by Marv Wolfman
“If you don’t want that, maybe that’s exactly what I need to do.” Batman walked into one of the empty cells and closed the door behind him. “I’m still in command,” he said. “You don’t control me.”
“C’mon, Bats. Get out of that cell. Can’t you see how much fun you and I will be? My demented mind. Your steroid-enhanced muscles. We’re a match made in chemical heaven. ’Sides, you won’t be able to refuse me forever. I’m going to be all over your free will any time now. So just give in to me. It’ll be so much easier on both of us.”
“Not going to happen, Joker. I will never be yours.”
“The only thing that ‘never’ applies to, Bats, is your ability to fight destiny. Oh, and my tainted blood. There’s no cure. No hope. No stopping me now.”
“There are other ways I can stop you.”
“Sure, there’s always the Henry Adams way. And I have to admire that—it took guts. His guts. But here’s something you need to think about. You put a bullet through that bullheaded brain of yours, and then what happens to Robin the third? Who’s gonna protect him? I mean, without you, he goes the way of guess who?”
* * *
Jason Todd. He was there, on the floor in front of Batman.
The Joker was standing over him, crowbar in his hand. He raised it, brought it down with a brutal impact, again and again. Then he turned to Batman and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Now Timmy’s made of sterner meat than Toddy, but even he can be tenderized.”
Batman stared at Jason, dead on the floor. He blinked his eyes and he was gone. He was still standing outside the cell, Robin at his side. It was another damned hallucination.
He was losing all control.
He turned to Tim, who had no idea what he was seeing.
“Tim,” Batman said, his voice almost whispering the name. He grabbed Robin’s hand and pushed him into an empty cell, then quickly locked it. “I’m so sorry. But this is for your own good. I’ve got to protect you… from me.”
“Batman, what are you doing?” Tim shouted. “Let me out of here. Batman!”
The Joker walked over to Batman and put his arms around him.
“A man after my own heart,” he said, and he giggled. “And once you fully change, you’ll have that and everything else. By the way, I brought you a present.”
And there was Jason Todd again, sitting on the floor, a spotlight shining on him as if from heaven itself. He was alive, but tied up in ropes. A gag prevented him from talking.
“Jason? But he’s…”
“Dead?” the Joker said. “In the real world, maybe. But not in your head. Go. Talk to him. Reminisce about the good ol’ days, when both of you were sane—more or less.”
Batman started to untie Jason when the Joker pushed him away, a crowbar suddenly appearing in his hand.
“That’s long enough,” he said mockingly. “We don’t want things to get mushy now, do we?” He swung the crowbar like a baseball bat, slammed Jason with it, and knocked him out of the light. The Joker laughed and followed, but the spotlight moved with him. A sheet appeared in front of him—he pulled it aside with a flamboyant tug. Jason was under the sheet, straining at his bonds. The Joker leaned into him and gestured toward Batman.
“I’m not the villain here, you know. Batface is.
“Speaking of faces,” the Joker said, and he held out his hand. A branding iron appeared in it, glowing red hot. He twirled it, then slammed it onto Jason’s face, burning a vivid “J” into his cheek. Jason screamed and writhed while Batman could only stand and watch.
“Oh, quiet down, Toddy,” the Joker laughed. “If anyone asks, you can always say the ‘J’ was for Jason. If they’re stupid enough, they might even believe it.” He looked at Batman and shrugged his shoulders. “Who’d think getting your initials branded into you would cause such a ruckus.”
Jason was holding back his screams even as his flesh was still sizzling.
“You know, I actually meant to ask you a question first, and use the branding iron later, in case I needed an incentive,” the Joker said. “But I got it backwards. Being dead and having your ashes flushed into the Gotham River has played havoc with my attention span. I do apologize.”
Jason was writhing on the ground. The ropes were gone, and his hands were free, He was whimpering in pain. Batman wanted to go to him, help him, but he couldn’t move.
“Anyway, what’s done is done. So, if you don’t mind my doing this out of order, I’ll ask my question now.” The Joker leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. “What is Batman’s secret identity?”
Jason lowered his hands and glared at the Joker, but all his fight and rebellion were gone.
“B… Bru…”
“Oh, I don’t really care.” The Joker laughed as he put a bullet through Jason’s head.
Robin called out, grabbing his cell bars, trying to pull them loose even while recognizing that was impossible.
“Batman. Wake up! Whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real. Let me out. I can help you.”
But Batman couldn’t hear him. He walked to the door, opened it and left. The Joker followed behind.
“Who shall be next? The good commissioner? The faithful butler? The gruff but dedicated scientist-slash-CEO? I’d name more friends, but you don’t have any others. Still, I’ll kill them all, and for extra fun, I’ll shoot all your casual acquaintances, too.”
Batman wasn’t listening to him, either.
He walked through the corridor, knowing he had locked away Robin to save him. He feared for Tim’s life, afraid that he’d share the same fate as Barbara or Jason. Whether or not it was Scarecrow’s toxin, it was a justified fear. What had happened before could very well happen again.
What’s past, as Shakespeare wrote, is prologue.
He walked past more than a dozen bodies lying on the studio floor, but didn’t glance at them. He found the exit and walked outside into the cold. It was a moonless night and everything was dark.
Batman preferred it that way. No one could see him. He returned to the Batmobile, its window open wide, and climbed inside. In the distance he could hear the screams of those in need. He rolled up the window and the screams were gone. If only it was really that simple.
He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wash over him. Everything was changing—that much was obvious—and not for the good. Jason was dead. Barbara was probably dead, too.
For the moment Tim was safe, but locked up in a cell with crazies everywhere. And Tim was good. He’d soon pick the lock and escape. If Batman had taught him well, he’d make it all the way back to Wayne Manor. Then he’d be with Alfred, and almost nothing could stop those two.
So many fears, and though Batman realized they were being generated by Scarecrow’s toxins, it didn’t mean they weren’t real.
Well, he thought, if this was his last mission, he was going to go out fighting. He needed to go to the botanical gardens and find Ivy. She was his last chance to find a cure. He took a deep breath, held it for a long while, then exhaled and started the car. One thought was foremost in his mind.
Nothing can stop you when you know you’re going to die.
35
Jonathan Crane was pleased with the way things had worked out.
He had manufactured far more fear toxin than was needed for Gotham City—the supply Batman destroyed was a backup produced in case his main stockpile was damaged. At worst he had been slowed down, and marginally at that. Once Gotham City turned on itself, he would simply produce more.
Then he would begin planning his next attack. He was trying to decide between spreading his fear in Metropolis or Central City. He tried to picture what the results would look like if a fear-crazed Superman or Flash were suddenly released on their cities.
Imagine that destruction.
More than ever, Crane was obsessed with the nature of fear and how it drove sane men to joyously commit acts even the insane couldn’t conceive. His experiment
s proved that all men possessed dark thoughts, but had, over many millennia, learned to control them.
“Civilized” man had seemingly discarded his savage beginnings, and so mankind indulged those unable to lift themselves out of the mire, yet that veneer of civilization was a mistake. Man was given savage urges for a reason. In nature, only the strong survived. The most powerful always got to feast on the weak. Those who gave in to fear were meant to serve those who would experience it fully then rise above it.
The weak took advantage of the strong, sucking them into the abyss. Before it was too late, mankind had to rid itself of the shackles that dragged it into the depths.
And now the fear toxin would fix everything.
Yet how to test a man’s worth? Certainly everyone suffered from phobias—no one could long hide from their nightmares. But some people were able to push past them, while others succumbed. How a person dealt with the irrational would show whether they were the wheat or the chaff. If they gave in to their fears, they were feeble and deserved to be purged.
Learn to turn them against others, and you prove your strength, Scarecrow knew. Your value. He was the only one who could lead the way to mankind’s reawakening. And he was more than up to the task.
But first there were a few messy details with which he needed to deal.
* * *
“Scarecrow!” The Arkham Knight’s voice came over his communicator. “Everything’s in place.” The Knight was in command of the lead tank—the one that held Simon Stagg’s Cloudburst machine.
“She has to be destroyed,” Scarecrow said.
“She will be,” the Knight replied, “as will her plants. Nothing will survive. Neither here, nor in Gotham City.”
“Somehow her ancient spores are able to counteract my toxins,” Crane said. “Poison Ivy spouts her gibberish, that Mother Nature will save the world. But I’ve proven that if left uncontrolled, nature will only bring us all to the brink of self-destruction. She’s failed us time and time again. Now man needs to take over.”
“I’m outside the gardens, powering up the weapons. The pavement has been torn up, and it already looks like a war zone out here. But we’ll get through. It won’t be long now.”
“You’ve done a good job, Knight. Your master is pleased.”
“Gotham City will soon be yours, sir,” Arkham Knight said. “But remember, Batman is mine.
“Knight out.”
* * *
Alfred Pennyworth’s voice came over the comm.
“Sir, we’ve located the Cloudburst device,” he said. “The good news is, it’s less than a thousand yards from your current location.”
Batman looked at Ivy, cradling one of her plants, coaxing it back to life. She saw him watching her and gave a warm smile.
“And the bad news?”
“See for yourself, sir. Patching you in now. That’s a satellite view of the scene showing the immediate area surrounding Ivy’s gardens. The red dot you see is the Cloudburst’s power source—it’s on one of Scarecrow’s tanks. You can’t see him now, but a moment ago you could see the driver. I’ll rewind the feed.”
Batman watched as the image scrolled backward. The tank hatch opened and a man peered out for a moment, then burrowed back inside, closing the hatch behind him.
The tank commander was the Arkham Knight.
Batman turned to Ivy.
“We need to leave,” he said. “Scarecrow’s men are outside, and you represent a serious threat to him.”
“I can’t go, Batman.” She held her plant, hugging it close to her. “They need me.”
“Sir,” Alfred said, “our instruments show that they’re powering up their weapons. I strongly urge you and Ms. Isley to vacate immediately.”
“Ivy, we can’t wait,” Batman said. “We have to go… now.”
“You go. I’m staying.”
“Sir, there’s no time.”
Batman grabbed Ivy’s wrist and pulled her away from the plant. She cried out to him and the vine writhed, echoing her emotions.
“No, Batman. Please don’t do this to me.” She struggled in his grip. “I have to stay here. A mother never leaves her children behind.”
“You’re not their mother, Ivy,” he said, ignoring her tugging. “They’re just plants. Come on.”
“Just plants?” she echoed. “I thought you were a good man, who understood me—but you’re as bad as they are.” She clawed at him now, trying to scratch through his armor with her nails, which she had dipped in plant poison. But he firmly held her wrists.
“Sir,” Alfred called out again, “there can be no further delay.”
“We’ll sort it out later,” Batman said to Ivy. “We’re going now.”
Then the world exploded.
A sphere of pulsing blue energy crashed through the greenhouse wall, then suddenly erupted with devastating effect. Instantly, shockwaves spread through the gardens, ripping through stems, flowers, and leaves. Their primary and secondary root systems dried up and crumbled. Bright red azaleas turned brown and withered, their petals crumbling to dust. Black-eyed Susans, ancient Damasks, and Gallicas simply disintegrated, their ashes swept away by the pulsing energy waves. Alba heritage roses, which had bloomed as far back as the middle ages and were used for medicines, were gone in a single instant.
Ivy tried to launch herself toward the enemy tank, which was firing a second wave of energy, but Batman maintained his grip and forced her to the ground. Then he lay on top of her, shielding her.
This sphere was larger, more destructive, and was centered outside of the greenhouse. Once again the energy wave oscillated in all directions, spreading from the blast site. The greenhouse wall was ripped into uncountable shards, and even the Batmobile was lifted by yet another pulse. Batman watched as it disappeared from view, then moments later heard its crash.
“Ivy, we have to get to your tunnels,” he told her. “Where’s the closest entrance grate?”
“Do you have children of your own? Would you leave them now? Would you leave Robin to die?”
“God forgive me, but I already may have.”
* * *
He heard the thumping before he looked up.
The Joker was standing in front of him, laughing as he hammered the long-dead body of Jason Todd.
The laugh persisted even after Batman could no longer see him.
* * *
“There’s nothing we can do to help them, Ivy. We have to go underground.”
Scarecrow’s fear gas appeared in a noxious cloud, and the shockwave spread it everywhere. Seeing it, Ivy finally nodded and led him to a hatchway.
The shockwave tore through Gotham City’s streets and bou-levards, constructed when the city was rich and prosperous and wanted to show off its splendor. Towering trees, planted in the 1920s to line the shopping plazas, were obliterated—reduced to crumbled bark and splintered wood.
Even hiding in the tunnels, Ivy could hear her children’s screams as one by one they died around her. She was crying and she was angry, but when she looked at Batman, she was also determined.
“I understand now, Batman,” she said, her jaw clenched with fury. “Unless you terminate those evil people, all of my beautiful plants will die. I have to stop the fear toxin… and I know how.”
Grief-stricken, she ran through the tunnels, not looking where she was going, but guided by a presence Batman could never see. Still, he followed her.
“Ivy, where are you going? What are you doing?”
“What you wanted me to do, Batman,” she answered without turning. “The only thing I can do.” The tunnel system wound its way under Ivy’s gardens, then suddenly came to an end. She looked up, past a grating that was directly above, and pointed to a small, leafless stub of a tree. It looked like the witch’s tree from The Wizard of Oz, its branches twisted like arms that clawed at the sky.
“That’s the bristlecone pine,” she said. “It’s the oldest tree in the world. Did you know it comes from here? Not Africa
, nor Asia, but here. It comes from California. Isn’t that a miracle, Batman? The oldest tree in the world was born right here in the United States. And it’s also the tree from which those spores came. The ones that countered Scarecrow’s fear toxin.”
“Ivy, it’s too late to make an antidote,” he said. “The only thing we can do now is stay down here and let the fear gas settle.”
She just stared at him for a moment.
“Batman, you’re so good at hitting people, but when it comes to nature, you are naïve.” She turned back toward the grate. “I think you should stand back now. Let me do what I have to.”
“No!” he said “Talk to me first, Ivy. Tell me what you’re doing.”
“Why? You’d never understand. Just watch. Please. I have to save my babies.” With that she pushed open the grating and walked to the plant. Its lowest branch seemed to turn to her and take her hand. “She understands what’s happening, and she’s ready.” She looked back at him. “And so am I.”
She nestled in the tree’s branches and let herself be covered by them. Smaller branches sprouted from larger ones, and wove a cradle that surrounded her.
“She speaks to me,” Ivy said. “We can absorb the toxins already in the air, but you’ll need to stop their machines from creating more.”
Batman moved to pull her away, but a tree branch swiped him back. With every passing second she was becoming more a part of the bristlecone, and he could see drifts of fear gas rushing toward her.
“Ivy, don’t,” he said. “You’ll die.”
“I can’t die, Batman. Nature is forever.”
“IVY!” he shouted, and he launched himself at her again, but the tree kept pushing him back. Her voice came from somewhere within the tangle of new bristlecone growth.
“You know what to do now,” she said. “Protect my babies still to be.”
Then she was gone.
But she was right. He knew what had to be done. Simon Stagg had built the Cloudburst machine.
Now he’d tell Batman how to destroy it.
36
Simon Stagg was hanging upside down, held just outside the airship’s emergency exit, the ground nearly two thousand dizzying feet below him. He had no choice but to look down.