The Batman: Episode 3

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iLLituracy

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#1  Edited By iLLituracy

THE DC GENESIS PROJECT PRESENTS: THE BATMAN 

The heaviness of his arm kept him from moving it too much, the warmth of his own blood trickling down his forearm, dripping from his digits onto the brass bell that his fingers were folded around but not grasping was his blood. A streak of lightning lit the library, Bruce was sitting in a chair surrounded by shelves the lined the wall of the room filled with his father's medical texts. Books on surgery, theory, breakthroughs in the field of medicine. Bruce wasn't here for any of that, he'd suffered a gunshot wound on his first night out as a vigilante. 

Hot lead tore through his shoulder, and instead of seeking medical attention after escaping arrest by the police, he came home and sat in his father's old library and stared at a bust made of Thomas Wayne that stood in the middle of the study. Beads of sweat rolled down the young man's face, his stern eyes reflecting that of his father's. His first day into the mission and he was already having doubts, already reassessing what to do. Why hadn't this night been successful? The chatter of hookers as they gathered around to defend the pimp he was pummeling filled his head. 

The way they were crowing, about how he was nothing more than a man. Just some guy who was looking for a quick death. The ensuing brawl with the prostitutes had him shot by police responding to the squabble in the red light district. That's how things worked in Gotham, shoot first and ask questions later. 

In order for this to work he needed to be something more than just a man, he decided. He couldn't just put on a coat and ski mask and beat only crime. Bruce's mind wandered, the blood loss induced a delirium, the sound of rain pounding on the window and the steely look in the marble bust of his father's eye. 

Then it happened, like an omen, a sign from above that he was on the right path. The window shattered and through it came what Bruce would swear was the most magnificent creature he'd ever laid eyes on, others would insist that it was merely his lack of sleep mixed with the fact that he was bleeding out but Bruce always debated it. A large, furry creature, chittering as it beat it's leathery wings on the air. The shadowy beast circled the library before it sat upon Thomas Wayne's head, it's beady eyes staring at Bruce, the rain pouring in through the shattered window and onto the hardwood floor. 

"That's it, father..." Bruce groggily stated, "I'll become a bat ."

CHAPTER 3: BATMAN BORN
May 25th . An abandoned apartment building on the wrong side of town is where he found himself. They set up a sting operation specifically for him, put the word out in the underground that there was a huge drug deal going down, made sure that Batman got word. His heart beat to the war drums in his brain, his eyes winced at the bright flashlights placed on him. He raised his cloak, shielding himself from the light, behind the lights were a unit of SWAT, a dozen men with submachine guns aimed directly at him. 

Standard issue helmets and body armor, these men were trained, they were far from the usual scum he'd spent the last five months making his name on. These were men following orders, he couldn't let loose on them like he did on the drug peddlers and pimps, these were men with families and lives, most of them sought to keep the streets safe much like he did, statistically at least one of them were dirty. That's just how it was in Gotham, wolves dressed as sheep weren't rare. 

"Hands up!" The officer commanded.

"We have him in our sight, Captain Gordon. He doesn't look like he's going to comply." One of the other officers spoke into his earpiece.

"Hold off." Gordon was on the outside of the building, his graying red hair being kicked up by the helicopter that was circling above. It's spotlight was beaming into the dark abandoned building that was only one stones throw away from being lot full of rubble. To say the building wasn't up to codes was an understatement. Batman shifted his weight, the floorboards creaked, the officers trained their weapons on their target. 

"Stand down, Batman!"

"He's going to make a break for it, Cap."

"Hold off!" James barked into his transceiver, the wind howling through the cavernous projects of the inner city couldn't muffle the sound of gunfire. Jim Gordon's heart sunk into the pit of his stomach, his eyes wide, he fixed his glasses as the gunfire fell silent. "I said hold off! Report!"

There was nothing but static on the other end. 

"Captain! We have visual! He's on rooftop level!" The chopper that was circling fixated it's bright spotlight on a silhouette racing across the run-down project buildings. The pilot shivered at the way the bat moved, the way his cape fanned out. It was no wonder people weren't sure if he was man or beast, the pilot had a blinding light on him and wasn't even sure himself. Whoever this man was he moved like an olympic athlete. "He's heading northbound!"

"Team A, come in! Alpha--report, what's your status!!" Gordon feared the worst, he feared that they pinned the Batman into a corner and forced his hand, that he killed his men. The backlash that such a thing would cause, up until now Batman had only beat on thugs, the guilty, the dirt on the underbelly of Gotham. If he turned him into a cop-killer, then everything would change. He reached the top of the stairwell of the old apartment building, scattered about in the narrow hallway that was drenched in darkness were men laid about, disarmed but breathing. A thin veil of knockout gas and smokescreen still on the air, Gordon pulled a cloth napkin from his coat and slipped it over his mouth and nose. 

"Captain...we lost him." 

Gordon sighed, combing back his red hair.

"All right, boys...lets get them the attention they need and head home. We're not finding him again, that's for sure." 

Three blocks over was were he found his peace, behind a dumpster, across the alley from where a sleeping bum was squatting. Here, in the quiet, he pulled back his top, the ballistic resistant plates were lightweight which meant they could handle moderate firepower, but not like the kind he was up against tonight. The wound was glancing, his blank eyes thinned to a slit as he applied alcohol to the flesh. 

"Hrrnnn..." His body writhed, he fought back the groan and began laying out his instruments on his lap. Preparation was his greatest tool, that's what he was always taught from when he was a child under his father's tutelage to an adult under Kirigi's. A needle, suture and gauze to wrap himself up with. After sterilizing the wound, he bit down on his glove, stabbing and sewing the flesh wound shut, every now and then the bum that was laid out across the cardboard box would stir, causing him to lose focus on the task at hand. It was a painful three minutes, but he'd managed to get the wound close, at least until someone who was much more suited to stitch him shut could get a look at it. After applying the gauze he slipped his fitted armor back down, discarding the used first aid tools in the dumpster just as the headlights of the sedan landed on him. The loose gravel under the wheels crackled and popped as the vehicle rolled to a stop.

The driver's side door opened and a man stood behind the ajar door. The silhouette made it's way around the door, walking over to Bruce to help him into the back of the vehicle. Batman refused his help and the man hurried back into the driver's seat, closed the door and put the car and gear. Alfred pulled his bowler from the top of his head, setting it down in the passenger side seat, clearing his throat as he pulled out of the back street and maneuvered back onto the road. "Eventful evening, I take it." 

"Hnn...that info about the drug deal was a set-up for me." Groaned Bruce in response, "You're going the wrong way." He followed up, peering out the window of the black car as it sped toward Wayne Towers.

"I'm taking you back to the condo where I can get a better look at your wound." Alfred said.

"Iceberg Lounge. There's someone I need to see."

"The only someone you need to see is a licensed medical professional, but seeing as how none of them would understand that you parade around at night dressed as a bat you're going to have to settle for me!" Alfred sneered at the man in his back seat.

"Iceberg Lounge. I'm not asking." 

"Nor am I. This is not negotiable, I will properly examine you." Alfred insisted. 

"Shut up." Batman harshly spoke, breathing through grated teeth. "There's intel waiting for me at the Iceberg Lounge rendezvous." 

"What intel could possibly be so important--?" Alfred stopped when he noticed the look in Batman's eye when he turned to tear him a new one. It had been five months since he began his mission as the Batman, and not a day went by that he didn't visit their graves, that he didn't spend countless hours re-examining the evidence trying to find something that the police missed. He'd amassed intel that not even the Gotham Police Department was made aware of from the League of Assassins, a group of individuals who were interested in him for reasons he didn't completely understand. They gave him names like Joe Chill and Red Hood, nothing that really made sense to him.

Alfred gave a hefty sigh, indulging Bruce like a parent indulging his spoiled child as he turned the corner. The truth was that Alfred believed that if Bruce had closure, if Bruce could find the man who'd slain his mother and father, that he would give up this life of fighting crime. So he became this enabler that gave Batman what he wanted. Alfred's eyes lowered, Batman could see the disgust in himself and knew that there was only one way to fix this arrangement.

"I'll be driving myself from now on."

"Of course, Master Bruce."


It was hot, the flashing lights were enough to give anyone an epileptic seizure, the smell was offensive, a mixture of scotch and beer being pushed through people's skin in the form of sweat with an overlay of body spray, cologne and perfume. Worst of all, it was hot, and that was very misleading when it came to the name of the club. He was sitting at the bar, the lack of amusement staring him back in the face from the mirror behind the bartender. Every now and then some kid would squeeze between him and the schmuck sitting next to him, causing him to spill his overpriced drink on the bar top. 

One look at his watch and he stood from the stool, his heels lit by the blue light that lined the space where the bar and the floor met. It was the same all around the bar, tracks of light that lined the corners, gave the bar a "cool" look, with it's glass and fancy architecture. It looked cold, but it was anything but, so he slipped into the packed elevator with his drink and pushed the button to the roof, muttering something under his breath as a rabid couple playing tonsil hockey bumped into him and made him spill his scotch. 

Sharply inhaling, he fixed his shades, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, allowing the night air to hit his face. The second floor of the Iceberg Lounge wasn't as bad as the lower level, at least up here there was air, but the pool managed to attract a less mature crowd, not that the crowd below was all that mature. The mysterious man bent at the knees, placed his tumbler down on a table as he made his way across the deck. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a box of matches. Flicking the red tip with his thumb, he lifted the match to the cigarette that hung from his lips. 

"What's that?" He heard someone ask from across the deck, then there was a pop. It didn't exactly startle the man from his smoke, but it was enough to make him begin turning his head. 

A metal grappling hook collided with his hand, the orange ash being scattered in the wind as the cigarette flew from where it was held between his index and middle fingers. The cable attached to the hook bunched, it rolled over and coiled around the man's wrist before going taut.

"Oh for fu--" The cable reeled back, pulling the man off of his heels and into the air. Above the rooftop that the Iceberg Lounge was situated on there was a nearby rooftop that often cast the Iceberg Lounge in shadow during the day. The man was slammed into the side of the building before being reeled up to the top, holding onto the cable that kept his wrist bound for dear life.

"Malone." Batman grasped the chord, lifting the man onto the building with a tug. 

"Matches." Malone huffed, fixing his shades, then his hair, swallowing hard, rattled by the ride he'd just taken. "My associates call my Matches. I don't use my motha's name to deal with creeps, God rest her soul." He said in his thick Jersey accent, he kissed the cross that hung from his neck and looked to the sky as if his mother was there, keeping him safe. "There's better ways of gettin' my attention, Bats. I appreciate you pullin' me out of that dump but--"

"Lets get one thing straight, you're not my associate." Batman stood over the shorter man, glaring down upon him with unholy eyes. "You're a criminal, the only reason you're still walking around is because you're a better snitch than you are criminal, understand?" 

"I got it, I got it." Matches said with a grin, putting his hands up, surrendering to what the Batman dictated. He was smug about it, though. Matches refused to be afraid of the Batman, he didn't buy into the bogeyman, and he was probably the only person who has managed to get this close to him without having to take a trip to the hospital. In a lot of ways Matches was both Batman's greatest adversary and ally thus far, an immoral man who saw past the facade of fear he tried to instill in the criminal element of Gotham. It was why he pulled Matches along for that ride, he wanted to instill that fear in him, he needed to, the mission was jeopardized every time Matches walked away from their encounters with a smirk on his face..

"Intel."

"In a second, I wanna' renegotiate our standing agreement."

"You tell me what's going to happen, I don't break your legs, that's the agreement."

"Right, right...I think we should take another lo--" Matches was cut off by Batman's fist swiping across the air, clocking him in the chin and flooring him before he knew what was going on. "Nevermind, you're right--you're right." Malone held his chin, trying his best to get to his feet, "You've been more than gracious."

"That drug deal was a sting operation set up for me."

"Was it? I told you that it came from a sketchy source." Malone muttered with his back to Batman as he checked and cleaned his lip for blood. "Nothing's coming through the rumor mill these days. There's a cat burglar that's been rattling some cages."

"Next." Batman was uninterested in the thief, he'd heard about her and was already gathering his own information. A cat burglar that sneaks into the homes of criminals and stole jewels and money wasn't high on his priority list to nab. The newspapers had dubbed her Catwoman though she'd been actively stealing since before he'd been Batman, but hadn't become as active until after. They'd crossed paths once at Falcone's flat where he'd saved her from being turned into Swiss cheese by Falcone's men. 

"Penguin?"

"I have enough on Penguin." Which was another reason why they were here, at the Iceberg Lounge. Snatching people off of Penguin's roof would spook him enough.

"The Face Society?"

"Talk."

"Apparently your appearance has inspired some sort of weird fetish. Guys are comin' out of the woodwork wearing masks and sh*t. Real creeper stuff, if y'ask me." Matches said, "City was hell before you came along, now you're opening a whole new level of crap." 

"Red Hood."

"Pullin' a job. Real minor. You got the whole underworld spooked. Guys are either retiring from the game or getting bolder. Some of them are just trying to wait you out until someone puts a bullet in your skull or you get bored, whichever comes first." Malone lit a second cigarette, inwardly thinking about how his cancer sticks weren't at all cheap. "Monarch Playing Card company. Sometime next month, I think." 

He puffed on his cigarette, the panicked crowd below were still searching for signs of him on the building. Sighing, he scratched the top of his head, "Is that all--?" When he turned, he noticed that no one was there, that he was alone atop of this building. 

"How the hell'm I suppose t'get down from here?!" 


The brown liquid curled and spiraled, it was hypnotizing to the eye after a long night of chasing caped crusaders into dark alleyways and abandoned buildings. His warn, rough palms pressed to the side of his face, his fingertips slid upward, pushing the glasses over his eyes upward, massaging his eyelids with his fingertips. The break room was silent, there were officers lining the counter where the coffee machine was and it was usually bustling here, even this late at night, filled with laughter and stories.

Tonight it was silent enough to hear the sirens on the other side of town. The defeat of the Gotham City Police at the hands of Batman and his escape dealt a blow to the entire precinct, the stories that filled the old house tonight were spoke in hushed tones and whispers of a monster of a man who walked through a hail of bullets and managed to put down a squad of men with automatic weapons, a bat that could turn invisible once he was out of your peripheral, tales of fearful men. 

Gordon stood, the chair he was sitting in screeched against the floor tiles of the break room. Placing his fedora atop of his head, he could hear the men giving him a look, as if it was his responsibility and now his head was on the chopping block now that the Batman operation was botched. Commissioner Gillian Loeb wanted the Bat off the streets and in a jail cell, Gordon figured because he prevented more crime than he caused. Corruptness in Gotham went all the way up to City Hall, everyone wanted a piece of Gotham's greatest export, crime.

So it wasn't rare for public officials to have their hands out and be on someone's payroll. Loeb just happened to be on the payroll of one of the Batman's biggest targets; Carmine Falcone. 

"Bet y'wish ya' never left Chicago now, eh, Gordon?" Bullock asked, the bloated man swiveled back and forth in his chair at his desk, a cigar clutched in his jaw. Gordon stopped momentarily in his stride for the door, his eyes shrunk behind the glare of his glasses. 

"I'm off. You boys get some sleep." Was all James said before heading out into the warm night. Hopping into his station wagon, he slammed the door shut, turning the key in the ignition, allowing the engine to roar to life. Ten minutes later he was at the District Attorney's office, opening the door to Harvey Dent's personal office at 3 in the morning.

Harvey was seated at the desk, rocking back and forth in his chair, pouring himself a tumbler of whiskey. Another glass was on the opposite end of the desk where another chair was placed, condensation was rolling down the side of the chill glass. Gordon hung his hat, peeled back his coat and set it on the back of the chair, taking his seat.

"Gentlemen." Greeted Gordon, his fingertips grasping edge of the glass. 

"Jimmy." Harvey chuckled, screwing the top back on the Black Label. Behind Harvey, in the darkness where the desk lamp did not reach, something stirred. Two blank eyes stared directly at James, it was as if the light bent and avoided the figure. Everything but it's eyes, Gordon merely stared back at the eyes. "How's your boy?" Dent asked. 

"I don't know." James sincerely replied, he placed his glasses on the table, pinched the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat before knocking back the glass. The ice clicked and clattered when he brought the glass back down onto the desk. He shook his head, he spent his entire night chasing the Batman, convincing his men that he was doing his best, but in reality he wasn't really trying. The truth was that he was one of those dirty, corrupt officials he loathed so much. He may not have been getting a generous donation from Batman but James was much too altruistic to see himself any differently. Batman saw it, the shame in his features.

From the darkness where Batman lurked came a plastic bag that landed on the desk with a sharp clunk. Inside the bag was a revolver and two spent shells. 

"Straight to business with you, as always." Dent lifted the plastic bag before sliding it across the desk to James who lifted it into the air. 

"I can't take this as evidence. You know that. I told you to stop taking evidence from the scene." James spat, seething with anger.

"Then don't. I need you to run the prints." Batman spoke up, nearing the lamp's light. 

"This isn't admissible! You don't think it wouldn't look suspicious of I'm asking people to run prints on something that isn't tagged?" 

"Then do it yourself. You have enough knowledge in forensic criminology to get it done." Batman began baring his teeth, growing impatient.

"Whoa, whoa..." Harvey sensed how heated this was becoming, Gordon was on his feet, rounding the desk, prompting Harvey to stand himself to stand between the two men. Jim could feel his blood running hot, his heart beat like a drum, he remembered the first time Harvey asked him over to have a drink and how he was startled the first time Batman emerged from the shadows. His reaction was to pull his revolver, pointing it at the shadowy figure that placed a fright in his chest. No matter how many times he'd seen the Batman up close, that frightening feeling was there.

Every time. He faced it, though. He stared down the Batman with a snarl, his messy fiery red hair managed to catch the light in the darkness of the room.

"What is it you want? This won't hold up in any court of law--!" 

"I don't need it to. The sidearm is police issue. Serial number is scratched out." Batman's eyes shrank, his brow wrinkled underneath his cowl. "Even if I left it in the crack house that the officers were found in for your boys to find, it would have never been bagged and tagged."

"You think this was a hit from the inside?"

"Montez and Marks, two honorable officers who were sniffing around where people didn't want them to." Batman leaned in closer, revealing his face, the lower half of his face covered in stubble. "Sound familiar?" 

"Is this how you look out for me? Hunt down cop killers? I'm flattered but I'll get along fine without your help." He waved the gun in front of his face, then tossed it on the desk next to him. "You may not have faith in the law, but I do, I'll do things the right way."

"That's why you convene in the District Attorney's office every week with a wanted criminal who operates outside the law." Batman said in a tone reminiscent of sarcasm, it was as close to sarcasm as Bruce could get.

"I run those prints, get you a name, then what? You go and--what?! Kill them?!" Jim raised his voice, pointing a finger at Batman.

"Jimmy, you know he doesn't kill." Harvey chimed in, trying his best to keep the two from literally butting heads in the middle of his office. 

"What's stopping him? How do we know he won't down the line? What are we even doing here...? I blew off dinner with my wife--tonight--to lead a fake manhunt against this man right here. I haven't spoken to my son in a week..." James head was spinning, but Batman said next sent him for a loop.

"You blew off your wife because you're having an affair."

James eyes widened, his heart sunk into the pit of his stomach which curled into knots. Gordon looked over at Dent who was looking at him, puzzled. His hands reached out, gripping Batman by the cloak, twisting it in his grip and charging past Harvey's arm that he held out to keep them parted. Batman staggered back two steps before regaining his footing, his hands wrapping around the man's wrist.

"What gives you the right?" Gordon whispered harshly, "What gives you the right to f*ck with my personal life?!" He shook Batman, baring his teeth, moments away from clocking the cloaked psycho in the jaw. 

"It would have been dumb for me to fraternize with someone I couldn't trust. I debated on keeping you in this inner circle...infidelity isn't something that looks good from someone who I need loyalty and trust from." Batman admitted.

"Aw, Jim...tell me it isn't true..." Harvey was close friends with Jim Gordon outside of their professional life. Gilda, Harvey's wife, and Barbara talked daily. Harvey would joke about how Barbara was poisoning Gilda's mind about having children, and he never really admitted it aloud but he saw Jim and Barbara as the older couple that he hoped that he and Gilda would grow to become like and now apparently he'd been cheating on her?

"We've...we've been growing distant..." James released the Batman from his clutches, he kept his had low, brushed the red hair back. Batman made his way toward the window, his cape billowing behind him. He wasn't much for the dramatics when it came to personal lives, he slid the window open, unhooked his grappling gun and placed a foot on the ledge. 

"Red Hood is going to strike Monarch next month on the edge of town. Keep your ear to the streets. I'll expect the forensic results on the gun when we next meet." Batman said, ducking out the window, the pop of the line being shot could be heard and his shadow being reeled into the night was visible in the moonlight. Harvey placed a hand on the distraught Jim's shoulder, the shame that he noticed when he first walked in wasn't because he was dealing with a criminal like Batman, not wholly, at least. It was because he didn't recognize who he'd become, Gotham had transformed him into the type of man who cheated on his wife, who dealt with outlaw vigilantes to curb crime, who didn't spend time with his son all in six months. 

It was the shame that allowed Batman to trust Jim Gordon.


June 10th . The sound of footfalls pounding on the catwalk, bubbling vats of chemical underneath the mesh walkway. A panicked man raced across the catwalk that hung above the chemical plant's floor, he was dressed in a cheap tuxedo that made him look like he was some sort of second rate magician, his head was encased in a peculiar red helmet. He took a spill, falling, his helmet coming loose, he was encouraged onto his feet by the sound of the approaching black combat boots that were hot on his trail.

"Lee---leeeave me alooone!" The muffled voice came from under the helmet as he reached the end of the catwalk. "P...please-!" 

"It's over, Red Hood." Batman's steps slowed, the Red Hood spun around, watching the skulking Batman looming closer. He held out his balisong knife, trying to keep Batman away from him in a futile attempt. 

"Have you heard...have you heard the one about the plumber?" The Hood asked, gripping the catwalk's railing. Batman's eyes narrowed, actually caught somewhat off guard by the question, pausing for a moment to think about the relevance of the question. "Me neither." 

The man threw himself over the railing, trying to clear the vat of chemicals below and land on the chemical plant's floor. Batman rushed to the edge of the catwalk, his eyes wide, watching the man plummet into the questionable liquid just as the police convened on the plant floor. The click of hurried footsteps on the catwalk behind Batman turned his attention from the vat to Gordon.

"Someone fish that man out of there!" Gordon called from the shadowy catwalk. 

"Any sign of the freak?!" Bullock called to Gordon. Gordon looked to Batman, taking a long pause.

"No. None. He's gone."

The night of June 10th was one that would be remembered for years to come, it would be remembered as the night that Gotham's greatest bane was born into the world. They fished the Red Hood from the vat, he'd managed to survive the bath of toxins, his skin was bleached white and his hair was dyed an eerie green by the waters. The man who fell into the vat was unknown, a John Doe, but who emerged from those waters became known as the Joker.

Next : The Laughing Man
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InnerVenom123

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#2  Edited By InnerVenom123

I love this so much. You have no idea. You're taking inspiration from other sources, clearly, but then you word it in such a way that it might as well be your own.

Great work.

Then it happened, like an omen, a sign from above that he was on the right path. The window shattered and through it came what Bruce would swear was the most magnificent creature he'd ever laid eyes on, others would insist that it was merely his lack of sleep mixed with the fact that he was bleeding out but Bruce always debated it. A large, furry creature, chittering as it beat it's leathery wings on the air. The shadowy beast circled the library before it sat upon Thomas Wayne's head, it's beady eyes staring at Bruce, the rain pouring in through the shattered window and onto the hardwood floor.
"That's it, father..." Bruce groggily stated, "I'll become a bat ."
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Emperor Gonzo Noir

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Okay, now I'm addicted to this.