by Marv Wolfman
“You’re still in charge, Mr. Wayne.”
The computer chimed, and Lucius removed a sheath of papers from the printer bin. He gave them to Batman.
“The scrambler’s last one hundred GPS destinations,” he announced. “I can go back even further, if you want, but this will likely produce the results you want. The data has been uploaded to your computer, as well.”
Batman read over the list.
“Miagani Island,” he said.
If Gotham City was hell, Miagani festered in its innermost circle.
* * *
The roads were all but deserted. Gotham City had become a ghost city—there were shattered facades everywhere. Few businesses had been spared. Any car that remained was a burned-out hulk, as were far too many of the buildings.
The few big chain stores and most of the shops on Jewelry Row employed automatic shutters to prevent late-night looting, and for the most part the high-tech defenses had done the job, but the smaller outfits relied on the last person out to pull down the protective grating. In the rush to escape Gotham City, few had done so.
As the Batmobile sped along, there began to be sporadic resistance. Here and there goons wearing gas masks and armed with big guns thought they’d have some fun shooting at his car. When their bullets ricocheted off its promethium-coated body, more often than not returning the bullets to the sender, the humor of the moment quickly disappeared.
Chaos of this sort was what the Joker had spread during his infamous career. He thrived on insanity, killing hundreds for no reason other than to torment the sane. He’d put into motion one brutal scheme after another, but never showed any overriding goal or objective.
What made it all the more delicious for him was that his enemies kept trying to figure out his endgame, but they never came close. When he died, he left in his wake chaos and unanswerable questions.
For much of their one-on-one combat, Batman believed the Joker fostered his insanity for a reason, even if he couldn’t figure out what that reason might be. In the end, however, he was forced to accept that the Joker’s madness was impossible to understand.
More than once Batman had wondered, despite all the limitations he’d put on himself, if he should have hunted the Joker down and put a bullet through his head, thereby sparing scores of innocents from becoming victims of his incoherent crimes.
Sanity could be dealt with through reason. True insanity could not.
“Some bugs need to be stepped on, Bats,” The Joker laughed, grinning widely and playing with a cat’s cradle. “They exist for no other reason.”
Batman’s eyes burned bright green.
22
“I’ve narrowed the signal to Miagani’s southernmost tunnels.” Lucius Fox’s voice brought Batman back to the here and now. “If you want, I can guide you there.”
Idiot. Batman’s first instinct was to snap back. I was born in Gotham City—it’s my city. I know its every twist and turn and tunnel, and I don’t need your goddam directions.
His anger flared hotly. He pulled to the side of the bridge, powered down, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Lucius Fox was an employee of WayneTech. More than that, he was one of the Dark Knight’s closest and most valued allies.
He pulled in a deep breath, opened his eyes, and looked at himself in the mirror. He raised his mask and saw that his eyes were no longer green—had they been? He was himself again, even if he didn’t know how long that would last. He didn’t know how long he could fight the blood and toxins.
Content, he lowered his mask again. He was good for now.
“Thanks, Lucius,” he said, each word carefully controlled and calm. “The tunnels crisscross Miagani in all directions. I’ve been down there before, and it’s easy to get lost. Any guidance would be appreciated.”
“Glad to be of service, then. Tell you what, sir. I’m punching in the tunnel coordinates. Your GPS will guide you to it, but based on what my sensors are reporting, it might be prudent not to drive all the way there. Stealth and caution may be the operative words in this situation.”
“Sounds good to me,” Batman said, struggling against a new wave of anger—it came far too soon after the last. Then it passed and he was calm again.
* * *
The remainder of the approach went without incident. Good, he mused. This needs to be done fast, before…
Just before.
Named for the Native American tribe that originally inhabited the Gotham City area, the Miagani tunnels wove through bedrock, and remained pretty much the same as they’d been since the late 1920s, early 1930s. More recently some had been smoothed over with blacktop paving, allowing for vehicles that came and went to transport illicit goods. Criminals had long made use of the labyrinthine caverns to avoid being found.
Batman drove slowly, headlights off. He checked the GPS coordinates and confirmed that his destination was less than half a mile ahead. He saw a shadow move in the distance, where the tunnel turned right, and decided this was a good place to proceed on foot. He got out of the car and moved quietly ahead.
Soon he found a jeep—one of Scarecrow’s thugs leaned back in the driver’s seat, closing his eyes to enjoy the luxury of a brief nap. Without a sound Batman made certain his beauty sleep would last a helluva lot longer than he’d intended.
They don’t make henchmen the way they used to, he thought, and then he laughed inwardly at his own joke.
He was considering his next move when Fox’s voice crackled over the comm.
“Sir,” Fox said, “I’m picking up tanks in the tunnel ahead, maybe three hundred yards from where you are. They’re drones.”
“I’m seeing them on my sensors, too, Lucius. But thanks. The fact that he’s sending drones is a good sign. He still doesn’t necessarily want me dead.”
“I’m not quite as certain of that as you are. I think the drones are designed to lure you in further. If no lives are put at risk, Scarecrow—or perhaps it’s the Knight—knows you’ll keep moving ahead. Once you’re too far inside his perimeter to easily get out again, that may be when he deploys his soldiers.
“The fight will become far more dangerous once those tanks have human drivers.”
“What are you implying?” Batman snapped.
“The usual, sir,” Fox replied calmly. “I’m suggesting caution.”
Anger. Sweat. Hands balled into fists.
Where does he come off… Does he think he can do this better than I can? That he’s smarter than me? I should fire his miserable ass. Show him who’s…
“Sir?” Fox said. “Are you there, sir?”
He closed his eyes again and thought of the dozens of times Lucius Fox had saved his miserable ass. This wasn’t an enemy.
This was an ally.
A friend.
“I’m here, Lucius. I think you might be right, too. But I have to get past the first wave of tanks. They’re moving in my direction, and even if I abandon the Batmobile, they’ll discover it and know I’m here.”
“So, your plan is to survive? I’m good with that.”
“How many tanks are you picking up? I’m reading five, but one or two keep blinking in and out. I’m losing the signal down here.”
“I’m picking up the same five drones you are.”
“Then I’ll call you when I’m done. Batman out.”
* * *
The tanks were large and the Miagani tunnels, many of them built during Prohibition, were narrow, meant for nothing larger than a mining cart.
Returning to the Batmobile, he drove for a short time, then saw a glow in the distance and hit the brakes. Using the front-mounted cameras and magnifying the image, he saw the first line of defense. There was a line of tanks ahead—perhaps twelve of them.
Yet when he checked his sensors, they indicated the way was clear. Were they real, or another hallucination?
“Lucius, are you getting any readings?”
“No, sir. Everything is clear. Why?”
“Because my se
nsors say the same thing, but I’m looking at nearly a dozen tanks. I’m also seeing crews poring over them, getting them ready. I’m not sure what to think.”
“I’d say somehow Scarecrow has found a way to avoid detection.”
“This must be the Knight’s doing. Scarecrow is a psychologist with a solid understanding of chemistry. But this is high-tech. Sensor manipulation is out of his comfort zone.”
“Agreed,” Fox replied. “And now you’re dealing with human crews?”
“Which means I can’t blast them to hell.”
“Not unless you want to leave a lot of corpses in your wake.”
“Well, I guess we’re down to plan B. What did you call it? Stealth and caution?”
“Always a solid approach.”
He pulled the Batmobile into a side tunnel and exited.
“Okay. The signal down here is terrible so I’m effectively sensor blind. Keep an eye out for me, and let me know if what I’m seeing is real or not. I’m relying on you, so don’t steer me wrong.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Wayne. As I always try. The Knight’s GPS indicates that on multiple occasions he visited a location about a half-mile ahead of you. According to the time stamp, it happened not long before Ms. Gordon was taken.”
“So it’s possible she’s there?”
“Not enough information to know for certain, but it’s certainly a good place to start.”
Batman hugged the tunnel walls, moving slowly and deliberately. The narrow tunnel opened to a large cavern where he saw armored mercenaries climbing into a row of tanks, three-man crews in each one. As the first tank ground forward, he pulled himself back into the shadows and waited in silence until they passed him and left the area.
Several more followed. He waited until he could no longer see the last tank, and then slipped back into the large cavern and continued on. His immediate goal was an exit in the far wall.
“Sir,” Lucius’s voice came over his ear comm. “You diluted Scarecrow’s chemicals. What sprayed over Gotham City after the Ace Chemicals explosion was relatively harmless. But if you already stopped his plan, what’s he doing now?”
He saw several workers scurrying around the cavern, some fueling waiting vehicles, others fitting them with replacement weapons. He had to get past them and into the next tunnel.
“We had a plan B, Lucius. He probably does, too. Either him or the Arkham Knight.” He paused to peer around a corner, then proceeded. “The Knight worries me as much as Crane. We’d never met before this all began, but he seems to know more about me than anyone should. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had his contingency plans already set up.
“I know I would.”
“And you still have no idea who he is?”
Batman peered upward and found light fixtures hanging on chains from the roof. He aimed his grapple and fired. His line snagged a chain, and the winch drew him up. One of the workers turned toward the sudden sound, but Batman swung over the light fixture into the shadows on top. All the worker saw was the bright light.
“I’ve run through all the usual suspects,” he said, “but nobody fits the bill. He knew how my armor was put together. That shouldn’t be possible. He knew all its weak spots. Not even Cobblepot or Dent ever figured that out. Somehow he knows how our sensor equipment works, and he did an end run around it.
“He’s someone who knows me, and knows me well, but since it’s not you, Dick, or Alfred, or God knows, Barbara, I’ve run out of other options.”
About thirty yards ahead, a second light fixture hung from the ceiling. He again fired his grapple and zip-lined over to it. One more jump and he’d be back in the tunnels.
“I’m pleased you ruled us out, sir.”
“Me, too, Lucius,” he said without intending any irony. “Going silent now. I’ll reestablish communication after I get to the control center and access the Knight’s GPS. Once I find him, I’ll find Barbara.”
“Good luck, sir.”
23
From the cavern onward, the tunnels were strangely empty. Batman had expected to see more of Scarecrow’s goons working on the tanks, preparing them to move into the city, to take over neighborhood after neighborhood. And though the tanks were sitting there, waiting to be put into operation, Scarecrow’s workers were nowhere to be seen.
This must be a trap, Batman thought, so let’s spring it.
The control room was a small area cut off from the main tunnel. It, too, was deserted, and Barbara wasn’t there. But the main computer was, and it was already booted up. He fit a zip drive into a USB port, enabling Lucius to tap directly into its files and find the Knight’s GPS location, wherever he went.
He checked his scanner and there still were no heat signatures anywhere nearby. Small comfort, though—he hadn’t detected the tanks or their crews, and they’d been less than fifty yards away from him.
He searched the room for anything that might indicate the location of a holding cell or personnel quarters, in the hope that Barbara might be there. Batman was certain she was alive. If the Knight had wanted her dead he would have killed her in the Clock Tower, and left her body behind for Gordon and Batman to find.
No, like Scarecrow, the Knight wanted Batman and Gordon to suffer first. To know that they were helpless. This was a power play, pure and simple, and up until now the bad guys had been the ones flexing their muscles.
That was going to change.
“You and Lucius had a good idea, Bruce. What a shame it was never going to work.”
Batman spun and found the Arkham Knight rushing toward him. He started to raise his hand in defense, but the attack was too sudden, and the Knight was moving too fast.
He landed a jab to the face. Batman took only a moment to gather his wits and avoid a second hit, but as he leaned down, the Knight slammed him with his elbow to the back of the neck, in the space between where Batman’s reinforced cowl stopped and his cape began. He knew exactly where Batman was vulnerable.
His stance revealed that he knew how to box—his left foot was forward and his left arm extended. He held his right arm close to his body. Both arms were up, his fists close to his chin.
The Knight waded in again with an uppercut to the jaw.
“Come on, Batman. Why aren’t you fighting back?” His tone was cheerful, taunting. “I always knew I’d be able to kick your ass from here to Sunday, but I expected a little resistance. Don’t let me down.”
Batman held up an arm to protect his face, and the Knight moved in—just as he’d expected. His rear hand crossed in front of his body and slammed the Knight with a right cross to the face. But at the last moment the Knight turned and Batman’s fist grazed his cheek instead.
“Boxing 101, Bruce. Do you so disrespect me that you’re treating me like some sort of amateur? I’d be embarrassed if I were you.”
“Who the hell are you?” Batman said.
The Knight laughed. “Getting under your skin, aren’t I? I know your tech and I know your fighting moves, too. And lest we forget, Bruce, I also know who you are. Not that it’s much of a secret now, is it?”
Batman went low, then jabbed his knee into the Knight’s gut. His opponent fell back but quickly regained his balance.
“Good try. Of course, I’m fully armored, something you should have always been. But you wanted the common rabble to see part of your face, didn’t you? To know that you were human. It’s funny, Bruce, part of you wanted to inspire fear in your enemies, but at the same time another part of you wanted to connect with people. I’m sure Crane would love to do a psychological profile.”
The Knight moved in quickly, pummeling Batman with a series of hard jabs, only half of which could be deflected.
“With a partially open mask, the good guys might catch you smiling, so they’d know you were on their side. And the bad guys would see you scowl at them, then hear you speak through that ridiculous voice synthesizer. You wanted to sound so dark and growly that they’d be scared of you.
“
Well, it might have worked for them, but not for me. I’m not the superstitious, cowardly kind you’re used to dealing with. Your words—not mine.”
The Knight dove low and drove the heel of his open palm into Batman’s nose, under his mask. He felt bone break and saw blood shoot free.
“That had to hurt. Good.”
Batman lunged for him, but the Knight jumped, somersaulting over his head, then came down behind him. He slammed the back of Batman’s skull with his foot and sent him sprawling forward.
Then he was on the ground, with the Knight standing over him, holding a gun.
“What do you want, Knight?” Batman asked. “What’s this all about?”
“I guess it’s all about seeing you suffer. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Bang,” he whispered as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck Batman in the shoulder, between plates of his suit’s armor. “Less than an inch of uncovered space, and I hit the target. I’m as good with a gun as I am with my fists.”
Fire shot through Batman’s shoulder and he grabbed it. Even through his glove he could feel blood pouring from the wound. The pain was sharp and growing, but he couldn’t give in to it.
“Why are you doing this?” he gasped as he staggered to his feet.
“We’ll get into the whys and wherefores another time,” the Knight replied, putting the gun back in his belt pouch. “Yes, there will be another time. Killing you so soon wouldn’t be at all satisfying. Scarecrow and I want you to know we’re better than you. That you can’t possibly survive against us.” Without warning, the Knight waded in again, pummeling Batman’s shoulder, keeping his wound open. Batman felt the arm go limp. He needed a few minutes to regain his strength, so he backed away.
But the Knight followed. He leaped and landed a martial-arts kick to the kidneys. Batman doubled over in pain.
The Knight stepped back, then swung again. Batman raised his arm to deflect the Knight’s blow, but the punch got past it, and knocked him to the ground. With an exaggerated sense of the casual, the Knight walked over and smashed him with his boot.