None of this makes any sense.
I haven't stopped running since I was forced to assault those officers. Yet no matter how much distance I manage to cover, I can still hear the sirens as loud as before. They must've called every man in the city for backup. Yet despite all of my present causes for concern, my mind rests solely on the fact that I've truly found no logical reference for my situation. In this city, for the first time since I can remember, I am truly lost. Forced to become a literal fugitive of an insane, fascist law enforcement.
And even still, there are more troubling aspects to this bizarrely crafted nightmare of a tale. The fact that the city is called 'New Gotham'. The feeling that what my eyes see and what my heart tells me are entirely different. The way those officers looked at me when I was identified. It was as if I wasn't meant to be here... wherever 'here' truly is. And I'm beginning to think that the answers to these questions are only going to be more unsettling.
This has to be a dream. There's no other possibility. I have to be trapped within my own mind; trapped within my own surpressed
vision of what Gotham City could become if I had left it to the vermin eating at it's soul. And the worst part about this is... if I'm right, and none of this is truly real... I have absolutely no idea how to escape. I thought I had prepared myself for every eventuality, but this is the one situation that extended beyond my imagination's reach.
It's almost like my worst fear come to life.
That's it. Keep running. Do the work for me.
From the shadows above, a quiet figure nurtures itself on the look on Bruce Wayne's face. That increasing paranoia, digging itself into his mind and affecting his body in ways that Wayne probably couldn't even begin to comprehend. He knows that look, and it causes a smile upon lips that never do. In this world, in this Gotham, Bruce Wayne has been turned into everything he hates: A fleeing criminal, at the mere mercy of justice. The figure moves slowly along, as Wayne darts into an alleyway below him.
Even for his impressive stamina, Wayne's finally running out of breath. His body is giving into it's own limitations. The figure looks upon him, knowing the time for them to face one another is quickly approaching. If the figure allows his prey the time to rest, he'll be stronger, and nearly impossible to take down in a solo effort.
But he isn't strong anymore. New Gotham City has taken it's toll, and effectively weakened Bruce Wayne.
And The Dark Knight will collapse upon his frailties like a bat out of hell.
I may have lost them.
The sirens stop just as I begin to rest, pressing myself against a wall. It could easily be a trick, but for now, I'm going to accept it at face value. Heart's pumping again. It's getting hard to keep focus. I need this rest. Need to come up with a strategy to separate myself back into anonymity. If that's even possible.
I take a deep breath, wipe the sweat from my brow, and dig into my pockets. Even though I discarded most of the suit, I wasn't about to leave myself unarmed in an environment as unfamiliar as this. The utility belt for the under-armor could only hold so much... a couple batarangs, a taser, and some night vision goggles. But what I need now is probably the simplest item in my arsenal: A support cable, usually reserved for one of my spare grapnels. Taking one of the batarangs, I wrap the cable around each tip, and snug it in place, effectively creating a makeshift Batrope. Not nearly as efficient as my actual ones, but it'll have to do. Time isn't in my hands anymore.
Stepping out to the middle of the alley, I look to the skies, measuring my distance between the ground and the building's roof. It's about sixteen and a half feet high. Wouldn't have minded something shorter, but I've climbed worse. Taking the cable into my hands, I look around to make sure no one's watching, and swing it over my head. Then release, allowing the batarang to fly up and latch onto one of the guard rails above. It snares immediately, to which I let out a sigh of relief.
On the ground, even the worst cop in the city could have cut me off at any given moment. But let's see them come to me on
my terms.
"HNGH!"
After a brief struggle, I manage to slip myself over the rail, and crawl onto the roof. I never realized how hard that was without the costume. At least then, I could be agile. But wearing clothes like these only slows me down under the excess weight. I need to find someone willing to trade them in for something better. Something sleeker, and darker... enough to allow me to move throughout the city unseen. I'm working at a clear disadvantage.
Looking to the rooftops ahead, I look for a clear path to sanctuary. But I have to stop, and take in what I'm seeing.
I don't care what I've been telling myself. This is not Gotham City. And not even a city... it's almost as if I've found my way into another
world.
"Like it?", a grim voice calls out to me. My eyes widen in shock, genuinely startled. But before I can turn to acknowledge whoever found me, I'm hit by a punch that was so fast that I couldn't even see it coming.
My back hits the roof with a sickening crack, as I try to roll into a defense. But I'm hit again, before I even realize it. This time, with a kick that's so forceful that I nearly fall off. I've never fought anyone who can hit so fast... so precisive. But I'm not in the mood to find out how. Gathering myself, as blood starts to pour out of my nose, I look up.
I can only catch the slightest glimpse of my attacker, as he flies into me full force. Before I know it, I'm falling. Rain basking me in a light drizzle as I flail about, trying to soften my landing before it's too late. But something grabs me, and pulls, violently swinging me into the opposite direction. I fall so fast that I can't even think, before I find myself crashing onto the pavement below.
What in the hell is going on?!
My attacker lands right after I do. But from the sound of it, he's actually managed to land on his feet. The thunder in the sky cracks like a whip, as I angrily peer up, trying to prepare myself for another attack.
But I... I can't even a form a
sentence at what I'm looking at.
"I'm surprised, really."
He... it... whatever it is, peers at me in contempt. Is this some sort of joke?
"Usually my prey doesn't live to make it this far. This may very well be the most effort I've had to put into someone in quite awhile."
I try to react, or even respond... but I'm still struck by what he's wearing. Who he looks like. Who he
sounds like. Even his posture, and the way he commands himself... and that agility. There's no possible way.
He smiles, almost like an animal that's been uncaged.
"Then again, I've never had to hunt myself before."
It is. He's just confirmed it.
I'm looking at... Batman.
I back away, trying to make sense of this. But he doesn't give me the chance. Whatever I'm really facing, I have to fight it. As he lunges towards me, I duck, barely avoiding one of his kicks. I go in for one myself, but before I can even land it, he grabs it, and twists, violently spinning me onto the ground. My head buzzes as he effortlessly overpowers me, grabbing my shirt and throwing my body against a wall.
So much pain... can't take this...
"Don't be so surprised. I found my way out of that poor excuse for a kick by the time I was seventeen."
Even the way he gloats sounds exactly like me. He's got to be some sort of imposter. And a very skilled one, apparentally.
I push myself up and go for a roundhouse punch, forcing myself into something I'm not nearly prepared to pull off. And even still, he blocks it, and counters it with a spinning kick that nearly tears my jaw off. I kneel over in pain, but he doesn't stop. He grabs me by the scalp and knees me in my chest.
"ARRRGH!"
"STAY DOWN!"
Collapsing, I grab my chest in pain. Heart's not even beating, at this point. It's sprinting towards failure. And the pain becomes numbing. He stands above me, as I notice how different, however slightly, his costume truly is from mine.
"My, I think that was actually one of your ribs.", He says, mocking me with every venom-laced word.
"How many more do you think I can take out, Bruce?"
He calls me Bruce.
I weakly try to pull myself back into a stand, but I can't. He might have been right. My ribs may be broken. And if that's the case, he's already won. I can't fight him. Even as quick as the fight actually was, he's beaten me.
"What do you want with me?!", I demand, gritting my teeth in anger and anguish.
"Who are you?!"
"For someone they're supposed to call 'The World's Greatest Detective', you certainly don't have alot of answers."
He grabs me, and throws me to the ground, further causing me injury. My eyes close, as I try to work through the pain. But it's too intense. And now I understand why: he's attacking every one of my weaker spots.
"You're beginning to get it, aren't you?", He asks, stepping onto my back.
"Let me paint the picture for you. It's a cold night. You're just a boy. But you don't worry. You have the perfect parents to protect you, as you run along without a care in the world."
"And then a madman comes out of the night and rips away everything you hold dear with two shots. Sound familiar?"
I don't answer. I don't need to. He can see it on my face.
"Of course it does. I've just described the day you were born.", He snarls.
"Or rather, the day we were born."
"You're... not... me."
He smiles again. The cowl makes it all the more menacing.
"You're right, Bruce. I'm better."
He goes in for another punch, as I brace for impact.
"I'm The Devilman, and this is how I came to be..."
