Batman Arkham Knight

by Marv Wolfman

  The Penguin took another puff from the cigar then crushed the stub into the styrofoam cup sitting on the table.

  “Anyway, for my concerns to grow and prosper, I need Gotham City to be relatively at peace. Chaos is not a good atmosphere for business. But, and here’s the real reason for this powwow, you might ask the same question of Simon Stagg. I think you’ll get a totally different answer.”

  “Stagg? The industrialist? What does he have to do with Scarecrow?” Simon Stagg was known to walk life’s gray area, but as far as Gordon knew, he had never crossed over to the dark side.

  “Hell if I know. But I do know Scarecrow was going to see Stagg on one of his airships. He’s probably there right now. Which, of course, is what I already told Batman, as well.”

  “How did he react?”

  “Exactly as you’d expect. Abrasive. Macho. Threatening. Big and self-important. But he turned me over to the Nightwing kid and took off like a, if you’ll excuse me, bat out of hell. Now, that kid I like. He’s got none of Batman’s ridiculous angst. He makes me smile.

  “So what exactly are you going to book me for?” the Penguin continued. “Weapons legal. Check. Bill of sale. Check. Taxes paid. Check. You’ll never Al Capone me. And I believe my indecent exposure charge has now exceeded the statute of limitations. So, if you can’t find a charge that will stick longer than it takes to get a personal-sized anchovy pizza delivered here, when can I go? I do have a business to run.”

  26

  Batman glided to the rooftop overlooking Wayne Plaza. Lucius Fox was patiently waiting for him. He was running a few minutes late, but Fox had been following his progress, and dealing with the Arkham Knight’s tanks had taken longer than expected.

  Fox felt a gust of cold wind wash over him and he buttoned his coat for warmth.

  “Pleased to see you made it through the, umm, traffic, Mr. Wayne,” Fox said.

  “You know how things get in Gotham City during rush hour,” Batman said, almost smiling. “You have the new synthesizer?”

  Fox handed him a small pen-shaped device. “Complete with Simon Stagg’s voice. The man has given quite a few speeches in the past few years, so I was able to cobble together rather a large dictionary. You should be able to say most anything and get a fairly decent Stagg simulation.”

  “Thanks, Lucius,” Batman said, fitting the synthesizer into the side of his mask, an inch from his mouth. “Any idea which airship Stagg is on?”

  “Of course. That was the first thing I investigated when you texted me. I’ve pre-programmed your GPS to take you to it.”

  Over the years Stagg Industries spent a small fortune introducing Gotham City to the idea of environmentally safe dirigible travel. In the beginning it had been considered a novelty and a thrill for the very rich, but the idea of traveling the city without having to deal with gridlock made it increasingly popular with businessmen rushing to their appointments. Stagg now had more than seventy ships crisscrossing the sky, and nearly a thousand landing pads, and to date there had not been a single mishap.

  Fox reached back into his coat pocket, took out a small plastic case, and opened it to reveal a small computer component.

  “I brought a new dongle for your communicator. It’s stronger than your previous one, should you be required to go underground again. It will hop onto any location’s electrical system and connect through that to the WayneTech system. It also interfaces better with your sensors, so you won’t have to scroll through different screens.” He gave his employer a mischievous smile. “There’s an extremely large commercial possibility for its architecture, as well. I’ll expect a very generous Christmas bonus.”

  “You’ve more than earned it.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, sir.”

  * * *

  Batman stood for a moment on the edge of the roof and waited for the wind to pick up again. When it did, he launched himself into the sky, and began to fall, but then his cape unfurled into large bat wings. Hidden struts gave the wings rigidity, allowing him to catch even the most insignificant breeze and use it to propel himself back up.

  He loved gliding over the city, because it looked so serene from this high vantage point. The breeze rushing against his face was inviting, invigorating. There was no crime here—there were no enemies, and nobody wanted him dead.

  Threading through Gotham City’s brick and steel canyons like a hawk on the wing, he felt at peace with himself. The bat was definitely his avatar. Up here it was just him, the night, and nature.

  He soared around WayneTech and activated the pumps he had built into its tower. They gave him another boost, which in turn allowed him to coast up toward a pair of identical airships that hung in the air over the skyline. He veered toward the one that had “Stagg-1” airbrushed onto its hull. Once he was in position, he fired his grapple and connected to the dirigible’s landing struts. He made his way across the hull and found its emergency entrance door, then activated his new voice synthesizer.

  “Open the emergency entrance,” he said in Stagg’s gravelly voice. This was where Fox’s device would either work, or he’d find a dozen armed security thugs waiting to deal with an unwanted trespasser.

  A moment later an iris portal spun open. He climbed inside and shut the door behind him.

  Lucius would be getting that bonus.

  He activated his comm and checked the airship schematics that Fox uploaded to him. Dozens of red dots appeared. His enemies were all over the ship.

  “Lucius, I’m inside,” he said, “but you can see my problem.”

  “Indeed—too many sheep and no hint of the shepherd. But not to worry, we have a sample of Simon Stagg’s DNA. Despite his reputation, he’s actually quite civic-minded. His company sponsored a blood drive after the earthquake and he was the first in line to donate.” A pause, then Fox added, “I’m isolating it now and feeding the results into the sensors. It should pop up on your screen in three… two…”

  “I see a green dot,” Batman confirmed. “Thanks, Lucius—your upgrade works perfectly.”

  “I’ll stay at the monitor, sir, in case you need anything else.”

  He made his way through the first level, easily avoiding Stagg’s thugs. No point in alerting the entire force until he had no choice.

  Three red dots were moving around in the room ahead. He grabbed his Batarang and somersaulted inside, pitching it at the closest thug. Landing on his feet and spinning, he kicked the next one in the throat, dropping him to his knees. He then dived to where his Batarang fell and spun it into the third thug.

  “How long did that take, Lucius?” Batman asked, his voice firm despite the pain he felt where he’d been shot. Nothing I can’t manage.

  “Slightly less than eighteen seconds,” Fox replied. “Not bad, sir, but not nearly a record.”

  “And you can do better?” Batman said, damping down irritation.

  “We all have our areas of expertise, Mr. Wayne. Given time, I might perfect cold fusion. You excel in, well, more physical activities.”

  “Can’t argue with that. I’d like to, but I’ve got work to do.”

  He scooped up the Batarang as he again checked his sensors. The green blip indicated that Simon Stagg was in a room on the deck directly above him. A hallway led alongside the room he was in, and there was a stairway not far away. Two thugs were moving in his direction, and he waited for them to pass. Then he darted out into the hall and sprinted for the stairs.

  Reaching the next floor, he quickly located the room in question. The door was locked, so he sprayed explosive gel on the bolt and set it off. There was a sharp bang, the door swung open, and Batman saw Simon Stagg…

  Inside a small prison cell.

  Stagg was relatively short, no more than five foot five, in his mid-fifties, with the squat face of a bulldog and a wild mane of thick silver hair that seemed to fan up at the sides. He looked like he could be a short-order chef at a greasy-spoon diner, but Stagg was in fact a multi-billionaire. And where Bruce
Wayne inherited much of his fortune, Stagg’s various self-created enterprises supplied him his wealth. It had yet to be determined how legal some of those enterprises were.

  But despite his wealth and power, Stagg was now a prisoner on his own ship, locked inside and chained to the bars. The moment Stagg saw him he screamed and pulled frantically at his chains. He slammed his head against the bars and cut open his forehead. Blood poured out.

  “You’re a monster,” he shouted. “Now Scarecrow’s sending monsters at me. Leave me alone. I swear to God I won’t let you turn me into a monster, too. I’ll fight you. I’ll fight all of you. Keep away from me. Keep away.” His voice was becoming more hysterical with each sentence.

  Stagg’s eyes were glazed over. He’d been drugged—most likely poisoned with Scarecrow’s fear venom.

  “Stagg, I’m here to help you,” Batman said, keeping his voice calm and even. “Scarecrow is making you see me as a monster, but I’m not. I’m your friend.”

  “Nonononono. You are a monster. Your face doesn’t have flesh. I can see your skull where the skin should be. Your eyes are on fire. You want to burn me with them, but I won’t let you.” He lowered his voice to sound menacing. “I have soldiers here, you know. With weapons. And they’ll put you down like the damned monster you are. They won’t stop until you’re dead.”

  There was no easy way to calm him down. Batman needed to try a different tack.

  “All right, Simon. You’ve got me. I am a monster. But Scarecrow turned me into this. Scarecrow hates me like he hates you.” He shifted his tone to conspiratorial. “Maybe the two of us can work together, and defeat him before he turns you into a monster, too. What do you say to that, Simon? Do you want to help me defeat Scarecrow?”

  Stagg stared, and all at once his fear was replaced by giddy confidence.

  “You hate Scarecrow, too?” he said with a gleeful madness. “You want to hurt him for what he did to us?”

  “I do, but I need your help,” Batman replied. “Tell me what happened. Why did he put you in this cell? Tell me, and I’ll let you out.”

  Stagg nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes. I’ll tell you. He lied to me, you know.”

  “He lied to me, too, Simon. All he does is lie. But we’ll make him pay. Go on.”

  “We were supposed to work together,” Stagg said angrily. “My company built the Cloudburst machine. It was going to be used to seed clouds over deserts. To bring rain to areas that needed water.” Stagg pushed his face close to the bars and held his hand up, partially covering his mouth. “I was trying to be a good man, a helpful man, but he decided he wanted the Cloudburst for his own reasons. He wanted to buy it from me.

  “In the beginning I said yes—after all, what he wanted to do with it sounded like a hoot, but then I changed my mind. I didn’t want to sell him my machine. I changed my mind because I’m a good man. Not like him. He’s a very bad man.”

  “Yes, he’s a very bad man. What was he going to use it for, Simon?”

  Stagg’s fingers nervously scratched at his chin, cutting into his skin, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “He said he had some kind of gas—I can’t remember its name.” He balled his hands into fists and started hitting his head with them. “Damn, damn, damn. Why can’t I remember? I should know the name of that gas, he bragged about it to me so many times. What is its name? What is its name?”

  “Simon,” Batman said, trying again to calm him down. “Stop hitting yourself. That’s what he wants you to do, and we’re here to fight him.”

  “Right.” Stagg stared at Batman and lowered his hands to his side. “Yes. We can’t let him win, can we?”

  “No, we can’t, Simon. Let me ask you, did he call the gas his fear toxin?”

  Stagg leaped for joy. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. Fear toxin. He said he wanted to use my machine to disperse it over Gotham City. To make everyone afraid. But I didn’t have the full picture until later. That’s when I said to him ‘no way.’ If anyone was going to turn Gotham City crazy, I told him, it would be me—but I’m all about money, not fear. There wasn’t enough profit in it for me. So I told him no.”

  “And how did he take that?”

  “He was livid. He sent his soldiers after me and they threw me in here. You know what that bastard said to me? He said he was going to leave me here to die. He’s a bad monster, not like you.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” Batman said, convinced that if there’d been more money involved Stagg would have let Gotham City go to hell, the same as Scarecrow. They both deserved whatever happened to them. “Simon, I’m going to stop him. But do you know where he is now? I checked, and he’s not on this airship.”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t be. The Cloudburst machine is on Stagg-2. That’s another of my airships. They’re probably tethered together, so it should be floating real close to here. That’s where you can find him. He would be there.”

  Batman started to move out of the room.

  “Monster? Where are you going?” Stagg said, his voice rising again. “You said you were going to free me.”

  Batman turned back to Stagg and smiled. For a moment Stagg’s fears seemed to lessen and he smiled back.

  “You’re right, Simon,” Batman answered. “I said I was going to free you. But did you forget? I’m a monster. I lied. Bye, Simon.”

  He shut the door behind him, but he could still hear Simon Stagg screaming at the top of his lungs.

  Good. He deserved it.

  Batman made his way to a large circular door marked “Emergency Exit,” opened it, and saw Stagg-2 floating about three hundred yards away. The two ships were tethered together, as Stagg had said. Without hesitation he jumped, and his cape once again unfastened into wings.

  He saw a flash of light explode on Stagg-2’s undercarriage. Then twin missiles circled the airship and rocketed for him. Stealth ceased to be an option—Scarecrow’s men had reported in. They must have been waiting for him to show himself.

  Batman tightened his grip on the wing struts and forced them down. He dropped as the missiles flew over him, missing by inches. They made a wide arc and targeted him again.

  Wonderful, Batman thought. Heat seekers.

  As the missiles approached again, he zoomed up and let them pass under him. The missiles arced back almost immediately, learning his moves and adapting to them.

  He had no choice. He dove toward Stagg-2, luring the missiles along with him. There would be no time to steer out of the way—everything depended on whether or not Scarecrow realized what was about to happen.

  He was closing in on the airship, and the missiles were still on his tail.

  If Scarecrow didn’t act immediately, they would hit him and detonate, so close to Stagg-2 that the airship would explode, as well.

  Batman landed on the airship’s hull and grabbed hold. He closed his eyes and waited for the explosion. It was a massive game of chicken, and it looked as if Scarecrow wasn’t going to blink.

  Until he did.

  The missiles veered off at the last moment, rocketing up and away from the ship, only to explode once they could no longer do any damage.

  Batman crawled along the skin to the emergency door and used the voice synthesizer. It was only after the door slid open and he scrambled safely inside that he finally let himself exhale.

  Even so, they would know he was there.

  His sensors revealed a cluster of red dots, all gathered in a small room at the rear of the airship. Using the schematics, he made his way through the hallways until he reached the door. He kicked it in and entered.

  Scarecrow’s soldiers were standing in the back of the room, weapons at the ready. Scarecrow was closer, with his back to the door, staring at a computer screen. Barbara’s face was on it, but as Batman entered, Scarecrow grabbed a bat and shattered the screen.

  “Barbara?” Batman said. “Where the hell is she, Crane?”

  Scarecrow backed away, behind his soldiers, giving them a clear shot.

  “Where
you’ll never find her.” He turned to his soldiers. “I’m afraid my schedule has changed. You boys know what to do.”

  They raised their weapons to shoot, but Batman became a blur of motion. He dived low and took out the first goon, then, without pausing, leaped to his feet, grabbing the head of the next closest thug and smashing it into the face of another. Both went down fast. A fourth merc—the last—lunged at him. Batman grabbed his wrist, pulled him in tight, and slammed his elbow into the back of the man’s head.

  His wound twinged, reminding him that he had placed additional armor there to support the shoulder and prevent further damage. So far it was doing its job. He turned back to Scarecrow and spotted a small machine behind him—most likely this was Stagg’s Cloudburst device.

  “It’s over, Crane. Your toxins and your plans. Now tell me where you’re holding Barbara Gordon.”

  “Don’t talk to him, Bats. Beat him up until he’s nothing more than pummeled meat. That is the best way of tenderizing tough cuts, you know.”

  The voice came from behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

  27

  The Joker was standing there, again dressed in his wide-brimmed hat and aloha shirt. His fists were covered with boxing gloves and he stabbed at the air as if sparring with an enemy.

  “Don’t talk him to death, Bats. Beat him to death. Smash in his face. Cut open his chest. Remove his heart, show it to him, then squeeze it until the blood runs dry. C’mon, pal. It’s all you and me now.”

  “Get away from me,” Batman shouted. “You’re not real. You’re a lie.”

  “And you’re not? Only one of us wears a mask, pal. And it’s not the guy with the chalk-white face. With me, what you see is what you get.”

  Batman whirled and grabbed at the Joker, but he was already gone.