by Marv Wolfman
* * *
Batman grappled to the rooftops then checked his sensors. The Knight was five blocks south, keeping to the rooftops, running in a zigzag pattern, making it harder to be followed. Piercing the veil that blanketed the city, the satellites kept a lock on him—at least for the moment. He was headed toward the seaport.
Heading south along Fourteenth Street, Batman swung toward the west-side docks. He had to anticipate all of the Knight’s possible escape routes, then choose the one he believed most likely. Following him wouldn’t narrow the gap that lay between them. He had to predict his course, and get ahead of him.
He fired his Batline at the wolf-like gargoyle guarding the roof of Our Lady Of Sorrows. The gargoyle had been brought to Gotham City from Venice in 1892 when the church was first built. Whether it was because of a guardian angel, or just unexpected reverence from Gotham City’s lowlife, the church seemed to have been declared off limits to crime.
Batman used the gargoyle as a pivot that let him swing around the church and propel himself toward the docks, saving him at least three blocks. He affixed a second line to the flagpole projecting from the nine-story Maritime Control building, then winched to its roof, saving him another two blocks.
There he is.
The Arkham Knight was ahead of him.
He fired his grapple and grabbed the Knight’s legs, pulling them out from under him, dropping him to the rooftop. As the Knight fell, Batman was on top of him, pile-driving one fist after another into the Knight’s face and gut.
He had to keep the advantage.
The Knight thrust his knee into Batman’s solar plexus, knocking him back. He twisted, wrapped his legs around Batman’s neck, and squeezed.
“I don’t need to play any more games, Batman,” he growled. “I’m going to kill you and be done with it.”
Batman felt his anger rise. Without warning, it was growing out of control. He ripped off his right glove and stabbed his fingers through the eyepieces of the Knight’s mask.
“I’m not the one who’s going to die, killer,” he shouted. Yelping in pain, the Knight grabbed his face and fell back, releasing his hold. Then Batman was on him again. He smashed his elbow into the Knight’s throat, and the Knight gasped. He reached back to the mask and again stabbed his fingers through its holes, but this time to yank the mask off, to see the face of his enemy.
It came free, but the Knight rolled to his side and stabbed a knee up into Batman’s face. Blood shot from torn bone, but Batman held on. He laced his hands together and smashed down as hard as possible into the soft spot under the Knight’s ribcage.
“Let’s end this now. Let’s see who you are.”
“Yes. Yes. Hurt him. Cripple him. Break all your rules and slaughter him.” Batman didn’t have to turn to know the Joker was behind him, probably dancing with glee every time the Batman struck the Knight with his fists.
“What are you waiting for, Batman?” the lunatic cried. “Don’t you want to know who he is?”
Batman stared.
Where the full-face mask had been a moment before, the Joker was laughing up at him.
“Surprise!”
Glancing back, Batman saw the Joker standing behind him, still dancing with joy and convulsing with laughter.
“I bet you didn’t see that coming.”
Then a third Joker appeared to his side. This one reached for his own face and tore it off, exposing the Knight’s mask. “How can this possibly be? I’m dead. We’re all dead.
How can we be the Knight? Bet that’s a conundrum even the Riddler couldn’t solve.”
This fourth Joker leaned in close. “By the way, the Riddler? Really? Isn’t he just a second rate version of me? I’m your first nutcase from the dawn of time. He’s just a Jokey-Come-Lately.”
A fifth and sixth Joker appeared. They were surrounding him, laughing at him. He forced himself to his feet and lashed out, punching each figure even though his fists could never connect with his nightmares.
“Well, this isn’t getting either of us anywhere,” the first Joker said. “You’re fighting with figments of your own imagination, and we’re getting bored watching you make a fool of yourself. So sayonara, old friend. We’ll meet again when you rip off your own mask, and paint your pretty pink skin white. B’bye.”
The Jokers vanished, and Batman looked down to where the Arkham Knight had been. But he was gone.
* * *
Batman sat on the roof of the Maritime Control building, quietly regaining control over his thoughts, looking out over Gotham City, wondering how long he’d stay sane enough to help the city he loved. His fingers were still hooked on the Knight’s mask. If the Joker hadn’t distracted him, he likely would have blinded the Knight for life, and laughed at the results.
His time was running out.
He had stopped the Cloudburst device from manufacturing more fear toxin, but the city was still covered in layers of it. There were still screams coming from the streets below. People were still running in fear, attacking brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, even children and other loved ones. Fear was destroying the city and he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about it.
He sat watching as the winds blew the fear gas west, toward Poison Ivy’s gardens. She had merged with her plants and was drawing the toxin into her, but it wasn’t happening quickly enough. So he got up and grappled his way west. There was nothing he could do here.
Perhaps he could still help Ivy.
39
As Batman walked through the greenhouse, all he saw were brown stretches of plants, dying or dead. The once oxygen-rich air was now dank and fetid, and it made Batman sick to his stomach. He checked his re-breather and tightened the straps that held it in place. The fear gas was flowing into the greenhouse, but her task was nearly done.
Pamela Isley may have been mad, but she embraced the life that allowed humans to live. Her children—and she truly believed they were her children—gave humans something to breathe. In return, they were being condemned to a slow, painful death.
Without them, Batman wondered, how long would we survive?
He followed the currents of the flowing fear gas and found Ivy herself, whimpering in pain, almost fully merged with the ancient bristlecone pine.
“Ivy, you’re dying,” Batman said. “You can stop now.”
“It’s not done yet, and I’ve accepted my fate,” she whispered. “All my babies will die unless I save them.” Her voice was so weak he could barely hear her. “They need their mother. They need me. But will you stay with me, Batman? Will you let me borrow your strength? Will you help me save them?”
He reached out and rooted under the bark of the old pine. Most of her was already covered over but he found the tips of two fingers and placed his hand over them.
“I’ll stay with you, Pamela,” he said. “For as long as you need me.”
He did so as the toxin flowed into her, and he gave her whatever support he could to help with her pain. She swallowed in the poison and exhaled fresh air.
As the poison dissipated, the trees and plants closest to her were the first to sprout new buds. The brown that covered the greenhouse slowly faded as a new layer of green supplanted them. Ivy was in silent agony, no longer able to give voice, but her garden was growing.
This wasn’t science, Batman thought. To a man who demanded logic, this defied everything he understood. Yet, as the bristlecone closed, encasing her, he swore to himself that when all was done, whether they succeeded in saving Gotham City or not, everyone would know that Pamela Isley had died trying to save their city.
The pine branches reached out toward him, and he forced himself not to flinch. Its leaves surrounded him, and he found that he was comforted by their touch. He thought he heard Ivy’s voice, thanking him for his help, but it had to be another hallucination—like the Joker.
One of the shoots rested on his hand as his had on hers. Its thorns turned to face him and gently pricked his fingers.
* * *
40
“Excuse the interruption,” Lucius Fox said. “It appears as if the G.C.P.D. has located Scarecrow’s lair. It’s in an abandoned shopping mall on Founder’s Island. I’ve uploaded the schematics.”
“Thanks, Lucius. I’m on my way.”
“You should know the commissioner is already on site. You might want to tread carefully. I don’t think he’s requesting, expecting, or desiring your assistance.”
“Probably not, but the police aren’t equipped to handle menaces like Crane. This is more in my ballpark. Besides, I have less to lose.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He and Alfred don’t know about the Joker’s blood.
“He’s already lost Barbara,” Batman replied. “He’s lost enough.”
“Well, then, good luck. But be careful. Scarecrow has taken it to a whole new level—he’s never threatened anything like this before. It scares me.”
“I’m not that far behind you,” Batman admitted. “It seems like each new madmen ups the ante. There will come a time when even my tricks are useless against them.”
“And then what do we do?”
“What we’ve always done, I suppose. We keep fighting until we no longer can.”
* * *
The Founder’s Island shopping mall had closed its doors after Gotham City’s devastating earthquake. But even before the quake brought down several of its hub stores, the mall was in serious financial trouble. Wary of driving to that part of town, customers decided en masse not to leave their safe homes, but to buy their non-perishables over the internet. Over a four-year span, the mall fell into a downward spiral, and finally crashed when the earth collapsed beneath it.
Batman pulled the Batmobile into the north parking lot, as close to the back fence as possible. His sensors scanned the buildings, then he called Fox.
“You seeing this, Lucius?”
“I am. The mall’s been reconditioned, and a fortified gate has been built. Its beams and walls are reinforced. I’m picking up sensor alarms everywhere. It’s a break-in artist’s worst nightmare.”
“Yet I’ve driven past it a hundred times and never suspected it had been retrofitted—the outside looks no different than it did the day after the quake brought it down. This is a study in very effective camouflage.”
“Scarecrow must have been planning this for a very long time,” Fox said. “So what now?”
“I can’t drive in with the gate closed,” Batman said. “But I think I have an alternative.”
“At the risk of repeating myself, please be careful. Someone spent a fortune shoring up those buildings. They’re not going to give it up easily.”
The original schematics presented a clear picture. Odds were that its footprint would essentially be the same. Batman made his way to the exterior generators. A guard gate stood beyond that. Blocking his entrance to the mall was a reinforced steel grating. He couldn’t shut down the generator for long without engendering suspicion, but momentary brownouts were common in Gotham City.
“Lucius, on the count of three, please.”
“How long will you need?”
“If I can’t get through in three seconds, I don’t deserve the mask or the cape.”
“You honestly don’t expect a reply to that, do you?” Fox replied. “All right. Get ready.
“One.”
The power went down. Batman’s auto-ratchet undid the bolts and let him remove the gate.
“Two…”
He snaked through, replaced the gate, and fastened the bolts just as the generators turned back on and power returned to the mall.
“How long was that, Lucius?”
“You had at least a half-second to spare.”
“So next time I can take my time. Maybe have a latte.”
“If you decide to do that, please warn me in advance. I’d like to prepare my résumé.”
“Not an option, Lucius. Your contract’s iron clad.”
Locating a manhole cover, he entered the tunnels. He looked up through an open metal grating and saw Scarecrow’s soldiers running past, getting ready for whatever their boss was planning next. Several hundred feet further on, Batman entered a side tunnel and found a power box that connected to the mall’s phone system.
“Lucius, are you picking up any phone usage?”
“Indeed I am,” Fox replied. “Cellular. I’ve been monitoring them, and as yet nothing has been said that would be of any use. Why?”
“I need to make a phone call. I saw a guard gatehouse. Can you find out if someone inside is using their cell?”
“Done and done. I’ve downloaded the number to your address book. And I’ve already reprogrammed your little toy, so it’s ready for use.”
“Good. Once we’re in position, you’ll remote pilot the Batmobile. I’ll deal with Scarecrow and the Knight.” Batman hit his gauntlet comm and made the call. When a guard answered, he spoke into the voice synthesizer, reprogrammed by Fox to replicate Scarecrow’s voice.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said, mimicking his opponent’s halting speech pattern. “We’ve taken the Batmobile. I’ve arranged for it to be delivered here. When it arrives, open the gate immediately and let it pass.”
“Yes, sir!”
* * *
The gate slid open, allowing the vehicle to enter and make its way inside. Once past the defenses, Fox transformed the car to tank mode. Before any of the enemy could act, he launched a missile at the closest tank, then used non-lethal weaponry on the living.
As he did, Batman made his way deeper into the fortress.
Four mercs were posted by the elevator leading to the mall’s ground floor. Only auxiliary lights were on, casting the entire facility in a bizarre pattern of crisscrossing light and shadows. Distant explosions and gunfire could be heard.
Several dozen stores, long closed, crowded the perimeter surrounding an outsized promenade where large events had once been staged. Spring fashion shows packed the promenade in May only to be replaced when fall fashions found their way into the stores. October was turned over to ghosts, goblins and witches, while cover bands of seventies, eighties and nineties hit groups entertained shoppers the rest of the year.
At the moment, Santa’s village filled a small corner of the space, as eerily empty as its surroundings. The rest had become a staging area for Scarecrow and his killers. Four men guarded a variety of equipment—mostly weapons.
Emerging quietly, Batman launched his Batarang at the closest merc, taking him down before he registered what hit him. Seeing him collapse in a heap, others reached for their weapons—but were too slow. A second Batarang throw brought down the next merc while Batman waded into the remaining two, dispatching them efficiently and with a minimum of noise.
He pried open the elevator, dragged the unconscious mercs inside, then removed the access panel on the ceiling. Climbing up into the shaft, he fired a grapple to a ledge and rewound it, so that it carried him to level one.
Undetected, Batman made his way through the mall. Scarecrow and the Knight were there somewhere, and he was bringing the war to them.
Two mercs stood between him and the access corridor that led to a back hallway. It circled the mall behind the stores, enabling retailers to move merchandise in and out without customers seeing them. Slipping up in the shadows, he used a chokehold to bring one of them down, while a knee to the groin doubled over the second one.
He dragged them both through the access door, closing it quietly, and turned to the merc moaning in pain.
“Where’s Scarecrow?” he demanded in a low growl. The merc shook his head.
“No way. No way. You… you’ll only hurt me—but he’ll kill me if I tell you.”
Batman’s eyes flashed green.
“The rules have changed,” he said, and he moved in closer. “I will kill you. And then I’ll kill everyone you’ve ever known.” He grabbed the man and
lifted him. “Tell me. Tell me now.”
The man’s eyes went wide, and Batman dropped him unceremoniously.
“Now you’re showing guts, chum,” the Joker said, leaning in between Batman and the merc. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked heavenward with delight. “My psycho baby is growing up. Daddy couldn’t be more proud.”
Batman fell back, shaking off his anger. But he didn’t take his eyes off of the merc, who was still shivering from the threat. The man came to a decision, rose, and pointed across the mall.
“Th… the old shoe store… on level two. Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.”
Batman paused, then drove his fist into the merc’s face and the man collapsed again, unconscious. The Joker applauded as he stepped out of the way and let Batman pass.
Batman exited back into the main hallway, then grappled to the second level. The schematic located the shoe store on the opposite end of the atrium—a wide, circular area that opened onto all four floors. When he reached it, there were at least a half-dozen mercs on patrol. He grappled to a high spot, and perched thirty feet above the floor.
Off in the distance he heard another round of explosions, and the walls shook. The thugs below stopped and peered off into the distance, then resumed their rounds.
Two of the mercs walked together toward the toy store. Though it was dangling by a single cable, the old “TOYZ” sign still hung over the door. Batman estimated that it was solid enough for him to land on, and high enough for him not to be seen from the floor. Keeping to the shadows, he swung to the sign and kneeled behind the oversized Z. Then he patiently waited as the mercs passed under him.
When they started to move on, he dropped down behind one, grabbed him around the windpipe, then tightened his grip and brought him down. Simultaneously he shoved his palm into the throat of the other merc then spun, slamming his foot into the man’s face. They both lay unconscious, and Batman grappled up to the sign again.
Maynard & May, the one-time high-end fashion store, was four hundred feet to the left, across the hallway. Three mercs paced in front of it, weapons ready. The M&M sign above its padlocked doors hung directly overhead. He waited for a moment when the mercs had turned away, then grappled over to it and nestled above them.
