Batman Arkham Knight

by Marv Wolfman

  “Hey, Bats, you know you look like twelve kinds of crap.” Batman turned to see the Joker sitting next to him, strumming a ukulele.

  “Maybe if you went away and gave the asylum over to the lunatics, there’d be nothing left to tax you. You could lie on a beach in Hawaii, order a few mai tais, and soak up the sun. And tell you what. I’ll even give you the shirt off my back,” the Joker said. “It’s soiled with a few bloodstains and such, but after a while you forget all about them.”

  Batman closed his eyes and shut out the noise. When he opened them again, the Joker was gone.

  “Sir? Sir? Are you there?” Alfred was calling to him.

  “I… I am,” he said. “I am.”

  “The people of Gotham City need you.”

  “For what? To fail them as I’ve failed everyone else I care about?”

  “Sir, you’re not sounding like yourself, so you’ve got to listen to me. You need to focus.”

  “On what? The villains? You know how many there are out there right now, all dedicated to murdering everyone they can? Or maybe Scarecrow’s scheme. Or the Joker’s, or… Do you get it, Alfred? I fear for the first time since I put on this mask that I’m simply overwhelmed. There’s too much to do and no time to get any of it done.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, sir. You’ve always said you focus on one thing at a time. Get that done, then move onto the next, then the next after that. So for now you need to find Scarecrow’s Cloudburst machine. It’s only a matter of time before he finds a way to trigger it. So perhaps we should put Ms. Gordon’s fate aside and put our minds to solving only that.”

  The Joker patted Batman on the shoulder.

  “Wondering if you can live with yourself, eh? Well, imagine how Daddy Gordon must feel. First he sees me shoot his little girl, crippling her. Now they’ll make an internet sensation out of her. He’ll see the video of you frightening the living hell out of her, until she blows her brains out. You know, maybe I should send him a few wallet-sized pics of that, too. For giggles and grins.”

  “Master Bruce,” Alfred said, unwittingly interrupting the Joker’s monologue. “Ms. Gordon may very well be alive. So if you want to save her you’ve got to start… now.”

  “Your butler’s a dolt, pal. You can’t bring her back. Tell you what, let Uncle J. take charge. I’ll make everything wonderful all over again.”

  “Sir? Do you hear me? Please, sir. Talk to me.”

  “Alfred?”

  “Thank God,” Alfred breathed. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

  “No. But you’re right. As usual. My first mission is to find the Cloudburst machine. Try to hone in on its particular field. It’s worth a shot if there’s any chance we can find it.”

  “And what will you be doing in the meantime?”

  “I’m assuming the worst, Alfred. Let’s say the machine does as advertised, and the city drowns in his fear toxin. I need to find a way to immunize the people against it.”

  “I see where you’re going, sir, but I question whether or not she can be reasoned with. After your long and troubled road together, will she help you?”

  “She doesn’t have a choice,” Batman said. “The only person who can help us save Gotham City is Poison Ivy. And come hell or high water, I’ll find a way to make her do just that.”

  29

  The G.C.P.D. officers guarding the main jail were down to a token force, and no one was ready to argue with Batman when he came to release Pamela Isley, also known as prisoner #40732. Gail Moench, the poor desk sergeant on duty, was more than happy to get rid of her one and only charge.

  Moench’s only thought now was how to get the hell out of Dodge.

  * * *

  Batman drove Ivy to the botanical gardens. The last time she had been there the plants were lush, thick, and thriving, a living canopy of colors that covered and protected the greenhouse. But now the greenhouse was patched over with growing brown spots. Ivy’s glorious roses were gone. So were her hydrangeas, lilies, and lavenders. Her spice garden had been viciously uprooted and sage, rosemary, mints, thyme, and more lay torn in the dirt.

  Her children were dead or dying, and Ivy was in tears.

  “He did this, the meatbag!” she wailed. “Didn’t he?”

  “You have to help stop him, Ivy,” Batman said. “Or this will just be the beginning. He’ll make sure every plant in this city will die.”

  She turned to the trees. Some of them were still trying to cling to life. She heard her favorite eucalyptus call to her and beg for her warm touch. She held the dogwoods and oaks, and they seemed to tremble with delight.

  “Can you still do it, Ivy?” he said, urgency in his voice. “Create the antidote?”

  She was on the ground, petting the roots of a frail magnolia. She glanced up at him, tears in eyes that flashed with anger and hate.

  “I can, and I will. These are the oldest plants in Gotham City. They’ll tell me what we need to do.”

  She held onto the magnolia root and leaned in to kiss it. “Look at her,” Ivy said. “She’s been here since before man walked this land. Even weak as she is, she still holds great power.”

  “She’ll help you then?”

  “She wants to, but she’s been poisoned by decades of pollution. She won’t be able to fight Scarecrow’s toxin—not on her own.” Batman saw the roots tremble. Ivy held it tighter but it still shivered in her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?” she snapped. “There aren’t any left like her. Not anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  “What do you think, Batman? You cut them back. You built over them, you stopped them from reaching the sun.”

  “If I can locate her deepest roots, would that revive them?”

  Ivy laughed. Batman was smart, for a human, but compared to nature he was such a fool.

  “They’re lost. Buried beneath this concrete monstrosity. There is no way.”

  “I’ll find one,” Batman said as his gauntlet buzzed.

  * * *

  Alfred’s face appeared a moment later. “Good, I was about to call,” Batman said. “This might sound strange, but it’s urgent. Ask Lucius to pull together as many Wayne Construction personnel as he can, have them dig up the concrete surrounding Ivy’s botanical gardens. And they need to be careful.”

  “Is there a reason for this, or are you trying to cause more of a mess than already exists out there?”

  “Over the last century we’ve covered over ancient roots,” Batman explained. “We’ve got to expose them again, and help Ivy revive them. They may be our final line of defense against Scarecrow’s toxin.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll get right on it. But I called you for a reason. Henry Adams, your detainee at Panessa, says he needs to speak with you.”

  Batman nodded. “Somehow he’s immune to toxins, and now Ivy’s trying to find an antidote. One might be able to help the other. Patch him through, Alfred.”

  Adams’ face appeared in the holo. He was visibly frightened, and his words gushed out of him almost too fast for Batman to make sense.

  “The film studio was attacked,” he said desperately. “There’s soldiers everywhere, and they answer to the Joker’s girl. What’s her name? Holly? Hayley? Helen?”

  “Harley,” Batman said. “Harley Quinn.”

  “Yes. Yes. That’s it. Harley Quinn. She was here. She is here. With the Joker’s madmen. They broke into our cells and they let out all the others. They’re still infected, Batman. They’ll infect others, too.”

  Batman started to reply but suddenly heard a gurgle of surprise and Adams fell from view. A moment later Harley Quinn’s grinning face peeked into the camera. She was splattered with red. Before she could speak, Harley looked off to the side as she rubbed the red from her cheeks.

  “Now, boys, pull back the camera,” she said mockingly. “I want the big, bad bat to see the whole scene.” She turned back to Batman and grinned. “It’ll be worth it, I promise you. This’ll be the opening scene of my br
and-new movie, Harley Quinn Sends Batman to Hell. Written by me, directed by me. Starring me. And you.

  “And Mr. Adams here. You see him?”

  The camera pulled back to reveal Henry Adams, slumped awkwardly on his chair. Harley leaned in again and showed off her baseball bat, its barrel and end cap covered with blood.

  “Well, look who’s too late to save the day… again. He squooshed up real good, didn’t he?”

  Batman lost control, and shouted at her. “You sick, demented—”

  “Now, now, watch your language, Batman,” she said, cutting him off. “Kids may be watching this later. I’m so gonna put it on the new social-media site for sociopaths, wannabes, and of course their victims, too. My Puddin’ came up with the whole idea while he was waiting to be oven roasted, and I promise you, Bats, it’s gonna be bigger than all the others put together.”

  The camera jerked up and Batman saw Harley sitting on Adams’ chest, legs crossed, using her finger to draw smileys on his face with his own blood.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I wanted to get a clip showing your reaction to your latest loss, and your look of shock and horror didn’t disappoint. So catch you later, procrastinator, and remember, feel free to add your own videos, whenever you want.”

  “I’m going to find you, Harley,” he gritted. “And this time you won’t get free.”

  “Oh, come on. You know better than that. The Puddin’ and me, nothing holds us for long. Not even being deep-fried. By the way, I looked around this little prison of yours and I saw you’re growing a whole new generation of Jokers for yourself. But they’re mine now. I do like me my fresh puddin’.”

  “You can’t let them go free, Harley,” he said, striving to keep his voice steady. “They’re not stable.”

  Harley Quinn laughed. “They’re not stable? Oh, Bat-brains, have you taken a long look in the mirror yourself? I think you’ll be in for a big surprise. Anyway, this is Harley Quinn, over and—”

  The holo went black and retracted into Batman’s glove. If she was to be believed, the night was about to get even worse. He turned back to Ivy as she held the vines close to her, petting them tenderly. Somehow they were responding to her touch.

  “That fleshpot tried to exterminate my family,” she said. “He’ll pay for this, Batman. I swear to the great Mother that he will pay.”

  30

  Robin was leaning against a wall when the Batmobile pulled up to Panessa Studios. Tim Drake was the hero now wearing the Robin mask and uniform, and he’d been Batman’s partner for a couple of years.

  His predecessor was Jason Todd. Batman first encountered him when he was little more than a penny-ante thief, then brought him into Bruce Wayne’s home for rehabilitation. It seemed to work, but Jason rebelled whenever Batman gave him direct orders. His unwillingness to follow the rules led to his abduction.

  The crowbar swung down, smashing apart flesh and bone. The Joker had killed Jason Todd, and Batman promised himself that there would be no more partners. He wasn’t going to put anyone else’s life on the line. For more than a year Batman kept to his promise, but then a teen named Tim Drake forced his way into Wayne Manor. Having seen footage of Dick Grayson from his Haly’s Circus days, then footage of Batman and Robin in action, he had figured out that Dick Grayson had been Robin.

  That meant Bruce Wayne was Batman. He was armed with evidence Bruce couldn’t dismiss. A teenager had figured out who he was, when Gotham City’s greatest criminal minds had failed.

  Drake spent a year investigating Dick Grayson and his guardian, Bruce Wayne. He read all the news reports that said Wayne’s parents had been murdered when he was nine. During his investigations, the first Robin struck out on his own as Nightwing.

  Nobody knew for certain if the Joker had actually killed the second Robin. The Joker had said he would if the citizens of Gotham City voted for the boy’s death. But Batman knew the vote was a charade. However it went, the clown planned to kill Jason anyway.

  In the end, however, the public never saw the actual killing. Their attention turned to the next scandal or hoax. Nobody saw that crowbar swing down again and again, ending a young boy’s life. Only Batman knew Jason Todd was dead—the Joker filmed the act as grotesque proof of what he had done. Only Batman realized there was nobody else who would mourn his passing. He kept that awful pain to himself.

  After Robin’s murder, Batman’s behavior became increasingly erratic. He seemed angrier and—if possible—more vicious than before. Tim realized how dangerous the situation had become. Batman needed to control his emotions, and not let them control him. He needed someone who could root him in the real world.

  He needed a new Robin.

  A new, young conscience.

  And Tim was determined it would be him.

  It took almost a year for Batman to accept Tim’s presence, but the boy’s persistence paid off. He became the new Robin and his job was more than to help protect the city. He had to protect Batman’s sanity, as well.

  * * *

  Robin arrived at Panessa only moments ahead of his partner. When Batman arrived, Robin glanced at his wrist as if he was checking his watch, and gave an overly dramatic yawn.

  “You stop for a burger?” he asked. “I’ve been waiting, like, forever.”

  “Or at least two minutes,” Batman said, smiling. “That was you I saw swing over as I pulled up, wasn’t it?”

  “Well, it felt like hours,” Robin replied. “Anyway, I read the data. We’re looking for the folks the Joker infected, right?”

  “Four innocent people were mistakenly given a transfusion of his blood,” Batman said. “It’s slowly turning them into him.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “You ready?”

  “I got my bō staff. How much more do I need?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and darted into the studio lot.

  * * *

  Batman heard someone approaching from behind, and turned. The Joker was standing there, dressed in a purple jumpsuit, holding a rusty crowbar in his right hand, impatiently tapping it into his left palm.

  “You may as well get lost, Joker. I know you’re not real.”

  “Says the man who is talking to himself. Remember this crowbar, Batman? It’s still smudged with blood. Jason Todd’s blood. But I wonder how much of Tim’s blood I’d have to spill to cover it over?”

  “You’re not real,” Batman repeated. “I’m not listening to you,” he said, charging into the studio behind Tim.

  But he knew he was.

  * * *

  Nearly a dozen thugs with rifles were stationed in the first building, in a small room that made their weapons difficult to use without accidentally killing one of their own. Batman and Robin took advantage of the close quarters, moving quickly and making certain they were always surrounded by the unwilling human shields.

  Robin dived under the legs of the closest merc and used his bō to jab up quickly and painfully, taking him down while the guy yelped uncontrollably.

  This guy’s gonna be disappointing women for the rest of his life, Robin thought, chuckling to himself. Sliding past, he kicked him into another merc, startling both of them long enough for Batman to grab the man’s weapon and smash it across his face.

  Batman held onto what was left of the rifle and began using it as a fighting stick. He brought it down hard and fast, snapping the kneecap of the other merc, dropping him to the floor. Then he took out a merc who, at six foot seven, towered over him. Robin grabbed yet another thug by his collar and forced him to the floor. He leaped over his head, and then slammed his bō into the back of the merc’s neck, leaving him unconscious.

  * * *

  The Joker walked casually through the crowd, still slapping his open palm with the blood-covered crowbar.

  “Things didn’t go well for Robin number two, did they?” he taunted. “Gosh, them surely were the good ol’ days. You remember ’em, Bats?”

  * * *

  Suddenly they were there—the las
t place on Earth Batman wanted to be, that long-abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum. Through the airducts Batman could hear the moans of suffering inmates pleading to be free, knowing full well they would never be.

  Jason Todd was there. He had no idea he would soon be dead.

  * * *

  Panessa Studios. Another soldier leaped on Batman’s back and shoved his pistol to the back of his head. Scarecrow’s reward money was as good as his.

  But then Batman fell back, smashing the merc into the wall behind him, loosening his grip. He pried himself free, spun, slammed him with an uppercut to his gut, and let the man drop.

  Three mercs charged toward the two heroes. Batman laced his fingers and Robin launched himself into the air, landing on the interlocked hands as Batman hefted him over the three assailants. Robin twisted in mid-air, and slammed all three with his feet. As he landed, he used his bō to knock the closest merc’s legs out from under him, then he smashed his elbow into the man’s face.

  * * *

  That horrible pit deep in the bowels of Arkham Asylum. Inside, two giant men who looked strong enough to take down an elephant. But there was fear on their faces. They were scared of the third man who walked out of the dark. Small. Slim. Long, thin face marked with a wide, twisted mouth. His skin was pink, but it didn’t look real.

  * * *

  Panessa Studios. There were only four mercs left and they were afraid. Batman and Robin had taken down most of them without raising much of a sweat.

  One of the mercs decided the hell with it. He was going to kill those two even if it meant shooting his own men. He shoved a new clip into the gun and let loose, firing the entire magazine. Batman dove and the bullets speared over his head and into one of the other opponents.

  Now there were only three.

  * * *

  Arkham. The man with the long face and the false pink flesh. The pink-faced man held a gun on Jason while the big men grabbed and beat him. Face. Stomach. Again. Again.