Chapter Text
Gotham was a breathtaking sight from above, tindering with artificial stars of all kinds of tints and hues. He soared just above the apartment complexes of the eastern quarters, a soundless shadow passing unnoticed in the night. Even these worn down, rugged and neglected streets belonged to the city's rich, oftentimes chaotic history. He could not afford to forget this. A protector must grow to understand and even sympathize with those standing in the way of justice: many had been ruthlessly cast aside as apathy and weariness gained the upper hand, and promises made by once brilliant politicians were pocketed for indulgent banquets and tasteless, luxurious vacations.
From above these neighborhoods seemed near deserted, not a single person in sight though it was a pleasantly warm, late Saturday evening. It hadn't always been like this, he recalled, wistful. Perhaps things would have been different if his father hadn’t led them down that narrow, secluded alleyway and if Joe Chill, down on his luck and growing more miserable by the way, hadn’t seen an opportunity to take revenge on the privileged elite that participated in Gotham’s rich cultural life as if nothing was amiss.
Would it have mattered if his parents had explained they truly wanted change, working tirelessly day and night to turn things around for the better? Would any evidence have sufficed? Any tears?
Maybe it would only have angered him. A naive voice continued to insist on this childish idea however, desperate to keep them both alive in some alternate reality he would never know. In the real world, it was too late.
Gotham struggled for a long time to recover from the devastating blow. The cartel bosses, however, must have drawn a sigh of relief as their most influential enemies bled out on the street, leaving only two sheltered, naive boys to carry their legacy. Sometimes he wondered…but there was no evidence to back the suspicions up, not a trace of a hint of their involvement in the murders. Suspecting but being denied a proper resolution, to be denied resolution, might be what stung the most.
He sighed. His thoughts were drifting like they usually did as the anniversary approached. Gotham’s wicked thugs did not dream, of course, for they rarely slept. Neither would he. Gracefully landing on a rooftop overseeing The Narrows, letting the cape come undone across his back as its metallic skeletal structure retracted back into the arms of the suit, he quietly got on his feet and, pressing yet another button, activated the enhanced hearing and zoom-in function on his goggles. One man could only do so much, but thanks to the effort Honda spent on upgrading this suit he was able to do accomplish wonders. Near limitless, yet not as perfect as I would have hoped, as the man humbly liked to declare after every tweak. Fact was it had saved countless lives, his own included.
It did not long for The Narrows to treat him to its unpleasant sides: drunken brawls and shouting, crude men calling out to women who did not dare defend themselves, someone retching two blocks away…And then he picked up on two sharp and increasingly agitated voices ganging up on a third, anxious one. He tuned the antenna inside the sharp ears on top of the mask, honing it in until the conversation grew audible.
-get the money, I swear. Just give me a couple more days, I promise I won’t fail you this time!
Someone darkly laughed. You hear this? Punk seems to think he’s indebted to us and not the big man himself. Lemme tell you something: the Boss doesn’t wait, he gets what he's owed when he asks for it. Time to cough it up, lowlife.
Please! It isn’t my fault, I was laid off from work-!
The other voice joined in. What does your miserable life matter to the Joker? If he starts being lenient with people like you everyone starts making excuses. Before you know it no one is paying their dues. That doesn’t work, now does it?
While he listened he crept across the rooftops, quickly approaching the scene. Extorters weren’t known for being patient, and he had grown tired of their cold, harsh voices. This scene was all too common in this district, to the point where one could tell by the tone of voice when things would get ugly. Within the minute, he bitterly estimated. Luckily the voices were now loud enough to reach his own ears, and so he shut off the audio feed and prepared himself for what came next. It was ungrateful work: every single night he returned with a fresh bruise or scratch, despite the suit, battered and aching. Yet it had to be done. The underfunded GCDP could not turn this situation around on their own.
There. He peered down into an alleyway to find a man pressed against a brick wall, cornered by two thugs wearing masks. One was armed with a baseball bat and the other with tough fists. Despite how loud their confrontation was no one opened a door or even peeked through a window to see what was happening. All the lights were shut off, the innocent pretending not to be home as they cowered inside begging to be spared. None of these apartment complexes had doors that couldn’t be forced open. Everyone knew the city mandated rental locks hardly stood a chance against a solid kick to the cheap, useless wood they were attached to. So they cowered, daring not even to look.
No one but Batman bore witness.
“Tomorrow then!” The man was nearly in tears. “I’ll get everything you asked for and more, just please! My daughter depends on me. I have already applied for a job at the harbor, just give me a day to talk to-”
His pleading was only met with chuckling. One man turned his head to the other. Clown masks? That certainly stood out. “Whaddya say? How about we show him some real business? I’m sick of this whining.”
“Why not?” The other shrugged. “Alright, let’s put an end to this-”
Before they registered what was happening he came swooping down as a shadow from above, hardly making a sound until he reached the ground, landing effortlessly behind them. One turned just in time to be grabbed by the back of his neck, thrown into the wall with a deafening thud and sinking to the ground groaning in pain. The companion rushed at him with the baseball bat raised high. He dodged with ease, well familiar with this dance, sending the clown stumbling forward.
“It’s the Bat, you idiot!” Shouted the other as he rose on unsteady feet. “The hell are you doing? Time to scram!”
He blocked a hit using the titanium spikes on his lower arm, lodging it in place. The wooden bat was yanked out of the villain’s hands as he withdrew, wood chips flying through the air before it hit the ground, rolling down the dirty cobblestone floor behind him. For a moment his opponent hesitated, eyes flickering in search of a way out before heeding his companion's wise suggestion and turning on his heel.
He wasn’t about to let these brutes escape justice. No one was above the law. Therefore he took aim, and pressed another button. A particularly sticky web was swiftly deployed, wrapping around their legs and sending them both sprawling into the dust. That web would stick to the stones until the police arrived to carve them out.
After waiting for a moment to survey the situation he activating the comms. In a moment’s notice the radio crackled to life.
“Kirkland. Are you there?”
The Commissioner fumbled with his radio. “Oh. It’s you.” He didn’t sound too pleased. “How come you get to contact me whenever it’s convenient, but I can’t ever seem to reach you when-”
“Two thugs in clown masks, glued down in the fourth alleyway by 3rd Avenue. The Narrows, as usual. Extortion and attempted assault.”
There came a sigh. “Got it…I’m sending two cars over. They’ll be there in a few minutes. Should I send an ambulance with them?”
He glanced up at their intended victim, who stood frozen staring at him with wide eyes, shaking from head to toe. “Are you hurt?”
He managed to shake his head. “You’re real. You’re the Batman…”
“No ambulance needed. Might want to scan them for concussions, though." He glanced up at the man. "Stay here. Wait for the GCPD. Tell them everything.”
“Wait!” The man cried out as he lifted a hand up toward the rooftops, finger hovering just above the grappling hook mechanism. “Thank you. I mean it, I really do. Thank you…”
“Thank me by protecting your daughter.” He answered. “Tell the police about your debt. They’ll get you into witness protection.” And with that he was gone, soaring off the ground and for a moment relishing in being untethered to the earth.
But as soon as he landed the radio sparked to life. “Still there?”
“What is it?”
“Not feeling particularly cheerful tonight, are you? I’m not stupid, Batman, something’s troubling you. I’d prefer it if you didn’t withhold information from me.”
“...The Joker. Have you heard this name before?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“We may have a new ringleader on our hands, then. Sent these thugs out to collect money.”
He listened to the Commissioner curse under his breath. “Does this city ever sleep?”
“Never. Be on the lookout, Commissioner.”
“The Joker. Damn these masqueraded weirdos and their-”
The transmission ended with an abrupt cut.
Just as well. He had to make a call of his own. As soon as he was away from prying eyes and ears he changed the frequency to the primary line, watching the glittering landscape below as he waited.
If only its beauty wasn’t so superficial.
“Master Beilschmidt. What’s up?”
A chill went through Ludwig. “Alfred! What have I told you about using our true names? You never know who might be listening!”
“Yeah, yeah, my bad. Didn’t you just use my name, though?”
He had, he realized with growing mortification. “Let’s not keep score. We must both follow this rule.”
“I know, dude. It won’t happen again. Sooo, whatcha want?”
He's a young man still. You musn't forget this. Ludwig took a deep breath. “There’s a new player in the game. They call him ‘The Joker’. Find out who he is.”
“Really? That name sucks. Okay, let me have a look.”
As Alfred typed away he couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease spreading through him.