Batman Arkham Knight

by Marv Wolfman

  Jason intentionally fell back and then spun. His foot slammed into Batman’s neck, just where the cape was secured to his shoulders. By necessity this was an unprotected area—one of the very few in Batman’s armor.

  Batman tumbled back, and before he could right himself, Jason was on him, smashing a fist into his face, smashing his elbows into Batman’s gut.

  “I trusted you, Bruce,” Jason screamed. “I trusted you and what did you do? You left me to be tortured for so long in that rotting cell in Arkham.”

  “That’s not what happened, Jason. I swear. I didn’t know you were alive.”

  “You didn’t care enough to find out.”

  “But I know now,” Batman replied, blood pouring from his nose as Jason slammed him again. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “We can work together to fix you. Let me help you. Please, Jason. Give me the chance to help.”

  The Joker was dancing behind Batman. “You don’t honestly think he’s going to let you help? The kid’s a feral dog, Bats. The only way to stop him is to put him down.”

  But Batman wasn’t listening.

  Jason picked the gun up from the floor and again pointed it at Batman.

  “Go ahead,” Batman said. “I understand. I accepted a lunatic’s word that he killed you. I believed the faked video he sent me. And if you decide, I’ll accept the consequences. But I can help you… I want to help you.”

  “There’s no way on Earth you can do anything to help me. Not now. Not ever.” Jason stared at Batman, his hand trembled and he tightened his grip on the gun. “I was in his goddam prison for three years, Bruce. You have no idea what he did to me. You left me to suffer there for so long. He made me suffer for so long.”

  “I did. I really did,” the Joker said, theatrically solemn. He pulled a long, multicolored handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “I am such a bad man. Next time I get deep-fried, I want to push the button myself.”

  Suddenly Jason screamed. He dropped the gun to the floor and turned away.

  “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.” He fell to his knees and wept.

  As he watched Jason crying, Batman knew this was his fault, and because of him, everyone he cared about was hurt, or died. He turned from Jason and tapped his gauntlet communicator.

  Alfred’s face appeared in the hologram.

  “Is everything all right, sir?”

  “Alfred, I found him,” Batman said. “I found Jason.”

  “Excuse me?” For a moment Alfred was speechless. “Master Todd is—”

  “No,” Batman said. “He’s been alive all this time. Prisoner of the Joker. I believed that madman’s lies. I should have known better than that.”

  “I’m so sorry, sir. But is he all right now?”

  Batman turned back to Jason, but he was gone. All that was left in his place was the Arkham Knight’s mask, broken and discarded.

  “No, Alfred,” Batman said, his voice soft and hollow. “No. He’s not.” He stopped talking, said nothing for a long time, then took a deep breath and pushed aside his melancholy. “I wanted to touch base with you one more time. I’m not sure what’s going to happen now.”

  “Sir, don’t do anything rash,” Alfred said, and it was clear he was struggling to stay calm. “Why don’t you come home? I think we need to talk.”

  “I think I’ve talked more than enough. Take care, Alfred. I’m sending you instructions. See that they’re implemented.” He turned off the comm and the hologram retracted into his glove. Then he turned to see Jim Gordon, still gagged and bound to the chair, staring at Batman, fully aware of everything he’d just seen.

  Batman removed his gag then cut through the ropes.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I went after Crane. I got caught.”

  “Jim, I am so sorry. For everything. Especially Barbara. Please forgive me.”

  “No. Don’t.” Gordon stood up and shook off the last of the bindings. “Let’s get this over with. Look, I may be sorry for what you must be going through, but all I care about now is finding Scarecrow. And after I deal with him, you and I are done.”

  “I know I should have found a way to stop him before, but we can find him now. Together.”

  “He’s on the roof,” Gordon said. “Let’s go.” Batman followed him to the elevator. They stood in silence as it slowly creaked its way up.

  “Jim, I won’t let us stop being friends. Working with you has been an honor.”

  “No. Don’t.”

  “I have to. You’re too important to me. And even if you can’t forgive me, you’ve got to believe I was honoring Barbara’s wishes. She wouldn’t have let you stop her even if you knew the truth. She was that stubborn.”

  Gordon gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Like her old man. You know, you see a lot in this job. A lot of pain. A lot of suffering. But I’ll never forget taking a witness statement from an eight-year-old who had seen his parents gunned down.”

  “You were kind, Jim.”

  “I was thinking, I may never get the chance to tell you this. To say sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, Jim,” Batman said. “We go back too long to fight forever.”

  “I’m not trying to apologize. I’m trying to explain that you and I are very much the same. We’d do anything for our family. Anything.”

  “What do you mean?” Batman asked. But Gordon was staring at the elevator door, waiting for it to open.

  42

  Gordon stepped out onto the roof, and Batman followed as the door closed behind him. Scarecrow was standing at the edge, looking over the city he had tried to destroy.

  “Gotham City was so close to perfection,” Scarecrow said. “But now it’s like every place else. So many opportunities wasted. It’s so sad.”

  “It’s over, Crane,” Batman said. “On your knees. You’re under arrest.”

  “You did it,” Scarecrow continued, as if Batman hadn’t even spoken. “You know, I must admit I had my doubts that you could make this happen, but you did.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Crane?”

  “I’m not talking to you,” Scarecrow said as he turned to Jim Gordon. “It’s time.”

  Batman turned to find Jim Gordon standing behind him, holding a gun, pointing it at Batman.

  “Sorry, but this is the only way all this can end,” Gordon said. He called to Scarecrow but kept his eyes on Batman. “Get me my daughter, Crane.”

  The elevator door opened again and Batman saw one of Scarecrow’s mercs wheel Barbara Gordon onto the roof. She was bound to the wheelchair and tried to squirm free, but she couldn’t. Then she saw her father holding a gun on Batman.

  “Dad, what are you doing?”

  “Barbara, are you all right?” he responded. “Did he hurt you?” He started to move to her when Scarecrow stepped in front of him.

  “Close enough.”

  Batman stared, still not believing.

  First Jason, now Barbara.

  “She’s alive? What’s going on, Jim?”

  “You assumed, Batman,” Scarecrow said. “You believed things without verifying them. But the truth is, once your closest friend kills you, I will allow him to walk out of here with his daughter alive. And should he fail to kill you, then he and his spawn will die along with you. You know which choice he has to make. There is no alternative.”

  He looked back at the city and spread his arms wide, as if welcoming it into his life.

  “You are going to die now. Your true face will be revealed for everyone to see. The fools who believed in you will then learn their savior was no heaven-sent angel, but just a delusional failure of a man. And they will realize they have no choice but to bow before me.”

  Gordon turned the gun from Batman and aimed it at Scarecrow.

  “That wasn’t our deal, Crane. It was Barbara’s life for Batman’s.”

  Scarecrow laughed. “Deals change, And if you resist me, the next change I make will be the last for you and your p
rogeny.” He turned his attention to the soldier who had pushed Barbara’s chair to the roof’s edge.

  “Call in the transport.”

  “Jim, you can’t be part of this,” Batman said. Yet with all that had caused Gordon pain over the years—his wife, his son, his daughter’s injury—he fully believed the cop would do everything possible if it meant sparing Barbara more pain.

  “Why not?” Gordon said, his voice strained. “You’ve been lying to me for years now. Even after she was crippled you put her in constant peril. Dear God, you nearly got her killed.”

  Scarecrow walked over to the wheelchair and tapped it. It teetered precariously on the roof edge, but he then pulled it back, steadying it. He held onto the handle and turned back to Batman.

  “I don’t know why you’re resisting death. After all, you and I both know you haven’t got much longer to go anyway. Before he died the Joker informed me that he infected your blood. I designed a very special form of my fear toxin to bring out the Joker in you.”

  “He’s right, Bats. We were working together. So, tick tock, your time is running out. Madness and fear is what your future’s all about.”

  Stunned by what he had heard, Gordon stared at the gun in his hand, then turned quickly to Batman and fired twice, both bullets hitting him squarely in the chest. The impact sent him flying back off the roof, out of sight.

  * * *

  Barbara gasped, horrified as another of Scarecrow’s mercenaries forced Gordon to the ground.

  “For God’s sake, Crane,” he gritted, struggling against the thugs. “I did everything you wanted. Let her go.”

  Scarecrow leaned down until they were eye to eye.

  “Gotham City will know the truth,” Scarecrow said. He walked to the roof’s edge and again rested his hand on the wheelchair’s push handle. “And they will learn the truth today.”

  As Scarecrow pushed her wheelchair even closer to the edge, Barbara glared at him.

  “You don’t scare me.”

  Scarecrow laughed. “It’s okay to be afraid, dear. You know what happens when you refuse to let your fears control you?

  “You. Must. Face. Them,” he said.

  With a casual push, he shoved the wheelchair over the edge of the roof, and turned back to see Gordon screaming in horror. Then he turned to the mercenary who had wheeled Barbara onto the roof.

  “Inform my tank drivers that we’re good to go.” He gestured toward the commissioner. “Bring the crying fool with us. He might still prove useful.”

  Scarecrow entered the elevator and took it to the mall parking lot where a transport helicopter waited on the uppermost level. He climbed inside, thinking Batman and the girl were both dead. Perhaps not the way he wanted, but that was no reason to be nit-picky about it. In a few days his tanks would disperse more fear gas. This time there’d be nobody to stop him.

  Gotham City would still be his.

  * * *

  Four minutes, twelve seconds earlier

  Gordon stared at the gun in his hand then turned to Batman and fired it, shooting him squarely in the chest. The impact sent him flying back off the roof, out of sight.

  Gordon shot him in the bat-symbol that covered his reinforced, bulletproof armor beneath.

  The hit was not an accident.

  * * *

  Two minutes, thirty-nine seconds earlier

  With a casual push, Scarecrow shoved her wheelchair over the edge of the roof. Barbara fell, the ropes still binding her to the wheelchair. She began to silently recite her prayers as a Batclaw suddenly grabbed the chair’s push bar and held it in place, dangling it many stories above the ground.

  A thin line dropped next to her. A moment later Batman slid down it. He reached out to her.

  “Take my hand.”

  Barbara held onto him as he cut the ropes. Then the wheelchair shook free and crashed below. He held onto her as he lowered them both to the ground.

  “I thought he killed you,” she said as he sat on the curb next to her.

  “Your father knew what he was doing,” he said, removing the two bullets imbedded in his chest plate, then handing them to her. A moment later the Batmobile pulled to a stop in front of them. Its door swung open and Batman lifted her up again, carefully placing her inside.

  “Where are they taking him, Bruce?”

  “Don’t worry, Barbara. We found you. I’ll find him.”

  * * *

  The present

  Gordon knew how Batman thought. He’d known him since he was a boy of eight, sharp, dedicated, and brilliant. He’d watched him grow into the man Gordon wished his own son could have been.

  When he shot him he knew Batman would be stunned for at most a few seconds before his survival instinct kicked in. He’d use his grapple cable to swing to safety somewhere under the mall roof, out of Scarecrow’s line of sight.

  He hadn’t anticipated what Crane would do with Barbara, but Scarecrow didn’t leave his prisoners alive. He and Barbara were doomed long before Gordon led Batman to the rooftop. His only hope—his single prayer—was that if Batman didn’t die when Gordon put two bullets into him, he would somehow find a way to save Barbara, too.

  But until he knew for certain, he had to act as if she hadn’t died. It gave him hope, but he also knew he couldn’t give Crane even a single excuse to search for them.

  43

  The police had been decimated—only a token force remained behind. A few hundred cops decided on their own to stay in the city and help those who needed them. Government officials had long abandoned City Hall and fled north to safety. A half-dozen fire engines were still in service, but were hopelessly undermanned. Huge sections of the city were left to burn simply because there weren’t enough personnel to put out the fires.

  When the attacks first began, the federal authorities received a message. They were warned that, were they to launch a counter assault, Scarecrow would immediately unleash enough fear toxin to kill everyone within a ten-mile radius. The feds had the National Guard and the Marines ready to move in, but waited for a full assessment of the situation.

  They didn’t know if the Gotham City vigilante known as Batman could be trusted, but they did know he was their only contact inside the city. Even Air Force drones weren’t secure against mercenaries armed with surface-to-air missiles.

  Scarecrow’s tanks patrolled all of Gotham City, unopposed by any resistance. The first few civilian attacks against the invaders had been met with lethal responses. In one instance an entire neighborhood had been razed to the ground.

  Gotham City belonged to Scarecrow.

  * * *

  Batman brought Barbara to the relative safety of the Gotham City Police headquarters. The building had been abandoned, giving little reason for Scarecrow to send his forces there. He carried her to the police computer facilities, a former interrogation room that had been retrofitted with the most up-to-date tech the G.C.P.D. could afford—by 2007 standards. The computers were still running old software that had been barely functional when it first debuted.

  Despite the tech, Oracle still felt at home.

  “Trouble,” she said after a few keystrokes. “Data’s being deleted from the Clock Tower’s servers. I don’t have access to my intel.” She looked up at him. “Wonder what took them so long.”

  “I can stop them,” Batman said. “Do your best to delay it, but give me at least ten minutes.”

  As he made his way back through the G.C.P.D., his gauntlet comm buzzed and Scarecrow’s face filled the holo screen.

  “My tech boys said they thought someone was piggybacking them. And guess who I found on the other end of our hack? Hello again, Batman. You’re certainly full of surprises. Yet I’m so… pleased you checked in. I wanted to show you something I found in the Panessa Studios trash dump.”

  The picture widened. Scarecrow was holding a gun, and it was pressed to Robin’s temple.

  “Another of your acolytes will die because of you, Batman.”

  “Crane, i
f you hurt him…”

  “Your threats are meaningless, Batman. It is only when you bow before me and acknowledge me as your master will I relieve you of your pain.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Surrender to me immediately, or the boy dies.”

  “All right, Crane. You win.”

  “My victory was always assured. You just needed to accept it.”

  44

  Darkness.

  Then he woke up in an alley. But how did he get here?

  He remembered meeting Scarecrow’s men in front of the Gotham City Library. He let his hands be tied together behind his back. He remembered being pushed into a truck.

  But nothing else.

  Not until the darkness faded and he saw the washed-out sign for the single-room-occupancy hotel. That told him he was in Crime Alley, originally called Park Row until two innocent people leaving a nearby theater were attacked and murdered.

  This was where it all started for Bruce Wayne. This, he feared, is where it would also end. Feared?

  No.

  He had to fight fear, not embrace it.

  He would not let Scarecrow win.

  A black shape whizzed past. Then another and another. The dark alleyway was filled with thousands of these shapes, flitting past him like… like… like the bats in that well. They were screaming at him then, too. And laughing. Laughing so loud that his ears started to bleed.

  One of the shapes paused in front of him, shouted something indecipherable, then flew away. It wasn’t a bat. None of them were bats. They were all shadows of the Joker—hundreds of Jokers, and they were all trying to claw their way inside him.

  He screamed.

  Then he woke up.

  * * *

  He was in a hospital van. The words “Arkham Asylum” were stenciled on the inside of the doors. Arkham on the left door. Asylum on the right. He was chained to a hospital gurney, unable to move.

  Crane stood over him, fingering one of the syringes that fit over his fingers. It was glowing with fear toxin. “I’ve injected you with five times the necessary dose, but you show no signs of submission. Are you not human? How do you defy me? Why can’t I control you as I do everyone else?”