I find myself racing towards the East End, on foot, in response to rapidly fired shots echoing from the docks. Their power suggests automatics... machine artilery. The kind only a select few of the gangs that have laid claim to this area make a habit of carrying. A shootout over turf, possibly... but the more likely probable cause stems from a panic my city has been engulfed in from the invasion that ended hours ago. Rioters, muggers... they've all seemed to branch out from the woodwork. Needless to say, I've had my hands full for the past few hours... and it still feels like a race. Because no matter how many of them I take down... I'm no closer to finding who took Alfred captive, and why.
I feel like I a failure for letting it happen... for choosing Brainiac, over staying behind, where I could've done something to prevent this. But that's a thought that leaves me uneased, as I begin to contemplate whether or not I would've gladly sacrificed the world to protect Alfred. But how could I not? He's the only family I have left... the only person who's stuck themselves out to care for me, and mend me into a better man before I even became one. A parent's job, thrusted on the shoulders of an elderly houseaid... it all pushes me further to find him. I cannot allow myself to lose him in the same way I lost my parents. I'd rather die.
As I come closer to the docks, my mind races back to moments prior. I had dispersed of a pair of looters on Sprang Avenue, when I recieved a tip from one of them that Rupert Thorne had made specific instructions clear to his gang to take advantage of the rampage. Naturally, this wasn't coming from a reliable source... but the punk was scared stiff, both in the fact that he was aware that he was about to be turned into the police, and... my prescence, specifically. He wouldn't have had a reason to lie. Which led me to my next encounter of the evening... the man himself.
"JESUS!"
Thorne goes flying into his office desk. It snaps in two. The crack in his fall is almost enough to render me just short of pity. But it's that 'almost' that prevents me from doing so. I step forward, my cape draping itself over the debris of the desk, as Thorne weakly climbs back, in shock. I throw him another growl, and the shock turns itself into panic. But he doesn't escape me. None of his kind... will ever be able to escape me.
I grab him, and pry him free of the splintered wood. But the look on his face suggests he would have rather stayed there, with a piece of it shoved in his arteries. Even so, the vermin spouts off a defiance. "H-Hey! You can't do this! I got rights, ya vigilante freak! I want an attorney! I want a-"
My teeth grit. He quiets, immediately.
"The people you steal from on a daily basis have rights, too.", I growl back. "Pity isn't something you or your kind are getting from me."
Thorne writhes, trying to escape my grip. One violent shake frees him out of that ill-concieved strategy.
"AHH! Okay! Alright... Ju... Just tell me what ya want!"
"You, and your entire gang in a jail cell for the rest of your meaningless lives.", I respond. "I wanred you once. Stay off the streets. They've got enough rot on them without your aide."
Thorne nervously nods.
"I... I get the picture, okay?! I'll back off! I'll-"
"I WASN'T FINISHED, YOU SLIME!", I shout back, intending to force it... but admittedly, failing to put any part of my rage into the category of 'performance'.
"AHH! ALRIGHT! I'M SORRY, I-...I..."
I let go of him, and push him into his chair. He doesn't have the time to reach for the revolver behind him, because in seconds, I've leered over him, grabbing the weapon and tossing it over my head. It's just him and me, with no way out... and he quickly realizes that.
"You know the criminal underworld better than anyone in this city, Thorne.", I begin, leaning in with a sneer. "Better than the cops. The goverment. The mayor. Me. I want information on a kidnapping that took place earlier this morning."
"What're you, nuts?! I ain't helping you do sh-"
I slam my fist into the wall. The result is a crack large enough to get the point across.
"I didn't order any kidnapping!"
"Maybe so. But you can tell me who did,", I argue, pulling out the bizairre note I found lying in the Manor's floor, from my belt. "The handwriting. The style. Everything. I want a name. And I want it now."
He reads it over, carefully, never losing sight of the fact that I'm watching his every move. He looks up at me, both hesitant and scared.
"What?", I growl.
"Y... You're not gonna like the answer..."
I crack my fist in my other. Alfred's life is on the line, with every moment I waste... I'm not going to let this piece of filth be the cause for failure on my part.
"I... I don't got one clue as to who wrote it!", He shouts back, curling up into a ball. "Please... Please, for the love'a god... don't kill me..."
I grab him by the shirt, and pull him to my face. Sweat beads down his chin, originating from his forehead, and I can practically hear his heartbeat from here. He's good and scared, like the criminal before. Makes it harder to predict if he's telling me the truth.
"If you're lying to me, Thorne... I'm going to do much worse, the next time we see eachother.", I announce, throwing him back to the floor. "Do I make myself clear?"
He nods, as he grabs the back of his head with both hands, trying not to look at me. But by the time he'll look back up, I'll have already been gone. Thorne was telling the truth. But that fact doesn't lead me to Alfred. All I have now is the note... and my rage. And the only person I truly do pity is whoever has taken him, in actuality...
Dinah Laurel Lance. The daughter of one of the original founders of a group called The Justice Society.The first following vigilante in Gotham after my appearance. A dedicated and skilled detective in her own right, since we've know eachother, Lance's working relationship with me, in my crusade, has been... moot, on our best days. She quietly resents me for working outside the law she has worked hard to represent... and moreso, for forcing her to do the same. Be that as it may, she has also, more recently, joined me in the conquest of a criminal cleansed Gotham by taken up the path of a masked vigilance. She calls herself The Black Canary, after her mother's formerly established monkier. And she has stricken fear into the class of criminality in a way that leaves me no choice but to be impressed.
I'm looking at her now. She's being shot at, but missed, by opposing members of the Gotham Underdwellers... a group of smugglers who use the sewers to transport their takings, and evade capture. I've been tracking them for months. The Canary beat me to them... and she's doing exceptionally well in making it clear that she deserves such recognition. I only watch from the shadows, as she spins, and skillfully downs one armed with a crowbar, taking most of the gang off guard. She smirks, looking back at them, placing her hands on her hips. Even given our differences, I cannot deny that she's good. But I've taken great strides to avoid telling her that, and inflating an ego that's only limited her.
"Now, now, boys...", She begins, playfully twirling a finger in her blonde hair.
"No need to be shy. There's plenty of me to go around."
They comply. In numbers. It doesn't taken long before Lance is surrounded. I move to help, but the moment she gets into them... I realize that such an act would be useless. She disperses the first one with a nerve pinch... one taught to both her and I by Ted "The Wildcat" Grant. The second swings a chain at her, and actually lands, striking her in the midsection. She responds, only slightly affected, by slamming a heel in his throat, knocking him into another. It stops a few of them in their tracks... but not nearly enough. Soon, Lance finds herself grabbed from behind, and slammed into by another. She kicks the one infront, headslams the other in back, and spins, tripping him. I can tell she's being precise... but she's not going to last much longer, with the numbers stacked against her the way they are. She needs help. And she's not going to admit it. I certainly wouldn't.
A quick consideration, and I move out of the shadows, leaping onto the crates across from them. She's going to resent this. And I don't care if she does. The truth is, I shouldn't even be helping her... Alfred's still in danger. But it's that selfish need that would surely push me to do something I regret, in ignoring aide... especially from one of my only allies, in the city. And despite our differences... I... have come to admire her. Something of which I can rarely say, of other people. Unsheathing two Batarangs, I cloak them in my cape, and leap up, spreading it out to get their attention. Gunmen that are close to shooting Lance down take their eyes off of her, and frightfully look up at me, as I cast the shadow of a bat ontop of them. My thought from Thorne's office comes back, in an ever present repeat...
None of them... will ever be able to escape me.
"THE BATMAN!", One yells. "She's workin' with The Batman! Waste 'em both!"
I catch a glimpse of Lance, below me. She's startled, enraged... but mostly confused at my prescence. More distraction from our respective work, as I indicate the others, before grabbing one of the crane cables, and swinging across the docks, towards the gunmen.
"Great...", I hear her whisper, under a breath of frustration.
"What's he doing here?"
Seconds later, the punk that screamed my name is ironically unable to talk, as I jam my fingers into his atom's apple. He chokes, spitting out blood, as I spin, and elbow him in the right side of his skull. The others come onto me fast, but not as rampant as I expected. I take the batarangs and toss them, disarming two oncoming. One grabs me from behind, around the neck, as my eyes dart to the side, in anger. An elbow to his gut, a release, and a roundhouse punch later, and I've sent him flying into his friends. Canary leaps over them, kicking one in the process, before coming over to me. I don't expect thanks. And I don't recieve it.
"You have the worst timing, you know!", She remarks, jabbing one in the eyes.
"I'm handling them!"
I grab a coming fist from the side, as one of them vaults towards me, and snap it over my knee. The thug screams, as I uppercut him, and send him into a crate.
"Then handle them.", I argue, as she gives me a bittered look.
"I'll handle the rest."
"Have it your way,", She responds.
"But you're on your own! I can't focus on two of us!"
"Believe me..."
"That won't be a problem."
The next few moments are quick, though brutal. One by one, they surround us on the ground, as we continue a restless assault against them. Their numbers decrease with every bone broken... with every bit of blood and sweat taken out of them... with every whimper and cry they make, desperately wanting to be anywhere but here. It almost makes me enjoy this, but I never could. This is a life I never asked for, even though I can't speak for Canary, as she bashes one between the eyes, and kicks another into the crane. Her skills are equal to mine, though I can't imagine she's had more training. Perhaps I've underestimated her worth to me. Or to Gotham, more importantly. It's in that moment that a thought comes across my mind. This isn't my city, tonight. It's ours.
"Don't hurt us!"
One of them finally speaks up, as we dispose of the last. I step forward, but Dinah's already there, a billy club in hand, taken from one of them. She looks upon him, angrily, but reserved... as if to convince him that she's showing mercy. But he doesn't notice the twist in her arm, as the billy clubs swings...
...And he goes out.
I cross my arms, looking at the thugs around me, as Canary turns, and smiles, sastified.
"That was unnessecary.", I add.
"I'll keep that helpful tip in mind.", She responds, unamused.
"But you can't say you blame me."
"No.", I hesitantly agree.
"-I can't. Are these the only ones?"
"A mutual friend is taking care of the rest, on the West Side.", She responds.
"You might remember him. He's a bit hard to miss, given his facial decor."
"Terrific.", I note.
"Mr. Terrific of New York. I told him to stay out of Gotham."
"Which of course, you had every right to do.", Lance sarcastically argues.
"Look, 'boss', as much as I do appreciate your help... you haven't been exactly worthy of mine. No calls in months, no telegrams... not the slightest bit of effort to pick up the long overdue Harvey Dent file I got for you. Even a hello would've sufficed, though I'm sure you're incapable of that. And now, when the city needs you most... you're nowhere to be found."
She pokes the symbol of my chestplate, staring up into my eyes.
"What happened to that 'commitment' you used to lecture me about?", She asks.
"Or was that something else that I needed to do for you? Do you know how sickening it is to think that even though I actually have a life, I still put more effort into helping people than the city's so called 'Caped Crusader'?"
I'm silent, listening to her accusations. I could quiet them by explaining myself... explaining how much torture I had to endure, in order to take down the Omacs in Metropolis. About how many times I fought with myself about leaving Gotham to deal with that problem. Or even having to trust someone who's power rivals the very thing we were fighting against. But the words never come out... partly because she hits a nerve that renders every explaination I could come up with unacceptable, even by my standards.
"Do you?", She asks again.
"Yes. And,", I note.
"I apologize."
She raises an eyebrow.
"...What did you say?"
"I apologize. For treating you how I have,", I continue.
"You've proven yourself a vital key into aiding my crusade, even if unintentionally. And you deserve better, as a result."
I can't tell what her expression truly is, under her mask... but one would almost guess it's genuine surprise.
"Wait. Who are you and what have you done with Batman?", She asks, lightly.
"That's actually the last thing I would've ever expected out of you."
"I'm taking strides to change that.,", I respond.
"A... friend of mine has disappeared. I may lose him if nothing is done. I don't want to lose anyone else."
"What about the rest of the city?", She asks.
"Anyone else,", I repeat.
"Gotham won't be ignored, I assure you."
"Even though you're still putting your 'friend' first."
I step closer to her, and peer into her eyes the same way she peered into mine.
"If you knew someone you loved was about to be put in danger, and you could do something to stop it,", I begin.
"Who would you put first?"
She's silent. Contemplative. My thought goes back to her mother, or even Grant. But there are others, I can tell, going through her mind. It almost makes me envious.
"You hate this, don't you?"
My eyebrow arches.
"Having to be put in this position of choosing something else over everything you've worked to fight for."
I look away.
"More than you could possibly ever know."
The rain pours down between us, as her hair dampens. She wants to say something. I want to say something. Neither of us can. There are simply no words to describe what either of us feel.
"What changed your mind about me?", She asks.
I turn around, completely, trying to hide the smirk.
"...A man in a red cape.", I reply, before darting into the darkness.
"Ve-ry funny..."
She places her hands on her hips, angrily, before finally turning around to leave, herself. She didn't believe that... and truth be told, I was being sincere. It doesn't matter, anyway... the searches resumes for Alfred's kidnapper. But I can't help but linger on Lance's influence on calming my rage, as I take off, into the night, hunting for the man that's caused me so much misery and regret in such a short amount of time. This is the price I pay for making the mission personal. But this is more of the price the kidnapper will pay for making it so.
)
