The Wayne Legacy: Knightmare
By BetterInTexas
Chapter 27:
Gotham City
Residence of Police Commissioner Jim Gordon
Jim Gordon pulled himself from his recliner and checked the front porch camera feed on his electronic tablet. It was a policy he adopted after Babs showed him how easy it was for anyone to attack him through the front door. She had been after him to be more careful, but he didn’t take her seriously. That changed when he answered the door once and she shot him in the face with a Super Soaker water gun to prove her point.
To say he was surprised to see Bruce Wayne on the small screen was an understatement. Bruce usually preferred to bypass his security system and call out to him from the kitchen when he wanted to talk.
He hurriedly opened the door, thinking something must be wrong.
Bruce held up his hand holding a twelve pack of beer.
“No need for a peace offering. You haven’t pissed me off, not that I will turn it down.” Jim told him, waving Bruce into his home.
“You got anything going on tonight?”
“No…”
‘Good.” Bruce said as he walked inside, taking the beer to the refrigerator and coming back with two. He handed one to Gordon and opened one himself.
Gordon stared at the young man for a moment. “You came in the front door, with beer, like a regular guy. What’s going on?”
“Just thought we could hang out… like regular guys. I need to get away from the manor for a while. Diana and Steve are locked in their room. Alfred needed alone time. Dig took the night off at Diana’s insistence to go out and have fun. Kara is working on cars, denying her feelings for Blake while asking another question about him every minute. And Blake is…”
“Hunting.” Gordon stated. “And he probably wants to be by himself. Glad to know I’m last on the list to keep you company.”
Bruce’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “You aren’t…”
“I’m just joking, Bruce.” Jim told him, chuckling at the younger man’s expression. “You are welcome here anytime but being alone has never bothered you. You need to talk.”
“I need a few beers first.”
Gordon understood and pulled the takeout menu from the end table drawer.
“Same as always?” he asked, referring to Bruce’s favorites. Bruce nodded and Gordon made the call.
The two drank while watching a baseball game in silence then ate once the food arrived. Halfway through the twelve pack, Bruce finally began speaking.
“What do you think Blake is going to do if he finds the killer? It’s been five days and his anger hasn’t let up.”
“It’s been seventeen years for you. Has your anger let up?” Gordon asked.
Bruce shrugged his shoulders. “A bit I supposed. I’m not constantly angry at the world like I was before I left. Since I’ve been back… Kara has helped. Just being around her, knowing she wants me around, seeing what I still have… I’m not driven by anger any longer.”
Gordon was pleased, greatly relieved at that admission. “I don’t know what Blake is going to do.”
“If he kills him?”
“You mean off duty? If he kills an unarmed murderer?” Jim asked.
Bruce nodded.
“Then I’ll cover for him.” Jim admitted. “I would hate to do something unethical, but I will if I have to. He’s a good man and I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing. If someone ever hurt my daughter… I would paint this town red, Bruce, badge be damned.”
“I don’t think he’s a killer. I know he has killed but those were different situations.” Bruce pointed out.
Gordon shrugged and finished off his beer. “I can read a person’s eyes, almost as good as you and Blake. I’ve seen the eyes of a killer, the eyes of a soldier, a cop, an addict who has hit rock bottom. I can tell if a woman in a hospital is lying to cover up that her injuries were caused by her husband or boyfriend. I can’t read Blake’s though. He keeps himself well-guarded. You both do.”
Bruce sat back and thought of that. Blake was more guarded than he was. Blake had recognized Bruce behind a mask in nearly pitch-black darkness. Bruce could tell many things about Blake when they fought but he still didn’t know the man. After the two had planned Annie’s funeral, Bruce learned more about the trauma Blake carried inside him than he suspected. The man was very good at hiding his true self.
Bruce broached another subject that had weighed heavy on his mind as of late. He thought of talking to Alfred, but Alfred was too close to the subject.
“Jim, how well did you know my father?” Bruce asked.
Gordon closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, carefully considering what to say. The idea that Bruce would ask this of him meant Bruce had found out something he didn’t like. Whatever it was, it was something big.
“I didn’t. I knew of him of course. Everyone did. He wasn’t as involved with the police, but he still ran this city. Nobody messed with him. Not even Falconè would approach him. Organized crime was afraid to touch him.”
“I didn’t think Falconè was afraid of anyone.” Bruce remarked.
“He was afraid of your father.” Gordon said knowingly. “Everyone who had any common sense was. I didn’t meet you kids until they were killed, and I was given the case. At first, I thought Falconè may have paid Chill to kill them, but Chill was weak minded. He would have broken, begged for leniency or witness protection if he was Falconè’s stooge.
“I met you that night at the station, Alfred as well. When I went to the funeral, I spoke to Alfred again and the two of us became friends over time. When Babs became Kara’s friend, our lives became entangled from then on. I became close to your family, watched you kids grow, but I never knew your parents.”
Bruce should have known this but for some reason, it felt Gordon had always been there. He couldn’t remember a time when Jim Gordon wasn’t in their lives, but he supposed it made sense, now that he thought about it.
“Why was Falconè afraid of my father?” Bruce asked, though, given what he’d learned from Diana, he was uneasy as to what Jim would say.
Jim sighed. “You sure you want to hear this?”
Bruce nodded.
Jim stared at the younger man for a long moment, the stood and went to the kitchen, returning with the rest of the beer Bruce had brought, handing Bruce one before setting the rest down on the coffee table and sitting back in his recliner.
Bruce looked at the beer and back at Jim, eyebrows raised. “It’s that bad?”
Jim didn’t comment, he simply began speaking. “Your Dad never cared about controlling politics or running out organized crime like Diana. He was concerned about two things: Wayne Enterprises and his wife and kids. As long as those two things were doing well, he was happy.
“Now… everything from this point on is just what I’ve heard. I wasn’t there and I heard it from cops who were dirty. The story stayed the same over the years though, so I would guess most of it is true.”
Gordon took a breath. “Falconè wanted land that Wayne Enterprises owned. He wanted to build a hotel, but everyone knew it would be a money laundering front. Your Dad told him no. He had his own plans for the land. Falconè didn’t like being told no.
“He had some guys take pictures of your mom and Diana when they were out shopping and showed them to your dad while he was having lunch.”
Bruce felt a chill. He knew back then, the family never traveled with bodyguards. He suspected this might be the reason they started.
“Your dad takes the pictures without a word and leaves.
“The next morning, Falconè arrives at a bar he owned and liked to do business in. He found three of his goons, nearly beaten to death by some bigger goons who had trashed the bar and left before he arrived. The bar is filling up around noon, Falconè is trying to find out who beat his guys and destroyed his bar when Thomas Wayne walks in. Keep in mind, it’s noon and the place is full. The police commissioner, the mayor, every city leader in Falconè’s pocket was there.”
“Dad hired the goons?” Bruce guessed with a steadily sinking feeling.
Jim nodded, then asked, “You sure you want to hear this? Your father was a good man, Bruce, but he didn’t prescribe to that oath doctors take, the one that says ‘do no harm’.”
“Just tell me.” Bruce said, wanting the band-aid ripped off.
“Falconè walked up to greet him, and Thomas Wayne stuck a gun in the man’s mouth before he could say one word, guided him to the table and had a seat across from him. He then tossed some pictures on the table.”
“Pictures?” Bruce asked, feeling sick. “Of what?”
“Of who.” Jim corrected.
“Of who?” Bruce asked again.
“His wife Louisa, his son Mario and his daughter Sofia. They were tied up to chairs in some unknown location, guns to their heads by unseen individuals. Falconè turns white as a ghost. Thomas starts to whisper something to Falconè and the man nods. The cops who were there said the man was shaking and it wasn’t in anger.
“Thomas leaves, Falconè stops his thugs before they can go after him and sits back down, looking scared as hell. The next day, Falconè is seen with his wife and kids, unharmed. Falconè never touched your father from that day on. He went out of his way to stay away from Thomas Wayne.”
“Dad had his wife and kids kidnapped… held at gunpoint.” Bruce said, feeling sick.
“Falconè threatened your family, so Thomas Wayne took his. He showed Falconè who had the real power in Gotham City. I got a feeling he reminded Falconè of who had the most money… and with money came the real power.”
“I wish I couldn’t believe this.” Bruce mumbled.
“That’s all I really heard about your dad. Your mom was an angel. She didn’t just talk a good game when it came to charity, she got her hands dirty. She worked in the shelters and outreach centers, she served meals at homeless shelters, not just the holidays for publicity. Your mom worked the front desk at free medical clinics. But your dad…”
Gordon sighed. “Bruce, a timid man, a man who could be threatened or bullied, is not the kind of man who could ever lead Wayne Enterprises. He loved two things, his company but above all, his family. He was capable of anything when it came to you kids and Martha.”
Bruce sat in silence, finishing his beer and leaning forward, taking another one and opening it.
“What’s brought this on? You having doubts about what you are doing? It’s okay to stop this whole thing.” Jim told him, a little concerned at the young man’s demeanor.
“I’m not having doubts about what I’m doing.” Bruce replied. “I’ve just learned some things from Diana recently that have stayed on my mind. No matter how much I try to stop thinking about it, I can’t. It made me realize that I… maybe I didn’t know my father at all.”
“You’re not your father, Bruce.” Jim assured him. “You are your own man with your own thoughts and beliefs.”
Bruce clearly looked troubled. “Jim, when I faced Crane at the cabin, he suspected me of being Batman. Diana never hesitated… she told me to kill him. She was afraid he would come after Kara for revenge if he knew who I was. I couldn’t do it though. I know I wouldn’t have killed him. Do you believe I should have?”
Gordon sat in silence for a moment. “What’s really going on, Bruce? What happened? The whole story.”
Bruce slumped in the chair. “After Rachel was stabbed, me and Diana argued, more intensely than we ever have. I blamed her for Rachel, for taking it as far as she did, basically accused her of being a monster. She insisted she did what dad would have wanted. I didn’t believe her until…
“Diana told me about a side of dad I didn’t know. A side only she knew, a side not even mom was aware of. I accused of her lying, that he would never have raised us different… so she showed me a letter he had written that she received on the day she took over as CEO.
“He… dad wanted Diana to lead the company even from our earliest ages. He was grooming her to lead Wayne Enterprises and the family… began actively training her when we were ten. He told her I wasn’t strong enough. He called me a healer but… I’m not a healer. Yet… I’m not able to do the things he could do or would be willing to do. I would fight for my family with my last breath to stop threats to them but… I don’t know if I could kill. I don’t know…”
“You are afraid Diana thinks you are weak, despite what you are doing. You are afraid your father would think you are weak, that he would think less of the man you have become.” Jim said, summing up Bruce’s fears.
Bruce nodded. “Thanks for putting it so bluntly, Jim.”
“You aren’t here for subtly. It’s okay that you aren’t Diana. I didn’t know your father but from the stories I’ve heard, Diana is just like him, only much more ruthless, probably as a direct result of what happened to them. She’s not going to allow crime and corruption to exist in this city.” Jim told him using his own experience. “I’ve sat in Garcia’s office with Dent on more than one occasion and listened to her rant about crime and the three of us not doing enough. She pushes around world leaders, gets what she wants and does whatever it takes to get it.
“Kara is the princess of Gotham and god help anyone who offends the princess because the queen will destroy them.
“I can see that Thomas most likely did groom her, but you aren’t her. Bruce, there’s no shame in not taking her approach to how you live your life. I think one Diana Wayne is all the world can handle.”
Bruce took that in for a moment, wondering if Jim was right. It had always haunted him even as children. He had always preached restraint and Diana had always gotten revenge on whoever slighted her or her friends. If someone slighted Kara, like that brat at the field hockey game, all bets were off, and blood would be involved.
“I suppose I never saw my father as anything but a doctor.” He admitted.
“Most of us see what we want to see in our parents, if they are good parents. Your dad was a good parent, he was a good man. He showed Diana what it took to run the world, to make it better. He showed her it wasn’t pretty, showed her how to survive, protect her family and thrive. She became the type of person she had to be. I appreciate her and her efforts. I know Gotham is a helluva lot safer than it used to be. It isn’t a crime ridden warzone full of corrupt cops and politicians.
“Diana is also the type of person who would let Joe Chill become comfortable in Witness Protection and then slowly torture and dismember him.”
Bruce’s eyes widened but Gordon carried on.
“I knew it when the feds called me. They believed the mob was going after anyone who had something to do with Falconè going to prison. I had to call Rachel and that prick, Finch, to warn them, but I knew it was useless. I will never know how she did it, how she killed him when she was three states away, but I know she did it personally. It is just who she is.
“To that point, there’s something you need to think long and hard about when you go against certain… criminals.
“Understand, I’m not judging you or your… ‘code’ for lack of a better word, but you not wanting to kill those who are a threat to your family, like Crane who was a direct threat to your sisters by his own words to Rachel… it will become a problem for you with Diana.
“If Kara is ever harmed by your lack of action, like with Crane, it doesn’t matter how much she loves you. It won’t matter how many skills you possess or that you are her brother… Diana will end you. Nothing and no one will stop her… she is that powerful… she is untouchable, and Kara is the center of her world. She has destroyed people for simply speaking ill of Kara so what do you think she will do if Kara gets hurt by someone you could have permanently taken out?
“For me, I know I would kill, murder, destroy, whatever I had to do, to protect Barbara, and I wouldn’t even have to think about it. Where Kara is concerned, Diana is no different. It’s something you need to consider, Bruce.”
In his anger at Diana for her ruthless actions over the years, Bruce had never thought about what his twin’s reaction would be in the situation Jim described.
Considering everything he had learned about Diana recently, the thought was sobering and left him feeling a little lost.
Jim could easily see the turmoil in the younger man’s face. “Bruce, I’m not saying these things to upset you. I’ve watched you kids grow up and I care a great deal about all of you.
“Diana is the daughter of CEO Thomas Wayne. She has followed the path he laid out for her and taken Wayne Enterprises to heights your father could never have imagined she would, helped millions all over the world.
“And you are Dr. Thomas Wayne’s son, a young man who wanted to help others, who put others above himself and wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps as a medical doctor. You’re maybe going about it differently, but I feel your intentions are still to help people.
“The world needs both of you. While you two are a lot alike, you are also very different. You have your… code, and she has hers. Whether you approve of her code or not, her methods are necessary, just like Thomas’s were before her… just like I believe yours are now.
“I believe we will soon find out what John Blake’s code is.”
“And if he is a killer?’ Bruce asked in a subdued voice.
“Diana considers him one of her protected ones… he will be protected. It will be cleared as clean shoot. Harvey won’t look into the matter and Garcia will probably give him another medal. That’s the way it works in Gotham, Bruce.” Jim explained. “The city needs Diana Wayne, and the city needs Batman. You two are different sides of the same coin, with different methods and this city needs both.”
Bruce nodded and stood, walked to the door then stopped.
“Jim, do you think I’m weaker than Diana?” he asked, without looking back. “The truth.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “I think Batman is one of the strongest men I have ever known, and I am not talking about physical strength. Do yourself a favor though… figure out how Bruce Wayne is going to show the world how strong he is. Because Bruce is as strong as his father, Dr. Thomas Wayne and his mother, Martha Wayne. I’ve got faith in both Batman and Bruce, but right now, you only have faith in one of them.”
Bruce thanked him and walked out the door, calling a cab. He wasn’t quite ready to go home yet so he asked the driver to take him through the Narrows. He paid the driver triple to risk the trip.
The drive was slow and not eye opening. Bruce had seen this area many times, from rooftops mostly. The crime, the smog, the prostitution and drugs.
This was the life Annie had been living… the life many kids were living who were left on their own at a young age.
They drove slowly past the area where a large building sat. It appeared to once have been a newspaper or printing office of some kind judging by the faded paint and remaining letters on the brick façade.
He told the driver to stop and walked into the building, pulling his phone out to use the light. He was unsurprised to see the building was occupied by a few of the homeless. They kept to themselves, paying him no attention, sleeping on the concrete floor.
The floors that had once been in the large building were fallen in and the elevator that had once traversed the many floors sat on the ground rusted and in disrepair. He pulled junk out of the way and found the entrance to the basement.
He walked carefully down the stairs that felt as if they would break under his feet at any second.
The basement was large, the ceiling not high but there was still a good bit of room. It was a large space, large enough to keep equipment in and park a bike and car.
He smiled to himself, beginning to feel comfortable with the idea that was now forming out of his talk with Jim.
It would work.
Bruce Wayne needed an identity. His first thought when he returned to Gotham was to be playboy Bruce, the billionaire family disappointment without a care in the world but aimless partying hadn’t worked out for him.
Perhaps this was his path. He could buy this property, tear it down and rebuild it. He could remodel the Falconè mansion and turned it into a group home. He could make this place into a sanctuary, one that offered world skills training, rehabilitation, shelter for all types of people, food, and perhaps free therapy.
He also had the perfect woman in mind to work with.
He could begin the Martha Wayne Foundation which focused on leading the Narrows to a better way, rejuvenate the area. He could use his foundation to turn old mob mansions into homes for displaced children and draw new businesses he would talk Diana into bringing to the area.
This place, the “Annie Devine Center”, could be the start of it all.
Bruce had seen all he needed. Despite the darkness, the wreckage surrounding him, the place felt right. This was a place Bruce Wayne could make a difference with his billions of dollars, not just as Batman with his fists. He felt such a peace come over his spirit as he hadn’t felt since before that fateful night.
He would begin the process, set up the foundation, buy this property.
But first, Batman had a serial killer, known only as Victor, to deal with.
Wayne Manor
While Kara and John Diggle worked on what she lovingly called her ‘Batmobile’ project in the garage, John Blake was in Bruce Wayne’s room, desperately trying to maintain his balance.
He and Bruce were on a raised mat only three feet wide. A chord was wrapped around his ankles only allowing him twenty-four inches of movement between his feet while he shuffled back and forth with a four-foot, inch thick, wooden stick in his hands, blocking every jab Bruce swung at him while shuffling forward and backward.
After a quick exchange of blows, Blake had backed up to the edge of the rise. His legs locked and holding his stick overhead, his only defensive move between Bruce’s stick coming down on his head.
“You have room to slip around me.” Bruce told him.
Blake shook his head. “Holding this damn stick, unable to stretch my legs?” he asked, gritting his teeth to prevent Bruce from forcing his weapon onto his head or pushing him off the mat.
“Exactly. Your legs are as far apart as they ever need to be. Your base has always been too wide when you fight. The wood in your hand is an extension of your body, not a tool. You use your arms to block all the time and counter. This is no different. Stop telling yourself that you can’t do it.”
Blake felt he had nothing to lose and took a short step to the right of Bruce and the man knocked him off the mat with his hip.
“Too slow. It needs to be instinctual.” Bruce chided him. “You won’t always have a nice big mat or open area to fight in. Sometimes you will be backed in a corner, your feet restricted in movement. You could find yourself fighting on a wooden beam high above the ground. In this life, anything could happen. You must feel natural anywhere.”
Blake rolled over and worked himself back up. “You ever found yourself fighting on a wooden beam high above the ground?”
Bruce shook his head. “No.”
“Then…”
“It was a steel beam, only a foot wide at most and we were fifty feet above the ground.”
“Oh… okay.”
“Again. This time keep your stance short. You have a natural ability to dodge and move.” Bruce encouraged him. “Think of those dance lessons Kara’s secretary gives you. Your foot work has been much better, and when dancing, your feet are never farther apart than they are now. Every step you take in dancing has a purpose. This is no different.”
Blake nodded and the two continued to fight, until his legs burned to the point they were giving out on him.
“Good job today.” Bruce told him.
“Good teacher.” He replied.
Blake’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it and his facial expression changed to one of rage, then quickly returned to one of disinterest. The spilt second of rage was all Bruce needed to know.
“Looks like Cash wants to head to a new bar. I better get home and sit in a cold bath for a while so my legs can move again normally.”
Bruce knew better. “Maybe I can come. You are always asking me to hang out with your friends. Now seems like a good time to start.”
Blake nodded. “Yeah, but I have a feeling Kara is working on your new car and Dig is probably tired of doing the heavy lifting by himself. Next time, I promise. Talk to you later.”
Bruce watched him hurry out of his room, then grabbed the black box under his bed.
Once he reached the garage, he found Kara and Dig working diligently. Kara had a portable crane with a shiny engine chained to it and Dig was rolling it over the open hood.
“John took off in a hurry.” Kara said, as casually as possible. “Did you kick him in the wrong place?”
Kara looked back at Bruce and saw he had the large box with his suit in it.
“I thought you weren’t going out tonight.” Kara remarked disapprovingly. “You said you would help me and Dig with this. You need to know the basics of what this car can do and watching me build it would be beneficial.”
Bruce winced, remembering that, however this was more important, and he knew she would understand.
“Blake received a text during training and left very quickly. I believe he may have received information about the whereabouts of Victor.” Bruce told them.
“Take the 67’ Camaro.” Kara told him without hesitation. “The engine is good, but the paint job is shit. It will blend in where you’re going.”
An hour later, Bruce was frustrated to learn that Blake had obviously left his phone at home, not wanting to be tracked.
Blake had learned where Victor would be, and his source of information was obvious.
Leon Sanchez was preparing to leave his apartment to open his bar, when his door was kicked in, striking him in the face and knocking him to the ground on his back.
He reached for the gun he kept behind his back, tossing the door off him. Before he could find a target, the gun was taken from his hand and dropped in pieces next to his prone body. He looked up from the ground and saw…
He couldn’t make sense of what he saw. He had turned off his lights in preparation to leave but there was still a dim light from the hallway. He knew whatever stood over him was a man. He could make out legs, but not arms. Instead of where arms should have been, there was a large area of darkness as if the man was cloaked in darkness.
He also knew it was a man because of the glowing white eyes staring down at him.
“What the hell are you?” he finally asked after taking a few seconds to take it all in. Leon tried to stand and was pushed down by a boot to his chest. A deep, electronically distorted voice spoke to him.
“A serial killer, goes by the name of Victor, hides in Bludhaven, hunts in the Narrows. You know where he is. Talk or I start breaking bones.”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you are, but you don’t need to concern yourself with that. I got a guy on it.”
“Who?”
“None of…”
Leon’s response was cut off by a hand on his wrist twisting it, a few tendons snapping. He screamed, but the monster’s other hand muffled his voice.
When the grip loosened, he realized there was now a knee holding him down and the glowing eyes were much closer to him.
“Who did you send?”
“A cop, okay? He will take care of it.”
“Where? Where did you send him?”
The knee dug into Leon’s chest, interfering with his breathing.
The pressure let up slightly.
“He was seen by Cobblepot Park. A lot of girls hang out there at night. Not just working girls either. Teenagers from shit homes, street kids… a lot of targets is what I’m sayin. Johnny will take care of it. He doesn’t need any help.”
Batman stood up and dropped a cellphone by the man. “You find out about anything else, criminals, unreported crimes in the Narrows, anything, you will use that phone to call me. You speak to no one else from now on.”
Leon shuffled back and stood. “You break into my home, break my wrist, torture me and you think I’m going to call you? I’m going to have my men…”
Leon felt a hand on his throat, lifting him up by his neck and slamming him back to the floor.
“You are going to tell me what I want to know at all times. Your men can’t protect you from me. Nothing can protect you from me. I can reach you anytime, anywhere and make you feel so much pain you will curse being born. Mention this to no one. I will know if you do, and I will be back. Do you understand me?”
“Ye… yeah…” Leon said quietly.
“Make me believe it!” Batman shouted.
“I swear!”
Batman nodded. “Since I believe you, I won’t burn down your gambling establishment like I had planned. Stay on my good side and you stay in business.”
Leon felt the man stand up. By the time he could get to his feet, the dark figure was gone.
He turned on his lights and saw the door on the floor, off its hinges and nearly split in two. He looked at his swollen wrist, remembered the hand and then knee on his chest and throat. He remembered those glowing eyes and that awful voice.
Leon picked up the cellphone and propped up his door, enough that it appeared closed. When he reached the office, he would have a couple of his men come over and fix it.
He prayed the guy wanted this killer and not Johnny as well. He placed a quick call to Johnny who, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer.
Theodore Cobblepot Park
Theodore Cobblepot built this park in 1983, a short time of prosperity for Gotham, even in the Narrows. It was a place of safety and joy for the children of the neighborhood, wide open spaces filled with trees and playgrounds, even an area with water sprinklers for the kids to play in during the hot summers.
After Esther Cobblepot was committed to Arkham and Theodore committed suicide, the park fell into disrepair. Unrelated to this, the Narrows fell into poverty as the steel mill and smelting shop in the area closed.
By 1985, the park was a haven for gangs, prostitutes and drug dealers, as well as a place for addicts to get high in the open air. The trees made it easy for one to hide in the darkness and the police never chased a suspect into the park.
It was also used for less nefarious purposes and John Blake was very familiar with it. He and his friends spent more than a few nights as teenagers drinking alcohol in this park. John was never one to get high, never even smoked marijuana. He couldn’t stand the smell and never liked relaxing. He never drank more than a few beers. He always wanted to remain in control. The world was dangerous and letting your guard down for even a moment could be fatal. He enjoyed watching his friends be carefree for a night though and looked after them.
Tonight, there were two individuals in this park who were here to hunt. A man named Victor was hunting his next victim and John was hunting him.
The park was only thirty acres, but the trees, rundown playgrounds and old statues made it a maze.
Rather than hunting the man, John decided it would be easier to find Victor’s prey.
He had dressed for the night normally… jeans, a t-shirt and a light jacket covering his shoulder holster. Rather than carrying his service weapon, the holster held a .45 caliber Sandstorm, made by none other than Wayne Enterprises. He had a Ka-Bar, straight edge knife with a seven-inch blade strapped around his calf, just above his combat boot. That knife had been given to him in basic and had followed him overseas, survived along with him, his constant companion and it had tasted blood.
Those were the only weapons he had or needed. If he had his way, the only weapon he needed would be his knife, but things didn’t always work out like he wanted.
After asking a couple questions to the wrong guys, he found where the prostitutes hung out.
He stayed behind a tree, watching the women exchange words with johns and walk off, only to come back thirty minutes later and repeat the process. He grew up around this, but it made him sick that Annie had been a part of this, and that stoked his rage once again.
His patience finally paid off. A man with a hoodie walked up to a blonde who was still pretty, hadn’t lost her looks to age, drug abuse and hard living. He talked for a moment then pulled his hood back, revealing a bald head.
Blake began moving towards him as he walked off with the blonde, easily staying behind him until Victor turned and met his eyes. The bald man punched the girl in her mouth and threw her to the ground then took off running.
His distraction paid off. Blake was faster but he stopped to check on the girl. When Blake saw her bleeding from a likely broken nose but still conscious, he took off in pursuit.
He kept the man in sight as they ran out of the park. Victor reached a car and Blake pulled his weapon, shooting the front and back tires. The prey turned with wide eyes, not having expected that. He slid over the hood of the car and began running once again.
Blake chased him four blocks, closing on him every block. The man finally ran into the one place Blake wished he hadn’t… the old, abandoned steel mill that had been closed since 1984.
The large space contained portable office walls which had caved in, machinery left in place and moved over the years, some toppled over, some rusted metal jutting from the floor.
He heard screams as he pursued in the direction he thought Victor had run and found several homeless people on the ground who had taken up residence in the building obviously injured.
As much as John wanted to check on them, it was obvious Victor was using them as a distraction and Blake would never have a chance as good as this to catch him again.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember the layout of the mill from when he was a child and played in this extremely unsafe environment. Victor had come here as a last resort so he would be looking for an exit.
John knew a short cut to the exit and rather than following Victor, ran between the huge smelting pots and conveyor belts to the back entrance. As he reached the front, he saw Victor running from the other side of the mill and collided with the man.
They landed awkwardly and Blake took a foot to the face while Victor scrambled away. Rather than running for the exit he made his way up a flight of iron stairs to the catwalks above, the ones that wound through and over the plant, an entrance point for crane operators.
Blake pursued but stopped when he saw Victor stop at the top of the stairs and pull a metal object from under his hoodie.
He ducked behind a pot seconds before bullets rained down on him.
“Hey, Victor! I never forget the sound of a gun. That weapon you just discharged is a HK MP-5K submachine gun, easily concealable. It also was a small clip and I bet you just discharged every bullet in a short burst. Judging by how fast you were running, I’m guessing you aren’t carrying dozens of clips on you.”
“You willing to take that chance?” the man yelled. “You’re that cop who was at the last blonde’s crime scene. You looked pretty pissed off that I offed her. Was she your favorite or something? I can recommend plenty more.”
“Yes.”
“So, you are the cop.”
“Yes, I’m willing to take that chance.” John answered the first question.
Blake came out from behind the smelting pot, firing up towards the sound of Victor’s voice. He struck the metal railings and saw a glimpse of the bald man flashing away. He made his way up the stairs and went in the direction he saw Victor go.
A right turn and he saw him running, fifty feet away.
Some small objects fell in front of Victor and a flash of sparks covered Victor’s body. The man screamed and fell in a heap.
Blake raced towards him and kicked the gun away from his body then stepped back.
“Get up.”
Victor slowly rose to his feet, keeping his eyes on Blake who had holstered his gun.
“Stay out of this.” Blake demanded. He wasn’t talking to Victor.
Hearing nothing, Blake bent low and pulled his knife. Victor smiled, reaching behind to grab his own knife.
“Who are you?” Blake asked.
“Victor Zsasz. Who might you be, Officer?”
“John Blake.” Blake replied, watching his adversary carefully. “What’s with the scars? You did that to yourself. The cuts on your throat are too even and shallow. I understand you have scars all over your torso. Why?”
“Why do you think? You’ve given it a lot of thought, I’m sure.” Zsasz taunted him.
Blake had. He had thought of nothing else for days. “You’ve cut yourself for every person you’ve killed, haven’t you?”
“Right again. To answer your next question, I have scars all over my body. Hundreds. Most of the bodies have never been found.” The psycho killer told him.
“But you left the two in Gotham where everyone could find them… why?” Blake asked.
“They were just practice for the girl of my dreams.” Zsasz replied, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. “I haven’t found an opportunity for the two of us to spend some alone time, but when we do, I have a clean spot right over my heart for her.”
Blake felt like cutting his throat but needed more. Zsasz had killed hundreds. Hundreds of missing people, their families having no closure, no bodies to bury and this monster had the answers.
“Who is this dream girl of yours?”
“I’ve taken out two blondes in preparation, haven’t I? I thought you might be smart since you found me.” Zsasz laughed. “You know any five foot seven, one hundred- and twenty-pound blondes with blue eyes? She makes the most beautiful weapons. She is a goddess of death. She is beautiful, the epitome of sunshine yet she has a darkness in her that is breathtaking. We are alike. I can understand her. I’m not exactly in Kara Wayne’s social circle so there is only one way I can have her.”
“You won’t get your hands on her, or you would have already tried. There isn’t a sliver of darkness in her… she is not like you.” Blake replied, his rage ramping to the point he was about to lose control.
Victor laughed. “No one makes that many perfect instruments of death without a darkness inside.”
It should have been an epic fight, one that would jump off the screen in an action movie. There should have been a back and forth, both opponents badly injured, fighting through the pain, trying to kill each other as the world exploded around them.
Instead, Victor made a move to stab John Blake. It was a simple move, making it obvious that the man, while being a murdering psychopath, had never been through any formal combat training.
Blake easily sidestepped, grabbed his wrist and twisted, snapping the man’s wrist and causing the knife to fall harmlessly to the metal grating below.
Victor was on the ground and Blake placed his blade over his throat.
“Where did you say you saved her a spot? Right over your heart?” His blade poked into Victor Zsasz’s chest. “Where is Annie’s spot? Tell me where her scar is.”
Victor smiled from his knees. “That’s a bit of a private spot. She was very good and deserved a place of honor.”
Blake threw his elbow into the man’s mouth, sending him on his back and proceeded to punch him over and over, until Zsasz’s face was covered in blood, and he had swallowed a few teeth.
John pulled his gun and stuck the barrel into Zsasz’s mouth. For the first time during their encounter, the man’s eyes showed fear.
“You just realized this is the end of the line. You’re feeling what your victims felt! That’s fear! That sick feeling, the pain you are in, that is knowing the end is near and there is nothing you can do about it! Do you like it!?” Blake shouted, losing the grip on his anger.
Zsasz shook his head slightly, aware of the barrel of the gun in his mouth.
Blade used his other hand to place his knife against the man’s throat. “Your choice. You want me to slit your throat or paint the metal grating with your skull and brains? Blink once for the throat.”
Zsasz’s eyes stayed wide open.
Realizing he was skirting to close to his anger’s edge, Blake took calming breaths and pulled his gun out of the man’s mouth then removed his knife from his throat.
“You are going to tell every victim’s family where their loved ones’ bodies are. Then you will rot.” Blake promised. “Considering you just threatened Kara Wayne, something tells me you are going to go to a worse place than Blackgate. If you don’t answer every question they have, you are going to meet him… alone in your cell and he isn’t as merciful as I am.”
Blake leaned to the side and Zsasz saw the Batman, standing with his arms crossed behind Blake.
“Are you the devil?” Zsasz whispered.
Batman nodded.
Zsasz smiled, teeth and face covered in blood. “I knew you would come for me one day.”
Blake struck him in the temple, knocking him out.
“I don’t suppose you have…”
A pair of handcuffs appeared in front of him.
Blake rolled his eyes and took the offered cuffs, restraining both of Victor’s wrists around the railing of the catwalk.
He stood up and looked down at the bloodied and beaten man. “I might get fired for police brutality, but I can accept that.”
“You defended yourself.”
“I need to call it in.”
“I already did.”
Blake turned to him irritated. “You called in an anonymous tip?”
Batman shook his head. “No. I called Montoya using your voice.”
“You can do that?” Blake asked, both eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Like I told you before, I find out more about me every day.”
‘You could have given me a little time to get away if I killed the guy.” Blake pointed out.
“You were never going to murder him. You aren’t the only one who can read other’s eyes.” Batman replied.
“He’s only alive because the families of his other victims deserve closure. That’s the only reason I didn’t kill him.” Blake insisted.
Batman placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You beat him. He was unarmed. There was no reason to kill so you didn’t. That’s the kind of man you are.”
Ten minutes later, police were combing all over the steel mill. Montoya and Bullock walked to Blake, standing over the cuffed, and still unconscious, Victor Zsasz.
“He looks like shit.” Bullock noted. “He must have resisted the hell out of arrest.”
Blake nodded.
“You didn’t kill him.” Montoya stated, a hint of approval in her tone. “You continue to surprise me. Not many people can.”
“Every scar is someone he killed. Most have probably never been found.” Blake pointed out. “I wanted to kill him. Every part of me wanted to kill him.”
“If you had, a lot of people would never have a chance at closure.” Montoya said softly.
Blake nodded. “I’ll write my report about what happened tomorrow morning. Tonight, I need to drink, then I need sleep. See you later.”
As soon as reached home, he called John Diggle.
“I heard you had an interesting night.” The man greeted him. “I was on the coms. Kara wanted to be, but Alfred and I talked her out of it.”
“He was after Kara.” Blake stressed to the man.
“I’m aware.” Dig told him and sighed. “Many psychos are after Kara. It’s something that keeps me up at night and ready for combat at all times. Kara didn’t hear and she won’t know. Diana knows and he will be dealt with. He will never get near her, or anyone, ever again.
“Rest up. Kara is going to expect you back for dance lessons. She can probably be held off for one day but that’s about it.”
“I understand. I’ll be there.”
Bludhaven, the next afternoon
John Blake and Commissioner Gordon, along with Detectives Montoya and Bullock, walked into a small apartment that had been the hideout of Victor Zsasz. A Bludhaven detective was present but remained in the hallway, not wanting to get involved in what he called “Gotham City’s mess”.
That morning, after Zsasz had stopped speaking about his joy at meeting the devil, he told the police where he had been staying and asked if they could bring his wall decorations to him for his cell. The apartment building rented by the week and didn’t require identification or ask questions.
“Oh… my… god.” Gordon said, breaking the silence in the room.
Inside the apartment, there was a cot, a table and a chair. On the table were various knives and guns, including bloody knives and multiple pictures of prostitutes, all blonde, slim and around the same height. There was also a Barbie doll on the table, with glasses drawn around its eyes using a sharpie.
Another disturbing aspect of the room were the walls. Every inch of the walls, even over the small kitchenette, were covered with magazine photos. Ninety percent were of Kara Wayne and the other ten percent were photos from military, gun and mercenary magazines about weapons systems she had developed or Wayne Enterprises handguns she designed and sold to the public.
“Kara Wayne has a fan.” Montoya said quietly, trying to remain calm but failing. She had dealt with many murderers over her career but never one so vicious, or a serial killer for that matter. The evidence of his psychosis and obsession shook her.
Gordon was looking around the room, an angry look on his face. “Montoya, go ahead and call Forensics in. I need a judge to give us jurisdiction over the crime scene. I’ll call Harvey and get the ball rolling.”
Before he could turn to the door, a new, feminine voice entered the conversation.
“That won’t be necessary, Commissioner.”
The people in the room turned and saw two individuals wearing black suits calmly enter the apartment. The two were obviously members of some federal agency given the confidence they exuded. Unknown to the Gotham law enforcement contingent, these were A.R.G.U.S. agents, an agency that didn’t officially exist and they had been given very specific orders from their new director.
“Who are you?” Gordon asked warily.
“I’m Special Agent Iman Avesta with Homeland Security and this is my partner, Special Agent Vernon Davis.”
“Homeland Security?” Gordon raised an eyebrow. “What is your interest in this case?”
“You followed protocol last night, Commissioner Gordon.” Avesta answered matter-of-factly. “There was a threat made to Kara Wayne’s life by a man under arrest who was the main suspect in two murders. You contacted Wayne Security. Wayne Security contacted us. Due to Kara Wayne’s involvement, this has become a possible domestic terrorism case and it falls under our purview.”
No one in the room said anything. Bullock looked as if he were going to argue but Montoya’s hand on his arm and a shake of her head indicated he needed to shut up.
There was no question as to what was going on. Gordon had called Wayne Security, probably John Diggle, who told Diana Wayne, who had called whatever agency this really was to take care of the problem.
“You understand he has killed a lot of people, many unknown.” Gordon said carefully.
Avesta nodded. “I understand your concerns, Commissioner. We have no desire to prevent justice for those families. We have methods that can make even the most deranged psychopath talk, methods you cannot employ under the laws governing your department. We will find the names and locations of as many victims and bodies as possible. Your department will be given the information to provide to the families.
“Tomorrow, news of his formal arrest will be given to the public. We have an agent ready to take his place and be publicly escorted into Blackgate. Once our agent is inside, he will remain there for four days during which time, your department will be given credit for finding the names and locations of the deceased. Our agent will be taken out discreetly from the prison and you will report that the prisoner was murdered in Blackgate. No trial, no mess, every avenue covered.”
Those in the room thought of arguing about giving up jurisdiction over their case. There was nothing worse than a federal agency taking a case away from a city department.
But they were also very aware this came from the very top. Not the President of the United States, not the Director of Homeland Security or whatever agency these two really worked for.
This order came directly from Diana Wayne.
She wanted this guy put in a deep, dark hole and they all knew Victor Zsasz would never emerge from it. After he was tortured for every bit of information he had, the man would either be killed or thrown underground in a very dark pit and never let out.
Gordon shook the woman’s hand. “When do you want to exchange to take place? He’s in Central Holding right now… but you probably already know that.”
Avesta smiled brightly. “Thank you for your cooperation, Commissioner Gordon.”
He nodded. “You want my guys to burn this room or yours?”
“We will handle everything.” Avesta promised. “It’s what we get paid to do. We make messes like this go away.”
Bella MacLeod's Twilight Fanfiction 
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