“What do you hope to accomplish?” Robin asked.
As the doors to the maximum security wing of Arkham Asylum swung open, their hinges in desperate need of lubricant, Batman stepped forward with his son at his side. His cape draped over his shoulders like a shadow clinging to the last vestiges of nightfall. His presence here was not out of the ordinary, but seeing him stalk the halls always put the staff on edge. In a way, they were more anxious when he was here than when they had to transfer in one of the many homicidal maniacs they housed.
“Two things,” Batman replied. “I want to know who the Fools were supposed to distract. Thirty men and women with no obvious connections were drugged, dressed in the Joker’s colors, and let loose in the city tonight.* Nightwing confirmed most of their identities as the GCPD tagged them. They ranged from prominent doctors to cashiers. For now, the Joker is our only lead.”
* [Last issue! Which means this current scene takes place only a few hours later.]
“And with the Joker being incarcerated here since you last apprehended him,” Robin added, “it seems unlikely that he is involved. That implies that the second item of your agenda tonight—”
“Is to confirm he didn’t put this chaos into action before returning to Arkham.”
“The Fools,” Robin mused. “You have taken to calling them by the name the media provided mere moments after we broke up the mob.”
The duo quickly made their way through the facility, passing many familiar characters. While Arkham was a renowned institution with a fairly substantial rehabilitative success rate, it also treated some of the most colorful criminals to grace Gotham. Batman could not take credit for filling all of the chambers in the facility, as physicians and psychiatrists from around the world sent patients there, but the need for a maximum security wing had come from his capturing dangerous people.
The glass doorways were Jeremiah Arkham’s idea. He didn’t want the room, which were actually similar to prison cells, to feel that way. He wanted his patients to be comfortable and be able to view their entire surroundings. It also allowed them to see the urban myth known as the Batman stalk nearby once more.
Several pounded on the glass. Many of them shrieked. To them, seeing Batman again was like reliving a nightmare made real.
Batman ignored them all, but Robin scowled at every single one that made a show of themselves. “You would think that given their reaction at the mere sight of you they would install two-way mirrors,” Robin stated. “Or turn the lights off.”
“I’m told seeing me helps them confront their own psychosis.”
“Do you believe that?”
Batman didn’t respond. He waited until they were two-thirds of the way through the corridor before he stopped, saying, “We’re here.”
The glass doorway to the chamber they stopped out was slightly different than the others. While not a prison, the majority of the patients were not allowed certain items for fear they would harm themselves or others. Most liquids, sharp objects, and fabrics were not allowed. Yet, somehow the glass here had been decorated.
A large red smile was haphazardly smeared across the middle of the glass, with green streamers somehow adhered to the interior near the top. Batman was only mildly surprised; after all, the Joker was known to be a gifted chemist.
Batman waited in front of the glass while Robin pounded on it with his fist. “Get up!” the teenager shouted. “You will come over where we can see you. Now.”
From inside the chamber, a raspy voice said, “Today’s youth…tsk, tsk.”
Wearing an orange uniform that had been issued upon his return to the asylum, the Joker swung into view. He hung upside-down from the center of the room, his ankles tied to the embedded light fixture with the same green streamers at the top of the doorway. He had somehow opened and pulled the light out of its housing. A single bulb burned brightly, but as his weight shifted back and forth, it blinked on and off.
“Don’t mind me, Batsy!” the Joker proclaimed. “Impersonation is the sincerest form of flattery, you know. I just thought I would get into that head of yours; see what it’s like to be you. You have to tell me…how do you sleep like this with the blood rushing to your head? HA HA!”
“Thirty people were set loose in the city tonight showing similar symptoms to the effects of your gas.”
Joker sneered and put the back of his hand against the side of his mouth, as if he were talking secretly. He stuck thumb on his other hand toward Robin and loudly whispered, “Gas? You’re telling fart jokes now? In front of the kid? HEE HEE! Batsy, as one professional to another, I appreciate the new material, but let’s keep it classy, okay? HA!”
“Quit joking!” Robin shouted as he hit the glass again. “People died tonight. Tell us what we want to know.”
Joker stuck his tongue out at the teenager. “I liked the other ones better, Bats. They at least had a sense of humor.” Joker swirled around as his momentum propelled him from side to side. He motioned toward the green streamers. “Like what I’ve done with the place? I made them from hair, bed sheets, hand soap, and a turnip. Of course, had I know you were coming I would have put out guest towels.”
“You’ve been locked up here for the last six months,” Batman stated. “I want to know if you’ve put something into play recently.”
“Hmm. Let me think.” Joker spun so his back was to the duo and he began loudly muttering to himself, saying, “There was that whoopee cushion I sent to the mayor. Oh, and the hyenas I donated to the Sunnydaze Day Care. Plus the—”
Robin pounded the glass again and the Joker spun back to face them. “Sorry!” he said. “Nothing comes to mind. Having a bit of trouble, eh? What’s the matter…you miss me so much that you’re trying to pin random things on me now? My doctor would say that you have a fixation with me, Batsy.” He feigned blushing. “You make me feel so special. You know. In my special place. HEE HA HA HAAAAW!”
Batman turned to leave, which caused Joker to flip down onto his bare feet and slam himself against the glass. “Where are you going?” he demanded. His voice had dropped from a carefree playfulness to grievous.
“Thirty people were dressed like you and suffering from the effects of your toxin. If it wasn’t you, then its someone impersonating you.”
“Imperson…” Joker tried to smile, but he couldn’t’ quite bring the corners of his cheeks up to their usual height. “Batsy. Old friend! Mi compadre. Do a pal a favor and fill him in on what you’re talking about? I love a fan, I truly do. I’d love for you to tell me who it is so I can congratulate them on their taste in idols.”
“Like you said, impersonation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
Joker’s face suddenly turned sinister. His lips parted and seemed to barely contain his teeth and tongue, as if he would bite into the jugular of his prey if something wasn’t impeding him. He pressed close to the glass, his fingers gnarled into fists. Gone was the jesting façade, now replaced by the cold and calculating killer that he was at his very core.
“Impersonation is for amateurs!” he screamed. He punched the glass desperately. “An insult to professionalism. To my craft. Tell me! I am an artist. A true genius! A Picasso of crime. Tell me so I can pull this neophyte’s entrails out from this toenails and bathe in their family’s blood.”
Batman turned again and this time Robin followed. All the way to the end of the corridor they heard his demands to know what he had been talking about, who would dare take credit for his creative ingenuity, and the various ways he would dismember such a culprit.
The insane ramblings of a scorned killer.
When the doors to the maximum security wing had sealed behind them, Robin said, “That accomplished nothing.”
Batman didn’t break stride as he responded. “He candidly stated, ‘had I known you were coming.’ The Joker loves taking credit for his work. His ego won’t allow him to share credit.”
“He could have been lying.”
“His violent reaction styling themselves after him also indicates that he had no prior knowledge of the attack. A vitals scan from my cowl, which registers his pupil dilation and heartbeat, alludes that he was telling the truth the entire time.”
“Okay. But we still don’t know who the distraction was meant for.”
They exited the facility in silence. Damian Wayne had not held his father in the highest respect when they had first met, and he continued to challenge Batman’s ethical behavior, which sometimes conflicted with the greater good he was led to believe they served. Since taking the Robin mantle for himself though, he had come to recognize the quiet brilliance that was in constant operation within his father. Every time he challenged the Bat he was foiled, coming away with a deeper appreciation of his tactics.
Their vehicle, the armored and one of a kind mobile operations center nicknamed the Batmobile, awaited them just outside the front gates. Its black polymer coating absorbed ambient light, making it nearly invisible in the shadows. At their approach, Batman tapped an ignition command on his belt and the engine roared to life. The turbines housed within the goliath growled and the cockpit canopy slid open to reveal two seats surrounding by computer screens and control terminals.
As Robin leapt across to the passenger seat, he said, “What’s our next move?”
Batman similarly jumped in beside him and the canopy slid shut. He pressed the accelerator and the Batmobile jumped forward under the intense power of the turbines. “We find the real person behind tonight’s attack,” Batman replied. “We have to start by making an assumption, unfortunately. If this was a distraction for the police, we begin with where they would have been had they not been called to the scene.”
“And if it was meant for us?”
The Batmobile thundered around a downward bend, leaving the monolithic Arkham Asylum behind them. The city was only a few miles away, but he was anxious to get back, anxious to start unraveling the mystery.
“We start with the Joker’s known associates,” Batman said. “The Joker is famous for being crazy. It’s more likely that someone that respects him would pull this off as opposed to someone who would be too scared to cross him.”
“And what if there really is an impersonator out there?” Robin asked. “What if there is a brand new Joker terrorizing Gotham?”
# # #
“I hereby call this meeting of the Board of Directors to order.”
Slamming a wooden gavel down onto the circular conference table, the general chatter began to die down. The room was large enough to comfortably seat twenty executives, but only six men were present. They were uncomfortable sitting close to one another, as their alliance was superficial at best. At the head of the table, the man with the gavel leered at them.
Or so his body-language indicated. It was difficult to tell exactly who amongst them he was looking at since he had no eyes.
“You’re not the Chairman,” a man wearing a lead suit said. His voice was filtered through a speaker placed roughly where his mouth was behind the self-contained apparel. It was annoying to have to live this way, but necessary, lest he burn the entire building to the ground.
“Aren’t I, Phosphorous? I might as well be. I’m the only one here with any type of medical background.”
The man cut off from the world in his sealed suit let out a dismissive laugh. “Medical background? You bungled up and removed your own face. That hardly makes you a doctor.”
“I was a leading dermatologist!”
“And look at you now, Doctor No-Face. Part of why I agreed to this was because I would be treated as an equal here,” he said.
“And you will be,” said the man seated directly across from him. He wore a brilliant red turban with a red gem at the center. In his hand he toyed with several silver coins that seemed have an aura about them. “You are equal to us. All six of us have come together for a common cause. There is no Chairman of this Board. The moment we begin bickering among ourselves is the moment this escapade fails. I have foreseen it.”
Uneasy silence fell over the men. All six, master criminals in their own right, knew that this alliance was especially fragile. They were each accustomed to operating independently, but that had failed them multiple times over. This union was shaky at best, but it was their only chance at finally achieving success.
“How goes the preparations downstairs?” an Asian man near the corner of the room inquired. At his side rested a scimitar that could no longer hold its sheen, thanks to the amount of blood that had stained it. “I only arrived in Gotham tonight and need to be brought up to speed.”
“The Hospital will be ready on schedule, Tzin,” the man in the turban replied. “We have Ecks to thank for that. Or rather, Ecks’ energy doubles. They’re workhorses.”
Ecks, a lean man with a pencil mustache, leaned forward over the conference table. “The Hospital will be completed precisely on time, as Doctor Zodiac said. My doubles are finalizing the testing phase as we speak.” He leaned back, adjusting his necktie. “Ignore the screams. I’m afraid I can’t do much about those.”
“I doubt you’ll hear any of us complain,” said Doctor No-Face. “Gentlemen! Soon our joint efforts will culminate in the fruit of our labors. Gotham will cower before us. We have been rejected by society too long. After Batman is lead to—”
“No speeches.” The voice came from the sixth member of their group who had yet to speak. When he spoke, he sounded like he was expelling all of the air in his lungs, which matched his ghastly mutated appearance. “Finish your work. The Batman has surely already begun tracking down the leads we have placed for him. Do not presume that he will adhere to our so-called schedule.”
While their own monikers fit them well enough, it was his that was the most appropriate. His skin looked discolored and chalky. His body was swelled and bloated disproportionately. His voice sent chills up even their collective spines. While doctors No-Face, Phosphorus, Zodiac, Tzin-Tzin, and Double X were formidable, even they feared this man. If Doctor Death could even be called a man.
Doctor No-Face scoffed, but picked up the gavel anyway and slammed it down again. “Very well. Meeting adjoined. When the Board next comes together, our Hospital of Pain will be completed, and nothing will stand in our way.”
# # #
“According to Nightwing,” Robin said, “who cross-referenced GCPD patrol assignments with reported crimes tonight, there are two locations that could have been the real targets.”
Batman nodded as he deftly controlled the Batmobile, sweeping through the dark streets of Gotham. Robin worked the dashboard console in front of him that was tied to the main computer back at the cave. “They’re at opposite ends of the district, though,” Robin continued. “Several reports of vandalism throughout the area, likely caused by the Fools. One location reported a robbery and the other reported an assault, both at the same time as the riot.”
“What does the assault report say?”
Robin took a moment to pull up the scanned witness statement. “Someone in a mask attacked a man and woman walking home from dinner. The assailant broke both of the man’s legs and one of the woman’s ribs. He was seen fleeing the scene using what the witness called, ‘a grappling gun like in those movies.’”
“We’ll head for the robbery location. The assault doesn’t rate the kind of planning that the riot required.”
“We should not allow the assault to go unanswered,” Robin countered.
Batman gave him the briefest of glances. “Of course not. Put Batgirl on it. It’s unrelated to our case. We have our own investigation to follow through on.”
Robin grumbled, but seemed content to pass on the information to their female counterpart. He hadn’t worked directly with Batgirl very much, but he respected her abilities and had no doubt that his father was correct in assigning her the assault. If he had time, Robin made a mental note to offer her assistance should she need it later.
The concept of this extended family was growing on him. In the League of Assassins he delegated work to underlings fairly consistently. This seemed no different, although he father regularly told him that their family of operatives in Gotham were not employees and should be treated as equals.
The Batmobile blazed through an intersection that was devoid of life. At this time of night, even the denizens of Gotham’s underworld were preparing for daylight. Soon enough Batman and his protégé would need to think about returning to the cave as well.
The brakes silently engaged and brought the massive vehicle to a halt before a storefront. The sign overhead read, ‘BAILEY’S JEWELRY.’ What was left of the windows lay strewn across the sidewalk. Glass crunched beneath the boots of the duo as they left the Batmobile behind and stood at the now empty scene.
Batman paused at the window for a moment, looking up to where the storefront ended and the red brick of the upper layers of the building began. A row house, many of the top floors were either rented apartments, storage for the businesses, or homes for the owners.
“Hm,” he muttered.
Robin stopped beside him. “What is it?” he asked, looking upward.
“The security gates were down when the glass was shattered.” Robin followed his gaze, noticing that prongs of metal were hanging like teeth from the top of the storefront marquee. They had all been broken apart and bent outward. Batman continued, “And the glass is on the outside. If someone were breaking in—”
“The glass would be on the inside,” Robin surmised. He bent down and looked more closely at the debris on the sidewalk. “Look. This isn’t all glass.”
Picking up several shards of something black and jagged, Robin closely inspected the fragments rolling around in the palm of his glove. The lenses in his domino mask adjusted at his command, zooming in to give him a magnified look.
“It’s metal,” Batman concluded.
“And it’s wet, oddly enough. So, someone burst out from within. This wasn’t a breaking and entering like the police report indicated, and these shards are the fragments of the security gates that were lowered over the outside of the glass windows. But what would make metal shatter like glass?”
“It would have to be brittle,” Batman stated. “If would have to be frozen.”
A click barely above a whisper triggered both of them into action. A bystander may not pay any more attention to such a noise than they would a bird flying overhead, but to the trained ears of the Batman and his young partner it was all the forewarning they needed.
The duo split apart like opposing magnets just as a turquoise beam of searing energy splashed onto the sidewalk. The ground was instantly covered in a thick layer of ice, which was growing more dense by the second as it expanded and reached toward the storefront.
Batman spun around, a curved throwing implement in his hand, dubbed a batarang. Seeing his target across the street behind a car, a mere forty feet away, he snapped his arm forward and launched the weapon. It swung out in an arc and connected with temple of the man who had tried to kill them.
He fell down behind the car, but they had gotten good look at him before he had fallen out of sight. He wore a blue coat with a white and blue hood that looked too bulky for his shape, as if he wore padding or armor beneath it. His hands were covered in thick, black gloves. Clattering to the ground beside him was the weapon that had fired a deadly cryogenic ray at the duo, a familiar weapon to the Dark Knight.
But what was even more familiar was the dome covering the man’s head, like a glass helmet. It was reminiscent of one of his signature adversaries.
“Freeze!” Robin said between clenched teeth. He had likewise thrown himself aside and had a pair of red batarangs at the ready, eager for another target.
“No,” Batman said. “It’s not Victor Fries. There’s something wrong with—Robin! Down!”
The teenage protégé did as he was ordered, folding his body up and tumbling forward, supposedly out of harm’s way. As he did so, another blast of frigid energy bathed the lamppost he had taken cover behind, dousing it in expanded ice. He popped back up, found his mark, and flung a pair of his own batarangs, one from each hand.
True to his mentor, they hit their intended target: another figure wearing a blue coat with hood covering a glass helmet. The first ‘rang hit his weapon, another handheld freeze ray, and the second smashed his nose in, causing it to spit out blood.
“More! On the rooftops!” Robin shouted.
Batman looked skyward, spending a single precious second to take stock of their surroundings. He would chide himself later for allowing them to step into such a situation; he should have scouted the area first. Instead he had made the assumption that the scene of the crime would be vacant hours after the act.
They had allowed themselves to become surrounded by the men in the blue coats, each one brandishing a cryogenic weapon. He counted seven of them before seeking cover. As he slipped into the jewelry store he realized that it hadn’t been the police who were targeted for distraction; it was him.
Someone had set loose thirty people dressed like the Joker to get his attention, and now that same person had outfitted ten other people like another member of his rogue’s gallery, Mister Freeze. But why?
Blasts of artic current rained down on the street and sidewalk, striking the Batmobile and the storefront. He both saw and heard Robin lashing out, but would no longer be able to help his son. Just as he regained his composure and was ready to put a plan of offense into action, the jewelry was sealed off completely by twin cryogenic assaults. Within a few scant heartbeats the storefront was completely covered in a wall of thick ice.
Batman instantly started tapping commands into his wrist-mounted control panel. The Batmobile was only a dozen feet away, parked directly in front of the store. All he had to do was enter the right prompts and any number of weapons within the vehicle could shatter the wall and get him back into the fight.
But the sound of a gun being cocked behind him gave him pause.
“I have to say, Batman,” a voice that was dripping with false happiness said, “I didn’t believe them when they said it would be this easy.”
Batman relaxed his arms, allowing them to drop to his side. Of course there would still be someone inside; the glass had blown outward and they had lain in wait for him to arrive outside. They had left a man behind. And he recognized the voice of that man.
“Lawton,” the Dark Knight said as he slowly turned.
The red and silver armor of a familiar figure stepped into view from the back of the ransacked store. His face was completely hidden behind a silver mask that bore a burning red lens over one eye. His left arm was extended, pointing at Batman, and leveling a compact machine gun that was strapped to his forearm.
A mercenary, he had worked both sides of the fence by doing jobs for Checkmate and Task Force X, otherwise known as the Suicide Squad. He had killed prominent people on four continents in over a dozen major cities. He was reported to be an expert marksman and a skilled combatant. Floyd Lawton was known to a select circle of contacts as Deadshot.
“When I was hired for this I honestly had my doubts,” Deadshot continued. “You’re the Batman after all. Surely you would have smelled this trap a mile away. But here you are.”
“Who hired you?”
“Ha! You know better than to ask me that,” Deadshot countered. “Unless of course…you’re going to pay me more than them?”
Batman remained silent, allowing Deadshot to step closer. His cape had slipped over his shoulders and shrouded his chest and arms, allowing him to collect the item he planned that he would need from his belt without Deadshot seeing him move.
“I had you in my sights a few hours ago,” Deadshot lamented. “The brat, too. But I don’t have orders to kill you tonight. Otherwise I would have gladly put one right between the ears.”
“Why the distractions?” Batman asked, hoping to keep Deadshot talking.
“You mean those idiots they drugged and dressed up like the clown? Our friends outside, who you just know Freeze is going to be upset with once he finds out, are drugged, too. Not with the same stuff, mind you. They’re much more lucid. Need to be. Have to kill your little bird out there, and you have to aim straight to do that. No room for him in their plan. But they are getting your attention, aren’t they?”
Batman’s eyes narrowed. “One last time. Who hired you?”
“Don’t insult me.”
He could still hear the various energy discharges from outside, indicating that Robin was still alive and that the ice-snipers were having a hard time trying to keep him grounded. He trusted his son. He trusted his training and his ability to stay alive. For now, he could keep focus on the danger directly in front of him.
Good for him. Bad for Lawton.
“Okay,” Batman replied. “Let’s negotiate.”
TO BE CONTINUED!
As the doors to the maximum security wing of Arkham Asylum swung open, their hinges in desperate need of lubricant, Batman stepped forward with his son at his side. His cape draped over his shoulders like a shadow clinging to the last vestiges of nightfall. His presence here was not out of the ordinary, but seeing him stalk the halls always put the staff on edge. In a way, they were more anxious when he was here than when they had to transfer in one of the many homicidal maniacs they housed.
“Two things,” Batman replied. “I want to know who the Fools were supposed to distract. Thirty men and women with no obvious connections were drugged, dressed in the Joker’s colors, and let loose in the city tonight.* Nightwing confirmed most of their identities as the GCPD tagged them. They ranged from prominent doctors to cashiers. For now, the Joker is our only lead.”
* [Last issue! Which means this current scene takes place only a few hours later.]
“And with the Joker being incarcerated here since you last apprehended him,” Robin added, “it seems unlikely that he is involved. That implies that the second item of your agenda tonight—”
“Is to confirm he didn’t put this chaos into action before returning to Arkham.”
“The Fools,” Robin mused. “You have taken to calling them by the name the media provided mere moments after we broke up the mob.”
The duo quickly made their way through the facility, passing many familiar characters. While Arkham was a renowned institution with a fairly substantial rehabilitative success rate, it also treated some of the most colorful criminals to grace Gotham. Batman could not take credit for filling all of the chambers in the facility, as physicians and psychiatrists from around the world sent patients there, but the need for a maximum security wing had come from his capturing dangerous people.
The glass doorways were Jeremiah Arkham’s idea. He didn’t want the room, which were actually similar to prison cells, to feel that way. He wanted his patients to be comfortable and be able to view their entire surroundings. It also allowed them to see the urban myth known as the Batman stalk nearby once more.
Several pounded on the glass. Many of them shrieked. To them, seeing Batman again was like reliving a nightmare made real.
Batman ignored them all, but Robin scowled at every single one that made a show of themselves. “You would think that given their reaction at the mere sight of you they would install two-way mirrors,” Robin stated. “Or turn the lights off.”
“I’m told seeing me helps them confront their own psychosis.”
“Do you believe that?”
Batman didn’t respond. He waited until they were two-thirds of the way through the corridor before he stopped, saying, “We’re here.”
The glass doorway to the chamber they stopped out was slightly different than the others. While not a prison, the majority of the patients were not allowed certain items for fear they would harm themselves or others. Most liquids, sharp objects, and fabrics were not allowed. Yet, somehow the glass here had been decorated.
A large red smile was haphazardly smeared across the middle of the glass, with green streamers somehow adhered to the interior near the top. Batman was only mildly surprised; after all, the Joker was known to be a gifted chemist.
Batman waited in front of the glass while Robin pounded on it with his fist. “Get up!” the teenager shouted. “You will come over where we can see you. Now.”
From inside the chamber, a raspy voice said, “Today’s youth…tsk, tsk.”
Wearing an orange uniform that had been issued upon his return to the asylum, the Joker swung into view. He hung upside-down from the center of the room, his ankles tied to the embedded light fixture with the same green streamers at the top of the doorway. He had somehow opened and pulled the light out of its housing. A single bulb burned brightly, but as his weight shifted back and forth, it blinked on and off.
“Don’t mind me, Batsy!” the Joker proclaimed. “Impersonation is the sincerest form of flattery, you know. I just thought I would get into that head of yours; see what it’s like to be you. You have to tell me…how do you sleep like this with the blood rushing to your head? HA HA!”
“Thirty people were set loose in the city tonight showing similar symptoms to the effects of your gas.”
Joker sneered and put the back of his hand against the side of his mouth, as if he were talking secretly. He stuck thumb on his other hand toward Robin and loudly whispered, “Gas? You’re telling fart jokes now? In front of the kid? HEE HEE! Batsy, as one professional to another, I appreciate the new material, but let’s keep it classy, okay? HA!”
“Quit joking!” Robin shouted as he hit the glass again. “People died tonight. Tell us what we want to know.”
Joker stuck his tongue out at the teenager. “I liked the other ones better, Bats. They at least had a sense of humor.” Joker swirled around as his momentum propelled him from side to side. He motioned toward the green streamers. “Like what I’ve done with the place? I made them from hair, bed sheets, hand soap, and a turnip. Of course, had I know you were coming I would have put out guest towels.”
“You’ve been locked up here for the last six months,” Batman stated. “I want to know if you’ve put something into play recently.”
“Hmm. Let me think.” Joker spun so his back was to the duo and he began loudly muttering to himself, saying, “There was that whoopee cushion I sent to the mayor. Oh, and the hyenas I donated to the Sunnydaze Day Care. Plus the—”
Robin pounded the glass again and the Joker spun back to face them. “Sorry!” he said. “Nothing comes to mind. Having a bit of trouble, eh? What’s the matter…you miss me so much that you’re trying to pin random things on me now? My doctor would say that you have a fixation with me, Batsy.” He feigned blushing. “You make me feel so special. You know. In my special place. HEE HA HA HAAAAW!”
Batman turned to leave, which caused Joker to flip down onto his bare feet and slam himself against the glass. “Where are you going?” he demanded. His voice had dropped from a carefree playfulness to grievous.
“Thirty people were dressed like you and suffering from the effects of your toxin. If it wasn’t you, then its someone impersonating you.”
“Imperson…” Joker tried to smile, but he couldn’t’ quite bring the corners of his cheeks up to their usual height. “Batsy. Old friend! Mi compadre. Do a pal a favor and fill him in on what you’re talking about? I love a fan, I truly do. I’d love for you to tell me who it is so I can congratulate them on their taste in idols.”
“Like you said, impersonation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
Joker’s face suddenly turned sinister. His lips parted and seemed to barely contain his teeth and tongue, as if he would bite into the jugular of his prey if something wasn’t impeding him. He pressed close to the glass, his fingers gnarled into fists. Gone was the jesting façade, now replaced by the cold and calculating killer that he was at his very core.
“Impersonation is for amateurs!” he screamed. He punched the glass desperately. “An insult to professionalism. To my craft. Tell me! I am an artist. A true genius! A Picasso of crime. Tell me so I can pull this neophyte’s entrails out from this toenails and bathe in their family’s blood.”
Batman turned again and this time Robin followed. All the way to the end of the corridor they heard his demands to know what he had been talking about, who would dare take credit for his creative ingenuity, and the various ways he would dismember such a culprit.
The insane ramblings of a scorned killer.
When the doors to the maximum security wing had sealed behind them, Robin said, “That accomplished nothing.”
Batman didn’t break stride as he responded. “He candidly stated, ‘had I known you were coming.’ The Joker loves taking credit for his work. His ego won’t allow him to share credit.”
“He could have been lying.”
“His violent reaction styling themselves after him also indicates that he had no prior knowledge of the attack. A vitals scan from my cowl, which registers his pupil dilation and heartbeat, alludes that he was telling the truth the entire time.”
“Okay. But we still don’t know who the distraction was meant for.”
They exited the facility in silence. Damian Wayne had not held his father in the highest respect when they had first met, and he continued to challenge Batman’s ethical behavior, which sometimes conflicted with the greater good he was led to believe they served. Since taking the Robin mantle for himself though, he had come to recognize the quiet brilliance that was in constant operation within his father. Every time he challenged the Bat he was foiled, coming away with a deeper appreciation of his tactics.
Their vehicle, the armored and one of a kind mobile operations center nicknamed the Batmobile, awaited them just outside the front gates. Its black polymer coating absorbed ambient light, making it nearly invisible in the shadows. At their approach, Batman tapped an ignition command on his belt and the engine roared to life. The turbines housed within the goliath growled and the cockpit canopy slid open to reveal two seats surrounding by computer screens and control terminals.
As Robin leapt across to the passenger seat, he said, “What’s our next move?”
Batman similarly jumped in beside him and the canopy slid shut. He pressed the accelerator and the Batmobile jumped forward under the intense power of the turbines. “We find the real person behind tonight’s attack,” Batman replied. “We have to start by making an assumption, unfortunately. If this was a distraction for the police, we begin with where they would have been had they not been called to the scene.”
“And if it was meant for us?”
The Batmobile thundered around a downward bend, leaving the monolithic Arkham Asylum behind them. The city was only a few miles away, but he was anxious to get back, anxious to start unraveling the mystery.
“We start with the Joker’s known associates,” Batman said. “The Joker is famous for being crazy. It’s more likely that someone that respects him would pull this off as opposed to someone who would be too scared to cross him.”
“And what if there really is an impersonator out there?” Robin asked. “What if there is a brand new Joker terrorizing Gotham?”
# # #
“I hereby call this meeting of the Board of Directors to order.”
Slamming a wooden gavel down onto the circular conference table, the general chatter began to die down. The room was large enough to comfortably seat twenty executives, but only six men were present. They were uncomfortable sitting close to one another, as their alliance was superficial at best. At the head of the table, the man with the gavel leered at them.
Or so his body-language indicated. It was difficult to tell exactly who amongst them he was looking at since he had no eyes.
“You’re not the Chairman,” a man wearing a lead suit said. His voice was filtered through a speaker placed roughly where his mouth was behind the self-contained apparel. It was annoying to have to live this way, but necessary, lest he burn the entire building to the ground.
“Aren’t I, Phosphorous? I might as well be. I’m the only one here with any type of medical background.”
The man cut off from the world in his sealed suit let out a dismissive laugh. “Medical background? You bungled up and removed your own face. That hardly makes you a doctor.”
“I was a leading dermatologist!”
“And look at you now, Doctor No-Face. Part of why I agreed to this was because I would be treated as an equal here,” he said.
“And you will be,” said the man seated directly across from him. He wore a brilliant red turban with a red gem at the center. In his hand he toyed with several silver coins that seemed have an aura about them. “You are equal to us. All six of us have come together for a common cause. There is no Chairman of this Board. The moment we begin bickering among ourselves is the moment this escapade fails. I have foreseen it.”
Uneasy silence fell over the men. All six, master criminals in their own right, knew that this alliance was especially fragile. They were each accustomed to operating independently, but that had failed them multiple times over. This union was shaky at best, but it was their only chance at finally achieving success.
“How goes the preparations downstairs?” an Asian man near the corner of the room inquired. At his side rested a scimitar that could no longer hold its sheen, thanks to the amount of blood that had stained it. “I only arrived in Gotham tonight and need to be brought up to speed.”
“The Hospital will be ready on schedule, Tzin,” the man in the turban replied. “We have Ecks to thank for that. Or rather, Ecks’ energy doubles. They’re workhorses.”
Ecks, a lean man with a pencil mustache, leaned forward over the conference table. “The Hospital will be completed precisely on time, as Doctor Zodiac said. My doubles are finalizing the testing phase as we speak.” He leaned back, adjusting his necktie. “Ignore the screams. I’m afraid I can’t do much about those.”
“I doubt you’ll hear any of us complain,” said Doctor No-Face. “Gentlemen! Soon our joint efforts will culminate in the fruit of our labors. Gotham will cower before us. We have been rejected by society too long. After Batman is lead to—”
“No speeches.” The voice came from the sixth member of their group who had yet to speak. When he spoke, he sounded like he was expelling all of the air in his lungs, which matched his ghastly mutated appearance. “Finish your work. The Batman has surely already begun tracking down the leads we have placed for him. Do not presume that he will adhere to our so-called schedule.”
While their own monikers fit them well enough, it was his that was the most appropriate. His skin looked discolored and chalky. His body was swelled and bloated disproportionately. His voice sent chills up even their collective spines. While doctors No-Face, Phosphorus, Zodiac, Tzin-Tzin, and Double X were formidable, even they feared this man. If Doctor Death could even be called a man.
Doctor No-Face scoffed, but picked up the gavel anyway and slammed it down again. “Very well. Meeting adjoined. When the Board next comes together, our Hospital of Pain will be completed, and nothing will stand in our way.”
# # #
“According to Nightwing,” Robin said, “who cross-referenced GCPD patrol assignments with reported crimes tonight, there are two locations that could have been the real targets.”
Batman nodded as he deftly controlled the Batmobile, sweeping through the dark streets of Gotham. Robin worked the dashboard console in front of him that was tied to the main computer back at the cave. “They’re at opposite ends of the district, though,” Robin continued. “Several reports of vandalism throughout the area, likely caused by the Fools. One location reported a robbery and the other reported an assault, both at the same time as the riot.”
“What does the assault report say?”
Robin took a moment to pull up the scanned witness statement. “Someone in a mask attacked a man and woman walking home from dinner. The assailant broke both of the man’s legs and one of the woman’s ribs. He was seen fleeing the scene using what the witness called, ‘a grappling gun like in those movies.’”
“We’ll head for the robbery location. The assault doesn’t rate the kind of planning that the riot required.”
“We should not allow the assault to go unanswered,” Robin countered.
Batman gave him the briefest of glances. “Of course not. Put Batgirl on it. It’s unrelated to our case. We have our own investigation to follow through on.”
Robin grumbled, but seemed content to pass on the information to their female counterpart. He hadn’t worked directly with Batgirl very much, but he respected her abilities and had no doubt that his father was correct in assigning her the assault. If he had time, Robin made a mental note to offer her assistance should she need it later.
The concept of this extended family was growing on him. In the League of Assassins he delegated work to underlings fairly consistently. This seemed no different, although he father regularly told him that their family of operatives in Gotham were not employees and should be treated as equals.
The Batmobile blazed through an intersection that was devoid of life. At this time of night, even the denizens of Gotham’s underworld were preparing for daylight. Soon enough Batman and his protégé would need to think about returning to the cave as well.
The brakes silently engaged and brought the massive vehicle to a halt before a storefront. The sign overhead read, ‘BAILEY’S JEWELRY.’ What was left of the windows lay strewn across the sidewalk. Glass crunched beneath the boots of the duo as they left the Batmobile behind and stood at the now empty scene.
Batman paused at the window for a moment, looking up to where the storefront ended and the red brick of the upper layers of the building began. A row house, many of the top floors were either rented apartments, storage for the businesses, or homes for the owners.
“Hm,” he muttered.
Robin stopped beside him. “What is it?” he asked, looking upward.
“The security gates were down when the glass was shattered.” Robin followed his gaze, noticing that prongs of metal were hanging like teeth from the top of the storefront marquee. They had all been broken apart and bent outward. Batman continued, “And the glass is on the outside. If someone were breaking in—”
“The glass would be on the inside,” Robin surmised. He bent down and looked more closely at the debris on the sidewalk. “Look. This isn’t all glass.”
Picking up several shards of something black and jagged, Robin closely inspected the fragments rolling around in the palm of his glove. The lenses in his domino mask adjusted at his command, zooming in to give him a magnified look.
“It’s metal,” Batman concluded.
“And it’s wet, oddly enough. So, someone burst out from within. This wasn’t a breaking and entering like the police report indicated, and these shards are the fragments of the security gates that were lowered over the outside of the glass windows. But what would make metal shatter like glass?”
“It would have to be brittle,” Batman stated. “If would have to be frozen.”
A click barely above a whisper triggered both of them into action. A bystander may not pay any more attention to such a noise than they would a bird flying overhead, but to the trained ears of the Batman and his young partner it was all the forewarning they needed.
The duo split apart like opposing magnets just as a turquoise beam of searing energy splashed onto the sidewalk. The ground was instantly covered in a thick layer of ice, which was growing more dense by the second as it expanded and reached toward the storefront.
Batman spun around, a curved throwing implement in his hand, dubbed a batarang. Seeing his target across the street behind a car, a mere forty feet away, he snapped his arm forward and launched the weapon. It swung out in an arc and connected with temple of the man who had tried to kill them.
He fell down behind the car, but they had gotten good look at him before he had fallen out of sight. He wore a blue coat with a white and blue hood that looked too bulky for his shape, as if he wore padding or armor beneath it. His hands were covered in thick, black gloves. Clattering to the ground beside him was the weapon that had fired a deadly cryogenic ray at the duo, a familiar weapon to the Dark Knight.
But what was even more familiar was the dome covering the man’s head, like a glass helmet. It was reminiscent of one of his signature adversaries.
“Freeze!” Robin said between clenched teeth. He had likewise thrown himself aside and had a pair of red batarangs at the ready, eager for another target.
“No,” Batman said. “It’s not Victor Fries. There’s something wrong with—Robin! Down!”
The teenage protégé did as he was ordered, folding his body up and tumbling forward, supposedly out of harm’s way. As he did so, another blast of frigid energy bathed the lamppost he had taken cover behind, dousing it in expanded ice. He popped back up, found his mark, and flung a pair of his own batarangs, one from each hand.
True to his mentor, they hit their intended target: another figure wearing a blue coat with hood covering a glass helmet. The first ‘rang hit his weapon, another handheld freeze ray, and the second smashed his nose in, causing it to spit out blood.
“More! On the rooftops!” Robin shouted.
Batman looked skyward, spending a single precious second to take stock of their surroundings. He would chide himself later for allowing them to step into such a situation; he should have scouted the area first. Instead he had made the assumption that the scene of the crime would be vacant hours after the act.
They had allowed themselves to become surrounded by the men in the blue coats, each one brandishing a cryogenic weapon. He counted seven of them before seeking cover. As he slipped into the jewelry store he realized that it hadn’t been the police who were targeted for distraction; it was him.
Someone had set loose thirty people dressed like the Joker to get his attention, and now that same person had outfitted ten other people like another member of his rogue’s gallery, Mister Freeze. But why?
Blasts of artic current rained down on the street and sidewalk, striking the Batmobile and the storefront. He both saw and heard Robin lashing out, but would no longer be able to help his son. Just as he regained his composure and was ready to put a plan of offense into action, the jewelry was sealed off completely by twin cryogenic assaults. Within a few scant heartbeats the storefront was completely covered in a wall of thick ice.
Batman instantly started tapping commands into his wrist-mounted control panel. The Batmobile was only a dozen feet away, parked directly in front of the store. All he had to do was enter the right prompts and any number of weapons within the vehicle could shatter the wall and get him back into the fight.
But the sound of a gun being cocked behind him gave him pause.
“I have to say, Batman,” a voice that was dripping with false happiness said, “I didn’t believe them when they said it would be this easy.”
Batman relaxed his arms, allowing them to drop to his side. Of course there would still be someone inside; the glass had blown outward and they had lain in wait for him to arrive outside. They had left a man behind. And he recognized the voice of that man.
“Lawton,” the Dark Knight said as he slowly turned.
The red and silver armor of a familiar figure stepped into view from the back of the ransacked store. His face was completely hidden behind a silver mask that bore a burning red lens over one eye. His left arm was extended, pointing at Batman, and leveling a compact machine gun that was strapped to his forearm.
A mercenary, he had worked both sides of the fence by doing jobs for Checkmate and Task Force X, otherwise known as the Suicide Squad. He had killed prominent people on four continents in over a dozen major cities. He was reported to be an expert marksman and a skilled combatant. Floyd Lawton was known to a select circle of contacts as Deadshot.
“When I was hired for this I honestly had my doubts,” Deadshot continued. “You’re the Batman after all. Surely you would have smelled this trap a mile away. But here you are.”
“Who hired you?”
“Ha! You know better than to ask me that,” Deadshot countered. “Unless of course…you’re going to pay me more than them?”
Batman remained silent, allowing Deadshot to step closer. His cape had slipped over his shoulders and shrouded his chest and arms, allowing him to collect the item he planned that he would need from his belt without Deadshot seeing him move.
“I had you in my sights a few hours ago,” Deadshot lamented. “The brat, too. But I don’t have orders to kill you tonight. Otherwise I would have gladly put one right between the ears.”
“Why the distractions?” Batman asked, hoping to keep Deadshot talking.
“You mean those idiots they drugged and dressed up like the clown? Our friends outside, who you just know Freeze is going to be upset with once he finds out, are drugged, too. Not with the same stuff, mind you. They’re much more lucid. Need to be. Have to kill your little bird out there, and you have to aim straight to do that. No room for him in their plan. But they are getting your attention, aren’t they?”
Batman’s eyes narrowed. “One last time. Who hired you?”
“Don’t insult me.”
He could still hear the various energy discharges from outside, indicating that Robin was still alive and that the ice-snipers were having a hard time trying to keep him grounded. He trusted his son. He trusted his training and his ability to stay alive. For now, he could keep focus on the danger directly in front of him.
Good for him. Bad for Lawton.
“Okay,” Batman replied. “Let’s negotiate.”
TO BE CONTINUED!