruce understandingly, patting Terry’s arm reassuringly. “We’ll figure something out. For both her and your father. But for now, go home and get some rest.”

Terry nodded and made his way back to the elevator, escorted by Julia, who offered to give him a ride home. Bruce stayed and looked through the window, giving Duela a sympathetic look before he too walked away –

As he did so, a doctor entered Duela’s room, carrying a large metal box under his arm. The nurse turned around and looked surprised to see him.

“Oh, Dr. Burton, I didn’t know you were in this morning,” said the nurse.

“I heard the news and came immediately,” said Dr. Burton, setting the metal box on the table beside the helmet. “Is this the patient?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid it’s not looking good,” the nurse frowned. “Her blood type is extremely rare that we don’t have a readily available source. We’re looking for a donor now, but we might not find one in time.”

“Not to worry, nurse,” said Dr. Burton confidently. “I have just the solution for this problem.”

Dr. Burton pressed his thumb to a scanner on the box, which made a low clicking noise. He pulled the lid open, letting a cloud of misting mist escape from the box. He pulled on a pair of gloves before reaching inside. What he pulled out was a single blood bag with a barely legible scribble written on the packet. From what little could be read, there was a faded name that stood out:

J. White

Chapter Text

Terry doesn’t know what time it was when he got home – his new home, that is. It must have been pretty early because his mom and Matt were at the dining room table eating breakfast when he walked in. Mary rose from the table the moment he walked in and rushed over to her oldest son.

“Terry, are you okay?” she asked worriedly, looking him over for any bleeding or injury. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, mom, I’m fine,” said Terry, pulling away guiltily.

“Oh thank god,” Mary sighed in relief. “And how’s your friend? Are they okay?”

“I…I don’t know,” Terry admitted, unable to meet his mom’s eye. “She was in pretty bad shape when I left the hospital. The doctor’s aren’t even sure she’s going to make it.”

“Oh, Terry,” Mary murmured sympathetically. “What happened?”

“Jokerz,” answered Terry, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “They jumped us. One of them took a shot at me and missed, but they got her instead.”

“Wow, you’re a real clown magnet,” said Matt jokingly. “Maybe you should join a circus – “

“Shut it, twip, or I’ll shut it for you!” Terry shouted furiously, making Matt reel back in fear.

“Terry, don’t you threaten your brother!” Mary scolded her sons. “And Matt, that wasn’t funny! Terry’s friend was really hurt! You shouldn’t make jokes about it!”

“Sorry, mom,” Matt apologized, hanging his head.

“Yeah…sorry,” said Terry, looking away regretfully. “I’m…I’m sorry for snapping. After what happened to dad….”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” said Mary, resting an understanding hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot lately. It’s natural to feel angry.”

“I just…I keep think about what might’ve happened if I hadn’t gone out that night,” said Terry. “If I had just stayed home – “

“Then you might not be here either,” said Mary.

“But if I was there – “

“Terry, no,” said Mary forcefully. “Don’t go down that rabbit hole – nothing good will come from thinking like that. I miss your father, too, despite how our relationship ended. But we can’t let ourselves get caught up in the ‘what-ifs.’ The best thing we can do to honor your father’s memory is to live on.”

Terry paused for a reflective moment, then exhaled a sigh and said, “Yeah…you’re right. Hey, is it all right if I skip breakfast. I’m feeling slagged.”

“Of course,” said Mary sympathetically.

Terry turned away and walked over to the guest room – though, technically, it was his room now.

He walked inside and closed the door behind him. His new room was completely barren with the exception of the few boxes scattered around. He had been so caught up in the funeral and finding the Jokerz, Terry hadn’t had time to unpack anything. Well, with the suit gone and the Jokerz a dead end, he might as well get started.

Terry kneeled next to the closest box and opened it. To his dismay, the first thing he found was the cracked photo of his family before the divorce. He had found it in his dad’s office when the police allowed him to collect his things. His dad would always keep it on his desk while he worked. Terry picked up the frame…and felt a strange lump on the back.

Terry flipped the photo around. There was a little square indentation on the back and…it looked like there was a hidden pocket. Very spy stuff. Terry dug his finger into the pocket and pulled out a little square chip.

“What the heck is this…?” Terry wondered aloud.

Terry put off unpacking (again) and walked over to his laptop, inserting the chip in the side. A new window appeared on the screen along with a familiar logo.

“Wait, is this…Wayne-Powers data?” asked Terry. “Why was dad hiding it?”

Terry scrolled through the data. He wasn’t a researcher like his father was, but Terry could make out a few key phrases: “biological pathogen”, “rate of infection”, “contamination protocol.” All of it sounded like something off those old horror games – the ones with the virus zombies.

And when that line of thinking crossed his mind, Terry remember something from several nights ago, during his “meeting” with Black Mask.

“There are…rumors circulating around Old Gotham that Wayne-Powers is developing a biological weapon,” said Black Mask.

“Is this what she was talking about?” Terry murmured. “If Wayne-Powers really is developing B.W.s and my dad found out….”

Terry’s mind was racing. If his suspicions proved true, then he may have found a lead on his father’s real killer! There wasn’t a moment to waste! Terry pocketed the data chip and ran out as fast as he could, nearly bowling over Mary when she came to check on him.

“Sorry, mom, I need to go somewhere!” Terry shouted, running out the door. “I’ll be back late!”

“Terry, where’re you going?” cried Mary, but her son said nothing as he slammed the door behind him. “Terry!”

Several mag-lev stops later, Terry was running through the filthy streets of Old Gotham again for the third time in as many days. He found the Malone Detective Agency with its lopsided sign and started banging on the door with his fist.

“Open up, it’s me!” Terry yelled, banging his fist harder. “I know you’re in there!”

It took several more minutes of beating the door before he finally heard the lock click. He took a step back, which was luckily as Ace nearly jumped him the moment the door cracked open. His teeth just came short of biting into his leg before Julia grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. The British woman gave him a hard stare.

“Haven’t you done enough, McGinnis?” she said harshly. “We’re trying to help you, but – “

“I know, and I’m sorry I took the suit,” Terry apologized sincerely. “But I think I found a lead on who killed my dad.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the data chip. “This is from Wayne-Powers. My dad hid it before he died. There’s some seriously bad things on this chip and I think this is the reason he was killed.”

“Then why not take it to the cops?” asked Julia.

“You know how cozy they are with Wayne-Powers,” said Terry. “Please, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I need help and Mr. Wayne might be the only one who can give it. Please….”

Julia stared at him with sympathy and even Ace seemed to settle down and whined, looking up at her pleadingly –

“Let him in.”

Julia nearly jumped out of her shirt. Bruce Wayne had managed to sneak up behind her even with his noisy cane. She stepped out of the way as the former hero hobble up to Terry and took the data chip without a word. He gave it a quick look over, then started walking towards the den.

“We can use the Bat-computer,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Terry gratefully.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” said Bruce.

They entered the Bat Bunker (“Wait, you really call it that?” asked Terry) through the hidden elevator behind the bookshelf. Bruce inserted the data chip into the Batcomputer. For the next twenty minutes, the three (four, if you include Ace) scrolled through the data, eventually ending at a simulated video of a healthy blood cell be destroyed by a black pathogen.

“So?” asked Terry as Bruce ejected the chip.

“It’s worse than I thought,” said Bruce with a low edge in his voice. “It’s some kind of new DNA mutagen. Powers is making nerve gas. He’s using my company to make nerve gas.”

“And my old man found out,” said Terry, grimacing, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “We got to do something.”

“We aren’t doing anything,” said Julia firmly, snatching the chip from Bruce’s hand. “Except turning this over to the police.”

“You can’t be serious!” Terry argued. “They won’t do anything!”

“Commissioner Bard isn’t like the rest,” said Julia. “He can get things moving – “

“And then get stonewalled when Powers pulls strings with the mayor or governor,” Terry countered, rounding to Bruce. “Come on, your family built that company! And now Powers is using it to make nerve gas! You gotta do something – you’re Batman!”

“I was Batman,” said Bruce, looking down at the ground. “Not anymore.”

“But – “

“Look at me, Terry,” said Bruce, meeting his gaze. “Even if I wanted to, do you think I could do anything in my state? No, the best we can do is hope Commissioner Bard handle this.”

“…Or you could send me,” said Terry.

“Excuse me?” said Bruce.

“Uh-uh, not happening,” Julia rejected firmly. “After what happened last night – “

“Look, I’m sorry, I never meant for things to turn out that way,” said Terry, staring her down with determination. “But someone needs to stop Powers before he ships out that gas. And you two aren’t gonna do it, it may as well be me.”

“You’re not trained for this,” said Bruce.

“I can learn,” Terry argued.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” said Julia.

“Maybe,” said Terry. “But if I don’t do something, hundreds more will die, too.”

“This isn’t about helping others for you, McGinnis,” said Bruce, staring him down. “You want revenge for your father’s death.”

“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to everyone else,” Terry admitted. Bruce turned his seat away from him, and Terry exhaled a heavy sigh. “I read up on you, Mr. Wayne. I know what happened to your folks – “

“Kid, you better watch yourself…,” Julia warned.

“The guy who murdered your parents – he was never caught,” Terry continued. “You never got the justice you deserved…. But my dad’s killer is in that building. This could be my one chance to nail him. I have to do this – I need to do this…. Please….”

But Bruce offered no response, staring at the blank screen of the Batcomputer. Terry hanged his head with another sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, ready to give up and leave…. Then he heard a shuffling noise and looked around to catch a backpack that was thrown by Bruce. Terry recognized the bag – it was his! And when he checked inside, he found the white eyes of the Batman’s cowl looking back at him.

“Get suited up,” said Bruce. “And remember, we do this my way or we don’t do it at all.”

“…Thanks, Mr. Wayne,” said Terry gratefully.

He tossed the bag over his shoulder, dashed back to the elevator, and pressed the button to return to the surface.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Julie hesitantly. “Kid’s got spunk and a decent right hook, don’t get me wrong, but he’s just a kid.”

“He needs this, Julia,” said Bruce firmly. “He needs to bring the man who murdered his father to justice.”

“So that he’ll end up like you?” questioned Julia.

“…So that he won’t,” Bruce answered.

Flying across the rooftops of Neo Gotham seemed cool at first…until he actually tried it.

Batman had figured out how to expand the suit’s hidden glider wings, but now he was doing his best just to stay aloft without looking down. He wobbled uneasily, narrowly missing the buildings. He was pretty sure there were some people out on their balconies taking vids of him. Great, he could imagine the headlines now: “Crazy Batman Impersonator Goes Splat.”

He finally hooked himself onto a radio antenna, spinning once, then jumped down onto the roof. He overshot and accidentally tumbled over the edge, but managed to catch himself in time and pulled himself back up.

“They made it look so easy in vid-games,” Batman groaned.

“You okay, kid?” Julia asked over the cowl’s radio.

“I’m fine,” Batman reassured her. “Just getting the hang of the suit.”

“Do you see the Wayne-Powers building?” said Bruce.

“Kinda hard to miss,” said Batman, staring across the city at the giant tower emblazoned with the merged WP logo.

“Powers' office is on the eighty-sixth floor,” Bruce informed him. “I hacked his secretary’s computer and it seems he’s in the middle of a meeting with the Minister Kornai from Vlatava. That country has had a history of bloodshed since the days of Count Vertigo.”

“And I bet my allowance he’s the buyer,” said Batman.

“Most likely,” Bruce agreed. “You need to get to his office window and listen in on their meeting.”

“On it,” said Batman determinedly.

Keeping an eye on the distant Wayne-Powers building, Batman dived off the rooftop with more confidence. He kept his body straight as he swooped into a long dive, then suddenly pulled up, allowing him to ascend higher than before. But even still, he wasn’t high enough to reach the top of Wayne-Powers. Good thing he had a pair of jet boots that he could remotely activate with his thoughts. The booster propelled him to the very top of the town, landing precariously on the ledge.

“That was so schway,” Batman murmured to himself.

Batman sidled along the ledge, stopping just short of the long window. He cautiously peeked inside. He could see Derek Powers along with an important-looking foreign man – likely the minister from Vlatava. There was also a third man standing off to the side – big, burly, and scarred.

“I’ve got Powers,” Batman muttered quietly. “But I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

“Put your fingers to the window,” said Bruce. “They’re equipped with touch sensitive microphones. They should allow you to listen in.”

Batman did as h was told and pressed his index and middle finger to the glass. Suddenly, he could hear Derek Powers voice as if he was standing next to him:

“I’m so happy you agreed to join me, Minister Kornai….”

“I apologize for calling at such a late hour,” Derek Powers said politely to the foreign dignitary on the other side of his desk.

“Save your pleasantries for someone who cares, Powers,” said Minister Kornai rudely. “Show me what you have an make it quick. I have an important meeting to prepare for tomorrow.”

Derek Powers was not put off by the minister’s boorishness attitude. He had been expecting as much. The detailed background check he had done on Minister Kornai said he had something of a superiority complex, given that his family was one of the few surviving noble houses in Vlatava despite the monarchy dying out and being replaced by a democracy. Kornai expects to be treated like a king, which only made him that easier to manipulate.

“Right to the point – I like that,” said Powers. He stood up and walked around his desk. “Minister Kornai, I would like to present you the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of Wayne-Powers’ latest development in germ warfare. A viral mutagen so quick acting and completely invasive, no living cell can resist it.” He pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button, summoning a holo-screen over the desk. “It all began with experiments on plants.”

A video started playing on the screen. It showed a team of scientists releasing a green fog inside a contained space where only a potted plant was inside. The once green and lush plant quickly withered and crumbled into dust after only a few seconds of exposure.

“Impressive,” said Minister Kornai. “But we’re looking to do more than wipe out our enemy’s crops, Mr. Powers.”

“Keep watching,” said Powers smugly. Another video was brought up, this time showing a calf in place of the plant. “This was our first experiment with livestock.”

In the video, the gas was released into the chamber –

Minister Kornai pressed his hand over his mouth, horrified. Powers, on the other hand, had a look of sadistic glee at the minister’s reaction.

“I trust this puts to rest any lingering doubt, Minister Kornai,” said Powers. “As you can see, the results are the same, even with animals.”

“And humans?” questioned Minister Kornai. “You’ve tested it on them, too?”

“The laws here aren’t as liberal about that sort of thing as they are in your country,” said Power, who was smiling nonetheless. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a handful of photographs. “But we did have a…little accident. One of my workers. Terrible thing. There was a gas leak in his lab.”

He showed one of the photos to the minister. It was an image of a terrified Harry Telly, strapped to a gurney, his body spotted with black bruises.

“This is what he looked like the next day,” said Powers, then replaced it with another photo. It’s showed Harry’s body nearly covered from head to toe in black bruises. “Two hours later….” He showed another photo; one that made the minister reel back in revulsion. “An hour after that….”

“There is no cure…?” asked Minister Kornai apprehensively.

“Extreme heat or radiation,” answered Powers. “But at this stage, it’s obviously not an option.” He showed the last picture, but the minister could not bring himself to look at it. “Dust to dust….”

He gave the photos to Buchinsky, who proceeded to burn them to ashes with a lighter and dumped them in the bin. No evidence, no problem.

“Consider what a real dose of this gas could do to those six armored divisions Markovia keeps on your boarder,” said Powers enticingly. “Gone, in a matter of hours.”

The prospect brought a smile to the minister’s face. He rose from his chair, looked up to Powers, and asked, “Delivery? It’s in progress?”

“My men are loading the canisters as we speak,” Powers reassured him. “They leave tonight on hover transport. My bodyguard, Mr. Buchinsky, will personally supervise the shipment.”

“Excellent,” said Minister Kornai, shaking Powers hand. “Good-bye, Mr. Powers. I will see you again soon, I hope.”

“Yes, soon….,” said Powers, watching the minister leave. When the door closed behind him, Powers instantly dropped his charismatic act and glared at his bodyguard. “Mr. Buchinsky, any word on the chip?”

“Not yet,” said Buchinsky. “It’s likely McGinnis may have hidden it somewhere else. Whether or not he told anyone is unknown. We’re looking into the possibility that his son might know something.”

“I don’t have to tell you how important this deal is to Wayne-Powers,” said Powers. “It’s going to open up the entire eastern block for us. So I don’t need it spoiled by a snot-nosed punk. Get rid of him if you have to, just keep it quiet.”

“I took care of the old man,” Buchinsky boasted –

“ – I can handle his brat.”

There it was. The confirmation Terry needed. The bodyguard – Buchinsky – was the one responsible. The new Dark Knight felt a boiling rage in his chest, urging him to break through the window and beat down Buchinsky within an inch of his life.

But…

“Little early for Halloween.”

Batman straightened up and turned his head. A small squad of armored guards were walking along the ledge, aiming their rifles at him. He must have accidentally tripped a silent alarm. Thanks for the heads-up, old man! Batman flipped around with his back to the open air, balancing on the edge, and said:

“But just in time for fall.”

It was probably a stupid idea, but he had no better options. Batman leaned backwards over the edge and freefell off the building. The suit’s hidden wings extended, letting him catch the air and descended at a slower, more manageable rate. He flipped around and glided towards the base of the build when the guards started shooting him with their laser rifles.

Thank god they had the aim of a storm trooper.

Batman landed safely on ground level and ran inside through the building’s parking garage –

“…Did you seriously make a pun?” said Julia. “Batman would never say something like that.”

“Shut up, it was cool,” argued Batman.

“Kids…,” Bruce grumbled.

Powers looked around the corridor with a raised brow. He and Buchinsky had been on their way to the transport pad when the alarms suddenly went off and his guards ran in the opposite direction. Powers reached for his phone and made a quick call to the head of security.

“It’s Powers,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Unauthorized personnel has entered the building,” the security head reported. “Men on the ground are saying it’s Batman.”

“Batman?” Powers repeated incredulously.

“Or some guy dressed like him,” said the head of security. “We’re cutting him off. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Powers scoffed as he hung up, and said, “Batman.... Maybe Bruce Wayne is haunting me from the grave.”

A squad of armored guards treaded the darkened hallways. You would think Powers could afford decent lighting, but no – stupid budget cuts! And to make matters worse, they heard reports that the culprit they were chasing was Batman! Everyone mostly dismissed it as some punk dressed up like him, but if there was even a shred of truth, then they were chasing a slaggin’ ninja! They heard the stories: Batman could become on with the shadows, taking out criminals before they knew what hit them.

But those was just stories…right?

The squad leader suddenly raised his fist, bringing them to a stop. He pulled out a flashlight and shined it on one of the shutter doors. It had been lifted up slight – enough for a grown man to slip under. The squad leader gestured to the door and lead them inside.

They stepped inside a storage facility, with boxes and crates stacked near the ceiling. The leader beamed his flashlight across the room. No sign of the intruder, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

“Spread out and search the room!” he ordered.

Several of the guards looked at one another with uncertainty. If the intruder really was…. But, reluctantly, they did as they were told and fanned out.

Guards moved around at every corner of the room, keeping the guns pointed ahead of them ready to shoot at the first sign of trouble. For the next few minutes, everything seemed peaceful enough. One of the guards was checking the gap between the tower of containers when he noticed something on the wall across from him. It looked like a shadow…a shadow with pointed ears. But just as quickly as he saw it, the shadow slipped away into the darkness.

“I’ve got him!” the guard screamed. “He’s over here!”

Two guards came running at the call and followed their co-worker across the room. They came to the area when he had seen the shadow and pointed their guns…but the space was empty. The guard who cried bat tilted his head, exchanging looks with the other men who were glaring at him…. Then, quite suddenly, something fell from the ceiling, slamming the guard into the floor while the other two were knocked off their feet.

One of the guards scrambled for their flashlight and shined a beam on the tall shadowy figure that stood over their downed ally. The guard let out a shuddering gasp as Batman turned on him, narrowing his eyes menacingly.

“Batman! It’s Batman!” he cried.

The other guard picked up his gun and took a potshot at Batman, but the Dark Knight jumped and disappeared over the top of the containers in a way no human could.

“The suit works even better than I thought it would,” said Batman.

“Of course it does,” said Bruce. “I built it.”

“Brag much?” said Batman jokingly.

He looked down to ground level as the guards grouped up and one of them pointed up at him. They immediately started shooting, forcing Batman to retreat from the edge and take off running. He glided off the containers, circling the room as the guards took wild shots behind him. Batman turned and swooped down on the group, kicking one of them in the chest while the rest were knocked flat on their backs. Batman slammed the guard against the crate, causing it to fall over on top of the unconscious sentry.

The Dark Knight spun around as the rest of the guards started getting back up and reached for their guns. Batman lunged forward, clotheslining two of the guards around the neck, then grabbing the third’s helmet and driving his knee into the man’s face, rending him unconscious. A fourth guard came running around the containers and pointed his gun at the Dark Knight until Batman held out his clenched fist, shooting a batarang from his wrist. The projectile jammed its bladed tip into the muzzle of the gun, causing it to explode in the guard’s face.

“Okay, that was shway,” said Batman excitedly.

“Like I said…,” Bruce stated.

“Okay, you can brag,” Batman conceded.

“Did you hear something?”

“Sounded like it came from in there!”

Batman grimaced. He pressed himself against the containers and poked his pointed head around. Another squad of security guards had just entered the room, and there was more of them than the last one.

“Uh, Wayne, I know the suit is good,” said Batman apprehensively, “but I don’t think I can take out all these guys before I can get to Powers.”

“Hold on a second…,” Julia chimed in. Batman could hear the clacking of the keyboard over the radio. “It looks like there’s a broom closet on the north wall. Can you get to it?”

“A broom closet?” Batman repeated disbelievingly. “How’s that gonna – “

“Just do it!” Julia retorted irritably.

Batman looked around toward the northern side of the room. Just as she said, there was a partially opened door in the very back. He didn’t understand how it was supposed to help, but it was better than waiting for the guards to catch him.

Once their backs were turned to him, Batman sprinted across the room like a shadow and slipped inside the closet, sliding the door close behind him. He took a look around and didn’t see much; just a shelf of cleaning supplies and a storage locker.

“Now I’m a sitting duck,” Batman complained. “Hope you’re happy.”

“The far wall – put your hand against it,” said Bruce.

Okay, now he was completely lost. But, as he looked through he door window and saw a pair of guards walking his way, he supposed he had no choice.

Batman pressed the wall as he was instructed and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the wall could be pushed inward, though it was heavier than expected. He kept pushing until he was on the opposite side and the wall slipped back into place before the guards entered the closet. Batman now found himself in a narrow corridor filled with pipes and gears – this must be the tower’s infrastructure.

“Cool,” Batman complimented.

“I built the place, remember?” said Bruce.

“Then you’d know where they’d be loading a hover transport,” said Batman. “Any shortcuts you mind sharing?”

“I’m pulling up the blueprints now,” said Julia. “The hover pads are in the northeast sector. You can take the passageway in front of you straight there.”

“Awesome,” said Batman. “Wish me luck.”

Derek Powers paced around the hover platform, hands folded behind his back, gripping his wrist anxiously. They were nearly done loading the nerve gas onto the transport. They would be shipping out in under an hour and he would soon be even more rich and powerful than before. However....

“Any word on our intruder?” Powers asked his bodyguard.

“We’re still looking, Mr. Powers,” said Buchinsky. “We’ll catch him.”

“You had better – for your sake!” Powers snapped.

He may have said it in jest before, but some part of him worried that maybe Bruce Wayne had return. He was just a boy back then, but he remembered how terrifying the Dark Knight was back in the old days. Nightmarish, even….

Unbeknownst to Powers, the object of his fear was closer than he realized.

Batman curled up and waited until the guards pass over the catwalk he was standing under before standing up. The fact that the suit came equipped with magnetic boots was another cool feature he discovered. Batman narrowed his eyes on Powers, the cowl automatically zooming in on the corrupt CEO. He appeared to be saying something to his bodyguard. Batman extended his hand. Thankfully, the microphones seemed to be within the range.

“ – almost done loading,” Buchinsky reported. “Just a few more containers and we’ll be off.”

“The sooner the better,” said Powers, noticeably fidgeting. “I don’t want this…Batman to ruin everything.”

So he was afraid of Batman. The thought brought a smile to the new Dark Knight’s face.

“Hey, look, there he is!”

Slag! He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings and one of the guards spotted him. Now everyone on the hover pad knew he was here. Well, nothing left but to go for it, he supposed.

Batman disengaged his magnetic boots and extended the suit’s glider wings. He pulled up as he approached the ground, twisting around the hailstorm of laser fire from above. A squad of security guards lined up between him and Powers and opened fire on him. Batman did know how he managed to swerve around their shots (must have been dumb luck), but he bowled the guards over and knocked them off the hover pad.

Buchinsky pulled out a gun as the Dark Knight landed on the edge of the hover pad, only to have it ripped from his hands by Powers.

“Get that hover craft in the air!” he commanded.

Buchinsky growled under his breath; he wanted to be the one to slag the Bat – or at least his imposter. But Powers was the one writing his check….

Batman turned around in time to see his father’s murderer run inside the hover craft. He moved to follow him, but was cut off when a shot was fired at the ground near his feet. He looked across the hover pad and spotted Derek Powers aiming at him. The new Dark Knight flipped backwards and rolled sideways to avoid his shots, which came too close for comfort. For someone who sent all day sitting behind a desk, Powers knew how to use a gun.

Batman took cover behind the crane used to move the canisters, crouching low as one of the shots nearly took out his pointy ear. Powers cautiously approached the Dark Knight’s hiding place when he heard a whirring sound that made him look back. The cargo doors to the hover craft were closing; Buchinsky would be taking off in a moment and his plans were secure. But in his moment of distraction, Batman threw a Batarang at Powers, smacking him in the side of the head. Huh, guess they aren’t as sharp as they look, Batman thought.

The cranial impact caused Powers to drop his gun and fall backwards against a transport cart where a single container of his nerve gas still remained. Powers hitting the cart caused the canister to wobble and fall sideways, landing on Powers head, effectively knocking him unconscious.

The container, thankfully, wasn’t broken.

With Powers down for the count, that just left the matter of his father’s killer.

The hover craft was already airborne and moving away from the hover pad. Batman unfurled his wings again and used the suit’s jet boosters to propel himself upwards, jumping on top of the crane before making the leap to the transport. It was close, but Batman managed to grab on to the edge of the transport’s wing before it took off.

As they soared over the Gotham River and headed towards the Bay, the wind pressure threatened to knock the Dark Knight off. He disengaged the suit’s wings, but he was struggling to hold a grip on the crevices between them transport’s plates.

“McGinnis, you have to get inside and stop him before he reaches open waters!” said Bruce.

“Don’t you think I’m trying!” Batman yelled. “I can’t hold on much longer!”

“The suit comes equipped with extendable claws!” Julia informed him.

“Wait, seriously?” said Batman, surprised. He flexed his hands and was surprised to see the suit’s fingers extend into bladed points as advertised. “Schway.”

He stabbed the wing with his new claws, which punctured the metal plates like they were made of wet paper. He pulled himself along the wing towards the middle of the hover craft, scuttling across the surface like someone in red-and-blue spandex, until he reached the hatch to the transport’s cockpit. With the suit enhancing his strength, Batman effortlessly pried the panel off and threw it aside. There were a couple guards waiting for him, but Batman grabbed them by their collars and threw them off before they could react.

They’ll land in the water, so they’ll be fine…probably.

With security dealt with, Batman dropped into the cockpit and lunged at the pilot’s seat with a flying kick. He snapped the poor chair off with his enhanced strength…but the seat was already empty.

“What the…?” Batman sputtered, surprised. If Buchinsky wasn’t flying, then…ah, he saw the autopilot signal flashing. That explained it. “Where the hell is – ?”

“Right behind you.”

Batman turned around with a startled gasp before he felt a strong fist slam against his chin, throwing him into the window and creating a spider web of cracks. The new Dark Knight dropped to his hands and knees, rubbing his sore jaw, and looked up with an angry glare.

Buchinsky stood over him, pounding his fists together, which were covered by a pair of blue-plated gloves that crackled with electricity. Guess that explains why it hurt through the suit.

“Get up, freak,” Buchinsky demanded. “You want to screw around with Mr. Power’s business, then you’re going to have to deal with…the Electrocutioner!”

“Electrocutioner? Really?” said Batman, resisting the urge to snort. “That is so lame.”

“You should’ve seen the first guy,” Bruce commented.

Buchinsky the Electrocutioner lunged forward quicker than Batman would’ve expected from a man of his size. He closed the gap between them and slammed his electrified knuckles into the Dark Knight’s face, knocking him back into the panel. He swung around with the opposite hand and tossed Batman across the cockpit. The Dark Knight gritted his teeth, his face throbbing – he could feel blood dribbling down his chin.

The Dark Knight flipped over on his back as Buchinsky stood over him, pulling back his electrified fist. Batman reached out in time to grab the Electrocutioner’s wrist before he could land the blow, his super enhanced strength being the only thing stopping Buchisky from connecting. Buchinsky threw the other fist, but Batman snagged that, too. The Dark Knight raised himself to his feet and managed to push Buchinsky back a few paces, but the towering wall of muscle pushed back even harder. The two were locked in a stalemate, but the way Buchinsky was exerting himself, it was only a matter of time before he overwhelmed the Dark Knight.

Buchinsky was not happy.

“You ridiculously costumed vermin!” Buchinsky growled irritably. “Do you know who your messing with? Who do you think you are?”

“Who am I?” Batman repeated, gritting his teeth. “I am vengeance…I am the night…I – AM – BATMAN!”

“…Wow, he actually said it,” said Julia, sounding a little embarrassed.

“You’ve been watching too many cartoons, McGinnis,” said Bruce exasperatedly.

Whatever, it was cool, Batman thought.

Still, back to the matter at hand. Buchinsky was going to overwhelm him any moment. But for a situation like this, Terry learned that the best way around a stronger opponent…was to play dirty.

The Dark Knight raised his knee and, in a rather unorthodox and undignified manner, kneed the Electrocutioner in the crown jewels. Buchinsky doubled over, gasping in a higher pitch, leaving him wide open for Batman to deliver a solid haymaker across the face. The blow threw the Electrocutioner into the control panel where, somehow, he managed to punch the console with both his electrified gloves. The feedback caused a chain creation that not only destroyed the controls, but sent a shockwave back on Buchinsky, electrifying him with who knows how many watts of energy.

With the controls destroyed, the hover transport took a sudden nosedive, throwing Terry forward into the window. The new Dark Knight grimaced on impact, then gasped when he realized they were spiraling into the Gotham River.

“McGinnis, get out of there!” Bruce yelled.

“Don’t need to tell me twice!” said Batman.

The new Dark Knight ran back to the ladder and started to climb out…but then stopped and looked back at Buchinsky. The electrical surge had knocked him out cold. If he was in the transport when it crashed into the river, he would definitely die. A huge part of Batman was screaming to leave him. This was the man who murdered his father!

Just because he didn’t kill Buchinsky, didn’t mean he had to save him, right?

….

No, that was wrong, he admitted to himself. Batman would never leave anyone to die, no matter how much they deserved it. And neither would Terry McGinnis.

And so, it was with great reluctance that Batman ran back and grabbed Buchinsky’s collar – “

Half an hour later, the NGPD get a report of a hover transport crashing into the Gotham River, claiming it belonged to Wayne-Powers. Two officers were dispatched to the harbor near where the transport crashed, but when they arrived, they were left scratching their heads.

Buchinsky was left dangling upside down from a crane, his arms and legs bound, and an envelope strapped to his chest with a single data chip and a note that said “Play me” inside. But what shocked and alarmed them the most was the emblem stamped on the front of the envelope:

A red bat.

Chapter Text

Terry was slagged to all hell. Yeah, he stopped Powers from shipping a deadly chemical across the international boarder and brought his father’s killer to justice, but he was still slagged.

He had managed to slip back into his home sometime between one and two o’clock in the middle of the night. His mom must have heard him because she came to check up on Terry shortly after he got back. Terry had stuffed the Batsuit underneath his bed and ducked under the covers before she came in. Thankfully, she didn’t stay too long, seemingly relived to know that he was home. Hopefully she didn’t notice the pointed ears poking out from underneath. Terry immediately passed out afterwards.

He didn’t know how long he had been sleeping. Thankfully, it was a weekend, so he didn’t have to go to school. He allowed himself to sink into his bed, ready to sleep the day away…when a sharp knock on his bedroom door ruined his plans.

“Terry! Terry, wake up!” Mary called to her son, opening the door without his permission. She saw her son groggily rising from the bed. “Honey, quick, get dressed. We have company.”

“Company?” Terry groaned, running a hand down his face. “This early?”

“A man named Matthew Malone,” Mary informed him. “He’s here to see you.”

Malone? Wayne? He came all the way to Terry’s house? He must want the suit back – that’s the only logical explanation. Well, it was fun while it lasted, Terry thought.

Knowing how grumpy the old man could be, Terry quickly threw on some casual pants and a shirt and made his way into the living room. Unsurprisingly, he found Bruce – or rather, Matthew Malone – sitting on the couch, leaning against his cane, while Julia stood behind him like a dutiful bodyguard. They were both watching the TV, which had been turned on to the morning news. A sense of satisfaction welled up in Terry’s chest when he saw that the headline was about Wayne-Powers, and it didn’t look good.

“ – international conglomerate Wayne-Powers under fire today as they face numerous allegations for the production of illegal biological weapons. Mr. Powers went on record saying that these claims were ‘fake news’ contributed by Wayne-Powers rivals such as Foxteca and Lexcorp. Things aren’t looking for Mr. Powers, are they, Kim?”

“No, they are not, Tom. While the police are still recovering evidence from the Wayne-Powers hover transport that crashed into the Gotham River late last night, the NGPD have formally arrested Mr. Powers’ bodyguard, Charles Buchinsky, who has reportedly fallen into an electrical-induced coma and was admitted to the Elliot Memorial Hospital under police surveillance. The police are hoping to interrogate Mr. Buchinsky when, and if, he recovers.”

“It doesn’t end there, Kim. Rumor has it that the man credited for Mr. Buchinsky’s arrest and leaking the information of Wayne-Powers supposed bioweapon was none other than Gotham’s own Dark Knight, Batman.”

“You heard it right, folks. Batman has been sighted in Gotham once more, both by amateur videos and Wayne-Powers surveillance footage. Has Bruce Wayne returned after purportedly dying forty years ago, or are we looking at a whole new Caped Crusader. Gothamites are eager to find out. Myself included.”

“In other news, Queen Perdita of Vlatava has publicly announced the dismissal of Vlatavan Minister of Commerce, István Kornai, following suspected involvement in the shipment of illegal weapons – “

“I hope you don’t mind milk,” Mary interrupted, walking into the living room with two steaming mugs. “We’re out of cream.”

“I prefer it,” said Bruce with a smile. As he accepted the mug, he noticed Terry out of the corner of his eye. “Terrance, sorry to get you up so early.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Wa – Malone,” Terry corrected himself quickly before his mom noticed.

“How do you two know each other?” Mary asked curiously.

“Uh, well, you see, I…,” Terry stammered haphazardly. He wasn’t expecting Bruce and Julia to show up at his doorstep, let alone talk to his mom. How was he supposed to explain that he ran into Bruce while being mugged by the Black Masks and stealing his Batsuit? Oh, and that he was also Batman?

Thankfully, Bruce jumped in to save him like a real hero.

“Why, I owe this boy my life,” said Bruce, surprising Terry. “He defended me from a bunch of hooligans once. I tried to reward him, but he absolutely refused.”

“Oh, Terry, I’m so proud of you,” Mary praised her son.

“C’mon, ma, it was nothing, really,” said Terry sheepishly.

“I’m sorry to intrude upon your home so early,” said Bruce, setting his mug down, “but I was wondering if you might be interested in a job, Mr. McGinnis.”

“A job?” Terry repeated, surprised again.

“As it just so happens, I’m a shareholder on the board of directors for Foxteca,” Bruce informed him.

“You work at Foxteca?” asked Terry. The surprises never end!

"I was a good friend with the founder,” said Bruce with a cryptic smile. “The thing is, it’s getting harder for me to do things in my old age, and I find myself in need of an assistant.”

“Don’t you already have one?” said Terry, looking at Julia.

“I’m a bodyguard, not a gofer,” Julia said pointedly.

“Would you be interested?” asked Bruce.

“Of course he would,” said Mary eagerly. “Wouldn’t you, honey?”

“Sounds like a good deal,” said Terry with a knowing smile. “Though I’m probably gonna need a suit. To fit in with the company, you know.”

“I’m sure we have something that’ll fit,” said Julia, smirking.

“I warn you: I can be a difficult taskmaster,” said Bruce, standing up slowly. “I expect nothing short of excellence from all who work for me.”

“I think I can handle it,” said Terry confidently.

“Very good then, Mr. McGinnis,” said Bruce, holding out his hand. “Welcome to my world.”

Terry shook his hand, sealing the silent pact between them.

And on this day, a new Batman rose.

Derek Powers tried to hide his fury behind a dispassionate expression, but he couldn’t stop his hand from gripping the armrest of his chair, threatening to snap it off.

The rats in the news were still reporting about Buchinsky and the bioweapon hours later after the initial story. He had managed to avoid any serious repercussions thanks to a little PR and throwing several of his employees to the lions, namely Buchinsky and the executives in charge of the biological research division. But this failure had come with a significant price. Not only was he forced to end production on the nerve gas, costing him millions of dollars, but any chance he had at expanding into the European market had gone down with the hover transport.

All because of Batman.

If it wasn't for Miss Winston standing behind him, he would have thrown his chair out the window.

“Miss Winston, what’s become of our friend Buchinsky?” Powers asked his secretary.

“Still in a coma, sir,” said Miss Winston.

“Be sure that he doesn’t wake up,” Powers instructed. “Grease some palms if you need to. I don’t want any loose ends.”

“Of course, sir,” said Miss Winston without an ounce of surprise or sympathy. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Leave,” Powers ordered. “I need to make a call.”

Miss Winston bowed her head in acknowledgement and took her leave. Powers waited until the door was shut before pressing a hidden button underneath his desk. The switch dropped the shutters over the windows, plunging the room into darkness, and six holographic screens popped up in the center of his office. Powers rose from his chair, adjusting his tie, as six shadowy figures appeared on the monitors.

“What happened, Powers?” Shadow-3 questioned irritably, his voice possessing a thick European accent. “You had a simple job: ship the toxin to Vlatava, which would instigate a war between them and Markovia.”

“We had a little…interference on our end,” Powers replied cautiously.

“We don’t care for excuses, Powers,” Shadow-4, his accent also European with a deeper baritone.

“Not even if that excuse is…Batman?” said Powers.

That seemed to get a reaction out of the men and women behind the monitors. There was hushed whispers among a few of them, except for their leader, who stared straight ahead at Powers.

“Batman? Bruce Wayne? He’s alive?” questioned Shadow-5, his voice garbled and mechanical.

“Unlikely,” said Shadow-2, a woman with a tempered, yet alluring accent. “He would have to be an old man by now.”

“A successor then?” Shadow-4 suggested. “Who is it? Grayson? Todd? Drake?”

“All of them are accounted for,” said Shadow-6, their voice hollow and echoing. “It must be someone else.”

“New blood, then,” said Shadow-2.

“This new Batman presents an unknown factor,” said Shadow-1, her voice soft, but also reverberated with power. “One that could tip the scales away from the side of Doom.”

“He’s just some punk playing dress-up,” Powers scoffed. “He’s no Bruce Wayne.”

“Says the man who was beaten and humiliated by said ‘punk,’” Shadow-5 cackled. Powers growled, clenching his fist.

“This new Batman may not pose a threat yet, but that could change with time,” said Shadow-1. “Powers, we offered you a seat on this council because we believed you were worthy of standing beside us…. Prove us right and pluck this seed before it takes root.”

And with that final threat, the monitors vanished, leave Powers standing alone in the dark.

Terminal pounded his fist against the table furiously, making his gang back away slowly in fear. After their failure at the bank the other night, they had retreated back to their gang’s hideout, which was an abandoned auto shop in Old Gotham. They had been forced to lay low for several days, hiding in the dark like a bunch of rats. His irritation reached its boiling point and saw the new reporting about the Batman – that costumed freak that ruined their job!

“Uh, you okay, Terminal?” asked Chucko anxiously.

“No, I’m not all right!” Terminal screamed, throwing a tire iron at him. Chucko and the others barely ducked out of the way, letting the tool clatter against the wall. “We were close! So close! We were gonna be the richest gang in Gotham! And then that freak in the bat costume ruined it all!”

“You mean Batman?” said Bonk.

“It wasn’t Batman!” Terminal roared, throwing a crowbar that nailed Bonk square on the head. “Batman’s dead! He’s not real! That wasn’t him!”

“But we saw him at the bank – “ said Delia.

“And he’s on the news,” Deirdre concluded.

Terminal silenced the twins with an evil glare. He smacked the table again and growled, “And even worse than that freak is the other freak, Duela.”

“What about her?” asked Ghoul.

“I went to the hospital to make sure she didn’t talk about what happened,” said Terminal, “but she was already gone by the time I got there. The little bitch probably went blabbing to the cops!”

“So, what do we do, Terminal?” asked Chucko.

“For now, we lay low until the heat cools down,” said Terminal levelheadedly, his anger slowly subsiding as he took a deep, cleansing breath. “Stop doing jobs until they forget about us. Once we’re in the clear, we’ll start planning for our next big gig.”

“Which is?” asked Ghoul.

"Dunno yet,” Terminal admitted. “But if I ever see that pointy-eared loser or that snitch, I’m gonna – “

Whatever threat he was about to pronounce was cut off when the door to the room was throwing open with a spine-tingling screech, filling the darkened room with light. The Jokerz winced at the sudden brightness. Terminal gritted his teeth, glaring at the shadowy figure that suddenly appeared at their doorstep.

“Hey, asshole, do you know where you are?” Terminal called out threateningly. The shadowy figure did not seem to heed him. “This is Jokerz territory! Unless you want us to cut a smile on your face, you better beat it!” Once again, the intruder did not move. “Hey, are you stupid or something? I said get outta here!”

The intruder finally stood up straight, appearing to look at Terminal with interest, before tossing something on the floor. It clattered on the cracked concrete, rolling until it stopped in the middle of the gang. Ghoul bended down to pick up the object…and discovered it to be a red biker’s helmet.

“Wait, isn’t this…?” Ghoul murmured in shock.

“Holy shit, you’re alive,” said Chucko, sounding impressed. “We all thought you got slagged, Duela.”

“Well, looks like the mouse came crawling back,” said Terminal condescendingly. “You better not have ratted us out to the cops, freak.”

The shadowy figure – Duela – tilted her head slightly, then slowly, languidly, walked forward. As she passed by the unconscious Bonk, she bended down and collected the crowbar next to the brute. With the tool in hand, she moved sluggishly towards Terminal, who started laughing at her.

“What? You think you can threaten me?” Terminal cackled. “Bitch, did they remove your brain at the hospital or something? You can’t do shit to me! I’m Terminal – “

But Duela swung the crowbar across his face faster than the arrogant clown had anticipated. Terminal was thrown on top of the table, which broke underneath his weight, and collapsed on the ground. The rest of the Jokerz watched with a mixture of shock and apprehension.

Terminal groaned, shaking the stars out of his eyes, and tried to sit up. Duela straddled his chest, pressing her knees on his arms to pin him down. The mousy girl raised the crowbar high over her head and brought it down on Terminal’s face before he had a chance to scream –

And she did it again –

And again –

And again –

And again –

Each thwack was followed by a shower of blood that splattered everywhere: on the floor, the table, but mostly on Duela. But the girl didn’t seem to mind or care, because she kept beating Terminal’s face in even after he stopped moving. The Jokerz slowly backed away in terror. Woof shivered behind Ghoul’s legs, who clutching his pumpkin bucket like a teddy bear. Chucko pressed himself against the back wall, looking ready to book it any second. Bonk was still out cold, and the Dee-Dee Twins held each other, shaking from head to toe.

Finally, Duela stopped. She stared at Terminal’s blooded, disfigured face apathetically and tossed the bloodstained crowbar aside. Duela slowly rose to her feet and just stood there, seemingly admiring her work. After a long moment of terrified silence, the Dee-Dee Twins finally spoke up.

“Um…Duela,” said Delia timidly.

“Are you okay…?” said Deirdre equally fretful.

Duela turned her head slowly to look over her shoulder, her skin somehow unnaturally pale with the exception of her jaw, which was painted in Terminals blood.

And then, she laughed….

Chapter Text

A dozen innocent civilians were seen fleeing the building in terror, encouraging the people on the streets to clear off as well. Why were they so afraid, you might ask? That would be due to the raving lunatic that kicked the building door off its hinges, armed with a grenade in each hand.

Say hello to Stanley Labowski, otherwise known as Mad Stan. He was what you could consider a local celebrity, albeit an infamous one. Once a resident of the slums of old Gotham, he fell in with a radical terrorist group led by the mysterious Anarchy and was heavily influenced by their movement. Unfortunately, Stanley was a little too enthusiastic to the point where even the Anarchists had to kick him out. Since then, he had become somewhat of a regular nuisance to the NGPD. He was widely recognized for his famous catchphrase –

“I’m gonna blow it up!” Mad Stan screamed aggressively, veins throbbing in his neck. “I’m gonna blow it all up!”

Mad Stand faced the building again, pulling the pin of his grenade, and lobbed it. Halfway towards his target, a batarang flew out of nowhere, expertly hitting the explosive and causing it to blow up harmlessly in the air. Mad Stan gritted his teeth furiously to the point of cracking them and glared up at the roof of the neighboring building as Batman landed on the ledge.

“Seriously, Stan, this is the third time this week,” said Batman exasperatedly. “How do you even keep getting out of jail?”

“Stay out my way, Batman!” Mad Stan raged. “Society is crumbling and the corrupt bureaucrats turn a blind eye to the people’s suffering! They gorge themselves on the pain and suffering of those under them while the oppressed people of Gotham struggle to put food on the table! This building is a perfect example of everything that’s wrong with this world! It’s is a monument to corporate greed. And the people have been brainwashed into surrendering what little they’re earn for momentary gratification! The only way to save Gotham is to blow it up!”

“It’s a Big Belly Burger,” said Batman exasperatedly.

“Blow it up!” Mad Stan screamed.

He pulled the pin of his other grenade and tossed it toward the Dark Knight. Batman dived off the ledge, dodging the explosion, and glided down onto the terrorist, kicking Mad Stan in the face. The explosive lunatic was thrown onto the sidewalk while Batman landed across from him, whipping out a batarang. Mad Stan rolled out of the way or the projectile, jumping to his feet, and tackled Batman around the waist before the new hero could react. Mad Stan carried Batman over to the Big Belly Burger restaurant and tossed him through the window.

Mad Stan reached for his belt and pulled out another grenade, but the explosive was slapped out of his hand by a batarang. Batman emerged from restaurant, standing on the windowsill, and dived at the lunatic. But Mad Stan caught him in midair and threw Batman face down on the pavement. He grabbed the back of the Dark Knight’s head and slammed into the ground once…twice…three times…four –

If it wasn’t for the Batsuit, Terry would have a serious concussion right now….

Mad Stan was about to slam his face again, but Batman pressed his hands against the ground and forced himself to be still. Mad Stan was insanely strong for a normal person, but the suit put Terry on equal footing. The Terrorist tried putting all his way on the Dark Knight to push him down when Batman suddenly bended back and hit the side of Stan’s head with his elbow. Mad Stan stumbled with a groan as Batman stood up and took a solid uppcercut to the chin, launching him in the air several feet before plopping back down.

“Please…stay down…this time…,” Batman panted.

“You’re getting sloppy,” said Bruce critically in his ear.

“Give me a break, will ya?” Batman groaned quietly. “I’ve only been doing this gig for two weeks.”

“And this is your third time fighting Mad Stan,” said Bruce. “You should be accustomed to this by now.”

“Well, not all of us spends all their time in a cave,” Batman retorted.

“Ooh, he got you there, old chum,” a new voice entered the chat.

“Wait, who was that?” asked Batman, surprised.

“Eyes forward, son!” another new voice warned.

Batman snapped his head up just in time to see Mad Stan throw a punch at his head. The young hero was barely able to block and retaliated with two punches across the face and a kick to Stan’s gut, Mad Stan doubled over, face twisted up in pain, giving Batman time to clear up the confusion.

“Okay, who was that I just heard?” Batman repeated.

“Never mind that,” said Bruce harshly. “Focus on the fight.”

“You could stand to be a little nicer, Bruce,” now a woman’s voice was talking in his ear.

“Wait a minute….”

“Are you conference calling me?” Batman asked incredulously.

Bruce was, in fact, conference calling him.

While watching the battle through Terry’s cowl, there were also six smaller windows on the outer edges of the Batcomputer. Each screen displayed the video images of his oldest friends – emphasis on old. With the exception of the woman, who looked like she could be in her twenties, and the green alien, all of them had varying degrees of grey hair.

“Don’t mind us, sport,” said Barry playfully. He winced as Mad Stan hit Batman with a haymaker. “Oof! You need to be light on your feet! Don’t stay in one place for too long!”

“That coming from a guy who literally can’t sit still,” said Hal. “Where are you, anyway?”

“Stop off for some paella in Madrid,” Barry answered brightly, flashing the steaming bowl on screen.

“Weren’t you just getting pelmeni in Moscow?” asked Clark, quirking a curious brow.

“Hyper accelerated metabolism,” said Barry plainly. “Hey, Diana, know any good places in Greece where a man can find a decent gyro?”

“There is this quaint little shop in Lesbos that I’m particularly fond of,” answered Diana.

“If you’re feeling peckish, my fleet-footed friend,” Arthur chimed in, “then you must simply join me for a feast of Atlantis’s finest octopus! You’ll never find better seafood than under the sea! What say you, Hal, J’onn?”

“I’m currently in another galaxy right now,” said Hal.

“I’m good with my Chocos,” said J’onn, making a display of eating the cookie.

“Could we please focus for a moment,” Bruce groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is why he rarely calls anyone.

“You know…,” Batman groaned, grappling hands with Mad Stan, “it’s a little hard to fight with all these voices in my head!”

“You hear voices, too?” said Mad Stan, surprisingly letting up. “I know some excellent meditations for that.”

Batman stared at the explosive radical…and headbutted him in the nose.

“Ha-hah! Classic Batman maneuver!” Arthur guffawed.

“Could you please disconnect so I can focus?” Batman requested while ducking a punch from Mad Stan.

“Fine; you’ve got this handled,” said Bruce.

And with a push of a button, the cowls video and audio turned off, and the six screens magnified to fill in the blank space.

“Gotta say, Bruce,” said Clark with a hint of a smirk, “I was surprised when I heard there was a new Batman in Gotham. After you turned down Tim and Helena, I figured you’d never let anyone put on the cowl.”

“Speaking of,” said Diana, “how did Helena take it when you told her about Terry?”

“I haven’t yet,” Bruce grimaced. “She and Selina are still in Star City hunting down the remnants of the Falcone Family.”

“Oof! I’m glad I’m not you,” said Barry humorously.

“You know she’s gonna be pissed when she finds out,” said Hal, chuckling. Bruce touched his forehead with a groan. The former Dark Knight knew he was right and was not looking forward to having that conversation.

“Let’s worry about that later,” said Diana, likely sensing her old friend’s discomfort. “So, Terry McGinnis? What’s he like?”

“He’s young and brash like they all are,” said Bruce thoughtfully, “but he’s smart, talented, and his heart is in the right place. The only real complaint is that his technique is sloppy and leaves a lot to be desired.

“Not everyone spends their childhood obsessively training to fight criminals,” said Clark jokingly.

“Yes, some of them throw trackers into the next state,” said Diana, chortling.

“I regret letting Maw tell you that story,” Clark groaned.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s trained or not,” said Arthur cheerfully. “For we can all see that he has heart! And heart is the only superpower you need – “

“If you start singing, I’m out of here,” Hal threatened.

"Grumpy grouper...," Arthur pouted

“Have you considered letting his train with the League?” J’onn asked Bruce. “With their experience – “

“Absolutely not!” shouted Bruce, slamming his fist on the desk to emphasize his point. The Old Leaguers were stunned into silence. “Terry is still new to this side of things and the League has a tendency to attract the worst of the universe. Sending him there would be like throwing him to the sharks.”

“Then give him the Bat-Shark Repellent,” Barry joked.

Bruce glowered; Barry visibly shrank.

“I have to agree with Bruce,” Clark spoke up. “Back when we ran the League, we couldn’t go a week without an alien invasion.”

“Too true!” Arthur chortled. “Why, I am reminded of the time when – “

The Old Leaguers collectively groaned and logged off one-by-one.

Ethan let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had a cup of fresh brewed coffee, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink it. How could he, given what he had just seen?

The NGPD had gotten a call from the Dixon Docks early that morning. One of the dock workers had noticed strange smell coming from one of the empty warehouses and had gone to investigate. After learning cause, he had immediately phoned it in, though it was difficult to make out because he kept stumbling over his own words. Whatever he had seen had shaken him to his core. Not that Ethan could blame him, having seen it himself.

Right now, they had a whole unit cordoning the scene using holographic yellow tape – you know, the kind that electrified you if you didn’t have a authorization. Much better than that flimsy old tape. Naturally, they had had drawn in the attention of the public as a large crowd of civilians could be seen skirting the edge of the crime scene, trying to take videos with their phones. Ethan will never understand why people find crime scenes so fascinating.

Ethan leaned against his car, swirling the coffee in his hand, when another vehicle rolled up – or rather, hovered down – onto the scene. Ethan recognized the car, set his coffee down on the hood, and moved forward to greet them. The detective saluted respectfully – old habit from his academy days – as police commissioner Jason Bard stepped out of the vehicle.

Despite being roughly in his mid-60s, Commissioner Bard was built like a tank – six feet of pure muscle, his hair a distinguished grey and an grizzled beard to match. When he wasn’t wearing his usual bomber jacket, his arms and chest was riddled with scar tissue – a testament to his time on the force. One particular scar stood out the most: a brand mark under his left eye shaped like the letter “J.” Ethan heard it had been given to him by a particularly nasty criminal that tortured the commissioner before he broke out and beat the ever-loving crap out of him. He was inclined to believe it.

Odd thing was, the commissioner wasn’t alone.

Coming out from the other door was a young woman – Asian-American by her facial features. She stood out to Ethan for her no-nonsense expression and her bright red coat.

“Commissioner Bard, welcome,” Ethan greeted. “And who’s your friend? Hot date?”

“Do you always joke around when on duty?” asked the woman seriously.

“Helps lighten the mood,” said Ethan, shrugging.

“This is Detective Ellen Yin, formerly of Metropolis’ PD,” Commissioner Bard introduced. The woman, Yin, offered her hand courteously, which Ethan shook. “Yin, this is Detective Ethan Bennet. He’s one of our best men and your senior. I expect you two to play nice.”

“Yes, sir,” said Yin.

“So what’ve you got for us, Bennett?” Commissioner Bard questioned immediately.

“Well, sir, this is something you gotta see for yourself,” said Ethan uncomfortably.

Ethan led Bard and Yin to the warehouse, reaching down to grab the shutter handle and throw it up with a clatter.

The first thing that hit them was the smell. Ethan, who knew the contents of the warehouse beforehand, covered his mouth and nose with handkerchief, but it barely blocked out the stench. Yin gagged and retched, nearly vomiting on the spot, trying to cover her face with her jacket sleeve with watery eyes. Commissioner Bard grimaced, but didn’t react the same way as the other two; he had just about seen it all.

And then there was the contents within the warehouse – Yin actually had to turn away before she puked all over the crime scene.

“Dear god, that is so foul,” Yin groaned.

“What am I looking at, Bennett?” questioned Commissioner Bard.

“From what we were able to scrounge together,” Ethan reported, “there are at least a hundred - maybe more – all ranging between the ages of sixteen and thirty-five. Rope burns on the wrists and ankles indicate that they were bound, possibly tied together in a single group. That rancid smell mixed in is melted cheese. The bodies were covered in it, possibly meaning whoever did this dumped it on them willingly. It would probably explain the rats.”

“What rats?” asked Yin, hesitantly taking a peek around the warehouse.

“When the bodies were discovered, there were at least three hundred rats inside,” answered Ethan. “The melted cheese suggests that the perp set them loose on the victims. Given that there was no indication of external wounds or poisoning, it’s likely they were still alive when they were eaten.”

“Mother of god…is anyone really capable of something like that?” Yin gagged.

“Welcome to Gotham,” said Commissioner Bard sarcastically. “Any connection between the victims?”

“Actually, there was,” said Ethan. “All of them were members of the Jokerz.”

“The Jokerz? The street gang?” asked Yin, surprised.

“Know any other Jokerz?” said Ethan.

“Looks like someone’s bumping off the clowns,” said Commissioner Bard, frowning. “Did the coroner say how long they’ve been dead?”

“About a week,” answered Ethan.

“That would explain the lack of face paint on the streets,” Commissioner Bard grumbled. “And suspects? Weren’t they rivals with one of the other street gangs? The T’s?”

“Yeah, but I doubt it was them,” said Ethan. “It’s not their MO. The T’s are dumb bruisers. They would rather beat the clowns to death rather than go through this elaborate set-up.”

“Whoever did this is a danger to everyone in Gotham,” said Commissioner Bard. “I want you and your partner to bring them in?”

“I’ll get right on – wait,” Ethan paused, blinking. “Partner?”

“You didn’t think I brought Yin to give her a tour, did you?” said Commissioner Bard. “You two are the best I have, and I want you both to find this clown killer, whoever they are.”

“Looking forward to working with you, partner,” said Yin.

“Yeah…same here,” said Ethan nervously.

Black Mask crossed her arms, shifting uncomfortably against the stack of crates she was leaning against.

A surprise meeting had been called for the gathering of the Masterminds – the leaders of Gotham’s eight most influential crime organizations. They had all received the e-mail late last night saying there was a topic of great importance that needed discussing. Of course, the meeting spots changed regularly, so they had all received directions to the abandoned steel mill on Amusement Mile – a decrepit building that had been around since the days of Old Gotham.

As for the topic of their meeting, Black Mask had a fairly good idea what it was.

Black looked around the loading bay, taking stock of the other crime lords.

Ignatius Ogilvy, otherwise known as the Penguin of Neo Gotham. He had been a high-ranked lieutenant of the original Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot, until one night he cornered the fat pigeon in the middle of dinner and stabbed Cobblepot in the throat with his own umbrella. Ogilvy was just as ruthless as his predecessor, perhaps even more so, but he understood the importance of connections, which is why he established the Masterminds in the first place.

And if rumors were to be believed, Ogilvy may also be a Metahuman, which was reason for Black Mask to stay on his good side.

Then there was…ugh, Fat T, leader of the T’s. As the grandson of the original Tobias Whale, the boy was born with a lot of clout, but he was dumb as a sack of bricks. He had none of his grandfather’s smarts or charisma. He just went around threatening everyone with his muscle. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had the second largest gang in Gotham, Fat T would never have been invited to join the Masterminds.

Sitting on the opposite side of the loading bay, having a tea party of all things, was the woman calling herself Alice. She was the newest member to join their ranks. She had taken over the Wonderland Gang after doing away with the Caterpillar and upending the entire gang. Black Mask knew next to nothing about Alice and that – along with her crazy smile – made her frightening.

Tigress was sat on a stack of boxes, her sharp eyes narrowed and her tail wagging slowly behind her. The Animal Kingdom was a fairly recent gang, but they had quickly rose to prominence when the Splicing trend hit the streets. Even became even more wildly popular after the legislation outlawed the process, making it even more enticing. They had replaced the China White Triad after an altercation left three-fourths of China White’s men beaten or worse.

The Great White Shark – Warren White – was the oldest gang leader among the Masterminds and about the only one Black Mask respected. Even though he was pushing seventy, Great White was smart man with a head for business. He singlehanded operated most of Gotham’s illegal trades from drugs to firearms. Even Ogilvy felt threatened by him, which explained why Warren was the first to be invited.

And next to him was Peyton Riley, head of the Irish Mafia. The Irish had been a smalltime group after the Falcones had been routed from Gotham. Black Mask personally thought that Miss Riley was nothing more than a naïve mafia princess. But that all changed when Scarface came onto the scene. With the puppet on her lap, Peyton took over The Irish and absorbed the remnants of Gothams old crime familes including the Maronis, the Cosa Nostra, the Russians, and Italians. Peyton Riley may be the head of the organization, but it was the puppet calling the shots.

And finally, there was the Joker King – leader of Gotham’s largest and most violent faction. The man looked barely old enough to be in college, but he was insanely intelligent and not afraid to kill his own men to come out on top. He was surprisingly nihilistic for someone who wore face paint and –

He wasn’t here.

Despite the Joker King being the one to make the summons, he was an hour late for his own meeting. A fact that was starting to get to the rest of the Masterminds….

“Argh! What’s taking him so long!” Fat T yelled impatiently, flailing his arms like a petulant child.

“Siddown, tubby!” said Scarface. “Before I fill yous full o’ plasma.”

“Now, now, Mr. Scarface,” said Peyton sweetly. “Remember your blood pressure.”

“Quiet, Sugar,” said Scarface.

“Can’t say I blame him, though,” said Penguin, frowning. “It’s unprofessional to call a meeting of the Masterminds and show up late.”

“You think this is a prank?” asked Tigress.

“Not even the Joker King would try to trick us as a group,” said Great White, reaching for his old fashioned hip flask and taking a quick drink.

“Why do you think he called us?” asked Alice, taking an unnecessarily loud slurp of her tea.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Black Mask spoke up. “Batman.”

That created an uncomfortably awkward silence.

“Tch,” Great White clicked his tongue irritably. “Forty years Gotham has been Bat free, and now this new kid comes out of nowhere and starts messing with my business. A couple of nights ago, he destroyed a shipment of expensive stims mid-transport.”

“That point-eared palooka left my boys hanging from the streetlamps while out collecting protection fees,” Scarface complained.

“He destroyed one of our Splicer factories last week!” Tigress snarled, digging her claws into the box.

“He ruined my tea party and scared all my guests away!” Alice pouted.

“I think they were scared because you had bombs strapped to their chests,” Payton pointed out.

“This new Batman has only been around two weeks,” said Penguin angrily, stamping his umbrella on the ground, “and he’s already proving to be a offensive thorn in our sides.”

“I ain’t afraid of no bat!” Fat T claimed, punching his fist. “Just give me five minutes with him and I’ll rip those pointy ears off his stupid head.”

“Sure you will, culón,” said Tigress sarcastically.

“The reason why we’re all here is to figure out what to do with the new bat,” said Black Mask. “At least, that’s what I assume the Joker King called us together for.”

“Then where is he?” questioned Fat T impatiently.

As if waiting for an unspoken cue, the large metal door on the right side of the bay let out a high-pitched screech as it gradually rolled sideways, opening up to the next room. A large neon-green sign lit up above the door saying “WELCOME!”

The other crime lords hesitated. Despite his name, the Joker King wasn’t one for theatrical presentations. The Masterminds shared uncertain glances before the Penguin finally walked ahead, followed by Great White, then Alice skipped after them. One by one, the Masterminds entered the next room with varying degrees of suspicious and nerves.

The next room was pitch black with the exception of the central area, which appeared to be lit up by a single spotlight on the ceiling. A long, surprisingly polished mahogany table was waiting for them along with seven chairs – three on each side and one at the head. Handmade paper nameplates were set in front of each chair, each one untidily scrawled with a different name, indicating a seating chart.

“Anyone else feel like this is a trap?” asked Tigress.

“Oh good, I’m not the only one,” said Peyton.

“Quiet, Sugar!” snapped Scarface.

“So what do we do?” Black Mask asked Great White.

“We sit down, obviously,” Great White grunted.

The elder crime lord stepped forward without hesitation and the rest followed closely behind him.

The seating was as followed: Tigress, Alice, and the Ventriloquist sat on one side, Fat T, Great White, and Black Mask on the other, and the Penguin sat at the head of the table.

They had only just taken a seat when they heard a soft hum coming from the darkness that made them tense up. In a few short moments, a young girl appeared from the shadows carrying a literal silver platter covered by a matching dome. The Masterminds eyed her suspiciously; they had never seen her before.

She was definitely a Joker – nobody went around with white skin and green hair otherwise. As opposed to modern Jokerz who dressed like Halloween rejects or simple hooligans, this particular clown was dressed like she had come straight out a steampunk novel. A frilly – if not scandalous – costume with purple top hat upon her head, a mechanical flower strapped to her bosom, and walking with a cane in her free hand.

She approached the table and set the tray in the middle, flashing a smile to the guests; her lips were painted blood-red and looked intentionally smeared.

For some reason, Black Mask noticed, Great White had gone paler than usual.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the Joker greeted jovially with an elegant bow. “So glad you could make time to join the party.”

“Where’s the Joker King?” asked Scarface impatiently.

“Joker King…Joker King…,” the Joker repeated deliberately, tapping her chin as if she were mulling over the words. “Hmm, yes, where is he? Oh where, oh where could he be?” She suddenly pointed at Alice. “Do you know where?”

Alice shook her head. The Joker pointed at Great White.

“Have you seen the Joker King?” she asked.

“No…,” Great White answered cautiously, almost fearful.

“Hmm, how curiously,” the Joker hummed playfully. She then pulled the dome off the tray and asked, “Have you seen the Joker King, my good man?”

With the exception of Great White, all of the Masterminds jumped out of their seats, reeling in terror. The Joker King’s head was literally on a silver platter, his eyes wide and mouth open as if caught in the middle of a horrified scream.

“Son of a bitch!” Scarface cried, pulling out his miniature gat. The penguin held up his umbrella, Black Mask pulled out a pair of pistols, Tigress flashed her claws, Alice brought out a set of sharp playing cards, and Fat T flexed his muscles. The Joker was not intimidated by the show of force and, in fact, waved her index figure while clicking her tongue cheekily.

“Ah-ah-ah, I’d think my next move very carefully if I were you,” said the Joker.

She raised her cane slightly and slammed it on the ground. Suddenly, rest of the lights in the room flickered on, momentarily blinding the criminals. When their vision cleared, they looked around the room and all the fight in them instantly disappeared when they realized that the walls and ceiling were strapped with hundreds of miniature devices all flashing ominously.

Bombs – the whole room was loaded with bombs.

“Not unless you want to go out with a bang!” said the Joker with a crazed cackle.

“You’re bluffing!” Tigress accused. “You wouldn’t blow yourself up!”

“She’s serious,” Great White spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention, but his eyes were solely on the clown woman. He looked absolutely terrified. And anything that could scare the Great White was something worth fearing.

“Well, now that we’ve established who’s in charge…,” said the Joker, cracking a toothy smile, “please sit down so that we can get started.”

They hesitated at first, but everyone reluctantly returned to their seats. Everyone, that is, except for Fat T.

“Sit down, boy,” Penguin commanded.

“Uh-uh,” said Fat T defiantly, crossing his arms. “I ain’t taking no orders from some dumb clown. Especially a chick dressed like a hooker.”

“Kid, listen to me,” said Great White, his voice trembling, “do not piss her off….”

“You think I’m afraid of some pasty-faced freak?” Fat T scoffed. “I’ll just beat the shit outta her before she – “

BANG!

The Masterminds jumped in their chairs as a gunshot rang out and Fat T fell over on his back, a new bloody hole between his eyes. All eyes returned to the Joker, who held out her cane with a thin plume of smoke coming out of the end. She blew the smoke away in a casual manner, returned her cane to the floor, and addressed the rest of the crime lords like a business woman about to make a presentation.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” said the Joker nonchalantly, “let’s get started, shall we?”

“Before that, I think it’s only proper that you introduce yourself, miss…,” said Penguin, eyeing her leery.

“Oh, where are my manner?” the Joker laughed good-naturedly (if that was possible.) She tipped her hat and said, “I used to go by Duela Dent, but you call me…Joker.”

“Dent…?” Black Mask repeated curiously. “As in…?”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” the Joker snorted. “But no, there’s no relation. Just a funny coincidence.”

“Why have you called us here, Joker?” Tigress went straight to the point. “To make a show of you taking over the Jokerz? To assert your dominance?”

“Easy, easy, kitty cat,” said the Joker, raising her hand. “It’s nothing like that, no. I couldn’t care less about those dime-store counterfeit clowns. Not that there’s any of them left, of course.”

“Whaddya mean, toots?” questioned Scarface.

“Mr. Scarface!” Peyton hissed fearfully.

“I’m glad you asked, Slappy,” Joker laughed. “With the exception of a few minions of my choosing, those second-hand street thugs are good and dead. There can only be one real Clown Queen of Crime in Gotham and that’s yours truly!”

The tension was palpable even as the Joker laughed herself silly. The way she talked so casually about killing her own men – and laughing about it – this woman was truly an unrepentant monster.

“Anywho, back to business!” said the Joker, slapping the table. “The real reason I called you all here was to…stake my claim, so to speak.”

“Stake your claim?” Alice repeated, tilting her head curiously.

“There’s something in Gotham that rightfully belongs to me,” said the Joker. “I want to tell you that it’s mine – and mine alone! If any of you try taking it from me…well, I promise no one will be laughing,” she added with a haunting grave tone.

“And…what are you ‘claiming’, exactly?” asked Penguin tensely.

The Joker’s smile stretched wider than it had ever been.

“Batman.”

Chapter Text

The bell rang for the end of fourth period at Hamilton Hill High, meaning the corridors were flooded with students either on their way to lunch or headed to their next classes. Luckily, Terry was part of the former.

He stopped by his locker to drop off his books. He was grateful Nash wasn’t his usual annoying self today and writing obscenities on Terry’s locker for shits and giggles. Nash liked to single Terry and his friends out because they were the only ones who didn’t treat the resident jock like he was royalty. There was even a time where Nash slandered Harper for being bisexual, but that obviously didn’t get along well with the rest of the school, so he immediately doubled back and pretend nothing happened. He never was the brightest bulb….

Terry was just putting his tablet in his locker when he felt a sharp sting in his side and hissed inwardly, instinctually holding the area. Mad Stan was a tough SOB. Even with the Batsuit’s protective layers, e still managed to bruise a couple of Terry’s ribs.

“You okay there, Ter?” asked Duke as he and Harper approached his locker.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Terry, shutting his locker. “Got a stitch from carrying a bunch of equipment for Mr. Malone.”

At least, that’s the cover story he was going with.

“Working for the old man isn’t as easy as you thought it would be, huh?” said Harper as the three of them walked slowly to the cafeteria. They weren’t in any particular hurry. The lunch they served at the school always tasted bland; budget cuts in favor of the sports teams, of course.

“I never thought it was easy to begin with,” said Terry. “Still, the pay is good, so I can help out mom and Matt. And it just feels good to know I’m helping out however I can.”

“Don’t get sappy on us, McGinnis,” Harper teased, playfully nudging her friend.

“I still can’t believe Mr. Malone is actually a shareholder at Foxteca,” said Duke impressively. “That’s, like, the second biggest tech company in Gotham, and a major competitor against Wayne-Powers.”

“Trust me, Foxteca is way better…for more reason than one,” said Terry, unconsciously glaring at the floor as he thought about Wayne-Powers and its corrupt CEO.

Terry silently cursed. Even after gathering all the evidence against him, Derek Powers used his vast connections with the Gotham media to spin the narrative making it look like Butchinsky was the sole perpetrator and that the nerve gas was made without his knowledge. And, conveniently, Butchinsky apparently died of a stroke while in the hospital. Of course, Terry and Bruce knew it was just Powers covering his tracks, not that they had any proof. Powers was nothing if not thorough.

“So the guys filthy rich, right?” asked Harper, snapping Terry out of his thoughts. “Then what’s he doing slumming it in Old Gotham playing detective?”

“The old man is sentimental about the old days,” said Terry; another lie Bruce taught him. “And everyone has their hobbies.”

“Most hobbies involve collecting cards or throwing a ball – not chasing thugs and murderers,” Harper commented.

“I hope I can be as badass as him when I’m that old,” said Duke as they walkd through the cafeteria doors. “Alright, enough work talk. I’m hungry for some pizza.”

“You know that’s basically cardboard, right?” said Harper jokingly.

“But it’s cardboard covered in cheese,” said Duke playfully.

Terry and Harper shook their heads good-naturedly and joined their friend in line –

Ethen was driving back to the station from the docks, but now he had a new passenger tagging along for the ride. Every so often when they stopped as a light, Ethan would shoot a sideways glance at his new partner – which he was still racking his brain over. Commissioner Bard really loved dropping random bombshells out of nowhere. Says it keeps them on their toes.

Just from their initial meeting, he could already tell Ellen Yin was a serious by-the-books type; a no nonsense, stickler for the rules. She was the opposite of Ethan, who was serious about his work, but was a socially butterfly with a penchant for bending certain rules without breaking them. In that regard, Commissioner Bard and him were very similar. It made him question why the old man would just stick him with a partner out of the blue like this.

Must have seen too many buddy cop movies.

They stopped at another red light and Ethan took a chance to look at his partner again. The woman from Metropolis was scrolling through her tablet with a furrowed brow. From his angle, Ethan could see it was a list of all known criminals in Gotham – he caught a glimpse of Great White and Fat T’s ugly mugs.

“So, any ideas on our clown killer?” asked Ethan, trying to strike up conversation with the out-of-towner.

“Nothing that makes sense,” said Yin, grimacing. “I’m looking through all these case files and psychological profiles and all I can think about is how insane these people are. Suicide via hypnosis, genetic splicing with animal DNA, cannibalism, underground death sports, and now mass clown murder by rats. Whatever happened to jaywalking and stealing candy from corner stores?”

“Welcome to Gotham,” said Ethan jokingly.

“I’ve only been here a few hours and I’m already missing Metropolis,” Yin groaned, leaning her head back against the rest.

“Speaking of, you worked in the SCU, right?” asked Ethan curiously.

“Special Crimes Unit?” said Yin. “For two years, yeah? Why?”

“Well, the SCU is supposed to capture super criminals, right?” asked Ethan. The light turned green and he started driving again. “Why transfer to Gotham?”

“The SCU may seem glamorous from an outsider’s perspective,” said Yin, sighing. “But in reality, we mostly just kept the bad guys busy until Superman comes along to save our asses. I guess I got tired of being backup and wanted to do some actual police work. At least in Gotham they don’t have as many metahumans.”

“Yeah, just the occasional crime lord and murderous psychopath,” said Ethan humorously. Yin gave him a look that said his comment wasn’t funny and immediately switched gears. “Um, so, have you met Superman? Outside of work, I mean.”

“The new one – a few times,” said Yin with a thoughtful expression. “He’s been around for a few years, but he’s still a little green. Never met the original, but I hear Commissioner Kane-Sawyer is pretty close to him.”

“Lucky,” said Ethan, smiling. “Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and meet the new Batman in town.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” Yin questioned.

“You don’t?” said Ethan, surprised.

“What do we know about this new Batman?” said Yin seriously. “He just swoops in out of nowhere and crashes a Wayne-Powers transport – “

“Which was filled with an illegal chemical being shipped out of the country,” Ethan pointed out. “In my books, that makes him a hero.”

“Well, in my books, that makes him a vigilante,” said Yin. “In Metropolis, Superman works with the police and abides by the law. Batman just does whatever he wants without any oversight. For all we know, this knew Batman might just be some random punk taking advantage of his name to take out the competition.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Ethan, shaking his head. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“As crazy as a man parading around as a bat?” Yin retorted.

“Okay, so we don’t know anything about the new bat – that’s fair,” said Ethan. “But for all we know, he could be trying to help Gotham. Like Bruce Wayne did back in the day.”

“Don’t even get me started with Wayne?” Yin scoffed.

“You don’t like Bruce Wayne?” said Ethan, shocked.

“He’s was a rich kid with too much time and money,” said Yin critically. “Instead of investing all that into helping Gotham in a meaningful way, he spent everything on cars and gadgets so that he could run around beating up mentally ill people.”

“Okay, now I can’t take that lying down,” said Ethan, scowling. “Bruce Wayne did a lot of good for Gotham – both in and out of the cape. A lot of the programs that help the less fortunate today were founded and endorsed by Wayne. Healthcare, homeless shelters, employment programs, orphanages – all Bruce Wayne. And what he couldn’t fix as Bruce Wayne, he did as Batman. So I suggest you check yourself before you go making accusations, Yin.”

“You’re pretty passionate about Batman,” said Yin, taken aback.

“Gotham’s proud of its Dark Knight,” said Ethan.

“Alright, so maybe Wayne did some good for Gotham,” Yin conceded. “But that doesn’t mean this new Batman is as selfless and gallant.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to meet him and find out for ourselves,” said Ethan as they turned the corner.

“I’m not holding out for that to happen any time soon,” said Yin.

The day started off fairly normal at the Gotham Merchant’s Bank. Employees came in, sat at their desks, and went to work on…whatever the hell it was it did. Every so often, some people came into either wishing to deposit or withdrew valuables in the bank’s high security vault; people rarely came in looking to retrieve money since they could just do that online. The only difference now was that there were a couple of guards stationed at the front entrance. After the break-in a few weeks back, and the subsequent destruction of public property, they finally decided to security a little more seriously.

The guards turned their heads as the doors opened. Someone in a trench coat and a fedora stepped inside, moving with purpose towards the teller desk. They found it suspicious and had their hands on their guns, but chose not to act just yet. If they were lucky, maybe they wouldn’t cause trouble….

The trench coat-wearing stranger approached one of the desks where a redheaded man in a fine suit was riffling through several documents behind the bulletproof glass. According to his tag, his name was Mr. Dent.

Mr. Dent looked up from his work when the stranger stepped up to his desk and put on his best customer friendly smile.

“Welcome to the Gotham Merchant’s Bank,” said Mr. Dent graciously. “How may I help you?”

“I’d like to open an account,” said the stranger, their voice feminine and familiar.

“Right away, ma’am,” said Mr. Dent chipper. He reached down and whipped out a sheet of paper, sliding it through the gap. “Could I just ask you to fill out this form, please?”

“Certainly,” said the woman, reaching for the paper. “Say, have you heard anything from your daughter lately?”

“M-My what?” Mr. Dent stuttered, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. “How do you know about – “

Suddenly, the stranger snatched Mr. Dent’s outstretched hand and gripped it tight in her own. The bank teller screamed as millions of volts of electricity coursed through his body, coming from the hidden ‘joybuzzer’ on the stranger’s hand. The woman tipped up her fedora…revealing the Joker’s insane, stretched smile.

The Joker cackled as Mr. Dent’s – her father’s – skin turned a sickening black, blood spilling from his ears and eye sockets, as the smell of burning flesh wafting in the air. The Joker let go and watched Mr. Dent fall backwards in a heap, still laughing. Naturally, several employees screamed. The security guards near the door whipped out their guns, taking aim at the clown as she nonchalantly tossed her fedora.

“Freeze, freak!” one of them shouted.

The Joker turned towards the guards with her hands raised, but held a knowing smile on her lips. The guards started to move forward when they heard a strange noise coming from behind them. It sounded like a car horn playing la cucaracha like in a comedy show. The guard looked back and gasped as they saw a pair of headlight shining in their terrified faces before the entrance exploded.

A school bus had driven through the front doors, smashing the glass and bricks, and crushing the guards underneath its massive wheels. The school bus was painted with a mixtures of greens and purples with the word “JOKERZ” tagged on the side. The Joker tossed her coat as the bus doors opens and Chucko hopped out, carrying her hat, followed by the cartwheeling Dee Dee Twins.

“Nice parking job, Chucko!” Delia complimented him.

“Yeah, five stars,” Deirdre added.

“That was totally schway,” Chucko laughed as he handed the hat to the Joker. “We never had this much fun when Terminal was running things.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” said Joker, topping the hat on her head.

The employees who had witnessed the scene jumped out of their desks and made a beeline for the employee exit…which was summarily kicked open by Bonk with Ghoul and Woof bringing up the rear.

“Sup, slags!” shouted Bonk, punching his fist in his hand threateningly.

“If you don’t want your brains blown out,” said Ghoul, pulling out a pistol from his pumpkin bucket and waving it around, “then get on the ground with your hands behind your head.”

Woof frothed and snarled to puncture the point.

The scared employees complied with their demands. Ghoul pulled out some rope from his seemingly bottomless bucket and started tying them up one by one. The bankers were eventually carted into the main lobby and shoved to the ground in the middle of the room with the Joker smiling at their frightened faces, licking her lips in a manner that made the men and women shiver in fear.

“All right, boys and girls!” the Joker announced jovially, waving her hands in the air. “Time to make some withdraws!” The Jokerz cheered and scattered like roaches. All except for the twins, who remained dutifully near their leader. “Dee Dee, Dee Dee, you know what to do.”

“On it, boss!” the twins said in unison with matching salutes.

The twins grabbed one of the employees, a sobbing and screaming middle-aged woman, and started dragging her to the vault in the very back of the bank. They were none too gentle as they smashed the woman’s face into the retinal scanner, which beeped and flashed green with approval. Once the vault door rumbled and twisted open, Delia kicked the woman in the face, knocking her out cold. The sisters peered inside, finding the entire area filled from top to bottom in deposit boxes.

“This is gonna take a while, Dee Dee,” Delia frowned.

“You said it, Dee Dee,” Deirdre grumbled.

The Joker watched the Dee Dee Twins begin rummaging through the security boxes, then looked at the rest of her underling, who were filled dirty pillowcases with creds. The clown chuckled under her breath, twirling her cane with delight.

“Now all we need is the main attraction…,” she said quietly to herself.

Terry wished that Harper had been exaggerating, but the cafeteria pizza really did taste like cardboard. He can’t understand how Duke can eat this stuff. He should’ve done what Harper did and gone with the mystery burrito, as scary as it sounded.

Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Terry quickly pulled it out and found a text from M. Malone (Bruce.) It was only one sentence:

Clowns at Merchant’s Bank.

Clowns? Merchant’s Bank? Wasn’t that where Terry took down Terminal’s crew his first night as Batman? We’re they going for a repeat performance, and in broad daylight? Well, it didn’t matter. Terry had been wanting a chance back at Terminal for a while now.

“You okay, Terry?” asked Duke curiously. “You’re glaring a hole in your phone.”

“Oh, uh, nothing,” Terry stammered. “I mean, it’s something. Mr. Malone wants me to pick up something ASAP. Super important.”

“But classes are gonna start again in fifteen minutes.” Harper pointed out.

“Just make up something for me,” said Terry, picking up his tray, dumping it nearest bin, and practically sprinting out of the cafeteria. “I’ll be back later!”

“Attention all units!” Ethan’s police radio crackled to life; Ethan immediately turned up the volume. “We have a 10-65 at Gotham Merchant’s Bank! Suspects are reported to be members of the street gang known as the Jokerz. There have been several civilian casualties reported. All units are to approach with caution!”

“Jokerz?” said Yin, surprised. “Robbing a bank in broad daylight? That’s crazy.”

“I’ve never heard of them doing anything this extreme before,” said Ethan, scowling. “Something major is going down.”

“Think they have anything to do with what happened at the warehouse?” asked Yin.

“Only one way to find out,” said Ethan.

He flipped on the police lights and sirens, then made a sharp right turn at the light, practically pressing the accelerator to the floor.

The Joker tapped her cane against the floor impatiently, the clacking echoing off the walls of the nearly empty bank, as she stood in front of the cracked open vault waiting or the twins.

The Dee Dees were certainly doing their best searching, even climbing on each other’s shoulders to search the higher boxes, but that didn’t mean the Joker didn’t wish for them to hurry things along. At the very least, her boys seemed happy. While Chucko, Bonk, and Ghoul were loading up the bus with several more bags of unmarked cards, Woof was circuling the hostages like a good watch dog, snarling at them when they moved in any way.

“Man, this is the best payday we’ve ever had,” Chucko laughed, tossing the heavy bag into the back of the bus. “We never did anything like this when Terminal was in charge.”

“That’s because Terminal was a poser,” said Ghoul, handing Chucko the next bag. “He acted tough, but he was thinking too small. The Joker’s the real deal. She has a plan, and she has a fun time doing it.”

“Whaddya think she’s got planned next?” asked Chucko eagerly. “Maybe hit up Wayne-Powers next. Just imagine the old on old man Powers’ face when the clowns come rolling into his office.”

“I’d pay money to see that,” said Ghoul jokingly, hefting up another bag for emphasis. “And good for it.”

“Man, you two can’t be serious,” said Bonk, frowning as he tossed two bags in the back like it was noting. “You really wanna keep working for that pipsqueak?”

“You don’t?” asked Chucko, surprised.

“Hell no!” said Bonk indignantly. “This little bitch thinks she can come in and tell us what to do? She ain’t one of us, and she sure as hell ain’t no Joker. I say we knock off the runt once the job is done.”

“Bonk, she killed Terminal – with a crowbar!” Ghoul hissed fearfully.

“Bitch got lucky – hit him when his guard was down,” Bonk scoffed. “Once we got the creds, I’m gonna rip her head straight off her shoulders. Just you watch.”

Bonk, naturally, wasn’t smart enough to realize that he was talking out loud and that the Joker could hear his every word. The Clown Queen frowned quite unhappily, glancing at them from the corner of her eye, but did not say anything.

“Hurry up, ladies!” the Joker shouted at the Twins, who were now running around like chickens with their heads cut off. “We haven’t got all day!”

“We’re trying, boss!” cried Deirdre.

“There’re some many to look through!” yelled Delia.

“Find it quick!” the Joker damned, slamming her cane on the floor to emphasize her point. “I expect we’ll be having guests very soon.”

One of the hostages on the edge of the group was sweating profusely, his eyes snapping back and forth between Joker and Woof. The spliced hyena man walked past him for another lap around the hostages while the Joker had her back turned to them, and the men were busy arguing among themselves. His eyes wandered over to the emergency exit only a short sprint away. The man made an audible gulping noise, waiting until Woof completed another lap…then jumped to his feet and made a mad dash for the exit.

Woof snarled and barked once he noticed the man trying to escape, which of course caught the attention of the rest of the Jokerz. The Clown Queen in charge only spared the fleeing man a fleeting glance of boredom. She wasn’t worried; he wouldn’t get far. In fact, Woof effortlessly caught the man and tackled him to the floor in four seconds flat.

Woof stood on the man’s back, pinning him to the linoleum floor, snarling in his face. Suddenly, a series of loud clack noises drew close and both the would-be escapee and the spliced hyena looked up. The Joker stood over them, giving the employee a look akin to am disappointed teacher or mother.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” said the Joker, clicked her tongue, shaking her head slowly. “Trying to run away in the middle of the act? Now that’s just rude. Very rude, indeed. You made Woof here very upset.” She pet the hyena man, who was foaming at the mouth. “I’m afraid people who can’t stick to the script will have to be…cut out.”

“Please…you don’t have to do this,” said the banker fearfully.

“I know I don’t have to,” said the Joker, grinning madly. “I just want to. Oh, Woof ~”

It was hard to tell, but it certainly looked like Woof was smiling – his fangs curled upwards at least. The spliced hyena began to lunge –

CRASH!

Everyone turned their attention to the high window as something – or someone – smashed through the glass, red wings spread wide. It was Batman!

The new Dark Knight extended both his feet as he glided downward and kicked Woof in the face. The hyena man made a sharp yipping noise as he was knocked flat, sliding across the smooth floor and hitting his head against the wall next to the vault. The Dee Dee Twins poked their heads out to see what the commotion was, hissing inwardly when they spotted Woof lying in a daze, then squeaked in terror once they realized Batman was there.

Batman stood to his full imposing height and surveyed the scene. Woof was down. Ghoul, Bonk, and Chucko were loading the bus with creds. The Dee Dee Twins were skulking in the vault. And this new clown - a woman with a very steampunk fashion sense - was watching him with the biggest (read: creepiest) smile he had ever seen. The gang was all here - except for one.

"Show's over, dregs!" said Batman. "Where's Terminal?"

"Terminal has been terminated," said the Joker playfully, twirling her cane and tipping her hat. "These fine gentlemen are under new management now. And, if i say so myself, it's quite the improvement - OOF!" Batman had dashed forward, grabbed her by the collar and gave his darkest scowl. The Clown Queen just smiled. "Ooh, you're rough. I like that in a bat."

"Who are you?" questioned Batman.

"Joker," answered the Joker plainly with a tiny giggle.

"Not what - who?" Batman glared.

The Dark Knight rubbed her face with his hand, attempting to rub off the makeup...but when he pulled away, he found the Joker smiling back at him, her pasty white face unchanged. Batman's eye's went wide with shock. It wasn't makeup - it was her skin!

Bruce, who had been observing through Terry's cowl, slowly rose from his seat, staring at the Joker's grinning face with unrestrained terror.

"No...," he breathed. "It can't be...."

"Aw, what's the matter, bats?" said the Joker, subtly moving her right hand. "You look - shocked!"

She slapped the joy buzzer on Batman’s chest, causing him to let go as he yelled in pain from the unexpected electrocution. Fortunately, his suit absorbed most of the damage and at best felt like a slight burning sensation.

The Dark Knight stumbled back, hand over his chest, glaring at the Joker, when Chucko ran up behind him and slammed him sideways with a giant wooden mallet of all things. Batman was catapulted across the room and slammed into one of the teller windows, smashing through it. (So much for indestructible.) Batman groaned as he lifted himself up, shaking his head clear of the daze. He looked back as Chucko (Wielding a wooden mallet), Bonk (cracking his knuckles), and Ghoul (pulling a bomb out of his bucket) formed a line in front of the Joker. The Clown Queen giggled and grinned.

“Knock him around for me, boys!” she declared.

“With pleasure,” said Ghoul as he lobbed the bomb through the window.

Batman activated his booster rockets and launched himself across the room as the bomb went off. He raised both fists in front of him and punched the surprised Bonk in the face, knocking him flat. Chucko ran at Batman with his mallet raised high again. The Dark Knight whipped out a batarang and flung it at the neck of the weapon, snapping it like a twig and causing the hammer to fall back and hit Chucko on the head. The chubby clown stumbled in a daze until Batman ran up and delivered a solid uppercut that knocked Chucko off his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Batman saw Ghoul reaching for something in his bucket. The Dark Knight whipped out another batarang when Bonk suddenly appeared behind him and caught Batman in a bear hug. While Batman struggled in his grip, Ghoul pulled out a spring-loaded boxing glove – one of the oldest gags in the boot. As the Halloween reject pulled the trigger and the boxing glove came flying at him, Batman lifted his lower body up, letting the glove pass under him and hit Bonk in the stomach. The brute doubled over with the wind knocked out of him. Batman broke out of his hold and flipped the larger man over his shoulder, sending him flying right on top of Ghoul.

With the thugs left groaning on the floor, Batman turned to the Joker, who shook her head with an exasperated sigh.

“It really hard to find good henchmen these days,” she commented.

“You want us to help, boss?” asked Deirdre worriedly.

“Please say no…,” Delia mumbled quietly.

“You two keep looking!” the Joker snapped, and the Dee Dee Twins slipped back into the vault with frightened squeaks. She rounded to Batman again, twirling her cane with a smile. “Let’s dance, Batsy.”

The Joker dashed over and jabbed her cane at the Dark Knight’s face. Batman effortlessly deflected the blow, but was caught off-guard when the Clown Queen suddenly kneed him in the gut. She followed with a quick spin and smacked her cane across the Dark Knight’s face, throwing him facedown on the floor with a sharp groan. Batman grimaced and flipped around, leering up at the Joker, who was still smiling amusingly.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” the Joker chuckled. “I know how handle pushy men like you.”

“What’s your game, Joker?” questioned Batman, rising to his feet.

“Just having a little fun, Bats,” said the Joker nonchalantly, sparing a quick glance at the dead guards underneath the bus. “And sometimes fun can be a little…messy.”

“You think this is a game?” Batman scowled.

“Of course it’s a game!” the Joker exclaimed, throwing her hands up in a fantastical expression. “But you know, being a devilishly gorgeous criminal mastermind can be very expensive in this market. The price for fixing up my new hideout alone would make anyone lose their mind.”

“Three people are dead,” Batman scowled. “Because you wanted some creds?”

“You’d be more understanding if you saw the place,” said Joker chuckled. “It’s a complete mess – a real madhouse.”

Batman had just about enough of this clown.

The Joker laughed and jumped back as the Dark Knight took a swing at her. She ducked under another swing and swiped her cane at his head, but Batman blocked it and took a swift kick at the clown’s stomach, finally connecting. The Joker slid back a few feet across the smooth floor, but quickly bounced back with her right hand extended, the joy buzzer primed. Batman caught the clown’s wrist just short of touching his face, then forcefully ripped the device off her hand and kicked her away again. The Joker held her abdomen when the kick landed, her smile partially falling, but quickly returned to form.

“You really know how to treat a lady, dontcha, Bats?” said the Joker amusingly.

Batman glared and lunged forward with his fist pulled back.

While those two were fighting, the Dee Dee Twins were frantically going through all the deposit box now that the Batman was here. Deirdre started pulling out boxes that weren’t the one they were search for, cluttering the floor with jewels, trinkets, and other expensive items. She had just about empties a sixth of the wall when her sister called out:

“Found it!”

Deirdre spun around, spying her sister crouch down to one of the lower boxes. She ran over as Delia pulled out a folded note from her pocket. Inside was a number, which she held up to the deposit box number, comparing the two. #425 – a perfect match.

“Yes!” Deirdre screamed jubilantly, ripping the box out and nearly hitting her sister in the face with it. Together, the twins ran out of the vault and yelled, “Boss!”

“We found it!” Delia added.

The Joker, who had just ducked under another of Batman’s right hooks, snapped her focus on the twins and her smile stretched wider with glee. However, the moment of distraction left her wide open for Batman to punch her across the jaw, sending Joker spinning and collapsing face down on the floor. The Clown Queen raised herself on her elbows, rubbing the sore spot tenderly, then leered over her shoulder.

“I don’t know what you stole,” said Batman seriously, “but you’re putting it back where it belongs.”

“You know what I like about you, Batman?” said the Joker with an edge of humor in her tone. “You’re always good for a laugh!”

The Joker flipped around and pointed her cane at Batman. The Dark Knight raised his arms defensively…then the Joker lifted the cane higher and pointed at the crystal chandelier above. She shot a bullet from the tip of her cane, which broke through the chain holding the chandelier and caused it to fall on the hostages.

Alerted by their screams, Batman disregarded the Joker and started running to them, his brain running a mile a minute. There were too many people to move out of the way, so he would have to do the next best thing. He activated his boosters and flew at the chandelier, tackling it directly to knock it off course and away from the hostages. But in doing so, the Dark Knight crashed into the floor with the chandelier on top of him. His suit’s protective layer kept him from being crushed, but it was heavy and left him momentarily stunned. A result the Joker was hoping for.

“C’mon, boys!” the Joker shouted, jumping to her feet and adjusting her hat. “Let’s blow this bat stand!”

The Joker and the Dee Dee ran to the modified bus first. The rest of their gang joined them at a much slower pace, nursing wounds – Bonk had to carry Woof over his shoulder. Once they were all loaded up, the Joker switched to reverse and pulled out, causing more of the bank wall to crumble. Once they were out on the street, she switch gears and put the pedal to the metal, peeling out with a high-pitched cackle.

And in a stroke of rotten timing, Ethan and Yin just happened to pull up just moments after the Jokerz turned the corner. Ethan whistled as he got out of the car and realized the front entrance had been completely blown open.

“Damn, it looks like a bus drove through here,” he commented.

“They might still be inside!” said Yin, who immediately pulled out her police-sanctioned pistol and ran inside.

“Yin, wait!” Ethan yelled, groaning when she didn’t listen. “Partners….”

Back inside the bank, Batman regained his wits about him and pushed off the chandelier. The Dark Knight leaned against the wall, holding his head as he tried to will the throbbing to stop.

“McGinnis!” yelled Bruce, worried. “McGinnis, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Batman answered, grimacing. “But the Jokerz got away with enough creds to buy the entire north end of Old Gotham.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get them,” said Bruce reassuringly. “What I’m more concerned with is what they took out of the vault. There was plenty of valuables with more than the credits they stole, but they didn’t seem to care for any of it. What could…could the Joker want?”

“You’re asking me?” said Batman. “That girl is a few clowns short of a circus. What’s with her, anyway? She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she looked and acted like the old Joker. But that’s not possible, right?” There was a short, uncomfortable pause. “Wayne, you there…?”

“You better come back to the bunker,” said Bruce firmly. “We need to talk.”

“Wish I could, but I’ve got school to – “

“Freeze, punk!” Batman bit back a curse; Detective Yin had just walked in and immediately aimed her weapon at the Dark Knight. “Hands where I can see them!”

“I so don’t need this right now,” Batman grumbled.

And to make matters worse, Ethan – someone Terry actually knew – followed up behind Yin. Thankfully, he didn’t hold Batman at gunpoint like his partner did. If anything, he looked star struck.

“Holy crap, it’s really him…,” Ethan murmured.

“You’re under arrest, ‘Batman,’” said Yin seriously. “Put your hands behind your head.”

“Yin, you can’t actually be serious,” said Ethan, taken aback by his partner’s attitude. “It’s Batman.”

“He might be – or he could be a punk dressing up like him,” said Yin. “Either way, he’s a suspect in armed robbery and” – she did a quick scan – “three counts of murder.”

“Batman doesn’t kill people,” said Ethan defensively. “He was probably just helping.”

“Then he can explain himself down at the station,” said Yin.

“Wayne, a little help…,” Batman murmured softly as the partners continued arguing.

“Smoke pellets – second pouch on the right,” said Bruce.

Batman subtly reached for the indicated pocket while keeping an eye on the detectives. He pulled out a single black pellet – it looked easily destructible. However, Yin realized what he was doing and started to pull the trigger. But she was a second too late; Batman threw the pellet at the detective’s feet and a cloud of think gray smoke exploded around them. Ethan and Yin coughed harshly, waving the smoke out of their faces. When the smokescreen cleared, however, Batman was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh yeah, classic Batman,” said Ethan proudly.

Yin glowered at her partner.

Chapter Text

“Honey, I’m home!” the Joker announced with a cackle as she kicked the creaking double doors, knocking one of them off their hinges.

Their “home” had seen better days. The Joker and her collective of clown-themed goons stepped down the cracked stone stairs to the long corridor, between the rows of broken columns and rusted fragments of a fallen catwalk. At the end of the hall were two curved staircases leading to another section. The legs of what might have been a grand statue stood between the stairs on a raised platform.

The Joker giggled nonsensically as she climbed the stairs two steps at a time, coming to a little area the Jokerz had made for themselves. It was mostly just a few moth-eaten couches, a stolen vid screen, and a few miscellaneous items they stole. What stood out was the three tables of filled with various chemicals and lab equipment on the opposite side.

The Joker plopped herself on the couch, facing her minions, lazily reclining with her legs crossed.

“Ah, so nice to be back our sweet ha-ha-hacienda,” she said with a grin.

“Some place,” said Delia, shivering. “Place gives me the creeps.

“Me, too,” Deirdre, unsurprisingly, agreed.

“Aw, be like that,” said the Joker. “What it lacks in style, it makes up for in character.”

“Well, whatever,” said Chucko, dumping one of their bags of stolen loot on the loot. “With the creds we got, we can spruce the place up however we want.”

“That’s the spirit, Chucko!” said the Joker brightly, jumping to her feet and walking over to the chunky clown to give him a gentle pat on the head. “I always said you were my favorite.”

“Hey, Joker,” said Ghoul, bringing up the rear with Bonk and Woof. “What’s in the safety deposit box you wanted so badly.”

“Yeah, what’s in there?” questioned Bonk, dumping his share of the goods. “Gold bars? Jewels? Secret military stuff we can sell for a bunch of creds?”

“No, no, no, it’s worth so much more than that, my dear Bonk,” said the Joker, waving her finger. She snapped her fingers at Delia; the ragdoll clown bound forward and handed over the metal box. “Thank you, Dee Dee. What I have in my hands is priceless piece of history. Something so valuable, it was locked away for forty years, just waiting for someone to collect. Ladies and gentle-clowns, feast your eyes on…this!”

The Jokerz leaned in close, growing more excited the longer their boss hyped it up. Everyone buzzed with anticipation as the Joker dramatically undid the latch, pulling the lid open slowly…. Their faces immediately fell when they realized it wasn’t valuable jewelry or military secrets. It was –

“A piece of paper?” Bonk yelled heatedly. “We went through all that crap for a piece of paper?”

 A yellowing, slightly torn piece of paper with what looked like coffee stains on the corner and was written in an eccentric scrawl. The Joker gently lifted the paper out by the corner, looking like she had acquired a long lost treasure.

“Bonk, Bonk, Bonk, you dimwitted lug,” said the Joker, shaking her head disappointedly. She purposely ignored the throbbing vein in his temple and continued nonchalantly. “It’s not the paper that’s valuable. It’s what’s written on it.”

“What is it?” asked Chucko curiously.

“Call it a ‘family recipe,’” said the Joker cryptically with a playful wink. She tossed the safety box, spun around on her heel, and walked toward the makeshift chem lab. “Now if you gentlemen would excuse me, I’ve got some cooking to do.”

“See, this is the kind of bullshit I was talking about,” Bonk whispered to Ghoul and Chucko. “Wasting our time with stupid papers. I say we jump her now and be done with it.”

“You’re still on that?” said Chucko.

“Let’s be rational, Bonk,” said Ghoul. “The Joker’s cooking up something right now. Who knows? Maybe it could be worth something – “

“That bitch is not the Joker,” Bonk snarled.

“What’re you whispering about?” the Dee Dee Twins asked together.

“Bonk wants to off the Joker and take the creds,” Ghoul informed them.

“Are you crazy?” Delia gasped.

“That’s suicide!” Deirdre agreed.

“C’mon, there’s six of us and only one of her,” said Bonk, punching his fist into his hand. “We can take her.”

“You can leave us out of it, right, Dee Dee?” said Delia.

“Yeah, we like the new boss, Dee Dee,” said Deirdre.

“We’re way better off than we were with Terminal,” Chucko added.

“And you know she always has a plan,” said Ghoul.

“You guys are bunch of traitors,” Bonk huffed. “I’m telling you: first chance I get, I’m popping off the bitch’s head.”

Once again, Bonk failed to realize that he wasn’t as subtle as he fooled himself into believing. The Joker heard his every word as she looked between the chemicals, a toothy grin on her red lips.

Down below the Malone Detective Agency, Terry on the examination table, trying his best to stop himself from wincing as Juila slapped the ice pack on his ribcage, hissing inwardly.

While the first basement floor was the Bat Bunker’s command center, the second floor acted as both a training facility and a medical center. The majority of the room floor was a large open area made up of white projection panels that fabricated hard-light simulations for a controlled training environment. The med station was tucked onto the left side of the room and possessed virtually every type of medical equipment available, including some that didn’t exist in hospitals. The old man spared no expense when it came to safety.

Speaking of, Bruce Wayne sat more quietly than usual as he watched Julia patch up Terry from his latest bout.

“You’re lucky the suit absorbed most of the damage,” said Julia as she put her equipment away. “You should’ve come back as soon as you were hurt instead of running off back to school.”

“I have to keep up appearances, right?” said Terry, grimacing as he readjusted the ice pack. “Can give people a reason to think I’m Batman. I especially if my mom starts asking why I keep skipping classes.”

“You made the right call,” Bruce agreed.

“Now I know why grandpa Alfie was always complaining about your thick-headedness,” said Julia, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“So what was up with that Joker?” Terry brought up. “She wasn’t wearing any makeup and she was seriously out of her mind. It was almost like – “

“The real Joker?” said Bruce gravely. Terry went silent, giving the old man his undivided attention. “For all intents and purposes, she may as well be.”

“You’re gonna have to run that by me,” said Terry.

“Years ago, the Joker shipped out gallons of his diseased blood to every hospital in Gotham,” said Bruce, his hand tightening on his cane. “Thousands of people had been infected, myself included. My allies and I were able to develop a cure, but some were…overlooked. Those people started showing signs of being altered both physically and mentally, slowly becoming a near-perfect copy of the Joker himself. I thought I had found all traces of Joker’s contaminated blood, but it seems like one slipped through and finally infected someone. Likely intentional, since it took forty years for another infection to crop up.”

“So how did you cure them?” asked Terry. “Maybe we can do the same for – “

“I didn’t,” said Bruce gravely. “Even after all these years, I never found a cure, no matter what I tried. Whoever that girl was, she’s gone now. Only the Joker remains.”

“Great,” Terry complained. “The worst criminal in Gotham history is back, and he is a she.”

“Don’t underestimate her, McGinnis,” said Bruce seriously. “The Joker was a madman, and I expect this new Joker will be just as bad, if not worse.”

“Trust me, I’m not dropping my guard again,” said Terry. “So where do you think she – “

A sharp sound of a ringtone cut him off. Bruce pulled out his phone and checked the name before answering.

“Commissioner Bard,” Bruce greeted civilly. “What can I do you for?”

“You can cut the nice act, old man,” said Commissioner Bard (For the sake of plot convenience, Terry and Julia could hear him.) “It’s creepy.”

“He knows the Commissioner?” Terry whispered to Julia curiously.

“They have a…complicated history,” Julia murmured back.

“I assume this isn’t a social call,” said Bruce indifferently.

“Just finishing up here at the Merchant’s Bank,” said Commissioner Bard. “That new kid of yours left a huge mess behind. You need to work with him on a little thing called collateral damage.”

“He knows?” gasped Terry, but was shushed by Bruce.

“We finished interrogating the hostages and are investigating all the stolen goods,” Commissioner Bard continued. “Besides the obvious thousands of cards in creds, it looks like those clowns stole one other item: a single safety deposit box from the vault.”

“Just one?” asked Bruce curiously.

“Yeah, everything else is untouched,” explained Commissioner Bard. “Jewels, watches, property deeds – all of it was left behind. It seems like the clowns were only interested in the one box.”

“Dou you know who it belongs to?” asked Bruce.

“That’s where it gets interesting,” said Commissioner Bard. “According to the records, the account was opened over forty years ago to the name of one J. Napier.”

“J. Napier?” Bruce repeated, eyes wide with shock. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Commissioner Bard, sounding grave.

“Who’s J. Napier?” asked Terry.

“One of Joker’s oldest aliases,” answered Bruce, frowning. “Thank you, Commissioner Bard. We’ll look into it right away.”

“I’m not gonna tell you how to do your job, old man,” said Commissioner Bard, “but make sure that the new kid does it by the book. I want the Jokerz brought in, not taken out.”

“Ironic, coming from you,” said Bruce humorously. The phone click and a long ringtone played; the commissioner had hanged up. “Some things change, others don’t.”

“So the new Joker took something that belonged to the old Joker,” said Terry, brow furrowed in thought. “How did she even know about the deposit box if it was made over forty years ago. That would’ve been before she was even born.”

“Based on personal experience, the Joker’s blood can give you glimpses into his memories,” said Bruce seriously, leaning back in his seat, hands folded under his chin. “Even events that you were not there to witness yourself. I can only assume that this new Joker must have found out about it thanks to the original Joker’s memories mixing with her own.”

“Well, whatever it is, it can’t be good,” said Julia. “That pasty-faced bastards was a psychopath, and there no telling what he might’ve left behind.”

“We need to find this new Joker before any more people die,” said Bruce.

“But how do we do that?” asked Terry. “I didn’t have enough time to put a tracker on any of them.”

Bruce closed his eyes, his brow furrowed, and hummed quietly to himself. He tried to recall anything this new Joker might have said or done that would give them a hint about her whereabouts:

“The price for fixing up my new hideout alone would make anyone lose their mind.”

“It’s a complete mess – a real madhouse.”

“That’s it!” Bruce suddenly shouted, surprising Terry and Julia. He quickly stood up and hobbled to the elevator. “McGinnis, get suited up. I know where she is.”

“Where?” asked Terry.

“Where it all began,” Bruce answered cryptically.

Yin leaned against her partner’s car, scrolling through her phone while waiting for Ethan to come out of the Bat Burger. Yin can’t wrap mind around the fact that they made an entire fast-food chain around the Dark Knight. Then again, Metropolis had places like Superburger and Planet Krypton, so she had no right to talk. 

Commissioner Bard had chewed her and Ethan out at the Gotham Merchant’s Bank. Not only had they completely missed the real culprits by mere seconds, but the commissioner had a few choice words for Yin about her botched arrest attempt of the Batman. The commissioner made it clear that their priority was catching the clown killer, which they now assumed was this new Joker ringleader, and that the Batman should be left to “the professionals.” Yin wanted to say that she’d like to meet these so-called professionals, but she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t want to lose her badge on her first week. 

Ethan finally came out after a twenty-minute wait carrying a paper bag with the gaudy bat logo. 

“Sorry for the wait, partner,” said Ethan, reaching into the bag and offering her a burger. "Here ya go: one Bat Burger Deluxe – no pickles. And I got Jokerized fries to share.” 

“Really, Bennet?” said Yin, giving him a look. 

“What? They’re good fries!” said Ethan defensively. 

“Read the mood, partner,” said Yin. She unwrapped the burger and took a bite. “Not bad. Not as good as a Superburger, but all right.” 

“Okay, Metropolis,” Ethan snorted, leaning against the car next to her and pulling out his own burger. He took a bite and checked his partner, who went back to her phone. “Any leads on our clown queen.” 

“You mean the new Joker?” said Yin. “I’ve been going through the street cameras trying to following them back to their hideout, but they disappear after crossing the Westward Bridge in Burnley. Then nothing.” 

“Westward Bridge?” Ethan repeated thoughtfully, taking another bite. “That leads to the furthest outskirts of Gotham. There’s nothing out there except....” 

“Except what?” asked Yin curiously, noticing her partner’s pause. 

“Get in the car, Yin,” said Ethan, suddenly turning serious. 

Ethan threw his half-eaten burger in the nearest bin and ducked into the driver’s seat. Taken about by the sudden change, Yin ran around the car and hopped into the passenger’s seat. She barely had time to buckle her seatbelt before Ethan took off down the street, turning on the police sirens. 

“Bennet’s what’s going on?” asked Yin, bracing herself as they took a sharp turn. “Where’re we going?” 

“There’s only one place past the Westward Bridge where that clown would hide,” said Ethan seriously. “And that’s - “ 

Arkham Asylum – back where everything began. 

In the forty years since the Titan Riot and the subsequent Arkham City incident, Arkham Island had been left to rot away like an old scab. Nature had taken the island back; thick walls of moss, vines, and ivy crawled over the dilapidated walls, entire buildings were crumbling away into nothing. The only thing that looked alive was the forty-foot plant that wrapped around the distant lighthouse (Terry hoped to God it didn’t suddenly wake up and start craving a bat-snack.) 

Batman glided through the night air, landing on a conspicuously out-of-place ledge above the front doors of the Arkham Manor. Bruce had told him that there was a vent he was used to sneak inside...but the wall was completely blown open, so no point in that. 

He made his way into the main hall through the equally out-of-place hiding spot in the ceiling, walking past one of those weird spider stone things. He silently landed on what little remained of the catwalk and crouched down, peering below. He could see the Jokerz on the upper level; most of them handing around the TV while the Joker herself was concocting something with a chemical lab. Terry extended his arm, shooting a line to the only gargoyle that hadn’t broken, and allowed it to pull him. Now hanging above the Jokerz, Batman narrowed his eyes and positioned himself to pounce. 

“I found the Jokerz,” said Batman. “Going in - “ 

“ Terry, wait! ” Bruce warned before he could move. “ What’s the Joker doing? ” 

Batman rounded to the Joker again. It looked like she had just finished her mixture – a noxious-green liquid in a beaker. She poured the concoction into and sealed it with a cap with a hose attached. She stowed the bottle underneath her dress and attached the hose to the flower on her bosom. Looking quite proud of herself, the Joker picked up her cane and walked back to her goons with a happy hum. 

“Gather ‘round, gather ‘round, boys and girls!” the Joker shouted jubilantly. The clown-themed goons quickly dropped what they were doing and joined her; Bonk was noticeably slower than the others. The Joker theatrically gestured to her flower like she was presenting the opening act. “Feast your eyes on this beauty. Think it looks good on me?” 

“Lookin’ great, Boss,” said Chucko. 

“You look like a million creds,” said Ghoul. Woof barked in affirmation. 

“It’s cute, right, Dee Dee?” said Delia 

“You said it, Dee Dee,” Deirdre responded. 

“It’s a stupid flower,” Bonk huffed, arms crossed. 

A moment of tense pause passed. The Jokerz looked at Bonk like he had lost his mind and slowly backed away. The Joker, however, was all smiles as she walked up to the muscle-headed goon, her cane clacking on the floor. 

“Bonk, Bonk, Bonk,” the Joker tutted. “You only say that because you can’t appreciate the joke. Trust me, you’ll die laughing.” 

The Joker gave her flower a light squeeze, making it expel a cloud of green gas. Bonk coughed, waving the gas out of his face. Then, out of nowhere, he started giggling. His giggling quickly ascending into a chortle, then morphed into uncontrollable laughter, her mouth stretched unnaturally wide. Even though he was laughing, his eyes showed complete fear. In moments, fits of hacked coughing mixed in with the laughter, and his hands went to his throat as he started taking longer gasps of breath. Bonk collapsed on his back, his laughter slowing down until it stopped completely. 

The Joker walked around the fallen minion, his face stretched into a painfully wide smile, his eyes glazed over and unblinking. She gave him a few nudges with her cane. He didn’t move. Batman didn’t need Detective Vision to know he was dead. 

“Now there’s a face not even a mother would love,” the Joker guffawed. 

“Wayne, what the hell did I just watch?” said Batman, fighting back a shudder as he looked at Bonk’s eternal grin. 

“ Joker gas, ” said Bruce, sounding just as uncomfortable as Batman felt. “ That must have been in the deposit box. It was a recipe for Joker’s toxin. Terry, you need to get that stuff away from her now! ” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” said Batman as he whipped out a batarang from his wrist. He started to aim for the Joker -  

“FREEZE!” 

“Slag it!” Batman cursed. 

It a really unfortunate timing on their part. Ethan and his new partner climbed the steps with their guns trained on the Jokerz. The henchmen threw up their hands in surrender, but the Clown Queen herself was very nonchalant about it. Ethan and Yin stepped forward cautiously, not taking their eyes off the Jokerz except to look at Bonk’s grinning corpse.

“Oh damn…,” Ethan murmured.

“It’s over, Joker,” said Yin seriously, prioritizing the clown over the body. “We’re taking you in.”

“Really, detective, you should be more careful when entering a super criminal’s lair,” said the Joker, twirling her cane whimsically. “You never know when someone might get the drop on you.”

The Joker stopped twirling her cane and pointed it to a pillar on Yin’s left. She activated the hidden mechanism and shot a bullet from the tip of her cane. The bullet mashed the already crumbling support, causing it to fall on top of Yin. The detective from Metropolis froze in a brief moment of panic until Ethan tackled her to the ground, shouting, “Look out!”

The two of them hit the floor while the pillar crashed behind them. Neither one had the chance to recover before the Jokerz were on them. Ghoul relieved them of their guns while Chucko picked up Ethan, bending his arm behind his back, and the Dee Dee Twins grabbed Yin. Woof shuffled in front of them, babbling incoherently, just itching to take a swipe at them. The Joker bonked him on the head with her cane, ordering him back, and strutted up to the detective.

“It’s a wonder nobody trusts the police if you two are the best they can manage,” said the Joker mockingly. Yin gritted her teeth and tried fighting her way out, but it a fruitless. “Now, now, why so serious, detective? You should smile more. Here, let me help you with that….”

The Clown Queen leaned closer to Yin and reached for her flower. She gave it a gentle squeeze –

Until a batarang flew down from the ceiling, accurately sweeping around the room and cutting the tube connecting to the toxin. So when the Joker squeezed the flower, nothing came out.

“Hey, I’m out of gas!” said the Joker, surprised.

“And you’re about to be out cold!”

The Joker looked up as a bat-winged shadow flew over, moments before the Batman stomped on her chest and knocked her across the room into the entertainment stand.

The Jokerz gasped. Except for Woof, who immediately charged at the new Dark Knight with his claws swinging. Batman easily ducked underneath his swing, threw a gut punch at the Splicer’s midsection, knocking the wind out of him. He then grabbed Woof and shoulder tossed him, throwing the Splicer over the railing. A painful yip followed a loud thud.

Meanwhile, the Joker pushed off the ruined vid screen, standing up and brushing herself off casually.

“Batman!” the Joker shouted gleefully. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. There were these to freaks in a lunatic asylum – “

“I’m in no mood for bad jokes,” said Batman, leering. “Hand over the gas and I might go easy on you.”

“But where’s the fun in that,” the Joker giggled.

The Clown Queen of Crime lunged at the Dark Knight, sweeping her cane around. Batman raised his arms to deflect it. The Joker twisted on her heel and swung her cane from the other side. Batman blocked that as well. The Joker then jumped up, catching her opponent by surprise, and kicked off his chest, knocking Batman on the ground while she flipped in the air and landed on her feet.

Batman raised himself up by his elbows, then quickly rolled to the right as the Joker slammed her cane where his head had been. The new Dark Knight swept the Joker’s feet out from under her, knocking her to the ground with him. The pair rolled away from each other, jumped to their feet, and dashed straight back into it, both of them seemingly on equal footing.

The Jokerz watched the fight play out from the sideline, so distracted that they didn’t pay attention to Ethan or Yin, who nodded together in a silent agreement.

Ethan stomped on Chucko’s foot, making the chunky clown cry out, then threw his head back to headbutt Chucko’s face. Chucko stumbled back, holding his face with a pained groan, unwittingly letting go of Ethan’s arm. Ethan immediately spun around and swung a haymaker across Chucko’s face, making the chubby goon spin around once before collapsing out cold.

Ethan quickly rounded to Ghoul, who yelped frantically and reached into his bucket, pulling Ethan’s own gun on him. Ghoul took a couple of shots on Ethan, but it was obvious he had no experience with firearms. His shots were wild and uncoordinated. Ethan dodged the bullets and ran up to Ghoul, pounding his knuckles into the Halloween reject’s face for a one-hit KO.

At the same time, Yin pulled her arms together and made the Dee Dees slam into each other, smacking their face together. While they were disoriented, Yin punched one in the face and tried to knee the other, but Delia blocked the blow with her hand. Delia took a wild swing at Yin, but the detective ducked down and flipped the ragdoll overhead and slamming Delia on her back. Deirdre came to her sister’s aid, but Yin – almost casually – flipped Deirdre on top of Delia and leg dropped them both.

“Not bad, partner,” Ethan complimented Yin, handing back her gun.

“Did I mention if practice MMA on weekends,” said Yin, smirking.

“No, you did not,” said Ethan. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Now that the thug are out of the way,” said Yin, turning serious, “we just have one clown left. And the bat. Where are they?”

The detectives paused and listened for a moment. They heard the sounds of fighting coming from don the stair. Ethan and Yin looked over the railing and potted Batman and the Joker dancing across the main hall.

The Joker slammed her cane down, but Batman moved out of the way, jumping up to use the all as a springboard, and kicked the clown across the face. The Joker spun around once, then lunged back at the Dark Knight, stabbing her cane ahead. Batman moved out of the way as the cane punched a hole through the weakened wall. He raised his fist for an overhead attack, but the Joker ripped her cane out of the wall sideways, tossing chunks of concrete in the Batman’s face.

The Dark Knight flinched and raised his fist to defend his head, leaving his midsection wide open for the Joker to kick. Batman landed on his back with a pained grunt. The Joker straddled his chest, pressing her knees on his arms to pin him down, and raised her cane like a sword over Batman’s head. The Joker stabbed down; Batman moved his head to the right. She stabbed again; moved his head to the left.

She was about to stab for a third time when Batman forced his right arm free and slammed his knuckles into her face. The Clown Queen stumbled away from him, dropping her cane in a daze. Batman bounced back up before she could recover and threw his hardest haymaker across her cheek, sending her flying and spinning around through the air before landing on her front. The Joker groaned weakly as he whole body went limp.

She was knocked out.

Batman exhaled a sigh of relief, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. For a psychotic clown girl, she a surprisingly tough.

He kneeled next to her unconscious form, ruffling through her suit until he found the bottle of Joker toxin. Terry unconscious glared at the mixture, understanding how evil such a chemical was –

“Hands where I can see them, Batman,” Yin ordered, coming down the stairs with his pistol aimed at Batman. The Dark Knight scowled at her over his shoulder. “Don’t try anything funny or I’ll shoot.”

“Yin, you can’t be serious,” said Ethan, walking up to his partner in disbelief. “The bat just saved our asses.”

“That may be so,” said Yin, looking at her partner, “but he’s still a vigilante. That’s why we’re bringing him in – “

But when she looked back, her jaw dropped in surprise. The Batman had completely vanished. Yin searched the hall wildly, but there was no trace of him.

“Yeah, classic bats,” said Ethan amusingly.

Yin was going to put in a request for a new partner.

Terry (unmasked) stood behind Bruce with Julia while all three stared at the Batcomputer’s monitor apprehensively. The screen displayed a single, toxic green cell that was being introduced to a new chemical. The cell seemed to shrink and turn red for just a moment, but then it quickly rubber banded back to its previous form. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose with a defeated sigh.

“It’s no use,” he said, turning around to face Terry and Julia. “Even after forty years and the most advanced technology on the planet, there’s no viable way to reverse the mutation. If anything, that girl – whoever she was – was so unnaturally compatible to the Joker’s DNA, that it accelerated the transformation process, making it stronger and more permanent.”

“So there’s no way to turn her back?” asked Terry apprehensively.

“I’m afraid not,” said Bruce, shaking his head.

“Whelp, looks like you got your first super villain, kid,” Julia said jokingly.

“Great,” Terry groaned. “I don’t get paid enough for this….”

In the wake of the Great Occupation, a new Arkham Asylum had been erected in the middle of the Gotham Bay – one that a constantly being updated with the latest technology to prevent the insane inmates from escaping. (For all the good that did.)

The newest addition of Arkham sat in the darkened corner of her rubber room, arms bound by the straightjacket that forced on her, giggling quietly. She smiled wide at the orderly that came to check up on her through the slot in the door, laughing as he backed away quickly, looking like he saw a ghost (or a devil.)

“Heh-he, that was the most fun I’ve ever had,” the Joker chortled to herself. “The thrills, the suspense, the action, the drama – hat a great opening act. Oh, I can wait for the next performance. And there will be another. Let’s do this again real soon…McGinnis.”

The prisoners and orderlies shivered in fear as the Joker’s insane cackled echoed off the walls.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Terry was still pretty miffed over an hour after his “tussle” with Inque (but if you asked Bruce’s opinion, it was more like a one-sided beat down.)

Foxteca’s Otisburg branch had been thoroughly slagged and Inque made a clean getaway. Batman only narrowly managed to get out of the building unseen, but Ethan and Detective Yin didn’t make it easy. Once safely on the rooftops, Batman had started making his way to the Bat Bunker when Bruce told him to make a detour to Foxteca’s main headquarters, which was where the old man had been skulking all night.

Batman met Luke in his office, who showed him a secret elevator behind a portrait of his father, Lucius (total schway, by the way.) The elevator took them to a secret garage underneath Foxteca that was three times the size of the Bat Bunker and chockful of technology that was either still being made or was covered in tarps or contained in boxes.

According to Luke, this was his secret “Bat Workshop” where he developed all of Batman’s technology. On a normal day, Terry would have loved to skim through all the fancy gadgets, but when he saw Bruce’s wide back in front of the giant Bat Computer on the far side of the workshop, his excitement shifted to annoyance.

“What did you send me into?” Terry yelled at him, whipping off his mask. “It was like some kind of blob! You should’ve warned me!”

“I did,” said Bruce apathetically. “You’re Batman now. You need to learn to think on your feet.”

Terry let out an annoyed sigh, running a hand down his, and began to pace around the workshop.

“Look, you may be used to dealing with freaks and monsters,” he said, “but I’m a little new at this. I don’t even know what half this stuff is.” He stopped in front of an open create full of cylindrical devices filled with glowing blue liquid. He picked one up. “Like, what is this thing? And why it is so cold?”

“Be – careful with that,” Luke hurried forward, carefully removing the device from the Dark Knight’s hand and delicately putting it back in the box. “Old freeze blast grenades – courtesy of the old snowman himself. They’ve got a bit of a hair trigger, so be careful how you handle it.”

“See!” said Terry emphatically. “I don’t know any of this! How am I supposed to be Batman when I don’t even know what I’m working with?”

“He’s got a point, Bruce,” said Luke.

“I get it already,” Bruce grumbled, annoyed. He typed away at the Bat Computer and said, “Come here and look at this.”

Terry walked over to join his side when Bruce brought up an official looking fiule on screen that Terry was almost certain he shouldn’t legally have. The file had Inque’s name on, so that meant she wasn’t just some smalltime crook. However, the picture attached the file was radically different from the girl he saw tonight. She was older, more round-faced, and gave the air of a femme fatale.

“This is Inque,” Bruce explained. “She’s a corporate saboteur. Interpol used to chase her for years. And if these documentations hold any real insight, then it says Powers was her last employer.”

“Are you sure that’s her?” asked Terry. “She looks different than how she looked an hour ago. Did she change her hair or something?”

“That’s because this is the original Inque,” Bruce stated. “She died two years ago after a botched job at Queen Industries Gotham branch. Green Arrow and Huntress stopped her from sabotaging major medical equipment would save millions of lives when her body suddenly destabilized and perished.”

“What happened?” asked Terry curiously.

“Cellular degeneration,” said Bruce. “The result of volunteering for a mutagenic experiment – the details of which remain unknown. She’s been fighting it for years. Powers likely promised her a cure.”

“Then if the old Inque is dead,” asked Terry curiously, “who’s the new one.”

“The most likely candidate is her daughter: Deanna Clay,” said Bruce, bring up a picture of a redheaded woman who looked like she was getting her photo at the DMV. “Over the years, Inque has been transferring large sums of money to Deanna through a private bank account. She was attending Gotham University when she suddenly dropped out two years ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Right around the time her mom died,” said Terry, crossing his arms.

“With her mother dead, it was only a matter of time until her trust fund dried up,” Bruce reasoned. “Some time in the past two years, she must have learned she inherited her mother’s powers and decided to follow in her footsteps.”

“What is up with these legacy supervillains,” Terry complained, remembering a certain clown from recent past.

“You’re one to talk,” Bruce retorted smugly.

“So how do we stop her?” asked Terry.

“I might have something that will give you a boost,” Luke chimed in, causing Terry and Bruce spin around toward him. “Come this way, Mr. McGinnis.”

Terry turned to Bruce, who shrugged his shoulder, then quickly followed Luke to the other side of the workshop. They walked around the piles of half-finished inventions until they came across a massive object that took up its own space, hidden beneath the largest tarp humanly possible. Luke grabbed the tarp with both hands and whipped it off with a flourish.

Terry’s jaw dropped in awe when he saw it.

“So, what do you think?” asked Luke, smiling knowingly.

“Mr. Fox, you are the coolest man on the planet,” Terry complimented him.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Luke chuckled.

Powers always excelled in keeping a straight face even in the face of the most…unruly associates, and this time was no different.

As he sat behind his desk, going through the latest reports on the upcoming bid for the lunar station, he had received an unexpected call from the “council” – or rather, one member in particular. Powers dismissed his assistant, Miss Winston, and closed the shutters on the windows, plunging the room into darkness. Powers rose from his chair and walked around his desk, readjusting his tie and putting on his best business smile as a single holographic screen appeared in the air.

“Powers!” Shadow-5 screamed immediately, his voice crackling with its usual automated tone.

“Professor Tzu, what a pleasant surprise,” said Powers jovially. “How’ve you been hold up?”

“Don’t play games with me, Powers,” Shadow-5 – Prof. Tzu – hissed. “I’ve heard the rumors going around your city. They say that an ‘inky-blob’ was seen fighting Batman last night.”

“Have they now?” said Powers, maintaining a straight face while secretly gripping his hands behind his back. “That’s interesting. But I wouldn’t put too much stock into rumors, doctor. The people of Gotham love to exaggerate. Makes thinks more exciting. I recently heard a rumor that there’s a fifty-foot alligator man roaming around the sewers – “

“The description matches one of my earliest experiments,” Prof. Tzu interrupted harshly. “As I recall, she was in Gotham when she perished. She was attempting to sabotage one of your competitors at the time, wasn’t? Strange how another one of your competitors in suffering from similar incidents, right as you are about to make a bid for major government project, hmm?”

“I have no idea what you – “

“Don’t feed me your worthless lies, Powers!” Prof. Tzu snapped, the crackle in his voice intensifying. “I’m not one of your boardroom stooges! I know for a fact that Inque had a daughter! Her mother was my property! Which makes her my property! If I find out that she has awakened her meta-gene and you didn’t tell me, there will be hell to pay!”’

“I can assure you that if anything like that comes up, you’ll be the first to know,” Powers reassured him.

“You’d better,” Prof. Tzu threatened. “Your position on the council is tenuous at best. Don’t forget, you’re not irreplaceable.”

And on that note, Prof. Tzu ended the called. Powers immediately dropped his smiling demeanor, scowling into the darkness with his hand gripped so tight, his knuckles turned white. He pressed a button from his remote, opening the shutters, and returned to his chair.

“No more interrupts,” Powers told over the intercom. “I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, Mr. Powers,” Miss Winston answered.

“That was way too close.”

Powers scowled as he glanced at the shadows in the corner of the room. Only they weren’t actually shadows; they were moving. The black mass jumped out of the corner and landed on Power’s desk, reshaping itself into Inque’s human appearance, sitting cross-legged in front of Powers.

“I thought he almost found me,” Inque commented.

“That oversized omelette should be the least of your concerns, Miss Clay,” said Powers, scowling severely, making Inque lean away uncomfortably. “You were seen last night. The terms of our agreement was that you were to remain hidden.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Inque argued childishly. “It was Batman!”

“I don’t want your excuses – I want results!” Powers yelled, slamming his fist on the desk.

“But – But I did my job!” Inques sputtered desperately. “I slagged the place just like I promised!”

“And that’s the only reason why I’m still hiring you,” said Powers, regaining his calm demeanor. He reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a vial of venomous-green liquid. “Your payment for a job well done.”

He tossed the vial in the air and Inque jumped at it like a dog chasing a Frisbee. She all put ripped the cork off and guzzled the contents like a woman dying of thirst. She drank the fluid, the glossy surface of body became firmer and more solid. She finished the vial with a breathy sigh and looked at her hand, flexing them as if to see they were real.

“Keep up the good work and I may offer you a permanent solution to your problem,” said Powers. “But screw up again, and you’ll be following in your mother’s footsteps – straight to the grave.”

“Yes, Mr. Powers,” said Inque submissively.

“Moving on…,” said Powers, reaching into his desk drawer and holding out a manila envelope. “Here's what I’d like for you to do for me tonight, my dear.”

“WOO-HOO!” Batman cheered excessively loud, not that anyone could hear him over the screaming engines of his sick new ride.

The new and improved Batmobile – a major upgrade from the heavy-duty tank that stopped the Arkham Knight’s occupation forty years ago, handmade by Luke Fox. He had been working on this beauty for decades and it was finally making its debut.

The design was sleek and futuristic just like everything else in Neo Gotham with its round pod design and sharp angular points. The exterior was made from a polished Nth metal alloy that made it virtually indestructible and possessed anti-gravitational properties, which was how it was able to fly so fluidly compared to over hover vehicles. The jet thruster was the same type the used in NASA, allowing the Batmobile to fly a Mach 3. And the interior controls were keyed into the batsuit’s unique biometrics to prevent anyone from stealing it, which was apparently an issue in the past. And best of all – now wheels for street punks to steal (and inside joke between Luke and Bruce that went over Terry’s head.)

Terry couldn’t wait to take this puppy for a spin, flying around the skies of Gotham at a hundred and twenty miles an hour.

“This is unbearably cool!” said Batman like a kid in a candy store.

“Glad you approve,” said Luke over the radio. “Remember: easy gestures. Let the suit do the work – “

At that precise moment, Batman turned the controls a little too tightly and the speedometer shot up to two hundred MPH. Batman quickly loosened his grip on the controls, returning to normal speeds.

“What did I just say?” Luke complained.

“Sorry,” Batman apologized.

“If you scratch it, it’s coming out of your paycheck,” said Luke.

“Yes, boss,” Batman quipped.

“If you two are done playing around,” Bruce joined the chat, “I just picked up a radio call from Foxteca’s shipping unit – pier 18.”

“I’m on it,” said Batman seriously, turning the Batmobile on a dime and zooming towards the Gotham Bay.

A guy just can’t get a break in Gotham. One minute, he’s just minding his a own business, making sure the transport ship with was securely moored to Foxteca’s private dock. It seemed like an easy gig from an upstanding company. But before he knew it – WHAM! – a huge-ass crane comes toppling down onto the ship, snapping it in half like a twig, and then, for some unexplainable reason, the whole thing decides to explode!

Man, that’s it! He’s moving to Star City!

Meanwhile, Inque reformed where the crane used to stand, cackling jovially as she watched the two halves of the boat sink into the Gotham Bay. She looked around, spotting the giant tanker with Foxteca’s name branded on it, and had a wicked idea.

Inque jumped to the row of hover forklifts that were just sitting there, unattended, with the key in the ignition for no reason at all. She turned on the first forklift and pulled the lever, sending it flying towards the tanker. Inque enthusiastically waited for the big explosion  until – wait, was that a jet engine she just heard?

Something dark and fast zoomed across the Gotham skyline, nearly knock Inque off balance as it passed over. Inside the Batmobile, Batman used the vehicle’s auto-aiming system to lock-on to the hover forklift, then pressed a button to launch a guided missile. The forklift exploded before it could hit the tanker, but probably still caused hundreds of dollars’ worth of property damage.

“Hey! No fair!” Inque complained.

“Not interested in playing fair!” Batman retorted over the batmobile’s speakers.

The Batmobile turned towards Inque and flew at her. The young saboteur yelped and ran away in the opposite direction, deforming into a stream of hopping black liquid to move faster. But she wasn’t fast enough and soon the Batmobile was directly over her.

Batman pulled the ejection lever that opened a hatch directly beneath his feet. He spread his wings, gliding towards Inque, and sliced her liquid body in half with his wing’s sharpened edges. Naturally, that didn’t do much to stop her as the two halves pulled themselves together and changed into her human form.

“Just leave me alone, dreg!” Inque snapped.

“Not happening, Deanna,” said Batman sternly.

“Wha – how did you?” Inque sputtered, taken aback.

“I know what happened to you mom,” said Batman, which was probably the wrong thing to say continued how her face contorted in anger. “And I know the same thing is probably happening to you. Powers has something over you, doesn’t he? That’s why you’re working for him. If you come we me, we can find a cure – “

Inque roars furiously and whips out her arms, transforming them into a pair of blades. Batman deflects them with the blades on his arms until Inque creates a third arm from her stomach, punching the Dark Knight in the abdomen. Batman slides back with a groan as Inque retracts her tendrils.

“Kid, use the new batarang I gave you!” shouted Luke.

The Dark Knight twisted his wrist, switching the hidden automatic batarang dispenser in his arm, then flexed his hand to retrieve one. Unlike the standard batarangs, this one had light-blue edges that emitted a low humming noise.

Batman threw the batarang at Inque, who just stood and took it, thinking it wouldn’t cause her any harm. Her arrogance proved flawed the a thousands of volts of electricity coursed through Inque’s body the moment the batarang made contact, making her cry out in pain. Inque desperately scratched at the area where the batarang was clinging to her, literally ripping it off her body and throwing it away.

Inque paused for a moment, trying to catch her breath, when she looked up and watched the Dark Knight rip a manhole cover out of the ground. Batman bum-rushed her using the manhole cover as a shield and slammed her to the ground, making her body splatter. The scattered pieces of herself quickly rolled back to the source, slipping underneath the manhole cover, and exploded upwards like a geyser, knocking the Dark Knight away.

Batman hit the ground with his back, but rolled with it and returned to his feet. He looked up in time to witness Inque turn herself into a slingshot with the manhole cover as the ammo. He ducked his head as Inque launched the metal disk at him, which flew across the pier and imbedded itself into the wall of the nearest warehouse. Batman looked back at it and rubbed his neck, imagining what would have happened if that had hit him.

He turned his attention back to Inque and realized that she was trying to make a break for it. Inque was bouncing along edge of the piers with Batman tailing her, using his wings and jet boots to match her pace. Their chase kept going until they reached the end of the pier where Inque suddenly stopped at the corner. She stared at the water like it was a pool of acid and turned around, only for Batman to block her escape route. Panic was starting to settle in on Inque’s face as the woman looked around desperately.

It took a moment before it finally clicked in Batman’s head.

“You don’t like the water, do you?” he said.

“Wh – what?” Inque sputtered.

“The water,” Batman reiterated. “You can’t go near the stuff, can you?”

“Sh – shut up!” Inque retorted childishly. “You don’t know any – hey, watch it!” Batman had just kicked some of the bay water in her direction and Inque bended her body out of the way to exaggerated proportions. “What the hell is wrong with you, dreg?”

“Give it up, Inque,” said Batman, reached down for another handful of water. “There’s nowhere left for you to run.”

Inque took a step away from the Dark Knight, only to realize that he was right – there was nowhere left to run. The young saboteur looked around frantically until she noticed something on the ground next to Batman’s foot – a single glimmer of hope: a storm drain.

Inque glared at Batman as the Dark Knight hand one hand in the water and the other gripping antoher electrified batarang. The two of them locked into an epic stare down when Inque suddenly lunged forward, catching Batman off-guard. He splashed the water towards the slippery woman, but she flattered herself against the ground and continued slithering his way. Batman pulled back to throw his batarang, only for Inque to stretch forward and tackle him in  the chest, knocking Batman flat on his back.

The Dark Knight rolled over and scrambled to his feet with his batarang poised, but Inque had already slipped into the holes of the storm drain. Since the opening was barely the size of Terry’s fist, there was no way he was catching her.

Inque escaped.

“Bad news, boss,” said Batman, touching his earpiece. “She gave me the slip.”

“If Powers is still intent on sabotaging Foxteca,” said Bruce, “then she’ll show herself soon.”

“In the meantime, do you have any samples of Miss Clay available?” asked Luke.

Batman searched the pier. The piece that Inque threw off herself was splattered on the ground, rendered inert by the electrified batarang.

“Yeah, got some right here,” Batman answered.

“Would you mind bringing it back to me?” Luke requested. “I think I might have a solution to our Inque problem.”

Chapter Text

It was still late at night when Terry returned to Luke’s secret workshop underneath Foxteca. He had called his mom ahead of time to let her know he was working late again. Mary was, of course, concerned about Terry’s schedule, especially with the many long nights he was working, but Terry reminded her that the money was good and it would really help the family. That didn’t make Mary happy, but she understood. Terry hoped that Wayne would throw in a bonus soon….

At the moment, Terry was carrying a crate filled with the unstable freeze grenades Luke had warned him about earlier and dropping it off on the CEO’s workbench. Based on the scattered blueprints, it looked like Fox was planning to develop a freeze batarang – so schway.

Speaking of whom, Luke was staring rather intensely through a microscope, the contents of which were displayed on the computer. It was a sample of Inque’s goop. Luke grabbed a nearby syringe filled with purple liquid and injected it into the Inque sample. The goop went inert for a moment…then suddenly exploded into a frenzy, breaking the microscope lens. Luke pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in defeat.

“No, that’s not it either,” he muttered.

“Still working on those Inque blots?” asked Terry, leaning against the table next to him.

“Trying to find a cure for her cellular degeneration,” said Luke as he fiddled with some chemicals for the next test. “I’ve isolated the genome responsible, but I have yet to create a compound that could stabilize it. Although, judging by this sample, it seems she found a temporary solution. Just enough to keep her from falling apart, but only good for a few days. Powers’ handiwork, no doubt.”

“The old man isn’t helping?” questioned Terry.

“He’s looking into some new ‘cat burglar’ in town,” said         Luke. “Don’t worry, I have more than enough brainpower to figure this out. I’ll have this done in twenty-four hours tops.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” asked Terry. “Giving Inque a cure? She’s already plenty tough without it.”

“Powers’ is holding young woman’s life hostage,” said Luke, filling a syringe with a new chemical compound. “If we give her the cure, she’s have no reason to work for him anymore. Besides, we both know it’s the right thing to do.”

Terry knew he was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it….

Derek Powers leaned against the windowsill of his private hover car as he soared through the cityscape, coming back from another annoying session of baseless accusations from two of Gotham’s finest. Of course, they were true, but they didn’t have the evidence to prove it, as Powers’ attorney was so happy to remind them. He had hoped Miss Winston would offer him some better news from last night, but instead –

“Unfortunately, last night’s damage was minimal,” Miss Winston reported via vid-call. “They’re still meeting their schedule.”

“Just…perfect…,” Powers sneered, cutting the line with an angry jab.

Powers’ fury was doubled when he leaned back, doing a double-take when he noticed the shadow of his hover car roof moving. He didn’t know how she did it, but he was not amused how Inque had snuck into his private hover car and casually dripped into the seat opposite him, reforming into her human shape. He was only marginally pleased to see the shapeshifter fidgeting in her seat like a child being punished.

“Mr. Powers, I can explain,” said Inque pleadingly.

“This had better be good,” Powers glowered. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Inque cried. “It was that guy in the red and black costume – Batman!”

“Batman?” Powers growled, gripping his armrest so tight, it threatened to break.

“Yeah, this is the second time he’s gotten in the way,” said Inque. “If he hadn’t gotten in the way – “

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” Powers shouted, slamming his fist on the armrest, making Inque flinch. In the next moment, Powers turned surprisingly calm as he reached into his suit and retrieved a vial of green chemicals. “I suppose you’ll be wanting this….”

Inque hesitated, sensing that Powers was still furious despite his calm demeanor. She shakily reached out to grab it…before Powers crushed the vial in his hand, unconcerned by the glass shards cutting into his hand, the red blood mixing in with the green chemical.

“NO!” Inque cried, dropping to her knees and desperately trying to grab the liquid dripping onto the floor. Powers suddenly surged forth, wrapping his fingers around the shapeshifter’s throat. Inque could have easily escapes, but she was paralyzed with fear as Powers stared into her eyes. It might have been a trick of her terrified mind, but Inque thought Powers’ eyes were…glowing.

“You idiot!” Powers roared. “You think I would pay you for your screw-up?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Powers, I – “

“Save it,” Powers spat, throwing Inque back into her seat. He calmed down again and the glow in his eyes seemingly disappeared. “I’m putting you on a new assignment: Find this Batman and kill him.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Inque argued. “Breaking a bunch of stuff is one thing, but killing someone….”

“You’re not getting any more medicine until he’s dead,” Powers declared firmly. “It’s his life or yours.”

“But – but he’s working with someone,” Inque sputtered. “I heard him talk to someone over a radio link.”

“Then kill them both,” said Powers impatiently. “Do this and you’ll never have to worry about your ‘medicine’ again.”

“You mean you’re gonna keep giving be the temporary stuff,” said Inque, frowning.

“You can either complain and die, or you can go bat hunting,” said Powers. “Now I suggest you get a move on before you start dripping all over my car. I just had it cleaned.”

Inque continued to frown, but reluctantly exited the vehicle through the crack in the door and slipped out into the Gotham skyline. She lashed out her arm, hooking a radio antenna, and stuck herself to the surface as she watched Powers fly away.

“Sorry, Bats,” Inque muttered to herself and she slipped down the tower. “But it’s you or me….”

Another nights, another fie to put out – literally if you’re Gotham’s resident superhero.

It started with a fire alarm. Someone had set a blaze to the Foxteca building in the Bowery – that someone likely being Inque. Thanks to Luke, Batman got the alert before the fire department did and made it to the burning building first in his new Batmobile. The new Dark Knight parked the Batmobile in front of the building and got out to investigate.

“Bad news: we’re too late,” Batman informed Luke over the radio link, approaching the building cautiously. He suspected that Inque might be nearby.

And he was right.

The Dark Knight didn’t realize it, but Inque had plastered herself against the surface of a billboard, disguising as the lips of the woman on the sign. The shapeshifter stiffed when Batman looked her way for a few long seconds, then carried on like nothing was wrong. Inque exhaled a relieved sigh.

Inque slowly extricated herself from the board while Batman investigated a puddle of her inky body she had purposely smeared on the building wall. The slick saboteur slipped down to ground level next to the Batmobile, checking to see that Batman’s back was to her one last time before splattering herself against the vehicle. It was a good thing it came in black – Inque blended perfectly on the surface.

“No sign of her,” said Batman, touching his earpiece.

“There’s nothing more you can do,” said Luke. At that moment, fire and rescue vehicles started to turn up. “Leave this to the fire department. Come back to the workshop. I think I finally figured out the correct compound for stabilizing Inque’s body.”

“I’m just hoping we don’t come to regret it,” said Batman as he hopped into the Batmobile.

Batman flew away from the scene before the fire trucks started dosing the flames, also nearly missing Ethen and Yin as they came around the corner to investigate –

Batman flew the Batmobile straight back to Luke’s secret lab, though he had to go the long route. To prevent anyone from realizing that Foxteca was developing Batman’s equipment like Wayne Enterprises did in the past, they had to use a secret entrance through the abandoned subway system in Old Gotham. The entrance to the tunnel was ten miles out and had to go through an elaborate series of fake walls and automated security doors. Some would say they’re overreacting, but given what happened forty years ago, their paranoia was warranted.

Batman jostled the controls as he flew through the final checkpoint, frowning.

“The car’s feeling a little sluggish tonight,” Batman informed Luke.

“Park and I’ll run a diagnostic,” said Luke.

The CEO of Foxteca started the system for the diagnostics check as the Batmobile came to rest on the pressurized landing pad. Several spotlights hit the car from all angles as the landing pad flood of automated data directly to his computer via wireless uplink. Batman had just hopped out of the Batmobile when Luke’s computer let out a warning siren.

“This can’t be right,” said Luke, readjusting his glasses. “It says the car’s over eighty pounds heavier than normal.”

“What does that mean?” asked Batman as he reached to take off his mask.

Luke went silent for a moment, deep in thought, until something occurred to him. He leaned his head around the computer, spying Terry as he started to peel away his mask, then noticed with his critical eye that spot on the Batmobile was a shade darker than the rest.

“Don’t take off you mask!” he screamed.

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” Batman asked quickly, taken aback by the sudden outburst. Without warning, Luke suddenly jumped from his chair and disappeared deeper into the workshop. “Hey, what’s going on, Lu – “

“Don’t say anything!” Luke shouted from somewhere. “She’s here!”

It took a moment to decipher who “she” was before Batman’s eyes went wide and realized his mistake. He turned on his heels towards the Batmobile as Inque peeled herself from the vehicle now that she had been caught. The shapeshifting saboteur threw out her arm, wrapping an inky tendril around the Dark Knight’s throat, and shoved him across the workshop, slamming him through a pile of crates into the wall. With her arm still around his throat, she slammed him on the ground and against the ceiling several times before he finally went limp.

Inque retracted her arm, pulling the weakened superhero closer to her. Batman groaned weakly. The suit had absorbed most of the damage, but his whole body was throbbing. It wouldn’t surprise him if he developed a full-body bruise.

Inque hanged the Dark Knight aloft while molding her other arm into a corkscrew. She pulls back and begins twisting her limb, aiming for the emblem on Batman’s chest. But just when she thought she had everything wrapped up…she hesitated. Her minds was screaming for her to finish the job, but her body refused to obey.

Batman, steadily regaining his consciousness, noticed her reluctance and seized the moment by drawing an electrified batarang at throwing it at Inque. The shapeshifting saboteur screamed when the batarang hit her chest, sending thousands of volts coursing through her inky body, involuntarily dropping Batman on the floor. The Dark Knight bolted behind the crates as Inque ripped the batarang from her body, panting.

“What’s the plan, Inque?” Batman called as he weaved through the maze of boxes. “Moving up from corporate sabotage to assassination now? It’s not as easy as you thought, is it?”

“You think I want to do this?” Inque screamed, sweeping her arms around and knocking over the piles of crates, dumping their contents on the floor. “I’m no killer!”

“Then why do it at all?” questioned Batman, moving to another hiding spot before Inque knocked over his previous space.

“I don’t have a choice!” shouted Inque. “If I don’t kill you, he’s going to kill me! It’s the only way he’ll let me go!”

“Powers is never going to let you go, Deanna!” Batman retorted, rolling to a new spot as Inque’s tendrils came close closer. “He’s just going to keep holding you by a leash until you get caught or die!”

“Just shut hell up already!” cried Inque as she lashed out in another sweep.

Batman pressed himself against another crate, peeking around cautiously. Inque was moving in the opposite direction of him, but her moves were becoming more erratic the more emotional she became. She was tearing through everything trying to find her including a giant mechanized batsuit that Luke had been halfway through designing. Batman could imagine Luke was crying somewhere as the shapeshifter slithered inside the suit and exploded outward, breaking it apart into a thousand pieces.

“She’s going to wreck the place if I don’t do something about it,” Batman muttered to himself as he watched Inque snap an old fashioned two-wheeled bat-cycle in half and flung both pieces across the workshop. “A batarang isn’t going to be enough. If only I had some….”

While Inque went on a rampage through an arsenal of bat-gadgets, Batman’s eyes wandered to the ceiling and spotted a spout from the building’s sprinkler system. Water! That’s just what the superhero orders.

Batman retracted a normal batarang up his sleeve and threw it out the spout above Inque’s head, amazing even himself when he made a perfect cut. Water sprayed down on top of Inque like a shower, the shapeshifter squealing in pain as parts of her body dripped off and splattered on the floor. She moved away from the spray, desperately trying to hold herself together, but Batman just cut the next spout over and continued dowsing in water. More and more of her body melting into globs of ink as she tried moving away, essentially now crawling on her arms. Batman broke another sprinkler for the coup de grace. Inque cried weakly, desperately reaching out to the Dark Knight as he stepped out into the open, then melted into a puddle of black goop.

The sprinklers finally stopped after a few seconds, probably automated to do so. Batman crouched down next to the puddle of Inque.

“Don’t worry, Deanne,” said Batman reassuringly. “We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

Batman stared at the black puddle with sympathy…until the puddle suddenly jumped up and tackled him against the wall near Luke’s workbench. The dark blob reformatted into Inque’s humanoid form with her hands firmly locked around the Dark Knight’s throat, squeezing harder and harder until he started to choke.

“Just do me a favor and die already!” Inque shouted.

When Batman tried to speak, it only came out in strangled coughs and sputters. His consciousness was fading fast. The Dark Knight looked around desperately for something to get him out of the situation. His eye landed on the crate sitting on Luke’s workbench and remembered the contents inside. He extended his hand, but his fingers just a few inches short of touching the edge. He stretched harder until his arm began to hurt, his mind steadily going blank as the world grew darker….

Then, without warning, Inque heard a hissing noise and felt something pierce her shoulder.

Inque yelped at the sudden stinging sensation and dropped Batman, allowing him to breathe again. The inky saboteur touched her shoulder, which was still throbbing, and spun around.

Luke back away slowly, his face concealed behind a metal bat mask, and an empty injector gun in his hand.

“Easy there, Miss Clay,” said Luke carefully. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Inque lashed her arm out and wrapped it around Luke’s body, pinning his arms to his side and forcing him to drop the injector. Guess she didn’t believe him.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Inque snapped. “Some kind of…Bat I.T. guy?”

“It’s Batwing, actually,” said Luke calmly.

“What did you do to me?” questioned Inque, pointing to her stinging shoulder. “What did you put in my body.”

“I synthesized a chemical compound I believe should resolve your cellular degeneration,” Luke explained. “Take a look for yourself.”

Inque regarded him skeptically, but gave her body a once over. Immediately, she noticed that he body was less coagulated and become more congealed, similar to how her body reacted to Powers’ temporary cure. But Inque could feel the difference. This wasn’t a patch job – it was permanent!

Inque let go of Luke and took a moment to admire her body.

She didn’t notice Batman pulling himself up to Luke’s workbench and reaching inside the crate –

“It’s…it’s really happening,” said Inque, her face splitting into a gleeful smile that made her look young. “I feel like myself again! It doesn’t feel like I’m going to fall apart if I make the wrong move anymore! Oh my god, I can’t believe this is real!”

“It’s real, Miss Clay,” Luke reassured her. “Now don’t have to work for Powers anymore. You’re free to go back to your old life.”

“Yeah, I’m done with Powers, all right,” said Inque, turning to Luke with a wicked grin. “As for my old life – not a chance.”

Luke let out a pained cry when Inque suddenly lashed at him, sending him flying into a pile of crate and rolling across the floor. The CEO gritted his teeth, his arms cut up by the various objects that spilled out of the crate. Inque strolled over to him, making herself bigger and more visually threatening with each step.

“Why would I want to go back to being boring, trust fund baby Deanna Clay?” Inque cackled. “Do you see what I am – what I can do? With these powers, I can do whatever the hell I want! No more asking for mommy and daddy for money,. No more nagging professors and annoying gossip. No more letting people push me around and telling me what to do! I – am – INQUE!”

She stretched her arm and slammed it down on top of Luke. The mask CEO rolled out of the way, narrowly dodging as the tendril crackled the floor.

“And once I’m done here, I’m gonna pay Powers a visit,” said Inque. “Then he’ll know who’s really in charge!”

“As much as I would love to see that.” Inque turned around, spying Batman on his feet, a freeze grenade in his hand, “I’m gonna have to take you down. Here, catch!”

He lobbed the grenade into the air and watched it sink into Inque’s body. The slippery shapeshifter gave a moment of thoughtful pause before the grenade detonated and created a thick layer of ice that traveled through her body. Inque pained wails rang in their ears before the ice completely encased her. And due to the way she was positioned, Inque’s frozen form fell over and smashed into a hundred frozen pieces shattered across the floor.

Batman let out a relieved sigh, grateful he didn’t have to use the second freeze grenade he had on hand. Luke picked himself up and walked over to his young partner.

“That’s it, you’re showing me everything,” said Batman, holding up the freeze grenade.

Luke laughed. He liked this new Batman.

“Again, Bennett?” Yin groaned, leaning against Ethan’s car as she waited for her partner to come out of Bat Burger, loaded with two bags and two drinks.

“C’mon, Yin, you can’t tell me you don’t love the Clayface Milkshakes,” said Ethan, tempting his partner with the frozen treat.

“…Well, it’s not like a Super Smoothie is hard to beat,” Yin muttered, accepting the drink milkshake and taking a long, noisy slurp. Ethan leaned against the car and started working on his Bat Burger Deluxe. “I still think Powers is behind these Foxteca attacks. They’re competing for the same commission and Wayne-Powers profits the most from Foxteca going under.”

“Yin, everybody knows it’s Powers,” said Ethan. “The problem is pinning any evidence against him.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s gonna fall out of the sky,” Yin groaned.

And just like that, a clear plastic bag fell out of the sky on the sidewalk in front of them. Inside the bag were the frozen pieces of Inque, which seemed to still be moving inside their icy prison. The bag also came with a handwritten note that read:

To my two favorite cops.

Keep on ice.

And the note ended with a red bat symbol.

Ethan and Yin snapped their heads up just in time to see the Batmobile sweep around the corner and disappear into the night.

“…Dispatch, we’re gonna need a refrigerated truck at Bat Burger, over,” Ethan said into his police radio, still staring at sky with his partner.

Chapter Text

Three people were locked in a dark room together where the only source of light came from the dim bulb hanging over their heads. It looked like a scene out of those old mobster films. One man sitting against the wall was bald with a full beard, arms full of tattoos; a regular thug. The second man was standing, arms crossed, his fingers fidgeting against the sleeve of his clean, pinstripe suit. The last one was actually a girl – very young, likely a high school drop-out – her dark skin marked with scratches and bruises, her bright-pink hair standing out in the weak lighting. Her clothes were unflattering compared to the men in the room. While the other two were calm and patient, the girl had been blubbering the entire time.

“I didn’t mean to…,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I wasn’t gonna – “

“Shut the hell up, bitch!” the bald man snapped, kicking the girl’s leg from his position, which made her twitch in fear. “We’re in this freckin’ mess because of you! All you had to do was deliver the package! And instead, you blabbed everything to the first guy that asked!”

“That’s what we get for using a street whore,” the clean henchman scoffed. “Goddamn worth more trouble than she’s worth. A goddamn jinx is what she is.”

“I didn’t want to do any of this,” the girl cried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m – “

There was a loud clang that echoed off the walls, followed by a long creaking noise. Someone was opening the door.

The three immediately got up and moved to the back wall as the door was slowly pushed open, letting in the light that momentarily blinded their senses. When their eyes adjusted, they saw two men armed with assault rifles standing on either side of the door. But it was the man in the man in the middle that made the young girl tremble behind her burly cohorts.

Ignatius Ogilvy – the Emperor Penguin himself – was standing at the threshold, umbrella on his shoulder, the dim light reflecting on his monocle, making him look more villainous than her already was.

The Penguin strode two steps into the middle of the room, under the light, and slammed his umbrella against the cement floor. The girl flinched; the men tried to pretend they weren’t intimidated, but were sweating like crazy. The posh crime lord looked between the three, clicking his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said flamboyantly. “Such a shame, really. I mean, betrayal right under my nose. And on this, the eve of my big celebration party. I am truly, and terribly, hurt.”

“I didn’t mean to!” the girl desperately. “These two – “

“Shut the hell up, bitch!” the bald brute spat, punching the girl in the face and sending her to the floor.

“Now, now, we’re all civilized gentlemen here,” said the Penguin, though his ‘gentlemanly’ attitude didn’t extend to helping a lady off the floor. Instead, he began pacing around the room, his umbrella clacking on the floor. “Now, from what my men have told me, you three tried to sell my secrets to the NGPD. Munition records, trafficking routes, even the names and faces of some of my best – and loyal – men, all to make a tidy sum for yourselves. Is that right?”

“Please…please…,” the girl sobbed. “It wasn’t my fault – “

“Damn right it wasn’t your fault, you goddamn jinx,” the clean-shaven man hissed, giving her a quick kick in the side. “Mr. Ogilvy, if you would just let me explain – “

“No need,” said the Penguin, holding his hand up. “Honestly, I’m impressed. I would’ve done the same thing. Hell, I have done the same thing. Which is why I’m willing to offer you a chance.”

The dapper crime lord reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a single, old-fashioned revolved. The men visibly flinched, which made the Penguin laugh. The Penguin opened the chamber and made a show of putting in six bullets before snapping it shut. Her gave the chamber a quick spin, then bent down, gently putting the gun on the floor, and rose back up. The three looked between the gun and the Penguin, visibly confused.

“Take the gun and shoot me,” said the Penguin in shockingly jovial tone. “If you can kill me, you are free to go. Simple, yes? So, who’s going first?” He looked between the two men, both of whom looked down, fearful and fidgeting. Neither of them made a move for the gun. “No takers? Pity. I was almost looking – “

Suddenly, they heard a scramble of motion and realized that the girl had made a desperate grab for the gun. She stood up on her feet, chest heaving frantically, both hands on the revolver, which she aimed directly at the Penguin’s face. The Penguin smiled with a low chuckle.

“Well, at least one of you has some fight left,” said  the Penguin amusingly. “Well, go ahead, girl. Shoot.”

The pink-haired was breathing frantically, her hands shaking and as she inched her finger closer to the trigger…. When she suddenly turned around and pulled twice without hesitation, shooting the other two men clean in their foreheads. The girl’s eyes went wide, almost not believing what she did as the two men slumped to the ground, blood trickling down their faces from the new holes in their head.

She jumped when the Penguin suddenly guffawed, stepping up and clapping her shoulder like a proud uncle.

“Well done, girl, well done indeed!” the Penguin praised. “I would have let you lived if you had taken a shot at me simply out of respect. But this is even better than I could have hoped for! Stick with me, girl, and you’ll be going places. Ah, but where are my manners. I don’t believe I caught your name.”

The pink-haired girls breathing finally started to settle once she realized she wasn’t about to die. While the emperor of Gotham’s underworld waited for her answer, she stared at the corpses of her abusers, recalling their final words to her.

“…Jinx,” she said, looking up to meet the Penguin’s eyes. “It’s Jinx, sir.”

“C’mon, move it, double time, you mooks!” an armed thug in a wooden black mask shouted. “We’re on a schedule here, and you know the boss doesn’t like being late!”

It was another night in Old Gotham – where criminals ran around like rats when the sun went down. Half a dozen men shuffled around the abandoned warehouse in the middle of the city (seriously, why are there so many abandoned warehouses, one had to wonder.) The henchmen were lugging several crates to the back of a large truck and stacking them all the way to the roof. One man set a crate on the floor and opened the lid to check the contents.

Guns – at least a dozen laser rifles neatly lined up in a two rows. They looked like the latest models; the kind normally available to the NGPD SWAT.

“Ho-ho-ho, merry Christmas to me,” the henchman chortled gleefully.

“What’re you standing around for?” said another goon, slapping his accomplice over the head. “We need all of this stuff out of her ASAP or the boss’ll have our heads!”

“What’s the big rush?” asked the first henchman.

“The boss lady has it on good authority that this place is about to get hit tonight,” said the second thug. “And the cargo is too valuable to lose. We’ve already taken a major hit in the last month when our deal with the China White Triad went south. You hear the reason why it blew up?”

“Yeah, the same reason why two of our spice labs were ‘blew up’ last week,” the first henchman grimaced.

“Batman,” the second thug scowled.

“Ever since that pointy-eared freak showed up, business has been in a freefall,” said the first henchman. “Did you hear he did to martin last week?”

“Martian who’s in the hospital?”

“Yeah, how do you think he got there?”

“Well, I’d like to see that nutjob try breaking into this place,” said the second thug, pulling out one of the rifles and waving it around threateningly. “If that freak shows his pointy head, I’m gonna blast it clean off his shoulders.”

“Don’t jinx us, you idiot,” said the first henchman. “The last thing we need is the Batman kicking our asses tonight.”

Well, that poor, unsuspecting lackey was in for some bad news. Because the Dark Knight was already inside the warehouse, lurking in the shadow of the rafters overhead.

Batman jumped between the beams until he was directly over the truck, his eyes narrowing as his cowl automatically zoomed in on the crate. The onboard computer scanned the guns, bringing up a full schematic on his HUD.

“Wow, these dregs aren’t messing around,” Batman whispered. “Inferred targeting scope, one hundred round mag, three hundred degree plasma rounds – those things could turn an armored truck into Swiss cheese.”

“All the more reason why we need to get them off the street,” Julia said over the comms.

“Bet the old man wishes he was here to see this instead of a stuffy business meeting at Foxteca,” said Batman jokingly.

“One of the downfalls of being a shareholder,” Julia replied; Batman could practically hear her smirk. “But what I don’t get is how the Black Mask got her hands on military grade rifles. She usually deals in drug trafficking and extortion. Why the sudden change?”

“I think I might have an idea,” said Batman. He narrowed his vision on the back of one of the hechmen’s uniforms, the cowl automatically zooming in. Even though the man was wearing a wooden black mask, the symbol of his clothing told another story. “That’s the Penguin’s mark. They’re with the Penguin Empire.”

“What, they imposters?” asked Julia.

“No, they were definitely talking like they were taking orders from Black Mask,” Terry answered.

“Something isn’t right here,” Julia hummed. “Take out those men, but leave one of them conscious. Maybe we can get some an – “

Suddenly, a sharp ringing noise cut through the warehouse. Everyone recognized the noise. It was the ringtone of a cellphone. But asked the masked flunkies looked around, they didn’t see anyone reaching for their pockets.

“Hey, who’s phone is that?” one of the bigger flunky shouted.

“Not mine!” another goon answered, showing his phone.

“Not mine either!”

“Nope!”

“Not over here!”

“Then who the hell is it?” the big thug snapped irritably.

Batman cursed under his breath. That was his cellphone ringing loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood. The young Dark Knight pulled open the third left compartment of his utility belt to retrieve the device. The Caller ID and picture said it was Harper Row. She picked a hell of a time to be calling, Batman thought.

“You didn’t put your phone on vibrate?” Julia yelled furiously in his ear. “What the hell, McGinnis?”

“I’m sorry, okay, I forgot!” Batman apologized. “I was a little busy being Batman!”

“Batman doesn’t forget to put his phone on vibrate!” Julia snapped.

“It’s fine, just let me – “ Batman began when a bright light suddenly shined on his face, forcing him to shield his eyes with his hand. “Crap….”

“IT’S THE BAT! SLAG HIM!”

The Dark Knight extended his wings and glided off the beam just before the goons started taking potshots. Thankfully, they only used their normal guns and not the laser rifles; they were probably afraid Black Mask (or Penguin) would kill them for ruining their stock. Batman soared to the farthest end of the warehouse, spinning to avoid spray of bullets, then retracted his wings and dropped down somewhere in the labyrinth of crates. The False Facers-Penguin Empire bullet trails followed him and started pelting the boxes full of holes until the head henchman shouted:

“Hold your fire! HOLD YOUR FIRE!” The shooting quickly ceased and the goons lowered their guns. “Ruin the merchandise and the boss’ll pluck out your eyeballs! And trust me, she’ll enjoy it! Spread out, find the bat, and put a bullet between his eyes!”

Batman pressed his back against the wall of crates, keeping close to the shadows as he heard the men shuffling the warehouse looking for him. He was almost caught a second time when his phone started ringing again; he quickly switched it to vibrate, exhaling a tense sigh.

“McGinnis, if you get killed because of a phone call, we’ll never live it down,” Julia groaned. Batman could just imagine her at the bat-computer, massaging her head for the imminent migraine.

“At least one of us would live,” Batman remarked. His phone was still vibrating in his hand; Harper’s smug photo staring at him. Terry knew Harper wouldn’t stop calling until he answered, so he accepted and pressed the phone to his ear, switching to his normal voice. “Hey, Harper, now’s not a good – “

“Don’t you ‘Hey, Harper’ me, McGinnis!” Harper snapped immediately, making the Dark Knight wince and pull away. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been sitting at Pauli’s for the last half-hour waiting for you! The owner is starting to give me the stink eye because I keep ordering water!”

“Pauli’s…?” Terry was briefly confused, until it hit him and the Dark Knight facepalmed himself. “Aw slag, the interview!”

“Yeah, the interview!” Harper seethed. “We’re supposed to do a report on our partner’s for Mr. Silverstein’s class, remember? And so far, you have been a no show for all of our meetings.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Harper,” Terry grimaced. “Mr. Malone’s been keeping me busy, and – “

“Look, I get that with your dad gone you need to support your family,” said Harper, sounding like she was forcing herself to cool down. “But that old grouch keeps working you late. There’s no way that’s good for your health.”

“Tell me about it,” Terry grumbled.

Harper said something, but Batman didn’t get the chance to hear what it was. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and saw one of the masked thugs turning into his hiding place. The Dark Knight and the henchman stared at each other for a moment, then the goon shouted “I GOT HIM; HE’S OVER HERE!” and started shooting. The Dark Knight crouched low to the floor – the bullet trail flying over his head – and called a batarang to his hand. Batman tossed the batarang, which curved through the air and smacked the goon in the side of the head, knocking him out cold.

Batman sprinted out of there, only realizing he was still on the phone with Harper as he hopped over a pile of crates.

“What was that?” asked Harper, her voice hitching in concern. “That sounded like gunshots!”

.”Yeah, uh, Mr. Fox is demonstrating the new uh…AR training simulator…for the NGPD!” Batman came up with on the spot.

“Wow, really?” asked Harper, sounding impressed. “It sounds so realistic.”

“Yeah, realistic,” Batman grumbled. “Listen, Harp, my boss needs me. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

“But the assignment’s due – “

BEEP! Batman hung up, turned off his phone, and stowed it in his utility belt.

“Smooth, Dark Knight,” said Julia sarcastically.

“Give me a break,” Batman grimaced.

He was running to the end of the row when two False Facers (or Penguins, take your pick) came around the corner and spotted him. Batman shot a grapnel line from his wrist, looping it around one of the thug’s ankle, and pulled. The henchman let out a startled yelp as his leg was pulled out from under him, his finger pulling the trigger and shooting wildly at the ceiling. The other henchman backed away with his head lower to dodge the stray bullets. Batman ran up to him and sucker punched him across the face, knocking his light out before dropping a knee on the face of the henchman on the floor.

A third False Facer came around and started shooting without consideration for his comrades. Batman expanded the wing on his right arm, using it as a shield tom protect himself and the unconscious thugs. He whipped out a batarang in his left hand and tossed it at the shooter, surprising even himself when the tip lodged into the gun’s muzzle, causing it to explode. The goon lurched back, clutching his hand, giving Batman the chance to lunged at the False Facer, grabbing him by the face and slamming his bald head on the concrete.

Another goon ran up behind the Dark Knight, screaming like a banshee and swinging a crowbar of all things. Batman spun around, caught the crowbar with one hand, then punched the thug in the gut with the other. The Dark Knight followed up with a strong uppercut to the chin that laid the goon out flat on the ground.

Batman, still clutching the crowbar, turned around and calm stared at the last False Facer, who had his gun pointed at the Dark Knight. The masked henchman was trembling, his hands shaking, as Batman gave him the most menacing glare of his life. Then, after a moment of tense silence…the False Facer dropped the gun and made a run for the door…. He didn’t get far; Batman threw the crowbar from a distance and knocked him out cold.

“Probably one of the smarter lackeys,” said Batman jokingly. “Penny-1, you might wanna call an ambulance for these guys.”

“Already did, along with a NGPD escort,” said Julia. “You’ll want to take care of the guns before they arrive. Never know who might be in Black Mask’s pocket.”

“Or the Penguin, for that matter,” said Batman as he pulled out a putty-like disks with the bat symbol stamped on them. In the last forty years, Bruce improved the classic explosion gel to make it more compact and set it to explode to a certain frequency emitted from the cowl. “What is up with that, by the way? I thought Black Mask and the Penguin were business rivals – “

Batman cut himself off as he approached the truck when the vehicle’s doors flew open on both sides. The Capeless Crusader quickly whipped out a batarang and took a stance, waiting for whatever ugly brute came out…. Batman visibly blinked in confusion as a strange pair of twins stepped out, calmly walking around the truck in perfect unison, and met in the back of the vehicle, separating the Dark Knight from the munition stash.

Their faces were hidden behind porcelain white masks with painted lips and bright-red circles underneath the painted eyes, but they were definitely oriental. Kabuki twins in fashionable emerald-green robes with large golden obi, their silky black hair down up in matching topknots.

“Uh, Penny-1, are you seeing this?” asked Batman uncertainly.

“Yeah, I see it,” said Julia. “Very creepy.”

“I don’t know – I think they’re kinda cute,” said Batman.

The Kabuki Twins just stared – menacingly – for a few seconds…. Together, they dropped their robes, revealing that they were wearing bright-pink, skintight bodysuits, and that their ‘hair’ was fake and easily discarded with the rest of their disguise. Each of their hands was outfitted with three steel razor blades, all of them stretching and glinting menacingly in the light.

“…Still think they’re cute?” asked Julia sarcastically.

“Less so now,” Batman admitted.

Kabuki #1 leapt into the air while her twin lunged at Batman, slashing her claws through the air. The Dark Knight shuffled out of the way, but then looked up and saw the other twin stabbing at him from above. Batman grounded to the ground, rolled backward out of the way, and jumped back to his feet. But the Kabuki Twins were immediately on him. One threw herself at the Dark Knight taking wide sweeps with her claws and Batman crouched low to dodge underneath her arms.

The Dark Knight saw an opening and kicked the Kabuki warrior in the side, but the silent assassin effortlessly bended back to avoid the hit. Batman attempted a sweeping kick next, but the assassin cartwheeled out of the way, joining her twin side-by-side as they faced down the Dark Knight. One twin threw a kick at Batman’s head, which he blocked with his forearm, then the other took a stab at his face, forcing Batman to back up. The same twin flipped over the Dark Knight, briefly distracting him, while her twin pounced and kicked Batman’s chest with both feet.

Batman was thrown against a stack of crates with a pained grunt and fell to his knees, hissing from the sharp pain in his back.

“How’s it looking over there, McGinnis?” asked Julia.

“Bad,” Batman grimaced. “Really, really bad.”

The Dark Knight gritted his teeth, willing himself to ignore the pain, then bounced to his feet and ran at the twins. He took a wide swing at the pair, but the twins casually rolled under and popped up behind him. The twins swung their legs at Batman from opposite sides in perfect synch, but the Dark Knight raised his arms to block. The twin on Batman’s left side leapt into the air, did a flip, and brought her heel down on top of the Dark Knight’s head. Batman flinched, which gave the other twin the chance to slice her claws across his chest.

Batman cried out and backed away, a hand clutching the claw marks on his suit. Thankfully, the armored lining inside the suit protected him from any significant damage, but the nano-circuitry was dangerously exposed.

The Dark Knight gritted his teeth as the Kabuki Twins ominously approached him, flashing their knives threateningly. Batman knew he was outmatched, considering these two were likely trained assassins and he was just a street punk with only a month of hero experience. However, being a street punk had one advantage….

As Batman reached into his utility belt, the Kabuki Twins went on the defensive, staring him down cautiously. A moment of tense silence passed…then Batman threw a handful of little disks at the Kabuki Twins, which the pair easily leaned out of the way. The Kabuki Twins started to move forward when they suddenly heard several beeping noises chirping behind them. The dual assassins turned around and realized too late that dozens of explosive putty disks were latched onto several crates of munitions, all of them flashing and beeping.

Batman pivoted on his heel while the twins were distracted and made a break for the window. He crossed his arms in front of him as he smashed through the glass, then, as he was falling, he pressed a hidden switch on his cowl –

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The Capeless Crusader tucked in as he hit the ground and rolled into a crouch before turning back. He could see a dozen small fires through the broken window and thick plumes of black smoke wafting out into the night sky…. And, hopefully, none of the thugs he knocked out got caught in the explosion.

“Subtle, Batman,” said Julia.

“Hey, it was the best I could do with what I had,” Batman grumbled.

“And the creepy twins?” asked Julia.

The question was answered almost right away. The Dark Knight heard the squealing of the tires before he saw the truck fly out of the burning warehouse with the Kabuki Twins in the driver’s seat. As they turned the corner at the end of the street, Batman saw with a frustrated grimace that several undamaged crates were still loaded in the back, although one of them fell out and broke in the middle of the street as the twins took a sharp right.

“Got away,” said Batman irritably. “With enough guns to do some major damage.”

“At least you took out the main supply,” said Julia supportively. “That’ll set Black Mask and/or Penguin back by months. Remember, these mobsters have been in power for years. You have to remember to take whatever victory you can get.”

“I guess,” said Batman, though clearly unsatisfied.

Off in the distance, Batman heard the tell-tale sirens of the police on their way and briefly wondered if Ethan or his partner were among them.

“Time to come back, kid,” said Julia. “Let the boys in blue handle cleanup.”

The Dark Knight nodded silently in agreement. He raised his fist to the air, launching a grapnel line from his wrist, and was lifted to the rooftops as the police vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the warehouse.